Saint Maybe - Anne Tyler [114]
Ian didn’t know what to say to that. He supposed it would have been nearly impossible to get members, come to think of it.
“And then there’s tithing,” Reverend Emmett said. “Who am I to tell them they have to give a tenth of their income? Some of those people are dirt poor. Not a one of them is wealthy. Now I see that’s why I dispensed with the ritual of collection. I said, ‘Slip your envelopes through the mail slot, no return address,’ because secretly I hoped they wouldn’t tithe, even when the heating bill had to come out of my own pocket; and I didn’t want to have to deal with it if they didn’t. I preferred to be looking the other way. There’s so much I’ve looked away from! I see everyone has made Second Chance his own, adapted it to suit his own purposes, changed the rules to whatever is more convenient, and I pretend not to notice. I know Brother Kenneth smokes! I can smell it on his clothes, although I never say so. I know Daphne smokes too, and also drinks beer, and Sister Jessie has never given up her evening cocktail, not even the day she joined the church, which rumor has it she celebrated with a split of champagne after services. But I’ve never so much as mentioned it, because the awful truth is I find I don’t mind. I find as I get older that it all seems just sort of … endearing, really: this little flock of human beings who came to me first to atone for some sin, most of them, and then relaxed and settled in and entirely forgot about atonement. How long since you’ve seen someone stand up at Public Amending? And Christmas! Three-quarters of the congregation marks Christmas with trees and Santa Claus, don’t you think I know that?” Ian stirred guiltily.
“But the silliest,” Reverend Emmett said, “is the Sugar Rule.”
“Oh, well …” Ian said.
It wasn’t as if this subject hadn’t come up before, here and there.
“I knew almost from the start I’d made a mistake on that one. I just didn’t know how to get out of it. And truthfully, I never felt sure that I wasn’t merely rationalizing, once I’d seen how hard the rule was to follow. But in the hospital I was reading this book Sister Nell brought me. This nutrition book. I was trying to learn how to eat more healthily. Although,” he said, waving a hand toward the potato chips, “I may not always act on what I’ve learned. Well, I came upon a discussion of sugar, and do you know what? It’s not a stimulant.”
“It’s not?”
“It’s a tranquilizer.”
“It can’t be,” Ian said.
“It’s a tranquilizer. Oh, it gives you energy, all right. Physical energy. But as far as the mental effect: it lulls you.”
“Well, uh …”
“Want to know what is a stimulant?”
“What?”
“Milk.”
Ian thought about that. He started grinning.
“See?” Reverend Emmett said. He was grinning too. “How could you give answers any more wrong than mine have been, Ian? Why, you could be a better minister with one hand tied behind you!”
“No one could be a better minister,” Ian said.
He meant it with all his heart. Reverend Emmett must have realized that, because he sobered and said, “Well, thank you.”
“But I’ll think about Bible School, um, Emmett.”
“Wonderful,” Reverend Emmett said. Then he reached for another potato chip. His eyes seemed no longer brown but amber. “Oh,” he said, “it would be so wonderful to have somebody working at my side and calling me Emmett!”
And he popped the entire chip into his mouth and chomped down happily.
Bert was telling the new man, Rafael, how Mr. Brant had discovered his wife had left him. “First he claims she’s kidnapped,” Bert said. “He shows Jeannie the closet: ‘See? All her clothes still hanging here. She can’t have left on purpose.’ ‘Uncle,