The First of July(16)

Nancy made a strange and not very womanly noise through her nose. The reverend’s voice was rising, the music of his homeland clear in his passion.

“Does not Isaiah say ‘They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war’?”

He stopped and looked around as if expecting an answer. Clearly it was yes, Isaiah did say that. But we stayed silent, as did he for many seconds.

“And Micah,” Connie whispered. “And the Psalms.”

And now Reverend Williams’s voice emerged from the silence, but very quietly so that every head moved forward and I had a chance to dislodge Nancy. We strained to hear him.

“You are the true army. The army of Love, of Right, of Brotherhood; the shield against those who lust, LUST for war, who would gorge on blood. Who would let the fruit rot on the trees, the corn in the fields while they harvest corpses.” His voice was raised so suddenly, we jumped as one. “Who lay waste to the land, devour our youth, and would store up grief and poverty.” He looked almost excited; there was sweat on his brow and his eyes shone. He strode back behind the lectern and braced himself with both hands.

“I hear the thundering of hooves, ladies and gentlemen.”

His hand went up to his ear and he leaned a little into it. He stopped talking. The audience were leaning in the direction of his cupped ear, too. There was nothing but traffic outside and pigeons on the roof. You could have heard a pin drop as we listened. I wondered where Isaac was. I’d looked all around and I couldn’t see his face anywhere.

“Who are these riders?” the reverend said finally. “Are they heralds of peace? Do they bring news of God’s kingdom? NO, they are the four horsemen of the apocalypse and, brothers and sisters, they draw perilously near. The white horse carries the Antichrist, the blood-red steed brings WAR. The black horse is FAMINE, and with famine comes PEST-I-LENCE.

“And then comes the pale horse: the corpse-green-white pale horse of DEATH, its rider armed with a scythe.” Mr. Williams cut down a swath of invisible men with an outflung arm.

“Typical cavalry men,” said Nancy.

Connie was ignoring her, and I tried to do the same.

“And you—yes, you. You sitting before me are the only defense. You are God’s army. You must stand in the main squares, stand across the roads, hearing the thundering hooves, feeling the heat of the fires blister your skin and the clash of hammers on the plowshares, sharpening them into weapons, and you MUST NOT MOVE. ‘No,’ you must say. ‘No.’ Clasp your foreign brothers to your hearts. For we are told in Kings: ‘And after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.’”

He stopped, his chest heaving. I could see it even through the ladies’ hats and from seven rows back.

Then, quietly, he said: “Yours is that still small voice. God’s plan for the world will unfold. Surrender to the warmongers and you fight God’s plan.”

“That’s a bit rich,” a man muttered behind us, “surrendering,” and Nancy turned and gave him one of her little smiles.

Perhaps Mr. Williams sensed a restlessness, because he returned again to the lectern and, speaking in a matter-of-fact way, said: “To conclude, let us pray for peace and I say to you, God save the King and his people. For now only God can.”

Then he said, mopping his mighty brow, “A collection will be taken at the door. Pennies for peace, but even halfpennies will help.”

I saw Connie put a sixpence into the bag. She was watching me and I only had a shilling. I tried not to think of my bicycle. Nancy said later she’d put a button in.

Connie and Nancy let me walk them home.

“Where do you think Isaac was?” I said, mostly to stay on safe territory.

Connie looked at me as if I were dull in the head. She did that sometimes when she sensed that we differed. “His kind, they don’t go to church.”

In fact Isaac had told me he mostly didn’t believe in God. It was not rational, he’d said.

“We’re supposed to embrace our foreign brothers.” Nancy gave what I think she thought was a tinkling laugh.

“He’s not foreign,” I said. “And he’s talking of joining up to fight for King and country—his country—if war comes.” Connie looked very put out, though still pretty, and I knew she’d never give Isaac the time of day again.

“And it wasn’t a church service,” I said, wanting to stand up for him. “It was just a talk.”

“My cousin’s all for fighting,” Nancy said. “He’s going for a soldier as soon as his birthday comes.”