Elders by Ryan McIlvain

wore on P-Days.
    “The question is simple,” Sweeney said. He held his hands out in the air as if to bracket McLeod’s attention. “Does the church keep tabs on your sex life after you’re married? To wit: Can you go down on your wife?”
    “The church stays out of the bedroom,” McLeod said.
    “That’s exactly what I said! Is that not exactly what I said, Kimball, you prude?”
    “I’m not the prude. They’re not my rules. I’m just saying. My brother’s bishop told him when he got married—and this was BYU, mind you, this was officialdom—he told him oral sex was a no-no. Both the his and her variety. Off-limits.”
    “Your brother’s bishop didn’t know shit,” Sweeney said.
    “Whoa, hey now!” Kimball said, laughing. “Keep it Bible, dude. You know the rules.”
    “And keep it down too,” McLeod said. “If you’re going to be insane, Sweeney …” He spread his hands, palms down. “Right? My companion’s out there.”
    “He didn’t go out with his countrymen?” Kimball said.
    “Your brother’s bishop didn’t know shit!” Sweeney said, rising to his feet.
    “Bible, Bible!”
    “Well I’m sorry, but I get worked up over this! If you think for one second—”
    “Guys, seriously,” McLeod said. “My companion.”
    And as if on cue, Passos opened the door. He leaned his head into the room, saying in Portuguese, “Could you guys please keep it down a little?”
    “I was almost finished,” Sweeney said, still in English.
    “He can hear you,” McLeod said. “I mean he understands English.”
    “I don’t care who hears me! I’ll tell it on the mountain! If you think for one second that Tiff and I aren’t going to get a little
alternative
? You know, a little of this—” Sweeney put his hand on an invisible head in front of his crotch. “A little of this—” He adjusted his hands to an invisible pair of hips and pumped. “If you think we’re not going to do that and more, you’re crazy!” He turned to Passos. “You hear that, Your Highness? I’ve been a good little boy for twenty-one very long years and now the Man’s going to tell me what I can and can’t do in my conjugal bed? It’s bullshit! You hear
that
, Your Highness? To hell with the Man! I’mfive months to homecoming, which means I’m six months to the wedding, which means I’m six months and a few hours from me and my wife, my
female
companion, doing
this, this, this, this!
You think about that when you’re still on the mission, Passos, when you’re kneeling down for companionship prayer, all right? You think about that.”
    Elder Sweeney dropped back down onto his bed, mock panting. After a silence he said, “I yield the floor.”
    Kimball still chuckled. “Keep it Bible, man. That’s all I’m saying.”
    McLeod shook his head, hand to face, a gesture he calculated for Sweeney and Kimball, but also for Passos, who stood several feet inside the door now. McLeod felt painfully conscious of his senior companion; he peeked at him through his fingers: the long thin face an utter blank, a floating mirror on top of the tall dresser of his body. Passos held his non-look for an agonizing minute more, then he smiled. There, then gone. A darting minnow. Elder McLeod wasn’t sure he’d even seen it right until Passos showed another smile, a longer one—an effort at one, anyway—a tight if ingratiating upturn at the corners of his mouth and eyes. He crossed the room and gestured to the spot beside Sweeney. Sweeney squinted a bit, nodded.
    Passos sat, laid a friendly hand on Sweeney’s knee. Sweeney frowned at the hand; Passos retracted it.
    “You know,” Passos said in English, “I don’t think I will think about that. But can I ask?”
    A curious smile spread across Elder Sweeney’s face. “Shoot.”
    “ ‘Shoot’?”
    “Ask your question,” Sweeney said.
    “What does it mean to say ‘keep it Bible’?”
    “Oh,” Sweeney said, and he laughed a little. “That. I guess it means we