Art Pact 227 - Baptism

We waited on the riverbank, shivering in our white robes and nothing else. That was the compromise - between being born again as we had the first time, in our altogether, and the terrible sins that the sight of flesh could tempt us to. The backs of my arms were covered in goose bumps, and I wished that the compromise had run more to the shame side of the block, because  my balls were freezing up like little ice cubes. To either side of me were the Monk twins, looking damn foolish in the gently flapping robes. Althorpe Monk was clicking his knuckles, just the same way that he did before extorting lunch money. Easter Monk, on my left side, was mumbling to himself. Not for the first time I wondered how they had managed to grow up with such different personalities but identical in all other ways. What exercise was Easter doing that let him match the muscles of his thuggish, sporty brother? The ways of the world were mysterious - the ways of God, I reminded myself, tuning half my attention back into the ceremony. Preacher Green was still talking about the responsibility we all had to bring as many people to Jesus as we could, and how our reward in the promised land was in some way dependent on that above all others. That was talk for the foot troops, as my father used to say, a general team bucking up with no real meaning. Everyone in the town was coming to church now, not like the bad old days under Preacher Goforth, and with everyone on board, who was there left to convert?

"Althorpe Monk!" called Preacher Green. "I call you to join us..."

I watched him go, the stocky tread of the bully when forced to act nice. He waded into the water as though he were walking through a corn field, although I knew that it must have been freezing in there. When he reached Preacher Green she said a few words and then with one hand on his shoulder she pushed him all the way under the water. It seemed like he was there for minutes, although it must only have been seconds. I wondered whether I would panic. Both of the Monk brothers were strong enough to push against Preacher Green's arm, I thought, but I was not sure whether the same was true for me.

Althorpe emerged from the river, the sodden robe clinging to his chest muscles and showing off the bulk of his arms and shoulders. It seemed like a magic had occurred - that the baptism had actually made a godly man of him, for his usual sullen superiority seemed to have gone. I'd been prepared to look away, expecting a furious frown from him and some whispered promise of a beating the next day in school, but instead he just walked back into line, his hands clasped in front of him. The cold of the river, I thought, but I could not dwell on it too long - my name was being called.

"Anders Scoville, I call you to join us in the kingdom of God on Earth," said Preacher Green. "And the promise of that greater kingdom in heaven. Step into the water and be reborn."

I walked down to the river's edge, just like I'd been told. From close up I could see that a lock of Preacher Green's hair had escaped from the dark bundle that she'd tied it up in. The rogue hair fell down the side of her face, a cataract of brown over that alabaster skin. She was smiling her welcoming smile, and up to her waist as she was in the water her own white robe formed a halo around her that made her look like the stamen in a huge water-lily.

The water, as I'd expected, was arctic-cold. I could feel my feet turning blue as I took the first step in. At least they'd picked a sandy bit, so I didn't have to worry about slipping on a moss-covered rock and looking like an idiot in front of everyone. I walked forward slowly, feeling the frigid touch of the river climb further and further up my legs. When it got to my balls a sharp shiver ran up my back, so uncontrollable that it must have looked like I was having some sort of spasm. Preacher Green played it off, though.

"The power of the Lord runs through this river, like it runs through all things!" she said out loud - then quieter, to me, she said: "Don't be ashamed, it's a big thing coming to Jesus, you can let trivial things like a shiver go. Greater men than you have lost their bravery at this point."

"I'm not afraid," I said, although I was, a little. Preacher Green was beautiful in her church, but in the river she was beyond human, like there were no adjectives that would do her justice. She reached out to me and took me by the hand and lead me round like a dance partner until I was facing the shore again. I could almost feel some of the energy coming off them, like there really was something to the church. Perhaps, I thought, the reason that I never really believed so deeply before was that Preacher Goforth had drained the faith out of everyone else in town, so that even those who believed in Jesus didn't have enough energy to share that faith with other people. We were misers of our faith, hoarding it in the back of our minds in the vain hope that we might be able to take it with us, in some strange way.

"Ready?" she asked. I nodded, and then that hand came down on my shoulder. I was wrong - the Monks couldn't have defeated it. She was as strong as an ox, and I went under the water like a flash, my robe billowing up around me. I barely had time to take a breath. I didn't even have time to close my eyes, which is how I suddenly understood what had got Althorpe Monk all abashed like that. It wasn't the power of the lord at all, but the power of Preacher Green's two slender legs, bare as the day God made her, sheltering under the umbrella of the white robe that was floating up around her waist.