Miss DeMurr belongs to an interesting church.
“You attend church every day?”
“Oh, no, I missed services two weeks ago. It cost me a day’s ration stamps.”
My face must have reflected my astonishment.
She quickly explained, “Our church chastises a member when one misses service. Our pastor, the Reverend Father Bocus, has been authorized by the state to withhold ration stamps as punishment for poor attendance.”
The conversation was becoming more bizarre by the minute. I said nothing and Mirabelle rambled on.
I asked her, “Do you work, Mirabelle?”
“Oh yes. I work at the used clothing store on Fifth Street part time. The rest of the day I help shovel coal at the county refuse furnace.”
She shrugged an excuse.
“I get tired sometimes. That’s why I missed evening services.”
Fifteen minutes later we reached her apartment. I learned from Mirabelle that 12 families lived in the building and, although she continued to talk a blue streak, I failed to learn anything new that I had not already learned from Candel’s memories.
Mirabelle’s small apartment was on the third floor. As we walked up the dark stairway and through the dimly lit hallway, no neighbors’ doors opened and the building remained as quiet as a tomb. Yet, the hair on the back of my neck rose. I had the unpleasant feeling that dozens of unseen eyes were watching.
Mirabelle insisted that I come in and I agreed; I planned to leave as soon as possible. It would not do to stay too long in one place. Things were piling up. I expected the two government food rationing officials to report me. Candel’s superiors would be asking me questions. I had to be on my way soon.
Her apartment was bare and plainly furnished. It was obvious that the girl was poor. Her ankle-length plain black dress was clean, but from the thin cloth and frayed sleeve edges, it had seen much wear. She insisted on giving me a cup of bitter chicory coffee. I finished the coffee and got up to go. She stopped me.
“It is nearly four o’clock. Services begin at 4:30. Perhaps, if you are off duty soon, or if you have the time, you might care to escort me to church? Services begin in a half-hour. My church is on the next street and the Reverend Father Bocus will sign a receipt for your attendance.”
Her request was unexpected. It was beginning to sound more and more that daily attendance to church was mandatory. Still, I did not want to miss an opportunity to mingle with people on a more personal basis. I agreed.
“Yes, I will go with you. Will it be OK? I am not a member of your church.”
“Of course it will. You have to attend some church. Father Bocus, our pastor, will give you an attendance receipt so that your synod won’t punish you. My neighborhood worship hall will be happy to have a visitor. Besides, it is my night to give my testimony and my confession before the congregation. I’m always embarrassed when I do and I will feel more comfortable with someone I know sitting beside me. I don’t have much to confess except that I did accept three bread stamps from someone who was trying to date me last week without my pastor’s permission.”
I was bewildered.
“Why on earth do you have to confess such things to your church and why do you need your pastor’s permission to date someone? Won’t your friend be upset that you reported on his gift?”
Now her eyes grew wide.
“Oh, I must report him. I have to report him. If I didn’t report him I would go to jail or get whipped before the congregation. It’s not because he gave me stamps. It’s because he tried to date me without getting permission from Father Bocus. I should have reported him then. Surely you know that’s a felony. Security must arrest him. No woman may have romantic commerce with a man without permission.”
“Are you telling me that somebody makes you stand before the congregation while someone whips you if you fail to follow some rule?”
“Of course.”
By her look I might have spoken sacrilege.
“The Holy Book in the Book of Revelations of Leader Smithson tells us, spare the rod and make a heretic.”
She smiled and her look was one of childish innocence.
“That’s only for really bad transgressions … like taking our Dear Leader Smithson’s name in vain or saying something bad about our government. Besides being a sin, it is unpatriotic.”
This was said as though being a patriot was necessary for right thinking and salvation. An unpatriotic person was someone outside the pale.
Next episode: Father Bocus’ church is like no other church Sam has ever seen.
Gene Paleno is an author and illustrator living in Witter Springs.
