Empire 1: Humiliation Page 4

out of a group of men in black suits. He eyed them from a couple of meters away.

  "I'm Jonathan Edwards. Can I be of some assistance to you men?" His black three-piece suit did not fit him quite right, and his shoes were covered with dust. Both hands were shoved deep in his pockets, wrinkling his pants and exposing where the vest did not meet. His stern expression made him look almost comical.

  Almost. For no one laughed. He was obviously in charge. He had made his introduction and waited for a response with narrowed eyes and pressed lips.

  "My name is Michael and this is my friend Randolph. My father sent us here to meet you."

  Without turning to the other men on the platform, Jonathan Edwards said, "Excuse me gentlemen, but I have some personal business to attend to." And he jumped the four feet to the ground and walked over to his guests.

  "Sorry to be so gruff with the girls, but the one is too -- well -- old to be coming in here soaking wet. She needs a long talk about such things with her mother."

  Both young men smiled. Jonathan Edwards did not. "I see your father was right." He strode out of the meeting shed and Michael and Randolph hurried after him.

  "This building is the men's dormitory," he said, pointing to his left. "The one on the other side of the meeting shed is the women's. Make sure you're not on that side of the campground after lights out and you'll be all right. The dining hall's in the middle, past the back of the meeting shed. A bell rings fifteen minutes before each meal. You're on your own. Just remember that I have to report back to your father. It will be an honest report. It could even be a good one. I understand you could use a good report. Bunks are on a first-come, first-served basis. Each of you has a bedroll waiting at the dining hall. Pick them up any time this afternoon. There are five services a day: three short ones in the mornings, one in the afternoons, and one in the evenings, five days a week. Saturday has only one morning service and Sunday has only two, one in the morning and one in the evening. Do you have any questions?"

  Randolph looked at Michael. They didn't ask any questions.

  "I must prepare for the opening service tonight. Just remember, missed services won't look good on a report." Jonathan Edwards turned and walked back to the men on the platform.

  Randolph and Michael picked up their bedding, went into the men's dorm and chose two bunks. Afterwards they wandered. The grounds sloped upwards from the meeting shed to the west. The hardwoods stopped in a line at the field, contrasting with the cobalt blue sky and the hard-packed brown Earth. They met Jess Williams playing ball with one of his "young'uns." He remembered them at once and greeted them heartily.

  "Jess," said Randolph, "do you know anyone here at the meeting who would be willing to trade something of value for some clothes?"

  Jess didn't look at him. "Who fo?"

  "Me," Randolph replied.

  Jess turned and squinted at him. "Mel Harkins. 'At-t'ere man raht ovah thayah. At's not 'iz wife 'cuz his wife done died ten y'rs ago. 'N'hat'n black boots."

  "Thanks, Jess." Randolph and Michael retreated a few paces. Between them they translated Mel's cryptic speech and located a man of Randolph's build, about a meter and three quarters tall. He was engaged in an animated discussion with a woman.

  "... If'n we let 'em raise taxes on meal, what we gon' buy bread with?"

  The woman looked up as the two men approached. Mel Harkins continued talking, not noticing them. "An' ef thet wa'n't bad enough, thin we'd hafta ..." Randolph's shadow covered Mel's face as he leaned forward.

  "Mel Harkins?" asked Randolph.

  "Yes sir. Wha' kin ah do ya fer?"

  "I need some clothes," Randolph explained.

  "Got a few outfits that'll fit ya. Come over t' m' bunk. They're in m' footlocker."

  They entered the men's dormitory, made their way down the rows of bunks, and walked up to a large footlocker. Randolph and Michael stared at things they'd never seen before while Mel shuffled through it to pull out three complete outfits. He set them together and looked at Randolph. "How much y' want 'em?"

  Randolph handed him his watch. "It's not an even trade, but I need the clothes."

  "'Pears so. Hey!" Its time caught his eye. He looked at the watch more closely, than sat on his bunk and examined it very carefully. He sat back slowly, looking at Randolph. "Need anythin' else?"

  "For now this is quite enough. Thank you."

  "This'll b' safe w' me," Mel smiled. "If y' do need anyth'n' else, come see me--'s a'ready paid fer." He leaned forward and spoke in a low whisper. "Don' know who y'are or where y' got this, but yer better off 'round here without it." Mel slipped the watch into his pocket and smiled.

  Randolph changed into his new clothes and they waited for supper inside the dorm.

  The opening service crowd nearly filled the meeting shed. Since they needed to remain conspicuous, at least to Jonathan Edwards, they sat in the middle about two-thirds of the way back. The opening speaker, a short, overweight man, took a verse from Zechariah to promote his political position. Jonathan Edwards was visibly upset with the speaker and closed the meeting quickly as soon as he was done.

  The booksellers' table was set up just outside of the meeting shed. It did a brisk business the first three days of meetings. Since they had nothing to read except the Bibles Jonathan Edwards had given them, Michael and Randolph frequented that table during breaks. The clerk, an energetic brunette in her early twenties, seemed far too busy to notice browsers.

  Except for the book table, there were few other diversions. Michael and Randolph went for long walks, but graciously refused the invitations to take part in sports.

 

  On the fifth day, as they were leaving the campgrounds for a walk, Carl Blount came running after them. Carl's bunk was next to theirs and he had been trying to recruit them for his team.

  "Hey! Mind if I walk with you?" Carl asked.

  "Not at all," Michael replied. "It will be nice to break the monotony."

  "I take it you two aren't too thrilled about being here. When are you leaving?"

  "At the end of the sixth week," said Randolph.

  Carl whistled softly. "Very few people are able to stay more than one week. Now, I've been watching you two. There's a reason you don't play sports and I think I know what it is."

  Both Michael and Randolph laughed.

  "You two have something to hide that playing sports would bring out. Naturally, I thought one of you was handicapped and his friend was helping to hide it. But I've watched you exercise. No one here could begin to keep up with you. So that's not it.

  "Perhaps, I thought, you're from someplace where you don't play these games and you're embarrassed. But you're too self-confident for that. You don't know the games, but you could compete if you really wanted to. There was only one more possibility. For some reason, you don't want to be noticed. Your walks are all off the campgrounds, you exercise in private, and you socialize just enough to be polite. This afternoon I learned that you two were special objects of Preacher Edwards' prayers.

  "I don't mean to pry, but are you guys in some sort of trouble?"

  They laughed again. "We've been in and out of trouble most of our lives," Michael replied. Without saying anything else about themselves, they agreed to play on Carl's softball team the next day.

  Randolph thought softball a slow, lazy game. With only two afternoons of practice, both he and Michael could outhit anyone on Carl's team. Catching wasn't very difficult either, though throwing required something of a knack he had but Michael didn't. Their only real problem was knowing where to throw it.

  "I was right," smiled Carl. "You guys are good. If you were avoiding attention before, you'll be getting more than your share. Now our team, like most teams, usually sits together for the services. Why don't you join us? We're on the left about half way back. If either of you find someone else you'd like to sit with during the course of the meetings, just bring them along, too."

  "Are you part of the campground administration, Carl?" Randolph
asked. "You're a good promoter."

  "Thank you. I take that as quite a compliment. I'm a Youth Evangelist," Carl explained. "A good promoter is enthusiastic, and enthusiasm is vital to youth work. Most of the year I'm on the road. These six weeks are my vacation. Though I believe in this ministry, I'm not connected with it."

  Carl sat on the edge of his bunk while he chattered. No one else was around at the moment and they had a little free time before the evening service. Michael and Randolph, as usual, were polishing shoes, mending, sharpening their knives, straightening, folding, and other miscellaneous tidying-up chores.

  "A man could think you guys were in the army, the way you keep at it," Carl continued. Carl was obviously the oldest of the three, though still a young man. His compact frame supported a few extra pounds around the middle, though he was otherwise in good shape. His loose tongue added to a free and easy manner, making him well-loved throughout the campground.

  Randolph dropped a pair of brown boots on the floor beside his bunk, looking at them with dismay. "I tried twice to wear these, but they're a half size too small."

  "Are those some of the ones you got from Mel?" Carl asked. Randolph nodded. "Don't worry. He's got plenty of brown boots. Just take them back. I really don't know where he keeps them all. His footlocker couldn't hold all the stuff he's got. And if he doesn't have what you want today, he'll get it by tomorrow. He can get his hands on things few people around here have ever heard of. Not only that