Chapter 36

'Berto

Jim Garrison had called on Thursday to ask if he and Toni could meet with the elders after the second service. "I didn't know there was a second service," he said.

"Yes, we meet at nine, and again at 10:30. You're welcome to either service, of course – but since last week you were in the early service, you might wish to visit the second service this coming Sunday. Some people prefer one, some the other, and by visiting both you can decide which one you and Antonia like best."

He and Toni had decided to go to the second service, so that they wouldn't have to wait around for the meeting with the elders. They slept in a little later than they'd thought to, and left a little later. They weren't familiar enough, of course, with the church to tell whether the cars in the parking lot or the people in the auditorium were the same or different, but they did notice that the people handing out bulletins at the doors were different. Of course, that might not mean anything. For all I know they rotate people, Roberto thought as they found seats toward the front, in the center section this time.

The sermon that morning was from the book of Hosea. Toni helped him find it in the pew Bible – he was taking seriously his request that she teach him, and to him that meant reading something he held in his own hands – and he read it with growing puzzlement. Apparently God had told this prophet to marry a whore ... prostitute, he corrected himself, deciding that the milder word was better ... and she had then run off and started turning tricks again, and had children by someone else ... And then Hosea brought her back? It was all very strange. He definitely would have to pay attention to the sermon, because just reading it was thoroughly confusing.

While he waited for the service to begin, he looked over at Toni and found her head bent over her Bible, a hand splayed out on the page, and tears on her cheeks. "What's the matter, palomita?"

She shook her head – whether because she couldn't speak, or wouldn't, he didn't know. He put his arm around her and pulled her close, and she leaned against him. He could tell she was struggling to control herself; he suspected that if they were at home she'd be weeping out loud. "Toni," he whispered, "whatever it is, I'm here. I love you, and I want to help."

She nodded against his chest. Again he didn't know whether she was unable or unwilling to speak, but suspected it was the former; probably her entire strength was going into the effort to remain silent. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a woman in a vivid blue dress coming up the aisle, and then the woman's hand was on Toni's shoulder and her voice was low:

"Is she going to be all right?"

He looked up at one of the most striking women he'd ever seen. She wasn't pretty – by no means was that sharp, narrow face pretty. But there was a lively intelligence there, and compassion on the dark features. "I don't know. I haven't been able to find out yet what's wrong."

The woman's hand moved from Toni's shoulder, and wiped away tears. "I'll be downstairs if you need me for anything; I'm helping set up for a meeting after the service. Please call on me if you have need of assistance. Just ask anyone you see downstairs where Cecelia Carpenter is; they'll direct you to me."

He nodded. "Thank you ... thank you for caring about ... about my wife." He hesitated over the description, but it was true in his heart, and for some reason it came out instead of the more accurate "fiancée."

"You're welcome." And she leaned down and kissed Toni on the top of her head before walking away.

He looked back at Toni, who was wiping her cheeks. "Toni, are you all right?"

She nodded, and this time answered him. "Yes. I'll tell you later. It's something to do with this passage..." And she moved her hand on the page of the Bible.

"I don't understand."

"I suppose you don't, 'Berto – you don't have the experience, either with the Bible, or with my life." She tried a smile – it was a puny effort, but it was a genuine one. "You're marrying a wounded dove, 'Berto. And I'm afraid that you're going to have to learn to change bandages."

"I'll change every bandage I have to, if that's what it means to love you."

Now she looked at him. This morning she hadn't used any mascara or eyeliner, just a little eye shadow and rouge and lipstick, so her eyes weren't a wreck. "I'm afraid that loving me may mean pain for you."

"That's all right, Toni. I'd rather hurt with you than not care."

"And once again, if I didn't already know you love me, that would prove it."

Just then the piano began playing, and Toni hurriedly wiped her cheeks again and reached for a hymnal. Feeling a little foolish, and a little conspicuous even though he knew that people weren't staring at him, Roberto did the same. They stood, and this time Toni sang more strongly than she had the week before. Roberto tried to sing along – part of his education, again – and even managed it a time or two even though the tunes and the lyrics were still totally unfamiliar to him. And he thought about the woman – Cecelia Carpenter, he remembered – who had sought to comfort Toni. Is that what Christians are like? Do they really just walk up out of the blue and try to help someone who's hurting?

It was not a trivial question, he realized. It might even be the key to learning about this faith that was proving so important to his beloved.

Toni

I didn't mean to break down like that, she thought. But that text ... the whore who received love she didn't deserve ... I keep wanting to put myself in her shoes. She knew she wasn't a prostitute, nor had she ever been. She truly had only been with two men in her life, and had loved both of them. At 29 she was far less experienced than 'Berto, less experienced than some of her friends – Angelina, for instance, was fairly promiscuous. She was less experienced than some girls of 15 and 16. Nor had she ever sold herself. With both Garry and 'Berto her surrender was completely voluntarily; she had given herself to her lovers, out of her love for them, and never wanted anything in return. Except, I suppose, that they love me back – and they both did. 'Berto does...

But she still saw herself in Gomer. Perhaps I haven't sold myself nor been promiscuous, but I have been abysmally immoral. I'm no better than she was. And, Toni thought, she didn't deserve 'Berto's love any more than Gomer had deserved Hosea's. But he loved her ... and 'Berto loves me.

She managed to recover enough to sing, and to focus on the Scripture reading and prayer. By the time the sermon began she was able to listen carefully, and take note of the points the preacher made. This morning it was Tyrone Jackman – who turned out to be a big black man, going gray, with arthritic fingers and a deep, slow voice. And one of his points seemed to arrow straight from the pulpit and penetrate right between her eyes ... or right into her heart.

"Hosea loved Gomer," Tyrone said, "even though what she deserved was contempt. He married her, and brought her back – paid out his good silver for her too – when what she deserved was rejection. He gave her himself, when what she deserved under the Law of Israel was death by stoning. And thus God loved Israel, that adulterous nation that had rejected Him time after time. And thus God loves His children, even when we turn our backs upon Him, and treat Him as badly as Gomer treated Hosea."

When she heard that, Toni felt the tears come into her eyes again. She looked down at her Bible, and suddenly closed it and set it beside her, and turned to 'Berto, and buried her face in his chest. She held onto herself tightly, knowing that she couldn't break out in the wailing that filled her heart, not here, not now. But she had to cling to 'Berto; he was her pillar of granite in a sea of torment and pain.