Still, Louise and Reuben’s affair did mean that she and Ponter got a lot of time alone together. After a day, it had developed that Reuben and Louise would spend most of their time downstairs, in the basement, watching videos from Reuben’s vast collection, while Mary and Ponter were usually together on the ground floor. And since Reuben and Louise were now sleeping together, they had reclaimed the queen-sized bed from Ponter. Mary didn’t know quite what Reuben had said to manage the switch, but Ponter’s new bed was the couch in Reuben’s upstairs office, leaving the living room all to Mary.
Some Sundays, Mary went to Mass. She hadn’t gone this week—although she could have, since it wasn’t until Sunday evening that the LCDC had ordered the quarantine. But now she was sorry she’d missed it.
Fortunately, there were Masses on TV; Vision showed a Roman Catholic one broadcast from a church in Toronto every day. Reuben had a TV in his upstairs office, in addition to the set he and Louise were using in the basement. Mary went up to the office to watch the service being broadcast. The priest was dressed in opulent green vestments. He had silver hair but black eyebrows, and a face that made Mary think of a scrawny Gene Hackman.
“… Grace and peace of our Lord, Jesus Christ, the love of God our Father and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all,” pronounced the priest, a Monsignor DeVries, according to the title superimposed on the screen.
Mary, sitting now on the couch that tonight would serve as Ponter’s bed, crossed herself. “Jesus was sent here to heal the contrite,” announced DeVries. “Lord have mercy.”
Mary joined the TV congregation in repeating, “Lord have mercy.”
“He came to call sinners,” said DeVries. “Christ have mercy.”
“Christ have mercy,” repeated Mary and the others.
“He pleads for us at the right hand of the Father. Lord have mercy.”
“Lord have mercy.”
“May Almighty God have mercy on all of us,” said DeVries, “forgive our sins, and bring us to everlasting life.”
“Amen,” said the congregation.
The reading, by a black woman with short-cropped hair wearing a purple robe, was from the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah. Behind her, a beautiful stained-glass window depicted a haloed Jesus and the twelve Apostles, with the Virgin Mary looking on. Mary wasn’t exactly sure why she’d felt the need to hear a Mass today. After all, she wasn’t the one who needed forgiveness for sin …
Organ music was playing now; a young man sang, “Save me, O Lord, in Your steadfast love …”
Mary had done nothing wrong. She was the victim.
The Eucharist continued, with the Monsignor reading from Luke: “‘Declare that these two sons of mine will sit one at Your right hand and one at Your left in Your kingdom …’”
Of course, Mary knew the story the priest was reciting of the woman who beseeched Christ on the road to Jerusalem; she knew the context. But the words echoed in her head: two sons, one at Your right hand and one at Your left …
Could it have been that way? Could two kinds of humanity have lived peacefully side by side? Cain had been an agriculturalist; he grew corn. Abel had been a carnivore, who raised sheep for slaughter. But Cain had slain Abel …
The priest was pouring wine now. “Blessed to You, Lord God of all Creation, through Your goodness we have this wine to offer. Fruit of the vine and the work of human hands, it will become a spiritual drink …
“Pray, brothers and sisters …
“God of power and might, we praise You through Your Son Jesus Christ, who comes in Your name …
“God our Father, we have wandered far from You but, through Your Son, You have brought us back …
“We ask You to sanctify these gifts through the power of Your spirit …
“Take this, all of you, and eat it. This is My body, which will be given up for you …
“Take this, all of you, and drink from it. This is the cup of My blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven …”
Mary wished she could be with the congregation, taking Communion. When the ceremony was done, she crossed herself again and stood up.
And that’s when she saw Ponter Boddit, standing quietly in the doorway, watching, his bearded, chinless jaw agape.
Chapter 33
“What was that?” asked Ponter.
“How long have you been there?” demanded Mary.
“A while.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I did not wish to disturb you,” said Ponter. “You seemed … intent on what was happening on the screen.”
Well, thought Mary, she had, in a way, usurped his room; the couch where he slept was the one she was now sitting on. Ponter came fully into Reuben’s office and moved toward the couch, presumably to sit next to her. Mary scooted down to the far end, leaning against one of the couch’s padded arms.
“Again,” said Ponter, “what was that?”
Mary lifted her shoulders slightly. “A church service.”
Ponter’s Companion bleeped.
“Church,” said Mary. “A, um, a hall of worship.”
Another bleep.
“Religion. Worshiping God.”
Hak spoke up at this point, using its female voice. “I am sorry, Mare. I do not know the meaning of any of these words.”
“God,” repeated Mary. “The being who created the universe.”
There was a moment during which Ponter’s expression remained neutral. But then, presumably upon hearing Hak’s translation, his golden eyes went wide. He spoke in his language, and Hak translated, using the male voice: “The universe did not have a creator. It has always existed.”
Mary frowned. She suspected Louise—if she ever emerged from the basement—would enjoy explaining big-bang cosmology to Ponter. For her part, Mary simply said, “That’s not our belief.”
Ponter shook his head, but was evidently willing to let that go. Stilclass="underline" “That man,” he said, indicating the TV, “talked of ‘everlasting life.’ Does your kind have the secret of immortality? We have specialists in life-prolongation, and they have long sought that, but—”
“No,” said Mary. “No, no. He’s talking about Heaven.” She raised her hand, palm out, and successfully forestalled Hak’s bleep. “Heaven is a place where we supposedly continue to exist after death.”
“That is oxymoronic.” Mary marveled briefly at Hak’s proficiency. Ponter had actually spoken a dozen words in his own language, presumably saying something like “that’s a contradiction in terms,” but the Companion had realized that there was a more succinct way to express this in English, even if there wasn’t in the Neanderthal tongue.
“Well,” replied Mary, “not everyone on Earth—on this Earth, that is—believes in an afterlife.”
“Do the majority?”
“Well … yes, I guess so.”
“Do you?”
Mary frowned, thinking. “Yes, I suppose I do.”
“Based on what evidence?” asked Ponter. The tone of his Neanderthal words was neutral; he wasn’t trying to be derisive.
“Well, they say that …” She trailed off. Why did she believe it? She was a scientist, a rationalist, a logical thinker. But, of course, her religious indoctrination had occurred long before she’d been trained in biology. Finally, she shrugged a little, knowing her answer would be inadequate. “It’s in the Bible.”
Hak bleeped.