The Sledding Hill Read online

  14

  IF THE GAME’S TOO EASY…

  What I told Eddie about the Reverend Tarter is true. I would have shown him this, but it wouldn’t be fair to give Eddie a look inside the place where the fear comes from in Tarter’s life. A human being is not born as rigid and afraid as Sanford Tarter. Life teaches those things. I bounce into seven-year-old Sandy Tarter’s life moments after his mother has caught him playing with matches. She grips his left hand by the wrist, holds a lighter close to his fingers, threatening to show him what fire can do to flesh.

  “Please, Momma!” he screams. “Please don’t burn me! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!”

  His mother brings the lighter closer. “You better pray to Jesus, little boy. You better pray to Jesus. He is the only one who can stop these little fingers from being burned black.”

  “Please, Momma!”

  “Quit your whining!”

  “Momma—”

  “PRAY TO JESUS!”

  “Please, Jesus, please don’t let me get burned. I’ll never do it again, Jesus. I promise! I’ll never play with matches again!”

  “Get on your knees!”

  Sandy Tarter drops to his knees and closes his eyes, convulsing, begging Jesus to spare him.

  His mother drops his hand, falls to her knees beside him, and begins to pray. “Dear Jesus, me and my little boy…”

  I can pop into little Sandy’s life just about any time I please to watch his mouth washed out with soap, vinegar, Tabasco sauce, or water from an unflushed toilet, though I don’t necessarily care to. The only thing I want my friend Eddie Proffit to know is what I already said—that Sanford Tarter has never, in his years of teaching or his years of preaching, even approached leveling the fear on a student or a parishioner that was leveled on him.

  If humans are ever to understand one another, they will have to come to terms with the concept, and the reality, of relativity. In essence, that’s what the Earthgame is about. They will have to see how things look compared to other things. Once you understand that nothing exists without its opposite, you understand nothing is good and nothing is evil, that opposites actually hold each other up. For instance, if Ms. Lloyd and Mr. Tarter could see what I see, they might have a lot more to say to each other and might come to an easy agreement about this censorship issue and the nature of kids in general. Authors aren’t good or evil. Most tell their stories the best way they can. Stories aren’t good or evil either; they’re just reflections of one person’s perception of the world. One kid might read that story and feel recognized, might find a connection. Another kid might read the same story and be offended or angered or bored. If those two students got together and talked about their reactions to the story, they’d know each other a little better.

  But that’s the game. The game would be too easy if we understood, and maybe no one would want to play.

  Eddie walks into Mr. Tarter’s classroom after school on the Friday before the Tuesday school board meeting. Tarter is nearly incapable of appearing eager to talk with anyone. Eddie waits.

  “Could I speak to you for a moment, sir?” Eddie says.

  Tarter registers exactly zero surprise at the sound of Eddie’s voice. “Of course, Edward. What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to do my testimony this Sunday if possible. I’ve finished the workbooks and written the essay. I think the only requirement I have left is the testimony itself.”

  “It’s a little short notice—”

  “I know, but if I’m going to talk at the school board meeting, it’s probably best that I talk somewhere else first; you know, get used to it. Besides, that will make me a member of YFC, which should add to the weight of what I say.”

  “What I’ve been saying all along, Edward. I guess you’ve been listening. You had me worried.” Tarter smiles. “I can set it up right before the offering. Actually, they might give more right after they hear you talk for the first time. I’m kidding, of course.”

  “I know,” Eddie says. “Thanks. I need to get going if I’m gonna get both my presentation for church and for the school board done.”

  “Godspeed,” Tarter says, and as Eddie reaches the door, “Edward, I’d like to see a copy of your testimony before you actually give it, if possible. Can you get that to me?”

  “I think so,” Eddie says back. “If I don’t get it done tomorrow, I’ll bring it on Sunday morning.”

  “I suppose I can follow along,” Tarter says. “I’ve seen your class work, so I’m sure your testimony will be on the mark.”

  Right on the mark of Cain, Eddie thinks, but he says, “Yes, sir.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

  I’m watching my dad take his tools off the hooks on the wall and place them carefully into his toolbox when Eddie shows up. “Yup,” he says. “I’m supposed to be in Ms. Lloyd’s class. She let me out to go to the can. You got a can down here?”

  “No, but I got canned.”

  “Ms. Lloyd told us. That really sucks. For the readings, huh?”

  “For the readings,” Dad says.

  “Ms. Lloyd’s really upset,” Eddie says. “She’s up there ranting like a crazy woman.”

  “You go back up there and tell her not to let a soul know she was present for any of it. They’re looking for any reason they can find to get rid of disloyal opposition. Her head could already be on the chopping block. I only read the last few chapters; she brought the book into the school in the first place. She’s the dangerous one.”

  “What are you going to do? Most of the kids in class want to boycott school.”

  “Don’t you guys be doing that. I’ll lay low for a while and see if I can get my job back. I’ll let that codger they brought in to replace me try to figure out this antiquated, jury-rigged heating system, and the bell system and the snow removal equipment and what-all. A few weeks of that ought to soften them up a little.”

  “You should sabotage some stuff on your way out.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t consider it; the Eddie Proffit in me is popping out all over. But I don’t think it will be necessary. That guy was staring at the fuse box like it came from NASA.”

  “You got enough money and everything? Food?”

  Dad smiles. “Hey, Eddie, don’t you worry about me. I have savings and I have Billy’s entire college fund to squander. I’m fine.”

  “Man, this sucks. They’re firing a guy from a school for reading to kids.”

  “If they don’t stop me, the terrorists win,” Dad says. My dad’s pretty funny.

  “Hey, listen,” Eddie says. “What are you doing this Sunday?”

  Dad’s eyes narrow. “I don’t know,” he says. “What am I doing this Sunday?”

  “You’re coming to the Red Brick Church to hear me testify,” Eddie says.

  Dad laughs and shakes his head. “Now that,” he says, “I’m going to enjoy.”

  “I just hope I can keep my mind on track,” Eddie says. “I’ve been practicing in my room, and every time I give it, it turns out different.”

  “How different?” Dad says.

  “Way different,” Eddie says back, “if I start thinking too much while I’m talking. You know me, Mr. Bartholomew.”

  “After the formal challenge,” Dan Moeltke says to the full assembly of the Youth for Christ, “Mr. West will get to talk, and then Ms. Lloyd will rebut. Then the floor is open to the public. As a group, we want to hit the same points again and again, like politicians do. You all have speaking points; memorize them. Use these words as much as you can: ‘obscene,’ ‘disrespectful,’ ‘immoral,’ ‘irrelevant.’ The more often they hear them the better they’ll stick. Make up your own testimony, and work the words in as naturally as you can, but in the end we want them to know it is offensive for us to have to read this kind of language in a school assignment, that we believe the issues portrayed are un-Christian and that we shouldn’t have to be exposed to homosexuality, abortion, masturbation, and all that. Those are is
sues that need to be taken up with people of our own faith, and those people are our families.”

  I think I’ll stand up and say I have faith in masturbation, Eddie thinks. I could bump him right now and say he must have faith in it, as often as he turns to it, but I don’t want him to start giggling for no reason. It will take a Herculean effort on his part to keep his mouth shut long enough to accomplish all he has in mind. He thinks about his dad. He believes John Proffit would be proud if he pulls this off. He thinks about his mom. He goes back to thinking about his dad.

  “I’ll go first to set the agenda, then the rest of you get in among the townspeople. Don’t line up together, because we want to break up those against banning Warren Peece and not let them get a run of five or six.” He points to Eddie. “Then our rising star will bring it to a close.”

  Eddie smiles and takes a bow.

  “Nobody has heard Eddie talk for almost four months. He’ll be testifying for his baptism on Sunday, but only church members will hear him. People may know he talked, but the school board meeting will be the first time they actually hear him.”

  “Honey?” Eddie’s mother says. She’s standing in the doorway to his room.

  Eddie looks up from his desk.

  “I’m really glad you’ve decided to open up. And I’m so relieved you’re coming into the church. It’s been a source of great solace to me. I can truly say that the church saved my life. I loved your father, I truly did, but it was such a struggle fighting his beliefs. He was a good man, but he was misguided. I sometimes wonder if—”

  He knows he’s in danger of blowing his cover, but Eddie can’t help himself. “He didn’t die because of his beliefs, Mom. He died because he forgot to let the air out of a truck tire before breaking it down.”

  “But if…the Reverend Tarter has said—”

  “Could we let it go, Mom?”

  “I’m really glad you came into the church,” she says.

  “Can’t you haunt her or something?” Eddie asks me when his bedroom door closes behind his mother.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve never tried anything like that.”

  “You haunted me.”

  “You haunted you,” I say back. “That ghoul you saw was never me.”

  That’s the one thing Eddie’s still not sure of. He thinks I haunted him to get him to notice me. I have to admit it’s what I would have done when I was alive, which is Catch-22 all over the place, because if I were alive, I couldn’t have haunted him. “Man,” he says, “what am I going to do with her?”

  “Want me to tell you?”

  “I asked, didn’t I?”

  “You’re gonna go right on ahead and outgrow her. She’ll either catch up or not. Might help you to remember that out here, sometimes the old look young and the young look old.”

  “Tell you one thing,” he says.

  “What?”

  “I liked it a lot better when you were alive and I ran things.”

  I laugh. “You still run things, Eddie. Don’t ever sweat that.”

  15

  UNEDITED TESTIMONY

  I accompany Eddie and his mom and my dad through the church parking lot the Sunday before the school board hearing on Warren Peece. We pass bumper stickers reading BEAR CREEK CITIZENS FOR RESPONSIBLE CURRICULUM and PABBIS (which stands for Parents Against Bad Books In Schools—a national organization). Eddie’s mom seems uneasy about having Dad with them, particularly because he’s carrying a large cloth book bag, but Eddie told her he wanted Dad there, and she wasn’t up for an argument.

  At the door, a church elder tells Dad he can attend the regular service, but when Eddie begins to testify, only members are allowed; church policy. Dad protests, but it is written in stone. Eddie is their secret weapon, and they’re not about to unveil him until the board hearing.

  It is a fiery sermon by Earth standards. The Reverend Tarter is never better than when he has an immediate cause, and saving Bear Creek’s youngsters falls right into that category.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says after the first hymn, “our town is at a crossroads. We are in a fight for the hearts, minds, and souls of our children. Make no mistake about it: We are in a battle, nay; might I say we are at war. It is a righteous war, however, and if we win no one will lose.

  “I am instituting a draft to fight this war; a draft for Christian soldiers. There won’t be a lottery for this draft, because you all draw number one. We need each and every one of you.

  “Basic philosophies are at odds, friends. No clearer lines have been drawn between good and evil. The books of Chris Crutcher and authors like him are written to influence our children, particularly our teens, in a way that is completely unacceptable. It is time for grown-ups with Christian values, whether they have children or not, to stand against words and ideas that poison young minds. Tomorrow night we will meet en masse at the high-school gym for the school board meeting to rid the school of Warren Peece, but that is just the beginning. Before this war is over, the entire curriculum of our school, K to 12 will be reviewed, and the administrators and teachers will justify their decisions or make different ones. We are a powerful force in this community, with true watchdog power.

  “The issues dealt with in Warren Peece are to be dealt with in the home, under the watchful eye of concerned and informed parents. They are not to be left to teachers who may or may not have the sensibilities to deal with them, and who certainly do not share your and my concerns about our children.”

  You could say he’s preaching to the choir (and you’d be right in a literal sense), but the entire congregation hangs on his every word. You can feel them rising to the occasion. At least I can. Tarter outlines his objections, focusing on the homosexual character and the “disrespectful” language. He calls the book blasphemous. He calls Chris Crutcher blasphemous. He calls “the person who brought the book into our school, decent as she may be,” blasphemous.

  “My friends, I hold the author of this book no ill will. He will have to make his peace with the Lord in due time, and while I’d certainly like to be there for his explanation, in the end that is between him and God. He doesn’t even know the children to whom he does this spiritual damage. But our business is here and now, and it is up to us to stop this country, school by school, town by town, from this dark spiral toward evil.”

  If he weren’t there to support Eddie as far as he can, my dad would get up and leave, maybe holler a few choice words of his own truth on the way out. I can feel him seething. Eddie’s mom is sitting in the choir, so Dad and Eddie are alone together. Eddie leans over and whispers, “If you’re gonna throw up or something, it would be okay if you leave now.”

  Dad chuckles and whispers back. “In World War Two, when bombers had to go deep into Germany, they had fighter escorts for as far as the fighters could go and still get back safely. Then they’d come back and meet them on the way back. I can’t go all the way with you, but I’ll be here when you’re done.” He nods to the book bag on the floor. “Wish I could go all the way.”

  The book bag is full of cue cards. Dad was going to stand at the back of the congregation and hold them up to keep Eddie’s bouncing brain in the groove.

  “I’m trying to picture them in order,” Eddie says, “but it isn’t working. Every time Tarter says something, I think of something I should say back. I’m not really very good at this.”

  “I know,” Dad says. “What do you want to do?”

  “Guess I’ll have to wing it,” Eddie whispers. He smiles. “Pray for me.”

  “…what Jesus would do,” the reverend continues. “I know it’s a cliché. They laugh at us for asking the question, but it is a Christian’s job to shrug off the barbs of the unfaithful and answer the tough questions. What Jesus would do is go to that meeting and stand up for our children. Jesus would say to the school board what we all know, that evil lurks in every corner, disguises itself in any possible way, even in the cloak of a children’s writer. Evil has no conscience, none. r />
  “Jesus would do what our young people are doing,” and he points to the section roped off for Youth for Christ. “Jesus would bring like-minded people, his followers and his flock, and face this evil down.” Tarter mops his brow lightly with a handkerchief. “This is our chance not only to talk like Christians but to walk like Christians. We must keep our eye on our goal and march toward it as Jesus marched toward Calvary. I’m asking each of you to attend that school board meeting tomorrow night. It will be held in the school gymnasium at seven o’clock. Do not stay home if you don’t have children in school. You have a responsibility not only to yourselves but to all other community members.”

  I hear some serious “amens.”

  The reverend pauses and backs off a little. “After the final hymn, we will welcome a special young man into our church; a boy who has suffered much over the past year, but who is now finding the solid ground of his faith. I hope you all will stay to welcome Edward Proffit.”

  Eddie looks over at the choir box and sees pride spread across his mother’s face. He feels a twinge of regret because he’s pretty sure that pride will be followed by tears when she hears what he has to say, but he figures as mad or as hurt or as disappointed as she’ll be, things would be a lot worse in the long run if he went ahead and did what she wants him to do. Because he would always resent her. He knows I’m right. She needs to take care of herself.

  When the final chord of “The Old Rugged Cross” fades, Tarter motions Eddie to the front of the room, as he respectfully asks anyone who is not a church member to leave; this ceremony is for only the faithful. Dad rises and discreetly walks up a side aisle. Eddie’s running his testimony over in his head, but he can already feel it slipping away with the book bag.

  As Tarter introduces him, recounting specifically all he’s been through over the past year, including his being “struck dumb,” Eddie concentrates harder on his message and his heart begins to pound and I see the window, opening exactly as it does when he is starting a run. And I know this about the universe. If the window is there, it is there to go through, which I do.