Going All the Way (10 page)

She took Sonny's hand and made the expression at him.

“Hello, Mrs. Scholz,” he said.

Mrs. Scholz was able to speak through her serene expression without changing it, and in that manner she introduced the visiting MRA bunch. There was a husband-wife pastoral team from Nebraska, the Reverend and Mrs. Ludlow Darney, and a regular MRA full-time traveling “team” member stationed in Mackinac, Hap Merriman. From what Sonny had seen of MRA people, the Darneys were not typical, lacking as they did the robust good-fellowship aura that exuded from most. The Darneys, in fact, seemed to have been the victims of a vampire attack or perhaps had donated their blood to the YMCA. Hap Merriman was much more the MRA type that Sonny had met on the island, and in fact, he had a horrible suspicion that Hap might have been one of the clean-cut fellows who asked Sonny to “confess' about jacking off and thinking dirty stuff. Merriman was a big, broad-shouldered guy with a receding hairline who must have been in his early thirties, but he still wore an old varsity letter sweater over a white button-down shirt, along with a pair of summer slacks and sneakers with white sweat socks. He rubbed his hands together a lot, as if he were always about to propose some absolutely madcap scheme, such as everyone going out to the kitchen and cooking up a batch of taffy to pull.

Mrs. Burns came out of the kitchen, where she had been laboring all day long, and said supper was just about ready, they might as well all come in and sit down right now. The kitchen was the largest room in the house, and there was a huge oval table that everyone could fit around. There was, as usual, about three times as much food as anyone could eat, even though there were all those people. Since Sonny had not made a choice between which kind of potatoes he wanted, Mrs. Burns had made both his favorites, the sweet with marshmallow topping and the Idaho baked with melted cheese on top. There was a mammoth roast, done to a brown, bloodless turn (Mrs. Burns couldn't stand “raw meat” the way they ate it in the East, and at fancy restaurants unless you told them different, and then they got snotty about it). There was corn pudding, lima beans, stewed tomatoes, hot rolls, and four kinds of homemade preserves. For dessert you could have your choice of fresh cherry pie with ice cream, or devil's food cake with caramel icing, or both. Most everyone was stuffed by then, and only Hap Merriman had both.

Sonny sat next to Buddie during the meal, and neither of them said anything. They just stared down at their food and tried to eat as much as they could, though neither of them seemed very hungry. There was mostly just small talk, and Uncle Buck told a lot of jokes and amusing anecdotes, so the conversation didn't have a chance to turn to Moral Re-Armament until afterward, when everyone was laid out groaning in the living room. Hap Merriman said how wonderful it was to travel throughout this great land and find wonderful homes and wonderful people like this (and presumably wonderful free meals). What saddened him, though, was seeing how even in the midst of such plenty and among such good people, even church-going people, there seemed to be something lacking.

“So true, so true,” Mrs. Scholz agreed in a tone of ultimate calm.

“Hell, yes,” Uncle Buck said, “I see it all the time in my own work.”

Hap looked annoyed, but turned to Buck with a smile of forced interest. “Is that so?”

“Day in and day out,” Buck affirmed. “I go into homes, I see the faces. They're starving for something. Sometimes I try to help. I mean, I don't sell for a
living
. You have to have a real interest in people. I'm no minister, but I do know a little of the Bible, and I do know some of the pitfalls. At first hand.” He gave a short, maniacal laugh, then cleared his throat, and said in his deep, meaningful tone, “But seriously, let me say this—”

Mr. Burns took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Sonny couldn't look at anyone. He knew that Uncle Buck, as usual, had got the gist of the visitors' concerns and was about to outplay them at their own game. He always did that. Once, when Sonny had a couple Army buddies come and visit, Buck came and took over the whole show telling stories of his combat experience in World War II. Sonny had heard Uncle Buck tell his war stories many times, but they always were fascinating and never the same. If you tried to point out an inconsistency, Buck would get mad and ask if you were accusing him of being a goddam liar. You had to say no, or he might beat the shit out of you.

“We all observe these things,” Hap Merriman broke in, trying to get back the lead of the conversation, “and that's why Moral Re-Armament is so keyed to the crisis of our own time, right here and now.”

“I believe it,” Uncle Buck said. “Did you know this country spends more on liquor than it does on education?” he asked indignantly, not mentioning his own contribution to that statistic. “The pendulum has to swing. It's like Newton's law, whatever goes up must come down.”

“Buck, may I speak to you just a minute?” Mrs. Burns asked. She stood up and was glancing nervously around the room, wanting to put it back in the balance it was meant to have.

“Huh? Sure.”

Buck got up and followed her into the kitchen, saying to the others, “'Scuse me, good citizens,” and laughing wildly as he disappeared. Hap took charge of the conversation again, and in a few minutes Mrs. Burns tiptoed back in the room, alone, having disposed of Buck in what presumably was a nonfatal method.

Hap was getting to the part about how it was good for the soul to relieve yourself of the sinful things you had thought and done, how it helped to get them off your chest. Often, he explained, folks felt they were the only ones who were dirty and sinful, and that's why in some of these friendly little sessions it was best to have someone begin who had already had the experience of getting these things off their chest in the company of others. That way, the people who had never unburdened themselves in public would feel easier about doing it. Sonny got out a cigarette, and Buddie, who hardly ever smoked, whispered that she'd like one too.

“Take the Reverend and Mrs. Darney,” Hap said. “Not only are they good Christians, but their regular work is in the service of the Lord. Yet, when they came to Mackinac, they found in MRA something new and wonderful. They got some things off their chest that they had kept locked up and festering inside for many years.”

Sonny had the awful realization that the Darneys were about to speak of those unspeakable matters right now, in this very living room. Hap turned to the drab little couple with a hearty grin. The Reverend Darney crossed one leg over the other and clasped the knee, as if to have something to hold on to. His wife, pale as margarine, fixed her blank gaze on some figure in the rug.

“Even though I am a minister of the Lord,” the Reverend Darney began, “I have sinned with the flesh.”

Oh God make him stop
, Sonny prayed.
Make him save it for You
.

“Before Alberta and I were joined in holy wedlock, we—we knew each other's flesh.”

The little woman sat paralyzed. The only thing that moved was a throbbing blue vein in her throat.

“Knowing full well it was sinful,” Ludlow continued, “I nevertheless—” There was an awful pause, and then he got out the horrible secret: “I manipulated my wife's breasts.”

Somehow the word “manipulated” was what most fascinated Sonny; it reminded him of a man sitting at some kind of control panel, pressing buttons and pulling switches.

There was a shameful silence, and the Reverend Ludlow added, for emphasis, “
Before
marriage.”

The thick, embarrassed silence choked the room, and Sonny felt like he couldn't breathe.

“Which only goes to show,” Hap Merriman said cheerily, “that the very finest among us, even those in the Lord's service, are not free from sin. I'm sure, for instance, that the wonderful, gracious people who are our hosts tonight, even though good Christians, have done things and thought things that deep in their heart have burdened them for a long time.”

There were tears in Mrs. Burns' eyes. Mr. Burns pressed mightily on the bridge of his nose. Sonny was shaking so hard he could barely stand up, and when he did, his head felt light and his knees were uncertain. He turned to the smiling, dumpling face of Hap Merriman and said in a voice so intense it was barely audible, “Get out of here, you lousy turd.”

“Beg pardon?” said Hap.

Buddie stood up beside Sonny and squeezed her hand on his elbow. “I think I'd better be going,” she said. “Sonny, take me home?”

“I'm taking her home,” Sonny said, still gazing at Hap's complacent mug.

“God bless you,” Hap said.

“Up yours with a rusty totem pole,” Sonny said, as Buddie pulled him to the door.

The night air hit them like a clean bath, and Buddie drew a deep, relieved breath. Sonny was still trembling. Buddie got him into her car and drove north, past many houses, along open fields, not saying anything. Sonny held his head out the window, letting the wind wash him.

Buddie pulled into a driveway at one of the deserted farms where they sometimes parked, and turned off the motor and the lights.

“Do you want to stop?” she asked softly.

“Sure.”

He slumped back in the seat, his eyes shut, and Buddie lightly rubbed her fingers over his forehead.

“That son of a bitch,” Sonny said. “I'd like to mash his fat face to a fucking pancake.”

“Shhh,” Buddie whispered. “Don't think about it.”

“My goddam mother. Bringing those people home.”

“She means well, Sonny. She wants to help.”

“Goddam it, how come you always take her side?”

“I'm sorry. It's just I know she loves you, really. So do I.”

She leaned against him, smelling of sweet soap and toothpaste. He knew he could do what he wanted with her, which maybe was why he didn't much want to do it anymore.

“When did you get home?” she asked softly.

“I dunno. Last week or something. Are you going to start on that, why I didn't call?”

“No.”

“O.K. Thanks, 'cause I don't know why myself. I don't know anything.”

“Don't be angry. Please.”

She pressed herself on top of him, pressed her mouth on him, hungry and wide open. Her tongue felt sticky.

He moved away. “What do you want me to do, manipulate your breasts?” he said.

“Please, Sonny. Don't think about those people.”

“I can't help it.”

He lit a cigarette, and Buddie scooted back in the driver's seat. After a while she started the motor and Sonny didn't say anything, so she turned on the lights and backed out onto the highway. They drove without speaking, and Buddie pulled up across the street from Sonny's house. The other cars were gone.

“Well, thanks,” Sonny said.

“That's O.K.”

She leaned over and kissed him wet in the ear, and he drew away and pushed down the door handle.

“Listen,” he said, “I'll call you.”

“Will you?”

“Yes, yes, I just said I would.”

“O.K. Good night.”

He got out, slammed the door shut, and said, “Good night,” and she quietly drove away. Sonny stood for a while in the street, smelling the dark green night and wanting to die.

His mother and father were sitting in the den, wearing their bathrobes. Only one dim light was on. It was like they were sitting up for a sick friend. In their bathrobes, they looked older and more vulnerable, defenseless and confused. Sonny felt sorry for them, but he didn't want to sit around and talk. He stood at the door.

“Hello,” he said.

“We're sorry,” Mrs. Burns said. “We didn't mean to upset you.”

“O.K.,” Sonny said. “It's O.K. It wasn't you. It was them.”

Mr. Burns cleared his throat. “Even so,” he said in a weary, grim tone. “Even so, you can't let yourself—fly off the handle. You can disagree without flying off the handle.”

“I'm sorry,” Sonny said. “But I hate their lousy guts.”

“They mean well,” Mrs. Burns said.

“Lord, yes,” Mr. Burns said. “I don't agree with all their methods, Lord knows, but they're trying. They're trying to help.”

“I'm sorry,” Sonny said, trying hard not to fly off the handle again. “I just don't want to see them again. Any of them. Ever.”

“Sonny, I promise you,” Mrs. Burns said, teary-eyed, “I will never invite them here again.”

Sonny didn't mention she had promised that once before. He just wanted to go to bed and not think about anything. He wished he could lift the aura of gloom, the religious hangover. He could see his parents were suffering from it too.

“Hey, what happened to Uncle Buck?” he asked. “Did you send him to the movies or something?”

“I asked him to do an errand,” Mrs. Burns said. “And he was glad to,” she added with defensive pride.

“An errand?”

“I got some leftovers together and had him take them over to a new family that just moved into the parish neighborhood. They haven't got settled yet.”

“Huh,” Mr. Burns snorted. “Buck probably ate it himself.”

“Oh, Elton.”

“Maybe he shared it with them,” Sonny said.

His mother sighed. “Buck
means
well,” she said.

“I guess we all do,” said Sonny.

“Lord, yes,” Mr. Burns agreed.

While they all were in general agreement on something, Sonny hurriedly said good night. He wanted to get safely to bed before anything could spoil the temporary harmony.

7

The day after his welcome-home party, Sonny woke up around eleven, but he didn't get out of bed. He was sorry he woke up at all. You could tell it was one of those steamy hot days outside, and he didn't want to do anything. His hand was gently fondling his prick. It had been about half-erect when he woke, the sort of condition that the guys at Boy Scout camp used to call “a semi.” He wanted to beat off, but he couldn't think of anything that got him charged up. He tried to remember the blonde on the train coming home, but she had already faded from his mind. He closed his eyes and tried to squint her back into focus, but the memory of how she really looked ran together, like a photograph left in the rain. He tried thinking of stuff he had done in the past with Buddie, when he still was hot for her, but it just didn't get him going.