Tamar Myers - Batter off Dead

“What lettering?”

“The name of my order.” She fingered a cross that appeared to be carved from a bar of soap and which hung from her neck on a length of white cotton clothesline.

I felt the need to sit down. “Do you still have kitchen furniture?”

She shook her head, causing her wimple to rustle. “We can sit on my bed. It’s the only thing left.”

I pictured the college band doing more than sitting on Susannah’s bed. “No, thanks; I’m good. Okay, spill. What order?”

“It’s a religious order, silly-only it’s not exactly religious on account of I’m not religious. I’m calling it Sisters of Perpetual Apathy-SOPA is the acronym. That’s why I’m wearing this cross. Our motto is ‘We care about nothing, so leave us the heck alone.’ I might leave off that last part, though, because it could be a turnoff to potential postulants. Then again, why should I care?”

I had a short-lived vision of me slapping Susannah on both checks, knocking some sense into her, as it were, and then us hugging and crying, and vice versa, but at the same time I knew it was all a senseless fantasy. Once she has her mind made up, there’s nothing you can do about it but wait it out. Really, it’s hopeless.

In the meantime, however, a sister has a right to know a few things. “Susannah, who is this ‘we’ that you mentioned? Aren’t you the only member of the Sisters of Perpetual Apathy?”

“You see just how little you believe in me?”

I shrugged. “Why should that matter?”

“For your information, Mrs. Mayor, Mrs. I’ve-Got-a-Doctor-for-a-Husband, Mrs. I’ve-Got-the-Perfect-Baby, there are fifteen other nuns in my order. There’s Sister Despair, Sister Disgruntled, Sister Disenchanted, Sister Disingenuous-”

“Wait a minute! You’re serious?”

“No, I’m Mother Dispirited.”

My knees shook, my head swirled, and giant hands were ringing my stomach like a dishrag, and all because I knew now, without a doubt, that she was indeed as serious as a preacher on Judgment Day. This was exactly the kind of thing my baby sister would do if she ever found herself desperate and disconsolate.

I lowered my body to the floor. “Let me guess, dear. Is there a Sister Disconsolate?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“A Sister Desperate?”

“Mags, how did you know?”

“Just a guess. Where did you find these women-if you don’t mind me asking?”

“They’re former Melvinites who have seen the light-more accurately, that there isn’t any. Just shades of gray. Gray and beige.”

Of course, why hadn’t I thought of that? The Melvinites were members of a wacky cult who literally worshipped Melvin Stoltzfus, the convicted murderer, who also happened to be Susannah’s ex-husband. The proof of their religion lay in their so-called holy book, the Book of Melvin, which declared itself to be true. Come on, give me a break.

“Look, Susannah, we all feel discouraged from time to time.”

My sister held her long slender hands in the air, palms outward. “Not me! Sister Discouraged might be the prettiest one of us all, but this isn’t that kind of a group-not that there’s anything wrong with it.”

“But that’s not what I meant!”

Of course she wasn’t listening at that point. “There’s too much pain in this world, Mags. War without end; that’s what Bush gave us. And when we pass that on to Little Jacob’s generation, it will be along with a national debt so high that-never mind, there’s no point in even getting upset about it. Or global warming. Or hunger, poverty, injustice-or anything. You know why? Because we can’t do anything to fix any of those problems. It’s all too late.”

“What’s your solution, then? Should we all just lie down and die?”

No matter how hard I try, I’ll never be able to sigh like my little sister. “Honestly, Mags, don’t you listen to a word I say? We’re going to travel around the country-maybe even the world-and preach the Gospel of Despair.”

“The what?”

“Instead of giving the people false hope, like the establishment has been doing for thousands of years, we’re going to tell it like it is. Like it really is. You see, when people have hope, they also hope that someone else will do the work for them. But when they believe that their backs are truly against the wall, that’s when they come out fighting.”

“Yes, but we finally have a large segment of the population excited about a presidential election, one of historic significance. That qualifies as real hope to me.”

“It won’t last more than two years, just like Sister Discontent predicts.”

I nodded just to keep the peace. “Well, sis, I’ve got to be running. I just stopped on my way home from the school. But I’m sure glad I caught you. When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

“That soon?”

“As soon as the bus arrives. We have an apathy rally scheduled in Cleveland at six p.m.”

“But who’s to care if you’re a no-show, right?”

“Very funny, Mags. Sister Distemper handles our bookings, and she’s the least mellow of all of us. But hey, don’t worry, we’ll make it a point to stop by the PennDutch first and say good-bye. I have to see my nephew before I go.”

I struggled to my feet. “Right. And would you have stopped by if I hadn’t come here today?”

“Of course, silly. Now you’re being paranoid.”

“Reasonable people have always been called that. Tell me, doesn’t Sister Distemper’s name sort of depart from the rule?”

“Yeah, kind of. But she was bitten by a mean dog once, and she gets crabby if you don’t call her that.”

“Speaking of the little beast, are you taking him with?”

“Of course! Sister Disengage-she’s the one who made all our habits-is sewing him a tiny robe, because I’m giving him the title-”

“Rabbi Rabies? No, wait, that would be the wrong religion. Okay, I got it now; Friar Yuck. No? Then how about Brother Bottom-Sniffer?”

“Out, Mags, out!”

“Okay. There’s no need to be snippy, Sister Mother. I’ll still be seeing you tomorrow, right?”

“Out,” she shrilled, but the push she gave me was surprisingly gentle.

Although it’s nobody’s business but my own, I could tell by the pressure in my twin feeders that it was time to hustle my bustle back to the fruit of my bloomers. But since I was already “oot and aboot,” as our Canadian friends are wont to say-and the Zug twins originally hail from Manitoba-what harm could I possibly do anyone by a spontaneous ten-minute drop-in?

Not even the twins’ mother can tell them apart. If the rumors are true, their wives can’t either, but I don’t want to go there. Dr. Nolan, himself a twin, and a twenty-nine-year veteran of the Ohio Twins Days Festival, once said that the Zug brothers are the most identical twins he’s ever seen. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d seen them both at the same time, he would have sworn they were the same person. Dr. Nolan is free to swear because, like Susannah, he is a lapsed Presbyterian.

“Hmm,” I wondered aloud, “are the Sisters of Perpetual Apathy permitted to swear?”

“I’ll let you know,” a voice from on high said.

At the moment I was engaged in this heavenly conversation, I was standing on the Zugs’ front porch, my finger poised to ring the doorbell. As I’ve been fooled by what I’ve thought was the Good Lord’s voice before, I looked carefully around me. Except for three Adirondack rocking chairs, a rickety wicker table sporting a pot of fake, and faded, violets, the covered porch was empty. It was quite possible, then, that, finally, after all these years of faithfulness, I really was hearing the dulcet tones of my deity. After all, if Balaam’s ass could speak, why couldn’t Magdalena Portulaca Yoder Rosen hear God’s voice?