Church Human Rights Interests Syndicate of the Tabernacle HQ
Fineberg, New Edom
“Gender equality is not only a fundamental human right, but a pre-condition for sustainable development. Providing women and girls with quality education, health care, decent work, access and ownership rights over property and technology, and equal participation in political and economic decision-making processes will lead to social, economic and environmental sustainability across the globe.” Dr. Paul Mercator frowned and paused. “You removed the parts about gender identification. Why?”
Father Dante Zarduch was standing, Mercator was sitting, in a small room facing a compound. It was a brick building that served as a school house as well as a church in Crozier District in the city. It was also a warm, almost airless night, and the two men were wearing light cotton shirts and shorts, Father Dante with his cross around his neck. It was not an Edenist neighborhood.
“Because it’s a red flag to the government bull. In other countries where they have advanced the rights of LGBT people, women’s rights came first. Dismantling the presumption that men must always be in a dominating position.” Dante smiled. “Like our fathers. Go on.” He placed his hands on Paul's shoulders. He would have thought nothing of it any time after that if he hadn't heard the snort and intake of breath behind him and looked up, first out of the paneless window out onto the front porch and then, turning, at the door to the hallway leading to the other three rooms.
Mercator’s wife, Hope, younger than he by fifteen years and with the delicate breakability look about her of dark brown hair and light olive-skin, was standing on the porch, framed by the window, her arms raised, as if paralyzed, in the air.Micah Ianis, dark, handsome, and robust,, was in the other half of the frame. He and Hope had been conversing, but sound from in back of Dante had suspended their conversation and caused both of them to swivel their eyes to where Dante leaned over Paul—and to hold them there, motionless, for what seemed to be forever.
When Dante tore his eyes from them and looked around, he saw the orphanage's handyman, the young Dengali, Faro Jamba, staring at him. It had been Faro who had snorted and sucked in his breath. Dante pulled his hands away, rose, and took a step away from Paolo. The original movement had all been so natural, though. He had just been checking on the changes made in the document that they were going to publish as an appeal to various international human rights organization that would also be appealed to the government.
“Father, I hate to interrupt,” said Micah in a loud voice, “But I think the printer is fixed. Could I talk to you about it?”
Father Dante sighed. “Certain, of course. Paul…”
“I can help Paul proofread, Father,” said Hope. “You should rest your eyes and just ...well, get some rest. I think we’re all tired.”
“At least Hope is with us,” joked Paul Mercator. No one laughed, they had heard it many times.
Micah whispered to him, as they walked to the room where they stored the printer, paper, inks and educational materials, “You know we’re being watched all the time. Anything other than traditional manly gestures of affection is now suspect.”
Dante felt heavy hearted. Yes. A paternal gesture that was over another man of equal social rank. It was all in the new instructions about how to uphold the law to avoid suspicions by demonstrating a ‘homosexual lifestyle or mannerism’. Including putting one’s hands on the shoulders of another man for no necessary reason, as though with the intention of committing a homosexual act.
The same was being told by Hope to Mercator. “Honey,” she warned him, “I just don’t want some fool to accuse you.”
“Why would they?” said Mercator bitterly though he knew. He looked t her girlish fragility. She didn’t look like she was in her early twenties, but like she was barely in her late teens, until one looked at the slightly weathered look around her eyes. “I wish you’d go stay with your parents in the country. Even maybe go overseas or something.”
She put a hand over his. “I’m staying. We are man and wife. All the…”she lowere her voice. “All our LGBT friends and family are firmly in the closet or hiding. Who can accuse us?”
Mercator gave her a warning look. “You just watch. The next wave of arrests will be against sympathizers. Until there are none of us left. We have to get this ready to send out in the morning. Let them know we have a heart that still beats.”
Dante came suddenly awake, without knowing why. He was alone in his bed and had to take a moment to wonder why. But that's not what had awakened him. He realized that there was light at the window—and not the burning light of a southeast Edomite sunbeam, but a flicker, crackling, dance light of a fire. Putting his feet on the floor, he quickly pulled on his trousers and raced for the front door of his bungalow. There wasn't anything there that should be burning.
He was brought up short at the door. The flames were coming from the pile of fliers about the gender rights initiative. They were being flung into an oil drum by a pair of uniformed Municipal Militia. Others, with rifles, stood scattered about the compound.
"What is this?" he exclaimed, his eyes fighting to pick out the officer in command, and in the scan seeing, first, Paul,wearing only shorts,, being held between two soldiers, hunched over as if he'd been beaten, and, then, Faro Jamba, standing beside the Dengali woman who obviously was the Militiaman in charge by her stripes and her intimidating bearing.
“Father Dante Zarduch?” strange that the woman had such a nice contralto voice.
"That’s him. That is the man—the proselytizer—the violator," Faro called out, pointing at Dante.
Dante had felt prepared for this moment, but found his limbs felt like rubber, his belly cold, his mouth dry. He managed to say, “This is a school founded by the Apostolic Church. There is nothing blasphemous in the documents your men are burning. They are...they are…”he gulped as the Militia Sergeant indicated to two of her people to approach him. “They are about equal rights for women.”
Faro was going on. "Him. He's the man who has been lying with Dr. Paul Mercator, here, leading him astray, forcing him into man sex."
It was strange. The Militia Sergeant almost seemed to be looking at him with pity in her eyes. She almost looked reluctant to arrest him. Nevertheless, when she spoke it was with matter of fact determination. “Father, I hate to do this to a man of God, but our authority extends over clergy as well, as stated by the Holy Judicial Committee. Therefore, in the name of the Holy Empire, I arrest you, Father Dante Zarch on charges of spreading homosexuality and homosexual behaviour.”
Paul would not look at him. He was shoved towards the entrance of the courtyard, where Dante could now see there was a waiting two and a half ton truck. “Get moving professor.” sneered one of the Militia, who seemed barely more than a boy. “Your books won’t help you now, will they?”
“Stop that! Be professional!” snapped the Sergeant. “Get the prisoners onto the truck! You and you: remain here and guard this place until the Justice Officials get here!”
They stiffened to attention and barked out, “Yes Sergeant!”
Others watched from the compound windows. They had been told to remain in one of the rooms under guard. Paul couldn’t help but lift his eyes to meet those of his wife. She looked back, tears in her eyes, and then he was out of her sight, through the gate and moving up and into the truck. The Sergeant climbed up into the cab of the truck and it roared off into the night.
