Dead Reckoning by Tom Wright

wall. The child took the soda and placed an amount of money in the hand. He stepped down, and the next child stepped up to the hand. The hand provided the next child with some sort of candy. And on it continued—a human vending machine.
    I walked a little further and came to the church that I thought the guard must have been pointing toward.
    The church was the tallest and most well maintained structure around. It was painted entirely white and had ocean blue trim. The windows contained no glass but were framed in with approximately three-foot squares of wood stacked three high and two wide. Each square was divided further by wood slats from top to bottom and side to side in the middle, as well as from corner to corner, forming eight right triangles within each square in an obvious attempt to make it difficult to see in, but at the same time allowing free flow of air. Above the windows sat half-circle-shaped wooden awnings painted in the likeness of a rising sun. There was a steeple on top with a cross on top of that. A large main door in the middle, supplemented by two subordinate doors on each side, provided entrance to the building. The courtyard before the church was level and covered in coral gravel, some pieces large enough to cause an ankle to roll over if stepped on askew.
    In the courtyard, hundreds of Marshallese stood in lines waiting quietly. A sea of white dresses, shirts, and slacks was punctuated only by the thin, red ties on the men and red ribbons in the hair of the females. Most stood stoically, but a few of the younger performers swayed back and forth as if thinking through their moves or humming in their heads the tune of the song to which they would soon dance. One boy leaned over to rub a spot on his shoes and was immediately admonished by the boys in his vicinity and erected himself. None of them looked the least bit uncomfortable despite the blaring heat and lack of wi nd in the protected courtyard.
    I had apparently arrived just in time for the start of some event. I made my way through the crowd of white and into a seating area off to the side of the church. Inside the church, thousands of mostly women parishioners sat respectfully stiff-backed in the pews. Young women held infants while old and fat women sat fanning themselves with any contrivance capable of moving air. Men, dressed in their best, sat in the back of the church or stood against the wall as if they had just happened in. Perhaps they were unsure of what to expect and desired an easy escape should they find whatever was to come unpleasant.
    I scanned the back rows and walls and did not notice Denver. Although a lot of people thought it a sign of racism to say so, I had a hard time distinguishing among the Marshallese—the truth is what it is. I took a seat so that I could search the hundreds of faces without being obvious about it.
    A preacher took the pulpit and began to speak in Marshallese. I recognized it as a prayer only because of the sudden bowing of heads. I did not bow my head because I already knew no one was listening. My own beliefs notwithstanding, one didn’t have to spend much time in the deprivation, squalor, and suffering of Ebeye to recognize that the prayers of all those people went largely unanswered. But I understood that religion offered such people a ray of hope in spite of the obvious hopelessness. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. As usual, I felt self-conscious about not bowing, but only until the prayer ended.
    The preacher then told a story that went on for some time. I scanned the faces. No one made a sound. When the preacher stopped talking everyone looked to the door. An explosion followed causing a banner to unfurl from the ceiling. To the delight of the crowd, it came down backwards and upside down. The Marshallese words written on the other side were barely visible through the fabric. Everyone laughed. This remained a distraction for some time among the parishioners, especially the children, whose