Chapter 26.
In the church parking lot, parents packed children into car seats, while a few ghosts and goblins traded pieces of candy back and forth, enriching their bags by barter. Father Packard appeared at the front door of the church, with his braided stocking cap on again, rushing down the steps to say his goodbyes to the participants of his inaugural Halloween event.
"Ethan, you drive," said Ray, not soothed by the visit to the church, where usually he found peace simply by entering the silence and seeing the candles burning. The sacred failed to settle him on this occasion, since the boys seemed beyond his control. "I'll sit in the middle and keep the peace."
Both sons were shaken from their visits with the priest, showing different symptoms. Ethan snatched the keys from his father and got into the cab of the flatbed truck. Ray got in the passenger side and reached out to assist the injured Jacob into the seat. Jacob gripped his father's shoulder and tried to shield his bloodshot eyes by staring at the floorboards.
"To town," said Ray, pointing at the road. "We'll take care of that lawyer business now. Get something proper done yet today. We're running a bit late, but Klein won't mind. Works out of his house, probably watching football and logging a billable hour as we speak."
Ethan said, "I'm going back to Minneapolis tonight."
"I understand," said Ray.
In the passenger seat, Jacob sniffed, and the pathetic sound made Ethan reach for the radio, unable to listen to Jacob's emotional act. The truck only had an AM radio, no FM band in the 1975 Ford. Static noise buzzed while Ethan dialed the knob and pushed all the buttons in hopes of finding a station, any station, stopping at a polka. "Good enough," said Ethan.
Passing fields and farmhouses, they rode without speaking, while Ray yearned to resolve the sons' differences. But the words did not form in his mouth as thoughts assembled and disassembled. No fountain of fatherly advice, he usually dodged the difficult conversations to be had with children, having never received any from his own father, who was a gruff man of fewer words than Ray. Better off if he said nothing, he decided, ever since the time Renee urged him to talk to Ethan about the birds and the bees. Not a successful talk. Ray remembered sitting on the edge of Ethan's bed to explain the cause of babies, having to clarify certain biological functions after Ethan told his class at school that babies came from a woman's ear. In explaining nature, Ray resorted to cattle, telling Ethan that the bull was not playing piggyback with the cows, a tale he claimed to be true for several years. The fun and ease of censorship had come to an end. When Ethan asked if people played the same kind of piggyback to make babies, Ray, lost for words, simply said, "Yes," and stood up, departing the room, sending Renee into the bedroom to conclude the talk. Fortunately, Jacob needed no education on that subject, so the talk only happened one time. Ethan passed the information on to Jacob, who then taught his friends at school the next, morning. All difficult announcements only needed to be told to Ethan, since Ethan shared his knowledge with Jacob. By this same method of communication, Jacob learned the truth about Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny, and in both cases threw wild tantrums upon learning the myths.
At the end of the polka song, a news teaser ran, followed by a commercial.
"We didn't do anything last night," Jacob said, glancing across the seat at Ethan, peering past his father, who formed the partition between them.
Ethan ignored Jacob and turned up the radio as a commercial led back into the news segment. The newsman announced an update on the Peekskill meteorite in New York state, which Ethan listened to carefully, spinning the volume knob higher. "Scientists and officials are currently examining the meteor that struck the family's Chevy Malibu. In other news, the FDA's approval of Depo-Provera is still making waves among safety concerns, as well as ethical concerns."
"She said no and I stopped," said Jacob, staring straight ahead. All three of them stared, letting Jacob's comment linger among the news. "But you're right, Ethan, I did try. She didn't do nothing, but I tried, just like you said."
"The Upjohn company has defended its testing of the controversial method of birth control. In election news, candidates stumped in several states today. Bill Clinton, Ross Perot, and George Bush all have heavy travel days ahead before Tuesday's presidential election."
"It wasn't her fault, just mine," Jacob said.
The news sound bytes continued. The stock market bit. The entertainment clip. The sports headline. And finally, a clip that only Ethan understood. "The astronomer Galileo Galilei is in the news again," said the newsman, raising and lowering his voice for the offbeat portion of the news. "The 17th century scientist was pardoned today, in a statement issued from the Vatican. Pope John Paul the Second said that the Church regrets the handling of the case. The Italian inventor was placed under house arrest for the remainder of his life after charges of heresy in 1633."
"This is what I'm talking about," said Ethan, pointing at the radio. "Unreal." He laughed. "What's that say about things?"
Ray said, "What are you talking about?"
"Galileo. Didn't you hear? The Pope said Galileo was right – only took him four hundred years to review the data. Now, suddenly it's true, since the man who dresses like a sorcerer deems it so. Who knows how many others they stifled and ostracized back then. Who knows where we would be now, if they hadn't blocked every advance along the way."
"Who stifled who?" asked Ray.
"The Church. Progress."
They passed the town sign, Immaculate, population 922. The lawyer, Matthew Klein, lived on the other side of town. Without knowing who or what Galileo was, Ray thought of what the priest had mentioned. Ray said to Ethan, "Packard said I should talk to you about faith."
"Did he really?" said Ethan. "So much for confession being private. But what can you expect – he's one of them."
"One of who?" asked Ray.
"One who pulls the wool."
A sign on the side of the road extended from a tree, "KLEIN LEGAL SERVICES". The flatbed truck pulled into the driveway and Ethan turned off the engine. When the engine stopped, the cage mounted on the back for hauling calves rattled in the wind.
"What wool?" asked Ray, no longer staring straight ahead, but shoulder to shoulder and eye to eye with Ethan. "Father said to ask about your faith. So I'm asking."
"What did he want to know?" said Ethan, defiantly.
"I don't know," said Ray. "I've wondered about you living in the city, getting ideas."
Ethan laughed. "Yes, I have been getting ideas."
"About what?"
"That it's all a bunch of made-up bullshit."
Speechless, Ray could not digest the admission. Nor could he allow the claim to pass. "You're losing your grip, because of a girl."
"It has nothing to do with her."
"It has to do with something. Nonsense running like a sieve now," Ray said, with a snort. "Let me out, Ethan. You should go for a walk and cool off. Jacob, you can sit here or come in, but I want you two separated. Not a damn one of you making any sense today."
The door opened and Ethan stepped out. "Better I tell you now than never. You want to know about my faith? I don't have any. Not any more."
"Are you telling me you don't believe in God? Since when?"
"Since I woke up."
"Then you aren't very smart after all. Go for a walk," said Ray. "A long one. Come back when your head is on straight. We have papers to sign. Go get your head straight."
"It is straight."
"Sure it is. Straight up your ass. Talking like a fool. Go on, walk."
On foot, Ethan started toward the grocery store, toward the north end of town, which was in the opposite direction of Tara's house. Several children rode by on their bicycles, with playing cards clicking in the spokes. Faces painted, masked, caped, costumed for the night. Parents with small children emerged from doors, setting out before sundown in the cool a
ir with little ones wrapped under coats, mittens, and stocking caps, their costumes buried under the layers. Groups of mothers trailed the children, chatting and encouraging the shy ones to walk up to the doors, where the kids forgot their lines until the homeowner prompted them – "Can you say trick-or-treat?" Jack-o-lanterns with candles glowed on the stoops of houses built in the 1940's and 50's.
Ethan walked with his hands in his pockets, passing the children and trying to smile, his load lightened by admitting his most bothersome thought. He had no intention of admitting it, ever. It just happened. A little boy with mouse ears ran up to Ethan, asking for candy, whiskers striped on his cheeks. Ethan apologized and showed the boy his empty hands. The mother and father cudgeled the boy onward, with the mother explaining that he needed to knock on doors, not accost every pedestrian. As Ethan turned the corner to the grocery store, the boy's face remained with him, reminding him of standing for pictures in the kitchen, when Renee made the boys pose by a certain door for a Halloween photo each year. She measured their height against the door at the same time, giving them a few extra inches of height, making them taller than they were so that they felt like big boys. Simpler times, happier memories, now only reminders of something lost, as the joyful children rushed by Ethan on the sidewalk, rushing in the crisp air, innocent and searching for sugar.