Chapter 16

“Hold still, Chloe, so I can brush your hair,” Stacey said with a sigh. “Mom! Chloe won’t stay still.”

Chloe, in a white chiffon dress, sat on her big sister’s lap, squirming as Stacey ran the brush through her long blond hair.

“Chloe, be good for Stacey,” Betty Kane said, smiling at her youngest child.

“Yes, Mommy,” Chloe replied, obediently.

Tom Kane was always amazed at Betty’s ability to make the children behave. She made the Biblical Job seem impatient, he thought. The six kids were in the living room, the girls sitting, the boys standing as their mother began her pre-church inspection. Stacey had the twins straightened out, and Alan in slacks and a blue polo shirt was fine, but Tad looked raggedy in spite of the fact that he wore clean slacks and an ironed shirt. In the 15 minutes since Betty had finished the ironing, Tad had somehow become wrinkled above the waist, with his shirt hanging out. “Tuck your shirt in, Tad darling,” Betty said sweetly. Then she turned to inspect her husband.

“What about your navy shirt, Tom, I thought you were going to wear your navy shirt?” Betty said.

“This is navy blue,” Tom said, giving her large stomach a gentle pat with his hand.

Betty laughed. “Stacey, tell your father what color he has on.”

“It’s black, Dad.”

“It is?”

“Forget it, Tom, we’ll be late,” Betty said. Her husband’s inability to distinguish certain colors was always a source of amusement to her, even after all these years. Men were so simple with colors—red, white, green—they didn’t have room in their brains for puce, mauve and chartreuse.

This was the first time to church for Tom Kane since the hurricane. He only went to church on special occasions, like Christmas and Easter, or when Betty begged him. If she asked him to accompany her to church and winked at him, he knew that he could count on a little “action” that Sunday night. Chloe was a result of a church visit and post mass “action.” On this Sunday, Tom’s curiosity, coupled with his suspicions of Reverend Lundgren, got the best of him after Betty explained the ecumenical nature of the service, its combinations of elements of Catholic and Protestant worship, a bit from the Mass book, enough kneeling to satisfy the Catholics and the Lutherans, enough singing to please the Methodists and a sermon worthy of a hellfire Baptist. The two Jewish families in the neighborhood had fled before the hurricane, so the congregation believed in the divinity of Jesus even if it was split on the nature of the saints. The week before, Betty related, Reverend Lundgren had suggested in his sermon that God had saved their neighborhood because, at the height of the storm, only Christians remained to face the wrath of nature. Not only was Lundgren strange, Tom thought, he was an anti-Semite.

Tom and Betty led their little tribe up the sidewalk of Pompano Avenue. Tom walked beside his wife, Alan followed behind his parents and Stacey, holding Chloe by the hand, followed Alan as did the skip-walking twins. Tad, the caboose of the family train, dawdled, looking for geckos to slip down the twins’ dresses.

The Kanes were the last to be seated and Tom counted 51 neighbors in the pews at St. Joseph’s, including a smiling Reverend Lundgren, who stood in the vestibule waiting for Tiva McFoley to strike the organ and begin the processional hymn so that he could make his entrance.

The first notes of “Holy Holy Holy” bleated out and the congregation, hymnals open, stood up and began the song. Tom, at the end of the pew, mouthed the words, and Betty, off-key as usual, gave him a look of disapproval and indicated for him to hold the hymnal with her. He complied. She could have their seventh child at any time and he was not about to upset his wife anymore than necessary. Still, he thought, this was a surreal service. A whole community transported to God Knew When and cut off from the modern world, and here they were on a Sunday morning going to church as if nothing had even happened to the neighborhood. Some sort of denial, Tom wondered, as the last notes of “Holy Holy Holy” played out and Reverend Lundgren, at the pulpit now, motioned for the congregation to sit. Incredible denial, Tom thought as he looked around at the smiling faces. Tom wanted to shout, “Are we crazy?” But he sat down with the rest of the congregation and forced a smile to his face.

Lundgren opened a large Bible and read: “From the Gospel according to Mark, Chapter 10, verses 13–16: ‘And they brought young children to him, that he should touch them; and his disciples rebuked those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto me and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you, whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein. And he took them up in his arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them.” Lundgren smiled and the small children in the congregation, seven and under, came from their pews and joined Lundgren at the chancel, sitting on the two carpeted steps that led to the altar.

Tom Kane watched intently as the little lemmings walked, one after another with beatific smiles, to the waiting minister, whom Tom distrusted.

“Excuse me, Daddy,” said Paige, wriggling past her pregnant mother in the pew.

Tom swung his legs for his three youngest daughters to pass. Chloe stuck her left thumb in her mouth as Ann grabbed her tiny right hand and tugged her along.

Betty leaned over and whispered to Tom, “He tells them a short Bible story. Sort of a preliminary to a Sunday school he’d like to start for the children.”

Tom shrugged. “Can’t hurt I guess,” he admitted as Lundgren continued a story with the children about Jesus and lepers. When he had completed his five-minute story, he nodded to Tiva McFoley at the organ and she began the first notes of “Jesus Loves the Little Children.” And as the children marched back to their seats, the congregation joined in with:

Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world.

Impressive, Tom admitted to himself, Lundgren was a showman, that was for sure.

“I have a few announcements for the good of the neighborhood,” Lundgren began. “Nurse Patterson informed me that the Spelding children had contracted chicken pox and I visited them. I’m happy to report the children are on the mend, but Nurse Patterson quarantined the family as the children are still very contagious. Also, the Security Committee is meeting here Tuesday evening to discuss a final solution to the subhuman creatures.”

Final solution, Tom thought, what a terrible choice of words. Were they Nazis? Why not just say pygmy people pogrom and be done with it. He made a mental note to show up for the Tuesday night meeting. Lundgren continued with the community announcements: a child’s birthday party to which everyone was invited, as well as upcoming meetings of the various committees. The committees could be very informative, Tom thought, not listening to Lundgren drone on.

Tom recalled one evening, when Beth Patterson, chairman of the Health Committee, gave a lecture at St. Joseph’s on the medical needs of the community, as it was short on a number of items, including antibiotics. She stressed the importance of antiseptic prevention, including the need for careful washing of hands. One epidemic, even one case of measles, she said, could be devastating to the children and the elderly in the community. A child who came down with a childhood disease would have to be quarantined, which was a common practice before the advent of penicillin. Consider that we are now in an age before any of the wonder drugs we take for granted, she cautioned. “An ounce of prevention,” Beth lectured, “is worth a pound of cure.” Suddenly Tom was jarred out his thoughts by the minister.

Lundgren grabbed the pulpit with both hands and began to preach, reading from a copy of a Jonathan Edwards’s lecture, The folly of looking back in fleeing out of Sodom and how our situation is similar.” He began, “As Jesus said in Luke 17:32, Remember Lot’s Wife. In the book of Luke, Christ here foretells his coming in his kingdom, in answer to the question that the Pharisees asked him. He compares his coming at those times to the coming of God in two remarkable judgments that were past; first, to that in the time of the flood and as it was in the days of Noah. Next he compares it to the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Sodom was devoted to destruction by divine wrath. The direction is given concerning fleeing out of it with the utmost haste, without looking behind as the angel gave to Lot, when he bid him flee out of Sodom. ‘Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the plain….”

Tom looked about the church but didn’t see Mack Morrison or Mike Jackson, although their wives were present. He daydreamed in and out of Lundgren’s sermon, although he was attentive when Lot’s wife was turned to salt. Tom admired the Jehovah of the Old Testament, a vengeful god who was not afraid to reign down a bit of fire and brimstone or to turn a wondering woman into a pillar of preservative. That transformation of Mrs. Lot, he admitted, showed Jehovah to be versatile in his vengeance, but unfortunately Lundgren went on about Mrs. Lot’s disobedience, not only to Jehovah, but to Mr. Lot, her husband. By Lundgren’s implication, her husband was her lord and master. This, Lundgren implied, was what happened to uppity women who didn’t obey their husbands.

Tom was caught off guard by Lundgren’s chauvinism, but as he looked about the church he noticed that many of the women were nodding their heads in agreement, although Kathy Genry and Beth Patterson exchanged raised eyebrows. And when Lundgren suggested that the ancient cities of Sodom and Gomorrah had been destroyed due to homosexuality and that perhaps God had destroyed the U.S.A. because of the contemplated Gay Marriage Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, the two lesbians got up from their seats and walked out of the church, unable to take the minister’s homophobia. “The pagans and the abortionists and the feminists and the gays who have tried to secularize America….” Tom remembered when Jerry Falwell had suggested the terrorist attacks of 9/11 were caused by God’s anger over American laxity on homosexuality, and Tom was startled to consider Lundgren’s intolerance. Tom, educated agnostic that he was, knew that Christ never specifically mentioned homosexuality as an abomination, but it certainly was there in the first part of the Bible. But if Lundgren was suggesting that the neighborhood revert to the civilization of the Old Testament? What happened to the tolerance in the community and what was happening to the women in the neighborhood? Had they left their feminism back in their old Florida? He noticed Betty’s eyes were riveted on the minister, her head joining the others in bobbing agreement, nodding up and down to Lundgren’s sexism. But she was not with him on his homophobia. She shook her head at that.

“And it was the abomination of male homosexuality, man upon man,” Lundgren said in a belated attempt to appease the lesbian couple—to no avail—as they continued to walk briskly, hand in hand down the aisle of the church. “It was male homosexuality that caused the Lord to smite the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. And I might suggest that God saved our neighborhood and punished the rest of our country for its homosexual hedonism. God, my brothers and sisters, God saved us, God chose us to start the human race again…”

To Tom’s surprise, Lundgren skipped the chapter in Genesis when Mr. Lot sleeps with the two Miss Lots, his daughters. It was as if Lundgren was a censor and wanted the Bible to be rated PG, for to exclude Lot’s incest after his rant on homosexuality? Tom wondered why Lundgren had suppressed that part of the story. For the children in the congregation, perhaps? But why had he gone into such lengths on homosexuality then?

He mentioned his misgivings to Betty on the way home.

“Lundgren skipped the incest with the daughters,” Tom whispered to Betty.

“What’s ‘incest?’” Paige asked.

“See what you started, Tom,” Betty chastised him as she waddled beside him on 10th Street.

“What’s incest?” Ann asked.

“Insects, twins,” Stacey intervened. “Dad said insects.”

“Ah yes,” Tom said, thankful that Stacey had misheard him.

“Lot had insects?” Paige asked.

“Sure,” Stacey said. “They all had insects back then.”

“Roaches?” Ann asked her big sister.

“Giant palmetto bugs,” Tad added.

“Where’s Alan?” Betty asked, ignoring her husband’s criticism of Reverend Lundgren.

“Off with Ophelia as usual,” Stacey commented, rolling her eyes.

“Alan and Ophelia sitting in a tree,” the twins began singing. “K I S S I N G.”

“Quiet, twins,” Betty said. “Tom, I’m beginning to be concerned about Alan. I think you should talk to him.”

“Yes, dear.”

“I sense he is drifting away from us. Ophelia is a good girl, but they are young and you know what that can mean.”

“What?” Stacey interrupted.

“Stacey, take the girls and Tad and go on ahead, I want to talk to your father,” Betty said.

“I ah…”

“Alone, Stacey,” Betty said to her daughter with an authoritative nod.

“Yes, Mom. C’mon, twins. Tad.”

“Betty, what did you think of the sermon?” Tom asked. “Enough fire and brimstone for you? Comparing the U.S. to Sodom and Gomorrah, a bit over the top, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t like the homophobia,” Betty said. “But I didn’t disagree with him on God’s intervention. I believe that Tom, even if I think that God saved us for different reasons, certainly not for a punishment for homosexuality.”

“What about the women being subservient to the men?”

Betty shrugged. “All things considered I think it makes sense. I don’t have a problem with it.”

“You mean like Toto, we’re not in Florida anymore?”

“Exactly, Tom. You’re a big believer in pragmatism. Division of labor is essential to our survival, Tom, and frankly, men are stronger than women and better able to protect the neighborhood than women. So finally,” she smiled and gently poked his arm, “you guys are good for something besides procreation.”

“I see. But what about feminism?”

“What about it? Feminism means women have a choice in their roles, Tom, and if the women in the neighborhood want to be like June Cleaver, so be it. You’re the history teacher, wasn’t there a clear division of labor in early civilization?”

“Yes, of course, but…”

“Tom, I’ve come to my senses. I understand reality now. I accept our situation. FEMA isn’t coming. No one is coming. Only an act of God could take us back to where we once belonged. Which brings me back to Alan.”

“Huh?” It always amazed Tom how his wife could switch subjects as easily as he switched gears on a car. “How’s that?”

“I don’t want him procreating, Tom. If he is going to have sex with her, he is going to have to marry her.”

“Marry her? They’re 15, Betty!”

“I don’t care about the other fornicators, Tom. Jake and Melissa Russo for instance. That’s not my concern, but Alan is our son and he is our concern. If God has put us here to start the human race again, my son for one is going to follow HIS commandments. And that is what I want you to talk to Alan about.”

“I don’t believe all of that stuff, Betty.”

“I do, Tom, and I have enough faith for both of us. I don’t want to argue, I want you to do it.”

“Hey,” Tom said, pretending to protest. “What about the man as the head of the family?”

“The wife is in charge of the children, Thomas,” she said simply, giving him her no-nonsense elementary school teacher glare.

“I was just kidding, B,” he said in form of apology.

“I’m not,” she said, and they walked side by side down Pompano Drive in silence.