Ceremonies

'I found it on a bulletin board in New York.'

This news, he saw, had caught her by surprise. She looked from him to her husband, as if the two men shared a secret. 'How did it get there?'

'That's what we don't know,' said Poroth grimly. 'Some kind of prankster, maybe.'

'Or else a good Samaritan,' said Deborah. She considered this a moment, then nodded. 'Yes, it must have been, don't you see? Look how nicely everything's turned out. It just might be a sign from God.' Eyes wide, she turned back to Freirs. 'It's like your name -from Jeremiah. I'm sure that's an omen too.' She grinned. 'Maybe you'll turn out to be a prophet.'

Freirs laughed uneasily. 'I'm afraid I'm no relation. But then, you never can tell.'

'I can tell,' she said. 'You were meant to come here, I'm sure of it. And I'm sure you're going to fit right in.' Scooping up a cat, she began moving toward the house. 'Now come on, both of you. I have lunch ready, and then Sarr can show you around. You two just better be hungry. There's sliced ham and cheese, and fresh dandelion greens-' Looking back at Freirs, she added, 'Nothing from our own garden, not yet, anyway – but there's a rhubarb pie from the Geisels right up the road.' To Sarr she added, 'Brother Man's coming by later. I think he wants to meet our guest.'

'Sounds like just what the doctor ordered,' said Freirs, hurrying after her. For a moment he caught a glimpse, in back of the house, of the outbuilding where he'd be staying. It looked somehow less welcoming than the farmhouse. Maybe they didn't want to show it to him till they'd softened him up. Well, that was okay; he could use a good lunch. He followed Deborah up the porch steps, surreptitiously eyeing her swaying hips encased in the black dress, the hemline sweeping barely an inch above the floor. A wonder it didn't get dusty.

Behind them in the yard, Poroth sighed. The matter of the rental notice seemed to be closed. 'I'll leave the truck out,' he called, coming after them. 'We'll have to start back to town by five to make the bus.'

While Deborah held the screen door open for Freirs, a pair of cats dashed past her feet and into the house, closely followed by another that Freirs hadn't seen. This could be a problem; he hadn't counted on there being so many.

Inside, the house seemed cramped and dark, with an unmistakable odor of cat; his nose tickled alarmingly. He heard Poroth's footsteps on the porch behind him. The old floorboards creaked. 'It's lighter in the back,' Deborah said, leading the way. They passed from a small front hallway to what was obviously the living room, where a rocker and a low, rather worn-looking couch stood facing a small fireplace. Beyond it lay the kitchen, afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows and a screen door in the rear.

It took Freirs a moment to realize what was missing. He looked in vain for lamps, a light switch, television; there was nothing but a small kerosene lantern on the mantelpiece. As he entered the kitchen, he saw another on the shelf by the doorway. He cleared his throat. 'I thought your ad said 'Fully electrified.' '

'The outbuilding is,' said Poroth, ducking as he came into the kitchen. T ran the wires in myself not two months ago. But in our own home-' he shrugged. 'W e prefer to keep the modern world at a distance. Here, you see, we're independent of the city and its ways.'

Freirs sensed, not for the first time, a hint of disapproval. Across the room he noticed a huge cast-iron woodburning stove rubbing shoulders with a shiny little Hotpoint. He turned to Deborah, who was busying herself at the sink, cats milling at her feet. 'I suppose that stove is gas-powered.'

'Correct,' said Sarr. 'We bought it secondhand from a man in Trenton.'

'Honey,' Deborah said over her shoulder, 'show Jeremy the tanks out back.' Freirs watched her lay a platter of ham on the kitchen table and remembered how hungry he was.

'Here, look at this.' Poroth pushed open the screen door and led Freirs out into the back porch, where two more cats were lying on the dusty wooden steps. 'Each one lasts about a month,' said Poroth – but he was pointing to a pair of silver canisters standing like miniature spaceships against the rear wall of the house, surrounded by rosebushes and weeds. 'Ordinary propane. It heats our water and cooks our meals.' Draping a long leg over the railing, he leaned back against the weathered wooden post and folded his arms.

'I don't get it,' said Freirs. 'You say you want to be independent of the modern world, but gas is just as modern as electricity. And probably just as expensive.'

He thought perhaps he had offended Poroth, but the other seemed amused. 'I know it doesn't sound very rational,' Poroth said. 'I don't pretend it is. The choices we've made have been largely… symbolic. Expressions of our faith.' He smiled wryly. 'Does that make any sense?'

Freirs shrugged. 'I suppose so.'

'Look,' said Poroth, 'we're not fanatics, Deborah and I. We have indoor plumbing. We own a truck. When one of us gets sick, we see a doctor. Some of the Brethren are stricter than that; others may think we're too strict. There's plenty of room for differences. You'd be surprised how open-minded the Brethren can be.'

He would, all right. He hadn't forgotten the looks they'd given him in town. But he said politely, 'You people must be a lot more liberal than I figured. I'd had you pegged as a New Jersey version of the Amish.'

Poroth made a face. ' 'Blackhats,' we call them. They're little better than tourist attractions, if you ask me.'

'I guess I was going by appearances. I mean, you seem to dress the same as they do, except for the hats.'

'It's true, we have our similarities. Certain customs, outward forms… This sort of thing.' He pointed to Lis trousers. 'See? No pockets. Pockets breed avarice. Give a man pockets, and pretty soon he'll want something to put in them. 'He that is greedy of gain troubleth his own house.' ' Poroth smiled. 'That's what I meant by symbolism.'

'No kidding! I thought those pants looked strange.' Wait till he told them about this back in New York.

'It's the same with the beard. See? Brethren don't wear mustaches because the military wore them – in Europe, anyway – and we refused to leave the farm.' Abruptly he swung his leg down and stood; he was nearly a head taller than Freirs. 'Electricity's a symbol too. You'll find a battery in our truck, another in our radio. We like to listen to the Bible broadcasts. But Deborah and I, we're not ones for labor-saving and luxury. We have no interest in wiring up our home. As I see it, an electric wire's a golden chain that binds a body to the city – and that, my friend, is the citadel of corruption. When the city flickered, we'd flicker. When the city went dark, we'd go dark. That's a tie we'd rather do without.'

He started back inside. Freirs lingered a moment on the porch, gazing at the land that lay behind the house, at the outbuildings, orchard, and fields, but thinking of the monstrous Con Ed plant back in Astoria and how it had lit up the night sky like an ocean liner.

At last the view drew his attention. Where the fields ended, sloping gently downhill from the farmhouse, his eye was caught by the distant glimmer of a stream. The property was more extensive than he'd imagined, though its exact limits were hard to discern, for it merged gradually with the woods which, in every direction, formed a backdrop to the scene. They were dark with shadows and, even at the height of afternoon, far from inviting. He realized suddenly how far he was from the city, and felt a tiny shiver of excitement. This was the real thing.

The three of them ate in the kitchen, seated on some heavy high-backed chairs before an ancient wooden table that some long-dead Poroth ancestor had made. The farmhouse, he'd discovered, had no dining room; it was simply too small – three rooms upstairs, two rooms down, and rough plank floors with spaces often wide enough to see through. Deborah, smiling, had remarked that, when she swept out the kitchen, the crumbs slipped through the cracks and ended up in the root cellar below, where the mice ate them.

'And they, in turn, get eaten by the cats,' Sarr added, as if compelled to remind her of this. 'All part of God's plan.'

Freirs studied the two of them while Poroth said grace and the cats prowled restlessly beneath the table. Except for the difference in height – for even when he was seated, Sarr towered over them both -and the fact that Deborah was, from what he could see, full-breasted and wide of hip while Sarr was tall and rather willowy, the two looked much alike, as if they'd stepped from the same faded tintype, representatives of some earlier generation. Despite their dark hair, both had skin of a surprising smoothness and pallor, considering the time they probably spent outdoors. It was already clear to him that

Deborah was the friendlier of the two; yet in moments of quiet like this one, as she sat listening, eyes downcast, while her husband thanked the Lord for His bounteousness and the guest He'd sent them today, Deborah wore an air similar to Sarr's – a kind of guarded dignity. They seemed brother and sister, in fact: two solemn-faced children raised in the wilderness, both of them on speaking terms with God.