Chapter 11

The young members of the group were upset and nervous, knowing something important was going on. I found I was exhausted and soon excused myself. A six-year old led me to a large, airy room, filled with bunk beds. "Here, Brother David," the young man said. "This bunk is empty." I thanked him, dropped my shoes and sat on the lower bunk.

I looked around. I felt a lurch in my mind. Five young men shared this room, ages six and up? This wasn't good!

I lay down, still dressed except for my shoes and tried to sleep. It was harder than I imagined it would be. Thus, it was impossible to ignore the two older boys come in a little later.

"Another prince for the princesses," the oldest one said, his voice bitter.

That was me he was talking about, I realized.

"Father is much taken with him," the younger boy said defensively.

"He's a Father of the Faith. It's not like he lacks release."

I moved then, sitting up. The younger boy's mouth opened in an "O" of horror, ducked and ran out of the room.

"Tell me about princes and princesses," I asked the older young man, who remained, defiant.

"Princesses ... I know nothing of princes. The princesses are above the rest of us. They get a choice -- you get a choice and we get nothing."

"I get more than you, and I understand why you don't understand that. But, princesses?"

"We are taught that girls are special. That we can't touch them 'unless we are worthy.' Except we don't measure up, do we?"

"Perhaps it is because you don't measure up?" I asked innocently.

"That's what you all say. Of course, you measure up, so there's no problem, right?"

I looked at him for a moment. "Would you like to walk with me?"

He laughed. "Boys aren't permitted to pleasure each other."

I smiled thinly. "Trust me, Brother, if you walk with me, it won't be pleasure you'll be feeling."

"And being beaten is better?"

"Has your father or any member of the Faith beaten you?"

"No, they don't do that. But assigned extra chores? That happens often enough!"

"So, you're not beaten, but you think I will. Why?"

"You're new!"

I chuckled. "That's true! That should tell you that I'm the least likely to go against established doctrine about such a simple thing as chastising an unruly young man."

"Outside? There's snow on the ground! It's freezing cold!"

"I just spent two weeks up there on the plateau. You have no idea what snow is, or what 'freezing cold' means. I will be right next to you. Aren't you better than me, tougher than me, an all around much better guy?"

"You always twist our words."

I stood up. "That's because, Brother, you are young and straightforward." Then I turned hard, donning my shoes and reaching for my coat. "Me, I like to think I'm straightforward as well. I do know I'm not chicken."

With that I shrugged into my coat as I left the room.

I reached the front door without meeting anyone and went outside and looked up at the stars. About two minutes later, the young man joined me.

"I'm not chicken."

"I never said you were. I said I'm not."

"Twisted words."

"Assume, Brother, that I am from Mars. Assume that I've never met a person of the Faith before -- oh, let's say not in the last two and a half weeks.

"From your words, I gather you think you live in an onerous tyranny?"

"What do you care?"

I laughed. "Brother, I told you. I'm from Mars! What you on Earth have to deal with are your problems! My interest is in finding out what makes people tick."

"I'm freezing."

I smiled and waved at the house. "Inside there is a woman who nearly froze to death; I'm told she escaped that fate by less than an hour. She has trouble being out in the weather even for the shortest time. You, Brother, are cold ... not freezing."

"Again, you twist my words!"

"Brother, that's because you send twisted words at me -- I just give them more of a twist. Why do you think you live in a tyranny?"

He looked at me sullenly. "Like you care!"

"Brother, my mother died, a martyr to the Faith, trying to find a way to educate such as you. Trust me, I care every bit as much, if not more. Perhaps even considerably more."

"The princesses ... we can't touch them. The get their jollies together, but not us. They can go with some of the adults ... but never us!"

"The sisters don't want to get pregnant before they are ready; they would have rather different results if you get your jollies with them. They could have children before they are ready."

"Like you care! You're like all of them -- you don't give a rat's ass how many babies you make!"

I stared up at the skies. Evidently Brother Jerome's studies about the lives of the young men of the faith had holes you could drive a semi-truck through.

"I will not defend that doctrine to you, Brother. Yes, it is the young woman's choice -- but not all of them or even most of them choose what you think. Doctrine has an explanation for it, but like a lot of doctrine, it can be rather self-serving.

"Your room?"

The change of subject shook him. "My room? Are you blind? There's a half dozen people in 'my room.' The princesses rarely have to share with more than one, and then only when they are young. By the time they are brought to the 'Light' then have their own rooms."

"Brother, I suppose you will think I'm a giant hypocrite -- but I have to say that's not fair. I was an only child and never had to share. Ever."

"We do, we all do," he replied.

"Brother, that isn't fair. I will see what I can do to change it."

"You won't change my father's opinion of me."

"Why do you think that? I've changed his opinion; you can too."

"Years ago my little sister Janine would run up behind me and push me in the back and yell, 'Tag! You're it!'" I tried to be understanding, but she annoyed me. She liked to hit me when I was talking with my friends, then she'd laugh and run away.

"One day Janine did it, took a half dozen steps and fell dead before I even got turned around. I was the first one to her; I could see she wasn't breathing. I called for someone to run to the teacher and he did. The teacher came and had someone call my mother and 911.

"From that day to this, my father blames me for my sister's death."

At least I was on sure ground. I was pretty sure if Brother Brooks blamed anyone, it was himself. "You are wrong, Brother. Your father blames himself. Do you know why?"

"Who cares? Why should I believe you?"

"Because I will see to it that before this time tomorrow you and your father both have your nose rubbed in this. He blames himself because your sister wanted a hug before she went out to play. He didn't have time for her -- he was too busy. Since then, he's more careful with his family."

"Not with me."

I sighed. "Probably not with you, Brother. You have to understand the nature of disappointment. Not about you and your sister, but about a larger issue."

"I don't believe any of this. It's all more twisted words."

"Brother, all I can give you is words. Mine aren't twisted; they're from the heart. I'm free to tell you, for instance, that your life hasn't been fair -- and even in the Faith, it's been wrong. Still, you have to understand that you're a young man. What would you do if a sister member of the Faith came to you and wanted you to bring her to the Light?"

"That's all bull. I'd give her what she wants!"

"What she wants or what you want?"

"Who cares?"

"Well, first off, she cares. If you come and she doesn't, you won't have brought her to the Light. I can't imagine you'll have seen the Light either."

"It's sex! What's not to like!"

"Sex for you should be what pleasures you," I agreed. "But sex for the woman you're with should be about her pleasure as well. Bringing someone to the Light isn't about her pleasuring you or you pleasuring her. It's pleasuring each other equally."

"It would work out in the end."

"Brother, I'm a man. I was your age once. A girl let me pleasure her -- or at least that's what I thought she was doing. At the time I didn't realize she was bored with what was going on -- so she gave me a blowjob to send me on my way -- happy, but clueless. Brother, I'm sure she'd have gotten more pleasure from her own fingers."

"How are we supposed to learn? There are like two women who will take us in. One is sixty-five and old enough to be a grandmother. She is a grandmother. She feels like sex once a month. Another woman lost her husband in the war; she's in her later thirties. A couple of times a month for her -- and her heart isn't in it."

I realized his teeth were chattering from the cold. I waved at the house. "Go in, Brother. Get some cocoa."

He laughed. "Fix it myself, sure."

I returned to looking at the stars. How could people be so blind? I have no idea how long I stood there; I don't think it was that long. It was cold and windy; it was uncomfortable.

I spent considerable time lost in thought. It seemed inconceivable. How could the Faith treat their young men so poorly -- and then not notice?

I went inside and found the bed again. This time I was solidly asleep in seconds.

In the morning I showered, shaved and did all of that. The youngest boy presented himself to me as I finished dressing. "Father Brooks would like to see you in his office, before breakfast," I was told.

I followed him to the office and Brother Jerome waved me to a chair. "We are trying to organize a pilgrimage to the hill, Brother David. We wanted your advice."

"Brother Jerome, my faith was shaken last night. I don't think I can advise you about much of anything today."

"Shaken, Brother David? How is that?"

"You told me that you studied the problem about why the young men of the Faith don't make good Father's of the Faith. You said you've studied it for years. You told me that all the Elders have studied the matter and have no clue as to why your teaching fails. Yet, I can spend ten minutes talking to one of the young men of the Faith and can see it clearly. More than clearly ... it's like a slap in the face."

"Tell us then, Brother David," my uncle said. He sounded patient, but his eyes said he was angry.

"Why? Because they are second-class citizens. They are housed as cattle -- they have no privacy. The daughters of the Faith are two to a room until they become Maidens of the Faith, and then they have their own rooms. Young men of the Faith are bunked together until they leave home.

"They see the young women of the Faith protected and treated well. They aren't. You haven't even taught them to love their sisters as a brother should love a sister. The young men of the Faith feel divorced from all of the young women -- even their own families.

"You aren't teaching them anything but 'keep off the grass, ' and 'you're not fit.'"

Brother Jerome looked at me for a moment and then sighed. "I've never had any children, much less sons to raise. Brother Brooks?"

"The young men have a room they share, yes."

"There is no privacy?"

"Why would they need privacy?" Brother Brooks asked, obviously confused.

I glared at Brother Jerome; he at least understood and looked chastised and was silent when I spoke. "Brother Brooks, young men, as well as young women need privacy at a certain point in their lives. From a certain point in their lives. You teach young men to respect the Maidens of the Faith -- but you don't teach them why or how.

"I said this yesterday about such a simple thing as pets. If you raise a dog or cat, you learn responsibility. You come to love them, understand them, and forgive them their transgressions -- because pets often do transgress. I've heard how you teach young men in the Faith about young women of the Faith, but I have a feeling it's in a classroom. They are missing the other side of the coin -- the young women of the Faith hear the same things -- then their Sisters and Mothers of the Faith have more information for them but given privately.

"Sir, please. My mother told me any number of things when I was growing up. She explained that ideally my father should talk to me about sex, but he wasn't available. Now I understand why he's not available, but that's a different story. So my mother talked to me about a man's duties to women. She made sense. Yes, you have a few women who try to show young men the way to the Light, but not enough.

"Brother Brooks, have you spoken to your sons about their duties?"

"Of course! I was quite clear!"

I turned to Brother Jerome. "I do not want to stand between a father and his sons. But I'm thinking it wouldn't hurt if the Mothers of the Faith had conversations -- perhaps not frequent conversations, but less than rare -- and explained to them how they see things. What they feel."

He looked at me and said nothing.

"I suppose," Brother Brooks said in a surly voice.

"Brother Brooks, do you know what the young men call the Maidens of the Faith?"