Our Town (20 page)

“Speak into the rock.” Analog fuzzy.

“Gary?”

“No. Not Gary. It’s Didier-ody.”

“Who?”

“Didier-ody.”

“Who’s that?”

“A friend. A friend of Gary’s. I’m here for the presentation.”

“Okay. Will you please buzz me in? If he’s there will you tell him it’s Jo?”

But nothing. But then the buzzer sounded. Dorothy waited patiently for the two gates in front of her to swing slowly forward, as they’d always done so in the past. They were large and wooden, the sort that might protect a moat. But nothing. She waited and waited and looked at her small, silver wristwatch. Red-faced Rolex. A present from the past. She looked back up and then looked back at it again. Finally, a small Asian woman—whose head peeked barely above the five-foot-high fence—undid the stone lock in front of her. She pulled the heavy gates open one at a time as Dorothy waited. Dorothy drove by. “It’s broken,” the Asian woman yelled, and Dorothy understood, though her English was broken. The woman closed both gates the same way she opened them. Dorothy watched in her rearview mirror as she then closed the latch. Dorothy wanted to thank her, maybe tip her. But when she was finished the Asian woman hurried toward the back door. Dorothy pulled down her mirror and checked her teeth and checked her hair and looked up her nose and then into her wrinkles. She pulled her lips open by their corners. Then she let go and they snapped back into place. She got out and stepped through the gravel driveway. She was still sweating. She thought she might smudge her eyeliner and that made her nervous and so she sweated more. She counted fourteen other cars parked in the driveway. A white taxi on its way out passed her on the left. Thirteen.

She stepped up the two steps off the gravel way and onto the marble-topped stairs. She looked down at her hands. They weren’t yellow anymore from smoking. Once mustard, or the yolk of an egg that had faded to fresh butter. Her tinted lotion helped. They often shook, but it wasn’t too bad today. And she didn’t mind when they
shook. It was like her fingers were dancing. It came from the cold or the humidity. Or not enough of this. Sometimes too much of that. She held out her ring finger and pressed the doorbell. As she waited, she looked up at the sun. Stared up at the sun. And she’d do so until someone got the door. She baked her eyes like a sheet of sugar cookies. Maybe with green frosting. And sprinkles. Christmas cookies.
Yum!
Just as she put her hands up and gave up on herself, the door swung open. A silhouette in the frame—larger than expected. The harder she looked, the less she saw. Only visible were his lacey-gold house shoes.

“Yes?” answered Didier.

“Hi, I’m sorry. I’m here for Gary. Gary. He knows I’m coming,” she said as she furiously rubbed at her burnt-soaked eyes.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” asked Didier.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m here for Gary. He knows I’m coming. He knows who I am. Dorothy. I’m Dorothy. He knows. Gary knows.”

“Oh, Dorothy-ody. Hi. Come with me. He’s waiting for you in here. Inside. We’re starting soon. You’re just in time.”

She stepped up from the stoop and felt the air-conditioning. It was dark and smelled like pennies and eucalyptus.

“Did you have any trouble getting in?” Didier asked. “The gate’s broken so we sent Yurik-ody out to get you,” Didier said.

“No, it was fine. Thank you. I actually wanted to thank her for her help but she ran inside before I could.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. She’s somewhere—I think maybe she’s folding towels?—but I really wouldn’t worry. Wouldn’t worry about her at all.”

“She went in through the back, I think.”

“Yes. She would’ve.”

Didier walked ahead of Dorothy. Dorothy followed close suit. She knew the house, and knew that Gary was most likely waiting for her in the kitchen, by the stove, eating cheese and crackers with a tall glass of whole milk. But she still stayed close, just in case. She was scared today. She didn’t know why. Didier stood almost seven feet tall, it seemed. She noticed his head, atop a white-linen three piece. Large at
the bottom, it ran inward and formed a point at the apex of his skull. In the suit, and the slippers, he looked like an oversized pencil—the kind she used to win at the fair, when she knocked down bowling pins with a softball. She had a real good arm. As Didier rounded the corner ahead, she caught up quickly behind him. But then she stopped on a dime, startled by the number of people—the congregation—sitting before her. She looked up and noticed Gary beneath a photograph of a dwarf in a black suit with a red tie leaning against an apple. She’d interrupted. They all looked up.

“Ah,” Gary said and waved. “Hello, Dorothy-ody.”

Gary spoke quietly. Never raised his voice. Dorothy wanted to believe in Gary, and his charisma almost allowed that. He believed in himself, and she was so desperate. She was so trapped. And he moved like a leader—how she imagined a leader might move. With large steps, never shaky—and she wanted to believe in him. She needed to believe in something. He gave her direction, which she greeted with kind hands. Not kind like his, though, as he held a stumpy finger at her straight, like he was conducting an orchestra, his philharmonic responding with beautiful song. Dorothy pushed through the swaths and arrived before him. His hair, curlier and fuller at the back than on top, bounced when he knelt to kiss Dorothy’s forehead, but his seersucker suit didn’t ruffle.

“Come. Sit at the front with me, Dorothy-ody. At the front is where I want you. I was just about to begin the first.”

There was a small wooden rocking chair to the left of the fireplace that Gary had saved special for her. So she sat, and rocked, as Gary began to sermon.

“I would like, before we begin to discuss what you all have read for today, I’d like to express my incredible appreciation for how far you all have traveled to get here. It took a lot of dedication to gather yourselves from such a ways—to take time out of your busy lives—but I promise you it will be worthwhile. Let me ask, first, did anyone here come alone tonight. Are anyone’s others in absentia?”

“I did. My spouse and I are separated.”

“Me, too. Went out for a pack of cigarettes.”

“Okay. That’s all okay. Is that everyone?”

“Yes,” they responded in unison.

Already in unison. “Okay. No ’plaints. That’s perfect. That will be just fine. Will the two of you do me a favor, then? Will you do us a favor? Will you two each pair up with two other couples? Two different couples, respectively? Preferably at opposite ends of the room? Yes. Yes, there we go. Perfect. It looks to me, then, as though everyone is settled. If that’s the case, and no one has any objections, I think I’m ready to begin.”

Gary’s head was wider than it was long. Oblong. The entire congregation, actually, looked like the cast of a turn-of-the-century freak show: tall men and little people. Strongmen. Fat boys and hairy girls. Something even with two heads, maybe. Gary, the P. T. Barnum, was at the helm, indulging in his vulgar eloquence. He’d soon make her feel special. Perhaps she’d join the show.

“I’d like to start by asking you all who can tell me what principles make up the four squares? Who studied?”

“The savior. The baptizer. The healer—” A pause.

“Those are correct, whoever answered, but those are only three. Who’s got the fourth for me? Come on.”

No one spoke still. But then.

“The coming king,” Dorothy interceded, meek and thoughtful from her chair.

Dorothy knew, and she knew she’d studied. And she knew that would make Gary smile. And then Gary did smile. And she beamed. He turned to her and held out his large, white, hairless hand. She was reluctant. Furry arms but hairless hands, like he had gloves on. He squeezed her fingers and then continued holding as he spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have traveled far, and I have traveled wide, but I have never, in all my years, found a woman with a stronger morality than this one. Dorothy-ody begs and pleads me not to bring her up here when I sermon, but I find her, by my side, to be a calming influence, and therefore I can’t but help myself to leave an empty chair no more than two feet from the podium. She’s the Bo to my Peep. The apple of my eye. As I said, I have traveled. I have seen much of this great
world. I know it. I know it well. I know what it means. I have the sort of understanding that only comes with being worldly. From that learning I’ve begun to quill something, based on some things I’ve learned en route. Listen, now, and listen carefully. And if you have a piece of paper, write this down. Is everyone ready? Is everyone ready to hear?”

He let go of Dorothy and stood tall and pointed skyward.

“‘
Das ewig-weibliche zieht uns hinan
.’ Did everyone get that? Again. ‘
Das ewig-weibliche zieht uns hinan
.’ Did anyone get that? Does anyone speak another language? Does anyone know what it is that means?”

“No,” in unison.

Most of them were first-timers. They’d seen fliers—
BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE, GET BETTER NOW! THE WORLD IS UP FOR GRABS. LET’S SNATCH IT!
—hung from bus-stop benches along the road.

“I’m going to say it again, because I hadn’t heard it before either, but I still found the sound powerful, and so I researched so as to find out what that man was saying, and when I found out I was awestruck. Would you like to know what that man told me? Do you think you’re ready to hear?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Louder.

“‘
Das ewig-weibliche zieht uns hinan
.’ ‘
Das ewig-weibliche zieht uns hinan
.’ ‘
Das ewig-weibliche zieht uns hinan
.’ Now, I’ll tell you. Now you’re ready to
know
. It translates, roughly, as follows: The eternal feminine draws us—pulls us!—upward. It does, members, new and old. It does. It’s real. The eternal feminine draws us upward. The eternal feminine carries us up toward the sky. Without a woman, men would never bathe, and our houses might up and crumble. Without a woman, we’d never shave, for fear that a clean face might seem to brutes unmasculine. Without a woman, we’d starve, sick of flapjacks, all we know to cook. Without a woman, our bowties would remain in our closets, exposing our navels a substitute for a test to see who could urinate the furthest. Without a woman, simply sirs, men couldn’t be. Our others allow us to be whole on this earthly terrain, and that unity, and the certainty that
comes with it, can serve only as a stepping-stone on our path toward heaven’s gate. This I promise you. And if, on that note, everyone would embrace their other, temple to temple, cheek to jowl, and if those with three don’t mind sharing, then I’d like to speak the first.”

Gary stepped on Dorothy’s toe as he reached to touch his face to hers. Then he left back for the podium, with a large, round blush spot on his face. She soon forgot that he’d hurt her tootsies.

“Quell matter, ladies, and especially gentlemen. Quell matter, and nurture the spirit. Before the recycling, whence this earthly plain will be wiped clean, renewed. Rejuvenated, refurbished. Spaded under, and new, we must nurture our each and everyone’s spirit. We, though, becomes you, for I cannot guide you beyond this earthly realm, and thus must prepare you for your inevitable independence. You must nurture the spirit when you are alone, for when you are alone is truly when you are closest to Him. Nurture the spirit when you are out with your other, though, as well, for He appreciates camaraderie. Nurture the spirit whenever you get the opportunity. Even if that moment is fleeting. Even if you feel it is brief, and you can hardly touch it, attempt to nurture it still, for it will still pay dividends. So go out, dear friends, and find someone that will look with you upward. Look with you toward the sky. That person, for me, was hard to find. It took a long time, ladies and gentlemen. It was more than just a challenge. I met her at Costco, of all places. I met her buying groceries. If you’re lucky enough to find your other, while you’re in your earthly realm, then you must cherish her or him. A swim pal at summer camp, you watch out for each other. You must be brave for each other. You, and only you, make sure they never drown. I, all, am lucky enough to have found mine. I found my Dorothy-ody. My everything. My number one. And I shall cherish her. I was lucky, for He works in mysterious ways. So now that person sits here beside me. This girl, this Dorothy-ody—the Mysterious Two, as in my own mind to us I’ve begun to refer—has meant more to me than I can verbally qualify. And members. Members of the community. We fit together. We fit right, like corner pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. And that, my friends, is all a man can ask for.”

*
  
*
  
*

When Dorothy got up another morning, Gary was gone. She hadn’t been woken up today. She’d had a long night, so she was allowed to get some rest. She rubbed her eyes, then noticed her wig head had been removed from her bag and now sat next to a picture of Gary and his mother on the bedside table. Mama Gary was half his size. Just last night Dorothy had finished moving in, but she hadn’t unpacked yet. Suddenly Gary entered wearing a rust-colored vest, with a matching flap hat that covered his ears, and wax-cotton knee-high boots.

“I’m going birding.”

“Oh. Okay. Am I supposed to come?” She was hoarse from hardly sleeping.

“No. No. Just be here when I get back. Be ready when I get back. Get in the shower, maybe. And do something about your face.”

He reached down to grab and kiss her left hand. With his lips on her wrist, though, he slapped her lower back.