Parable of the Talents - Octavia E Butler Page 0,102

shown us in spite of our unworthiness. And we must confess that unworthiness and make a public repentance and a public appeal for God’s mercy. We have each been required to do this many times. The more you yield, the more you are required to yield. Our teachers know we don’t mean it, know we act out of fear of pain. We simply do as we are told. They hate us for this. They look at us with unmistakable hatred, disgust, and contempt, and they insist that it’s love that they feel. Their God requires them to love us, after all. And it’s only love that makes them try so hard to help us see the light. They say we’re blinded by our own sinful stubbornness to the love and the help that they offer. “Spare the rod and spoil the child,” they tell us, and we are, at best, still children as far as morality is concerned.

Right.

Anyway, Reverend Benton issued a call to testify. Three people had been ordered to testify. I was one of them. How I was selected, I don’t know, but a scrawny “teacher” with bad teeth had put his hand on my shoulder before services began and ordered me to give testimony. The other two who had been ordered to testify were Ed Gama and a red-haired, one-armed woman, fresh from the highway. Her name was Teal, she had been with us for less than a week, and she was afraid of her shadow. Ed and I have done it before, so we went first to show the stranger what to do. This was the usual practice. I gave thanks for my many blessings, then I confessed to sinful thoughts, to anger, and to resistance to my teachers who were only trying to help me. I apologized to God and to all present again and again for my wickedness. I begged for forgiveness, begged for the strength and the wisdom to do God’s will.

That’s how you do it. That’s how I’ve done it for over a year.

When I finished, Ed did pretty much the same thing. He had his own scripted list of sins and apologies. Teal was bright enough to do as we had done, but she was very frightened. Her voice trembled, and she all but whispered.

In his loud, nasty voice, Reverend Benton said, “Speak up, sister. Let the church hear your testimony.”

Tears spilled from the woman’s eyes, but she managed to raise her voice and repent and ask forgiveness for “all the things I have done wrong.” She must have forgotten the kind of thing that the sermons had “suggested” she confess to. Then she collapsed to her knees and began to sob, out of control, terrified, begging, “Don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything.”

If I had tried to go to her, help her up, and take her back to her space on the floor, I would have been lashed. Human decency is a sin here. Ed and I looked at each other, but neither of us dared to touch her. I suspect that some “teacher” would have helped her back to her place. Lashing her back to her place wouldn’t be quite the thing to do under the circumstances.

But there was an interruption. Beth and Jessica Faircloth had gotten up and were picking their way through the congregation, trying not to step on anyone, heading for the altar. When they reached the altar, they fell to their knees. People did this sometimes, gave voluntary testimony in hope of currying favor with the “teachers.” It was harmless—or had always been harmless before. And it might buy you a piece of bread or an apple later. In fact, the Faircloths had done it several times. Some of us sneered at them for it, but it had never seemed important to me. Stupid me.

“We’ve sinned too,” Beth cried. “We didn’t mean to. We didn’t know what to do. We knew it was wrong, but we were afraid.”

They were not lashed. I saw Reverend Benton hold up his hand, no doubt telling the “teachers” to let them alone. “Speak, sisters,” he said. “Confess your sin. God loves you. God will forgive.”

They didn’t follow the form this time. Instead they spoke the way they do when they’re afraid, when they know they’ve done something other people might not like, when they’re standing together against others. They’re not twins. In fact, they’re 18- and 19-year-old sisters, but under stress, they act much younger, and