I said, “What are you doing here? What do you want?”
“I’ve come to claim what is mine.”
“I don’t have anything that belongs to you.”
“Of course you do. My wife.”
“Your… you mean Kerry?”
“Kerry Anne Dunston.”
“For God’s sake, she divorced you five years ago!”
“For God’s sake,” he said piously, “she did not. Divorce is a pernicious invention of man. God does not recognize divorce.”
“He doesn’t, huh? Did He tell you that Himself?”
“Yes, He did.”
“He… what?”
“He told me so. We speak often, God and I.”
Oh boy. He had clear brown eyes that met mine steadily, all full of righteousness and calm reason, but behind them he was as mad as a hatter. I shifted uneasily in my chair and pushed back from the desk. I had figured him for a loony when Kerry first told me about the cult, and I had figured there might be trouble with him when she confessed that he’d been bothering her, trying to talk her into remarrying him and joining in a life of wholesome chanting in the commune. She had managed to keep him at a distance, and after a while he seemed to have given up and gone away for good: she hadn’t heard anything more from or about him in months. Or she said she hadn’t, anyway. What he’d been doing in the interim, obviously, was climbing another rung on the ladder of lunacy, and now he’d come in person to claim his soul mate. No commune this time, though. No sir. This time he expected her to live with him in San Jose, if not in the Church of the Holy Mission; to join him on the Moral Crusade, whatever that was; and to sit in on his fireside chats with God.
I stood up. He didn’t look violent, but with loonies you never know. God might have told him that if reason didn’t work, it was all right to murder fornicators.
“Have you talked to Kerry about this?” I asked him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Eberhardt was also on his feet. His mouth was still hanging open; he looked like a man trying to wake up from a confusing dream.
Dunston said, “No. She refuses to listen to the Voice of Truth. You’ve cast some sort of spell over her.”
“Spell?” I said. “What do you think I am, a witch?”
“Warlock,” he said.
“What?”
“She was never like this before you seduced her,” he said. “She always listened to me, obeyed me. But you enticed her, bewitched her, made her lie down in your bed.”
“I didn’t even know her when she divorced you!”
“ ‘How shall I pardon thee for this? Thy children have forsaken me, and sworn by them that are no gods: when I had fed them to the full, they then committed adultery, and assembled themselves by troops in the harlots’ houses. They were as fed horses in the morning: every one neighed after his neighbor’s wife.’ Jeremiah, five: seven and eight.”
“Look, Dunston-”
“The Reverend Dunston. I am ordained.”
“Sure you are. Ordained.”
“But I do pardon thee, just as God will if you seek Him out. I forgive your sins and I forgive hers. I hold no animosity. I mean only to have her back.”
“She won’t go back to you.”
“She will. Yes, she will. God has decreed it.”
“He told you that too, did He?”
“Yes. That too.” Dunston turned abruptly and went to the door, opened it. At which point he looked at me again and said, “ ‘Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.’ The Song of Solomon, eight: seven. Those whom God has joined together, no man can put asunder.” And he was gone.
I stood there. Eberhardt stood there. Neither of us moved or said anything for at least fifteen seconds. Then Eb blew out his breath gustily and said with awe in his voice, “Now I’ve seen it all.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I thought he was in some kind of commune. The Hare Krishnas or something.”
“Yeah. Or something.”
Eberhardt came over to my desk and picked up Dunston’s card. “Church of the Holy Mission. The Moral Crusade.” He flicked a fingernail against the card and said, “From the Hare Krishnas to Jerry Falwell-that’s some leap.”
“You’re telling me?”
“You ever hear of either one, the church or the crusade?”
“No. You?”
“No. I can check ’em out, if you want.”
“I want. Thanks, Eb.”
He went back to his desk. I picked up the phone and dialed the number of Bates and Carpenter, the ad agency where Kerry worked as a chief copywriter. The switchboard put me through to her secretary, who said that Kerry was in conference, could she call me back in about an hour? I said, “No, she can’t call me back in about an hour. I don’t care what she’s doing, I want to talk to her now. Tell her it’s an emergency.” There was something in my voice that made the secretary decide not to argue; she went away meekly. I waited. A full minute went by. Then there was a clattering noise, followed by another clattering noise, as if the phone had been dropped, and Kerry came on sounding out of breath.
“What is it?” she said. “What’s the matter? Are you all right?”
“That depends on your definition of all right. Your ex-husband just showed up here at the office.”
“What!”
“We had a nice chat,” I said. “He called me a fornicator and a witch, or maybe it was a warlock, and accused me of seducing you and then casting a spell on you to keep you from going back to him.”
Silence for three or four seconds. Then she said, “Oh my God.”
“But that’s not the best part. No more commune for old Ray; no more shaved heads and robes and chants. He’s back to wearing three-piece suits, he lives in San Jose, and he’s an ordained minister-he says-in something called the Church of the Holy Mission.”
“Oh my God!”
“God, right,” I said. “I almost forgot. He talks to God now. Personally.”
“Talks to…” She made a funny little strangled noise.
“Yes indeed,” I said. “And God told him divorce is a pernicious invention of man, so as far as he’s concerned the two of you are still married.” I waited a while, and when she stayed silent I said, “He wants me to give you up. He said if I don’t I’m going to hell.”
“You mean he threatened you?”
“Not exactly. No.”
“Thank God for that. He was never violent when I knew him.” Pause. “He’s living in San Jose, you said?”
“Apparently. You didn’t know that, huh?”
“No. How would I know?”
“He hasn’t been in touch with you?”
“Not in months. You don’t think-?”
“I don’t think anything. I’m just asking.”
Another pause. “This new church-what kind is it?”
“Good question. It has something to do with the Moral Crusade. Him too.”
“I never heard of the Moral Crusade. Like the Moral Majority?”
“Probably. Eberhardt’s checking on it.”
She said nervously, “What are you going to do?”
“About what?”
“About Ray.”
“I don’t know yet. You got any suggestions?”
“No. Just don’t do anything until we talk this out.”
“What are you afraid I might do? Drown him in holy water?”
“Don’t grouch at me. It’s not my fault, is it?”
“Well, you married him.”
“He wasn’t a lunatic when I married him, for God’s sake. He was normal.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Normal.”
“Well, he was.” There was some mumbling in the background. Pretty soon she said, “Listen, I have to go now. I was in an important meeting with a client… I’ve got to get back. We’ll talk about this tonight, okay?”
She sounded flustered and edgy, and all at once I was sorry that I’d shaken her up like this. It wasn’t her fault she had an ex-husband who claimed a personal relationship with God, or that he’d decided to walk into my office this morning. Why take it out on her?
I said, “Okay. Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that he got me all worked up…”
“No, I’m glad you called. For all we know he might be on his way over here. ’ ”