Bemused, I sit quietly in my corner. Occasionally Seth’s gaze meets my own, but never lingers. Meanwhile, I do my own observation of the group. They all seem to be paying attention. One man with a scraggly beard even has a spiral notebook on his knees, and is scribbling across the page with a well-chewed pencil. He glances up, sees me looking, and drops his eyes. His shoulders hunch a little, but he keeps writing. When he sneaks another look, I nod, and wonder if he’s clocked me as a cop.
“You know, Seth,” another man in a stained green sweatshirt remarks, “I see what you’re saying. But I don’t think God has much love for me. He never helps me out of this shithole of a life.”
Takahashi nods, his expression serious. “I know it can seem like that. And we all wonder about our own circumstances.” He points out the window. “Why does that guy have so much money?” He points in the other direction. “Why does this guy over here have a trophy wife and a big mansion and gets to be president besides?” He shakes his head. “Yeah, it’s pretty inexplicable. But here’s the thing,” he leans forward, and drops his voice as though revealing a secret. His audience has to lean forward as well.
“None of that stuff really matters, not in the big picture. It’s who you are, not what you have, that counts. Even your past doesn’t matter. Even if you’ve done some crappy things, Jesus will still forgive you. But you have to be real with Him, too — you have to commit to Him, if you want Him to commit to you. That’s what love is.” He holds their gazes for a few seconds longer, then deliberately breaks the spell by slapping his thighs and standing.
As the meeting breaks up and the men mill around, talking amongst themselves and with the preacher, I’m left to consider what I’ve observed. Takahashi seems sincere, although there is an element of calculation to his performance. But that might be just the result of lots of experience with public speaking, and interacting with an audience. I have to respect his ability to engage with these men, without coming across as patronizing. They’re probably even more cynical about life than I am.
Truthfully, I’m struggling to maintain the appropriate level of suspicion and skepticism. He seems like a genuinely nice guy. Even if I personally don’t buy the ‘change your life by choosing Jesus’ routine.
I rub the scar under my clavicle, make sure it still hurts. It reminds me never to let down my guard.
In any case, I’ll be interested to see what kind of performance Takahashi puts on when I ask him about Victoria.
When we leave the shelter, we walk along the narrow lane of Bond Street. Seth has slipped on a blue down jacket, and jams his hands into the pockets.
“Can I talk to you about Victoria Harkness now?” I ask.
“I don’t understand your interest, Audrey. Her death is a tragedy. I suppose she fell off one of the piers and the river swept her away. It’s happened before.” He walks ahead, scanning the street, friendliness fallen away.
“I’ve been hired by the church to look into her death, and I’m interviewing everyone who interacted with her recently.” I’m forced to drop behind him as he swerves to avoid an abandoned bicycle fallen across the sidewalk. Annoyed, I say, “I heard a radio broadcast with an argument between the two of you.”
He gives me a sharp glance before puffing out his cheeks in a sigh. “I regret that. It wasn’t a good way to approach her. But she wouldn’t talk with me, wouldn’t see reason, and I was — and am — worried about her congregation. Whether she meant to or not, she was starting a cult.”
His response jolts me. “Why do you think that? Did she try to indoctrinate you?”
Like preacher man was doing just now at the shelter?
He skirts a battered red truck parked overlapping the sidewalk, forcing me to drop behind again. “Her so-called church uses some of the trappings of Christianity, but in reality it’s nothing like. It’s really all about her, Victoria Harkness. Listen, in this business of saving souls, you can’t let people confuse the messenger with the message. When people start following because of the personality of the preacher, and not because of the truth of the gospel, that’s when it gets dangerous. That’s when bad things happen.”
“Like what?”
“Like Waco. Like the spaceship comet people. Like the Manson family.”
“Oh, come on. Surely you don’t equate Victoria Harkness with Charles Manson.”
“Not like him, no. But maybe like the spaceship comet people.” He snaps his fingers. “Heaven’s Gate. And Marshall Applewhite. That guy couldn’t admit he was wrong, and he led his followers to their deaths.”
I recall Phoebe had also spoken about Applewhite. “Did you think that’s what she was doing?”
“Well, no, but she had people believing they could put their own spin into the Bible. I mean, it says what it says, but she thought you could interpret it in your own way. Like art.” He turns to face me. “The signs were there. She already relocated her church, and a bunch of people followed her. Gave up their livelihoods. Gave up their homes. Trusting in her to be their savior. Don’t you see?”
I want to believe that his almost-rudeness, his lapse into unfriendliness, can be ascribed to his passion and heartfelt concern. But I don’t think Victoria was encouraging people to actually worship her. So I say, “Isn’t that what Jesus did?”
“Yes, but that was Jesus. He actually was the message. But no one else gets to take that role, and when they do, it dilutes the whole thing. Then when people encounter the real Word of God,
