Year of Lesser by David Bergen Page B

his back, the outline of her hand, and she laughs, bends to kiss it and says, “Sorry.”
    Charlene sings as she dresses. She’s nervous but excited about returning to work. She eats Cheerios while Johnny reads the Bible to her.Ephesians. “Listen,” he says. “’So then do not be foolish … And do not get drunk with wine, for that is dissipation, but be filled with the Spirit.’” Johnny pauses, looks up at Charlene, and wets his lips. “Isn’t that great? It just speaks to me. Be filled with the Spirit. Have you ever wanted that, Charlene?”
    Charlene laughs. She lifts her arms to the air.
    “It’s possible,” Johnny says. “I could talk to Phil, he’d pray over you.”
    “Wonderful,” Charlene says. “As if we need another one in the house.”
    Johnny’s face crinkles. He bends back to the Bible as Charlene eats; milk dribbles down her chin and she wipes at it with the back of her hand. “‘Husbands, love your wives,’” he reads aloud. He looks up. His eyes will spill real tears, Charlene thinks. And then, at the end of chapter six, he reads slowly while Charlene putters with her lunch. “‘For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places. ’ Wow,” Johnny says.
    “So, what does that mean?” Charlene asks.
    “It’s a big battle,” Johnny answers.
    “I already know that, so how does that help me?”
    Johnny holds up his palms. “It’s funny. I always struggle with my tiny earthly body, the things of the flesh, you know. But, I’m thinking that I’m setting my sights too low. This is big stuff. There is real darkness out there, up there, not just in here …” Johnny thumps at this chest. “I don’t know,” he says. “I could be wrong.”
    Charlene rolls out some wax paper. She’s humming to herself but she’s remembering herself stretched out drunk on the kitchen floor just a few days ago and she marvels at how high one can climb, how quickly one falls, and she accepts that today she is happy and tomorrow may be different.
    “Maybe it’s the mind,” she says, pointing at Johnny’s Bible. “The mind is like a heavenly place, and then there’s all those possibilities for wickedness there.” Like her on the phone, whispering obscenities in Loraine’s ear. She’s repentant now.
    Johnny’s still chasing this problem. “I heard Harry Kroeker say once it was politicians. They were in high places and wicked.”
    “He’s probably right.” Charlene says this, but her mind’s back on work, on how the women will treat her. Before leaving she asks Johnny if he wouldn’t mind looking at her Mustang. “It’s dead,” she says. “All I get are clicks or maybe a tired groan.”
    “Sure,” Johnny mumbles, still brooding at the table.
    The week has a flow to it, in fact the buoyancy is frightening, as if only goodness and mercy were available in this world. Charlene, knowing this to be impossible, keeps waiting for the fall. Johnny cooks supper Monday: a chicken dish and rice. He makes instant pudding for dessert and opens a bottle of wine. Charlene drinks too much and talks really fast. She’s closing up the spaces, disliking the sound of Johnny chewing, the clink of silverware. Johnny is slow, a little dazed, as if he’d spent the afternoon sleeping or smoking drugs. Noting this, Charlene says, “I found your little stash in the glove box.”
    “Oh?”
    “Some leftovers, really old. Hard to roll.”
    “Must have got left there in summer.”
    “We haven’t smoked together in a long time,” Charlene says. There is something lovely here, tempting Johnny in this way.
    He holds up his hands. “I’m squeaky,” he says. “I really am.”
    “I was wondering,” Charlene says, “if we’d ever do anything at Christmas. You know. Fly south, Mexico maybe, lie on the beach.”
    Johnny points a finger at his chest. “I