Zakes Mda - Cion

“What you want it for? So that you can take him away from the Lord?”

I told her about the Katrina concert. She became very agitated. Not about the concert. About Hurricane Katrina.

“We are Americans,” she said. “How can this happen to us?”

It was because of homosexuals, she declared. Pat Robertson said as much. According to this ayatollah — the same one who issued a fatwa for the death of the Venezuelan — the country had brought the catastrophe upon itself by being tolerant of homosexuals and lesbians to the extent that in some states they can even marry, which was against all the laws of nature and of God.

On returning to the RV I found Orpah lying naked on the Irish Wheel. We spent all our lives in the RV naked even when we had no intention of doing any naughty things. When I told her about Obed’s conversion she was not surprised at all. Obviously she knew all about it. She even knew that he had been in Kilvert with Beth Eddy. They came to the Center to see us, but we were not there. Nor was our RV. It was the day Orpah drove in our unwieldy vehicle to a parlor on Stimson Avenue to tattoo the tears on our cheeks.

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

“It’s all crazy stuff, baby, and it got nothing to do with us.”

I didn’t go to the Katrina concert. But I was told that Orpah was a resounding success. I cursed that concert. Not for the assistance it gave the victims of Katrina. Not for her success. But for the fact that after the bluegrass people dropped her at Ruth’s, she did not come to the RV that night. She did not come the following day either. On the third day I braved Ruth and went looking for her. I could hear the sitar. No, not the deadly one that left me confused and horny. Not the one we played at Niall Quigley’s grave either. But some fast-paced and dancey bluegrass number.

I knocked softly but she could not hear me. I banged at the door and it flung open.

“What’s up with you?” she asked. She seemed quite irritated.

“The question is, what’s up with you ?”

“I won’t go with you no more,” she said. “I don’t wanna be no mourner. Not when Daddy and me are talking again. I can’t leave my daddy. He needs me for the memories.”

My eyes are searching for a monk in a brown robe. A wannabe saint with a hanging belly. But I can’t see the sciolist in the milling crowds. Perhaps this year he does not think the parade is worth his while. I would not be here either if Orpah had not insisted we attend the Halloween block party, as she calls it, before crossing the Ohio River.

“I think we have seen enough,” I say, as I follow her pushing her way through a bunch of Christian fundamentalists in civvies who are trying very hard to disrupt the very pagan circus of which they have become part, their leader hollering the Lord’s name above the din. “We have a long way to go.”

“Come on, baby,” she says. “Still early. You don’t have to worry about driving anyways.”

I want to go to the bathroom very badly. Orpah stops to talk to two women — one a fat witch in black and the other an overgrown fairy in pink and white. They went to the same high school at Amesville, she tells me. They giggle about our tattooed tears, which they think are part of the occasion. They ask me how I like Kilvert and what I think of the block party. Small talk is what makes the world go round. But for now I can’t contribute my share to either its rotation or revolution. I excuse myself and walk into a nearby restaurant to use the men’s room. It is filthy with feces and puddles of piss on the floor. I am not surprised. I have gotten used to dirty toilets in the fast food restaurants of this city. Of the state even. It is not just the result of the crowds. On a normal day I have been greeted by the filthiest of toilets ever at McDonalds, Burger King and even at the original Wendy’s in Columbus.

When I return to the sidewalk Orpah and the women are no longer there. I wait a bit hoping she will show up, but have to move when the area is overrun by the Christian zealots. They are proclaiming The Word and condemning everyone present to the eternal fires of hell. The ghosts and the nurses and the bleeding souls with broken limbs ignore The Word and go about their business of strolling, gamboling or prancing up and down.

“Hey, homey, I thought you was in Virginia by now.” The voice of Obed comes from a tall Darth Vader made of glowing orange plastic. He is with another action figure — a fluorescent yellow Young Anakin who asks me in the voice of Beth Eddy what I did with Orpah. I am happy to hear these familiar voices.

“According to Ruth’s wishes you should be thumping the Bible with those people,” I say to Darth Vader, pointing at the zealots.

“Those folks are loonies, my man,” says Darth Vader.

I tell them I was beginning to panic because Orpah got lost in the crowd.

“Uh-ah! You don’t think she changed her mind again?” asks Darth Vader.

I hope not. When she changed her mind about going with me I was crushed. I was prepared to abandon the RV at the Center and hit the road on my own. After she told me she couldn’t leave her daddy I didn’t see her for days. I supposed that time she was doing the memories with him. And she was painting the pictures. She didn’t bring them to me to translate into quilts or just to keep. I took it that our mourning relationship had come to a sad end. It was another loss in a life of losses.

“Somehow I don’t think so,” I tell Darth Vader. “I think she just got carried away meeting old friends. She’s somewhere in the crowds.”

Young Anakin says she hopes we find Orpah since this is her last opportunity to meet her.

“It can’t be the last,” I say. “Orpah is not leaving forever. She’ll be back one day.”

“Only she?” asks Young Anakin. “What about you? Surely you’re not deserting us forever.”

She has always been such a sweet person.

“I’ll come back too,” I tell her. “Kilvert was my home for one year. I’ll come back to see Ruth. And of course her Mr. Quigley. And you, Beth. And my favorite scoundrel here. I am glad to see that today he has adopted a much safer identity than that of a ghost partial to girls’ breasts.”

She laughs. And then says that she is always grateful to the ghost of Nicodemus. And to the mediation that I suggested. Darth Vader says that he hopes the ghost of Nicodemus is resting in peace tonight.

“It was avenged,” I say. “Why can’t it sleep in peace like all decent ghosts that have been avenged?”

Darth Vader and Young Anakin walk me to the RV, which is parked on the parking lot of a closed down supermarket on Stimson Avenue. I realize that I do not have the keys. They are with Orpah, wherever she is. Young Anakin says they will keep me company until Orpah arrives.

“If she’ll arrive at all,” says a skeptical Darth Vader.

“She will arrive,” I say confidently. “But you don’t have to keep me company out here. I insist you go your way. Go back to the parade of creatures and have a good time, kids. I’ll be all right here.”

They laugh at my characterization of their Halloween block party as a parade of creatures.

“I’ll come check in the morning,” Darth Vader offers. “If Orpah’s gone back home I’ll help you drive the darn thing back to Kilvert.”

As they leave I call after Darth Vader: “Ruth tells me you’ve given up on your dream for a casino!”

“I don’t need no casino,” he calls back. “I’ve got Beth now. And I’ve got the church too.”

My wait is only an hour, although it seems like half the night because of anxiety and the chill. Orpah arrives and says she was looking for me all over the place. We can’t drive at this hour. I agree. We need some sleep. I take off my cape and top hat. We get under the Irish Wheel, fully clothed. She is a nun today. She is divine. And this makes her more appetizing. But I long ago learned the art of self-control and self-denial. No carnal pleasures tonight.