"Pregnant?" El looks at me with her baby-blue eyes and puts one hand on her stomach. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
I try not to wince too obviously. "My period's overdue," says Bernice.
Permanence. "What else are they doing?" I probe.
"There are a lot of new facilities opening up," Tammy explains enthusiastically. "There's a kinematoscope, and a swimming pool and gymnastic coliseum, and a theatre. More shops, too. And City Hall will be open for business."
Bernice cracks before I do. "Whoa. That's a new one on me!"
"I think they're trying to make us comfortable ," says Janis.
"Us?" I ask. "Or them?" My eyes take in bellies around the table, occupied bellies. In fact, mine is the only un occupied one here. Thanks to Sam.
"Does it make any difference? I'm pretty sure most of us will be too busy changing nappies soon to worry about anything else."
Janis has a tone of voice that she uses when she means to convey the exact opposite of the literal meaning of her words. She's using it now, laying on the sarcasm with a trowel.
I smile brightly. "Then I suppose you think we should lie back and enjoy these wonderful new recreational resources!"
"Reeve," Tammy says warningly, "this is serious."
"Oh, you bet," I agree enthusiastically. "Absolutely!" I finish my drink. "I'm sure you ladies have got lots of important things to be talking about, but I just remembered I haven't finished washing the dishes, and I've got to clear out the garage before my husband gets home." I stand up. "Thanks for the weaving, Janis. See you later?"
The rest of the soi-disant ladies' sewing circle look dubious, but Janis smiles back at me, then winks. "Be seeing you!"
I beat a hasty retreat. I like Janis, but this sewing circle of hers frightens me. She's unhappy here, that much is clear, and I don't think she'll want Dr. Hanta to help her over it. I'm going to have to tell Fiore about Janis, I realize. She needs help. After Church tomorrow?
THE journey to Church the next day is strained and tense. We dress in our Sunday best and call a taxi as usual, but Sam doesn't say anythinghe's taken to communicating in gruntsand keeps casting me odd sidelong looks when he thinks I won't notice. I pretend not to see. In truth I'm tense, too, winding myself up for the inevitable and unpleasant conversation with Fiore after the service. Church is packed these days, and we're lucky to get a seat. At least there are other churches in the other parishes (and presumably other instances of Fiore to preach in them), so it's not likely to get any more crowded. "We'll have to leave earlier in future," I tell Sam, and he stares at me.
Fiore walks in and goes to the front, and the music strikes up, a catchy brassy little number by (my netlink tells me) a composer named Brecht. Then Fiore starts the service proper. "Dear congregants, we are gathered here today in unity to recognize our place in the universe, our immutable roles in the great cycle of life, which none shall take from us. Let us praise the designers who have given us this day and all the days before us a role to fulfill! Praise the designers!"
"Praise the designers!" echoes the congregation.
"Dear congregants, let us remember that true meaning and happiness in life can be found through complying with the great design! A round peg in a round hole!"
"A round peg in a round hole!" rolls the response.
"Let us also give thanks for the happiness that has come to Mrs. Reeve Brown, who is now most certainly a round peg in a round hole, and for the solace and comfort that members of our congregation's away team have brought to Mrs. Cassandra Green, now recovering in hospital! Happiness, comfort, and solace!"
"Happiness, comfort, and solace!"
I shake my head, happy but confused. I can't figure it out, why is Fiore holding me of all people up as an example to the rest of the congregation? I glance round and see Jen, a couple of aisles away, staring snake eyes at me.
"It is our duty to care for our neighbors, to help them conform to the ways of our society, to join with them in their joy and their sorrow, their acceptance and their forgiveness. If your neighbors need you, go unto them and give them the benefit of your generosity. We are all neighbors, and those of us who are not in need this week may be amongthe neediest next week. Guide and care for them, and chide them when it is appropriate..."
I begin to zone out. Fiore's voice is hypnotic, his tone rising and falling in a measured cadence. It's warm and stuffy in Church with the doors shut, and it seems Fiore isn't going to divert from his sermon to condemn a sinner this week. For which I should be gratefulFiore could have decided to wreck my score for what I did last week. Despite the warmth, I find myself shivering. He's shown more forbearance than I expected. Should I follow his example, and instead of telling him about Janis, try to set her straight myself?
"... For remember, you are your brother's keepers, and by the behavior of your brethren shall you be judged. Voyage without end, amen!"
"Voyage without end!" echoes the chorus. "Amen!"
We stand, and there's another sing-along, clap-along numberthis time in a language I don't understand, about marching and freedom and bread according to the psalm bookand then the priest and his attendants leave the front, and the service is over.
I'm a bit disappointed, but also relieved as we file out of the Church into the bright daylight, where a buffet is waiting for us. Sam is even quieter than usual, but right now I don't care. I snag a glass of wine and a plate with a wheatmeal and fungus confection on it and wander over to the vicinity of our cohort.
"Decided to settle down, have we?" asks a voice at my left shoulder. I manage to suppress a frown of distaste. It's Jen, of course.
"I care for my neighbors," I say, squeezing every gram of sincerity I can muster into it; then I make myself smile at her.
She beams back at me, of course. "Me too!" She trills, then glances round. "I'm glad Fiore was merciful today, though. I gather some of us might have been in for a rough ride!"
Sly little bitch. "I've no idea what you're talking about," I begin, but it's impossible to go on because the Church bells have begun to ring. Normally they clang in a vague semblance of rhythm, but now they're jarring and clattering as if something's caught up among them. People are turning and looking up at the tower. "That's odd."
"Yes, it is." Jen sniffs dismissively and begins to turn toward a nearby knot of males.
"I haven't finished with you."
"In your dreams, darling." A broad grin, and she slips away.
Irritated, I look up at the tower. The door below it is ajar. Odd , I think. It's not strictly my business, but what if something's come loose? I ought to get help. I deposit my glass and plate with a passing waitron and walk toward the door, taking care to stay off the grass in my high heels.
The clashing and clattering of disturbed bells is getting louder, and there's something dark on the front step, under the door. As I make my way to it I look down and an unpleasantly familiar stink infiltrates my nostrils, bringing tears to my eyes. I turn round, and yell, "Over here! Help!" Then I push the door open.
The bell tower is a tall space illuminated by small windows just below the base of the spire. The daylight spilling down from them casts long shadows across the beams and the bells that dangle from them, jostling and clashing above the whitewashed floor, staining the spreading pool of dark liquid. Spreading black, the gray of shadows, and a pale pendulum swinging across the floor. It takes a second for my eyes to grow accustomed to the dimness, and another second before I understand what they're showing me.