A dark spot smudged Father Matt’s forehead and the foreheads of all his supporters. “What happened to them?” Jean said, staring openly. It hit me: Ash Wednesday. The old words came rushing back. The faithful must do penance. Remember, unto dust shall ye return. Father Matt’s group sat stiffly, hands folded, staring intently at the commissioners, their pale flesh marked by the palms’ residue. We were sunk. The priestly robes, the solemn, graveyard air, the moral authority. We didn’t stand a chance against a display like this.
Haley squirmed in her seat. Bill had promised to babysit, but an hour ago he had canceled. “Hot date,” he’d said, grinning slyly at Jean as he stood with Haley under our dim yellow porch light. He’d come without calling.
“Bill, you promised,” Jean said. She fiddled with her earrings. I wrestled my necktie behind her. “We’re in a hurry. We can’t — ”
“You want me to date, don’t you?” he asked, I was happy for him. In any case, he knew Jean wouldn’t argue with him in front of Haley. “I’ll take her tomorrow night,” he said. He bent to kiss his daughter, and she looped her arms around his neck. I had to try again with my tie.
“All right, honey, it’s going to be a really long meeting,” Jean said once Bill had driven away. She held Haley’s chin so she’d listen. “You’ll need plenty to do so you can sit quietly. Bring some books and your gel pens and your Walkman, okay? Don’t forget your headphones …”
We scrambled to gather Haley’s stuff as well as our testimonies, which were paper-clipped inside manila folders. The cat leaped onto the table and rubbed my arm; I dropped the folders and a few loose pages from Haley’s sketchbook. Hastily, Jean and I pulled things together. “Come on, gals, let’s go, let’s go!” I said.
Now we sat in the firehouse trying to ignore the stares of our opponents. Unseasonably cool air assaulted us from a large open window. I felt for my pulse. Behind me, a man muttered, “Politics. It’s the wet bar of soap at the bottom of a bathtub.” Across the aisle from us, a local sandwich shop owner complained to a woman beside her, “Last year I had to sell thirty thousand turkey subs to raise the scratch to bring my building up to code.”
The meeting came to order. Haley sighed loudly, bobbing her head to Pink or Sting or Smashmouth. I touched her knee to try to settle her down. She moved her leg away. From across the room, Mrs. Ward gave us a tight smile. Nine kids? Any advice? I tried to signal back, nodding at her. Don wore his Navy uniform, which mostly still fit him. The sleeves were short. The elaborate gold buttons wobbled with each swift breath he took. “For God’s sakes,” Jean whispered. She rolled her eyes.
The commission’s chair reminded us that “this body’s judgment will be based solely on the Land Development Code and the city’s Comprehensive Plan. We all know there are high emotions on both sides of this issue; we’ve all seen the letters in the paper, but I caution each of you to restrict your testimony to the pertinent clauses of the CP and the LDC. No personal smears, no charges of bias, religious, political, or otherwise. Is that clear?”
Haley, slipping off her headphones, said, “Yep.” Jean shushed her.
City staffers presented their report, confirming that the archdiocese was requesting over a dozen exemptions from the code, including smaller parking accommodations, less restrictive lighting requirements, and freedom from providing open space on the lot. The Levin house was noted on the state’s Historic Register and was considered an important example of early Texas architecture. Nevertheless, staff recommended approval of the project, as it matched the CP’s vision for higher inner-core density to avoid outlying sprawl.
Next, Father Matt. He straightened his white clerical collar, smoothed a hank of loose gray hair so his forehead ashes would be prominent. From his briefcase he pulled a sheaf of notes. He spoke eloquently about the New Urbanism, the city’s need for affordable housing, the church’s desire to help the community. He fended off the commissioners’ questions with the air of someone swatting flies. This was a man used to getting what he wanted. Who could say no to a priest? I imagined twisting his arm until he yelled, “Mercy!” “We will not be asking our tenants’ sexual orientations. Under state law, we’re not allowed to discriminate.” Will you ask them not to ogle my wife’s daughter? “Yes, we’ll have on-site managers to make sure tenants respect the neighborhood …”
His supporters testified next, most of them emphasizing that church ownership of the property would benefit the area. “They make it sound like a bunch of heathens live there, in need of conversion,” Jean hissed to me. Some groused about a “small group of elite homeowners blocking progress.” A few insisted there was no issue here: property rights were property rights, and no one, including the government, should tell an owner what to do with his land. They complained about having to appear before a city board at all. “Isn’t democracy splendid?” Jean said. Her cheeks reddened. I’d never seen her so agitated.
Person after person rose to speak, marching up the center aisle to sit at an oak table in front of the commissioners’ dais. Haley slid off her chair and crawled beneath her mother’s feet. She fumbled with her Walkman. Jean told her to sit up, behave. Don and his wife moved slowly to the front; her tiny hand rested on his arm. “Oh great, now we’ll hear from the patriot,” Jean whispered. Don said only, “Father Matt is a good man. He has my support.” His voice shook. Mrs. Ward echoed her husband and gave the commissioners God’s blessing. As she returned to her seat, I had an urge to wash the ashes from the poor woman’s forehead.
Right before Jean stood, the chair apologized to the opposition. He was going to limit our testimony to three minutes each, not five, as the meeting was dragging on, and otherwise we’d be here till midnight. Groans of “Unfair!” but he rapped his gavel and silenced the room.
Haley stared beatifically at her mother as Jean assumed her seat up front. Jean’s earrings gleamed in the light of a video camera recording the proceedings. Her voice was firm, just a smidgen of reined-in anger (including, I figured, her fury at Bill). “Thank you for this opportunity to address you,” she began, her cheeks still flushed. “We all agree that inner-core density is desirable, but only when there is a demonstrated public need, which, I’ll argue, there isn’t in this case. The Comprehensive Plan also includes provisions for preserving the historical character of our neighborhoods and for insuring neighborhood compatibility.”
If poise and persuasion alone could do the trick, and if she’d had a shot at her father’s doctors, she might have preserved the old man, I thought. Absolutely, I wanted her there when my time came. “The applicant’s proposal flagrantly disregards these priorities,” she said. “Specifically, it skirts the codes enforcing compatible scale, step-down rules … and I have some solar maps here …”
“She’s good,” Haley said, entranced. “Really good, isn’t she?” Absently, her hand strayed onto my leg. A warm ripple moved through me. I glanced down at her fingers and noticed on my shirt, just to the left of my tie, a dark Vitamin E stain. I tried to cover it with my coat, jostling Haley. She took her hand away. I couldn’t hide the mark. Why on this night, I thought, recalling the Passover Seder …
“The city codes are clear,” Jean concluded.
I approached the oak table, quivering the way I did on the first day of classes each year as I faced a strange and questioning group. I tried maneuvering my tie with my elbow over the sticky place. No use. Oddly, the table smelled of peppermint tea. I stated my name and address. The city officiais stared down at me. What are they thinking?