Ceremonies

seated herself and clasped her hands piously before her. It was time to say grace.

He took a breath. 'Dear Lord,' he said with sudden vehemence, clasping his own hands and dropping his gaze, 'as we, Thy servants, prepare to enjoy the richness of Thy bounty, we give thanks for the two good people who have come to share it with us-'

He glanced up to see their reaction. Freirs, as usual, was merely inclining his head, staring pensively at the soup bowl, as if to prove that, while polite, he was not about to buy any of the Poroths' beliefs; but Sarr was pleased to see that Carol's fingers were locked in fervent prayer, her eyes shut tight, her expression rapt. She looked almost angelic.

– and thanks to Thee, O Lord, as the source of all well-being and content.'

'Amen,' they murmured, even Freirs. Perhaps he was going along for Carol's sake.

Carol – she was an odd one for Freirs to bring out here. He wouldn't have thought she was his type. Not that she wasn't attractive; she was, and Sarr was honest enough with himself to acknowledge the feelings she'd inspired in him ever since he'd met her out there on the road this afternoon.

It was good to have her so close now; he suddenly realized that it had been years since he'd sat down to dinner with an unmarried woman from outside his family, especially one with Carol's strange mixture of independence and submissiveness, her soft uncallused skin, her clean-looking red hair cut so curiously short, so unlike the women's here in Gilead. He couldn't help picturing her climbing into his bed, so thin and pale and trembling; and he knew that tonight, as he made love to his wife, his thoughts would stray unbidden to this new woman, at least until he forced himself to think of holier things.

Deborah was speaking, lightening the mood, drawing the visitors in while she poured the rhubarb wine and served them their soup.

She was so much better at that than he was. 'I wouldn't trade the country with anyone,' she was saying, 'but there are times I miss the city something awful. If I hadn't gotten myself married I probably would have tried to live there for a few years. I still think about going back someday, just for a visit.'

Freirs made a mock bow. 'Just remember,' he said, 'whenever you're in town you'll always have a place to stay. Not exactly the Waldorf, maybe, but comfy enough.' He raised his glass. 'To travel, and the broadening effects thereof.'

The others raised theirs. 'To country virtues,' said Carol, smiling. 'And to those of us who still remember them.'

Deborah giggled. 'And to city vices!' She took a sip of the wine. 'Mmm, good.'

Sarr watched uneasily, wondering if Freirs and Deborah were flirting with one another. Unable to think of another toast, he brought the wineglass to his lips and took a large swallow, almost without tasting it. The lines, he realized, were shifting, setting him and the new woman against his wife and guest. He alone remained consistent. The thought made him feel stronger and at last encouraged him to speak.

'Deborah,' he said, choosing his words carefully, 'I know you've got a longing for the city. I've heard you talk of it before. And it's just as I told you when I made you my wife: you're free to do as you please. I'll not stand in your way.' He took another drink and wiped his mouth. 'As for me, though, I'll never set foot in that citadel of godlessness again. It's a place of corruption, and its people are swollen with envy and greed. Even the very best of them are infected. I hear it in their voices: the obsession with luxury, money, and the things of the world.'

He looked from face to face. He could see that they knew he was serious. Freirs, though, was eyeing him skeptically. No doubt he resented not being the center of attention – how like a schoolteacher! -and would take any word spoken against the city as a personal attack. Probably he would try to assert himself in the eyes of the women. Yet to do so would only be natural; it was God's way that men must compete. Sarr understood and forgave.

'That's why I'm so glad the two of you are with us here tonight,' he went on, nodding to Carol and Freirs. 'Lord's my witness, I truly believe you'll both be the better for this. At least you're out of danger, at least for now.'

'Danger?' said Freirs. 'You mean like street crime?'

Sarr shook his head. 'It isn't criminals I mean, nor dirt and noise. I mean a danger to the spirit. I see the city as the prophets did, a place to rival Babylon. Everyone is buying and selling, and everything's for sale. Even their own souls have a price.'

Freirs smiled. 'I'm not so sure about that,' he said. 'I've tried to buy a few lately, and no one's selling. In my film class I asked someone-'

But Sarr wasn't waiting for his explanation. 'Perhaps you should have offered more,' he said. 'Remember, you're competing with the devil, and he's got the city in his pocket.'

He was still feeling, he realized, rather light-headed. Too many hours in the sun. It would be good to get some food in him.

'Mind you,' he added, almost apologetically, 'I didn't always think so. When I was growing up here, I used to dream about running off to see the Empire State Building, and at night I'd pretend that I could see it brightening the sky. I used to think that, if light was good and darkness evil, then God must love the cities best. I knew He'd made man and man made the city, so I thought that was where He must live.' He paused, suddenly remembering. 'I don't think so anymore.'

'I gather you had a less than delightful visit,' Freirs said lightly, with a look toward Carol. 'What happen, you get mugged?'

'No, not that. I may have been a bit too big for that, even then. I've heard they prefer old ladies.'

'They'll take whoever they can get. How old did you say you were?'

Sarr rubbed his chin. 'It was Christmas of your senior year in school,' said Deborah. 'That's what you told me.'

Sarr nodded. 'That's right. I'd just turned seventeen. My father'd died that fall God rest his soul.'

'My father died then too,' said Carol. 'I mean, in the fall. It'll be a year this November.'

'Really?' He regarded her with new interest. 'Then that's another thing we have in common.'

Freirs looked up, quick to catch a hint of conspiracy. 'You mean, aside from your both being country people?'

'No, I meant aside from our both being religious. We talked about it when I met her on the road.'

'I had a Bible program on the radio, that's all,' said Carol. She sounded irritated, but it was hard to tell at whom. 'As for our respective fathers… '

'We've both experienced loss,' said Sarr. He was about to add a biblical observation on the ephemerality of man, but Deborah cut him off.

'I'll bet her mother took it a whole lot harder than-' Sarr silenced her with a look. 'My mother bore her loss with dignity,' he said, with another glance at Deborah. 'She's always kept pretty much to herself and doesn't let on how she's feeling. But I knew what was in her heart -1 knew that the feeling was there – and I thought, If only there was something I could give her, something that would interest her, it'd pull her away from… well, all the things that were on her mind. So one Saturday morning I put on my father's old sheepskin coat-'

Deborah nodded grimly. 'Like a lamb to the slaughter!' '-and I hitched a ride to Flemington and climbed aboard the bus to New York. I thought I'd bring her back some sort of gift. A jewel, maybe. Something precious.' He shook his head. 'It was a long time ago.'

'And your mother,' said Carol. 'She didn't mind your going?' He looked pained. 'I told her I'd be in Flemington till after dark, trying to find a part-time job. It was probably the first time I ever lied to her. Not that she was fooled.'

'Nothing fools her,' said Deborah. 'She knows everything.' 'But she never seemed to care too much where I went,' said Sarr. 'So I yielded to temptation and set off.'

He sat back, pulling himself almost physically from the memory. At the same moment he became aware of a scratching at the door, where four owlish little faces were peering through the screen. It was the younger cats; he still tended to think of them as 'the kittens.' As he rose to let them in, he saw Carol turn and look questioningly at Freirs, who shrugged in acknowledgement. 'It's okay,' Freirs said. 'They're in here almost every night. I think I may be getting used to them.'

As always, no sooner was the door opened for them than the cats seemed to grow undecided about whether to enter, even though San-stood waiting by the doorway. Bwada pushed impatiently from behind them and bounded beneath the table, but the others hung back as if making up their minds; and when at last the four slipped past his