BANQUET

St. Edmeus himself might have sneezed in his tomb. Long multicolored braids of spring flowers and ribbon rope from the rafters of the cathedral foyer. They outline the long tables that replace the usual seating there. In the center of the room, there is an arch of them, framing five padded chairs — beautiful antiques with lion paw legs and gold inlay; one for each of the missionaries returning, three years to the date after departure. These missionaries constantly stand up smiling, shake hands with members, sit down, and quickly nibble a bit of fruit or bread from a disposable plate on their laps.

This at all five seats but one.

The hall is otherwise boiling with movement and location, not a node of inactivity. Enough natural light ports through the façade of the structure to illuminate the stained glass, the morning sun harnessing the event in a dreamy incandescence. It's a good thing for the church's secrecy that the glass doors are double pane.

Ethen scans the room. His mind grabs any observation as a soothing distraction; he sees mostly the tops of people's heads. There is Clay; leaning against the wall for support, or in aversion to the socialization… he can't be sure. Occasionally a few members who task themselves with ironing out any wrinkles in the social fabric gingerly walk up to Clay extending a hand, which he awkwardly nods at rather than shake. These conversations are brief. Only the Goddess knows what he is saying back to them.

The Meropes — Gracie's personal guard, Ethen surmises — stand along the perimeter of the foyer like marks on a ruler. One of them is studying Ethen… the same who pulled Gracie away after that sermon. Something about her demeanor and poise shouts that she is the leader of their pack. She is a stern, unpleasant-looking woman, with deep cuts of wrinkles, arctic blue eyes, a jawline fit for a movie star, and a beak-like nose overhanging an invariant scowl. Ethen thinks she might chew on nails in her off time.

Germany's there. He doesn't seem to have noticed Ethen. He thinks he sees Melody in conversation and different makeup too, but it couldn't be, and he doesn't want to look again and risk eye contact.

A delivery package lies on the ground just inside the door, tan and tattered, but rescued with gratuitous packaging tape. The remainder of the foyer is spotless; nothing out of place, everything angled and spaced just so. The tables are perfectly parallel with each other, and seat an even number at equidistant points. The white tablecloths flow creaseless under the flower braids, and hover a few inches off the ground at all sides with no discrepancy.

Artifacts and relics have been disinterred from their storage and placed lovingly in display cases on small tables around the room. They act as cultural bonfires. There are bottles, chalices, jewelry, what looks to be a splintered walking stick, a sword, a gown, and other tidbits of metal and gems. There was something grotesque too… organic and preserved; maybe St. Edmeus' loogie. Stranger things have become relics.

Ethen understands that the attentiveness with which he is observing the room is a misfiring of his focus, a frustrated battery of unsatisfied criteria and cues. He's looking for his mother. They are half an hour into the gathering, and he has not seen her.

Metal clinks on crystal. Everyone's attention is quickly turned to the side of the room opposite the door and towards Ethen; a surreal sight that would fit in a horror film. But the attendees' gazes are on the First Priestess, next to him. She holds high a champagne flute in one hand and an ornate serving knife in the other.

"Attention everyone!" She smiles out the words.

"My congregation, today we celebrate a wonderful occasion; the return of our beloved and hardworking missionaries! In honor of their bravery, sacrifice, and commitment to their faith, we have decided to establish a new tradition, a homecoming feast. This serves not only to celebrate their courage but also to welcome them back into the loving embrace of the Church of Oedipus and to show them our appreciation for their efforts to spread our teachings to the lesser-developed nations. Thank you for gathering here at St. Edmeus' Cathedral to feast and rejoice in their safe return. Let's show them our gratitude and respect."

The congregation applauds, one stray and hearty clapper continuing a second too long, after everyone else has stopped. That someone was Clay.

"Our first missionary, Timothy, has been part of our community for several years and has worked hard to spread our message. He was sent to the neighboring nation of Nemeon to preach and teach our beliefs, and has been quite successful in his endeavors. We are thankful that he has finally returned home to us after so much time spent teaching the people of Nemeon. Timothy returns home to his wife, Jane, and his children, Justice and Lily, and the entire Church of Oedipus welcomes him back with open arms."

Applause rounds.

"Our second missionary is Michael, who has been a member of the Church for over a year. He was sent to the kingdom of Arthean, a distant land in the southwestern part of the world, to preach our beliefs and teach the people of that kingdom about our faith. This is a highly hostile place. Michael asked to be sent. He did a wonderful job spreading the word about the Mother-Goddess and has finally returned home to us, leaving behind a whole new congregation of followers he has taught in Arthean. Michael returns home to his beloved mother, who has been waiting for his safe return since his departure."

Another round. Ethen winces but converts it quickly to a grin.

"Our third missionary, Sophia, has been a member of the Church for many years and is a dedicated priestess. She was sent to the neighboring nation of Jormi, where she taught and preached the word of the Goddess. She has done a wonderful job in Jormi and has returned home after the three years of hard work and dedication. Sophia returns home to her wife, Emma, and their children, Simon and Emily. We are excited to welcome her back and celebrate her return."

An offering of appreciation rises.

"Our fourth missionary, William, has been a devoted member of the Church for several years and worked hard to spread our faith. He was sent to the city-state of Hephion, a distant land in the eastern part of the world, to proclaim the word of Oedipal love and teach the people there about our beliefs. He did a wonderful job spreading our teachings and has finally returned home to us. William returns home to his wife, Emily, and their children, Jack, Jeffrey, Adam, Thomas, and William Jr. A blessed family indeed. Let's welcome him back and show him appreciation for his many efforts."

Ethen doesn't even hear this round, it is underwater. His mind is already rehearsing his emotions for the next portion of the address.

"Our thoughts go out to Ethen, as his mother, Martha Merriview, has not yet returned from her mission trip. Martha was sent to the far-off land of Sideria to preach and teach the people about our beliefs. We ask the Mother Goddess for her protection and trust that she will eventually return home to us all. We'll look eagerly to the doors for her arrival today."

Ethen is a battlefield of emotion. He smiles generically as thoughts pile up as casualties.

"If she doesn't return today, Martha's hard work and dedication to the Church is undoubtedly the reason for her extended mission and we look forward to her eventual return with admiration and appreciation for her sacrifice and commitment. Perhaps she has been so successful in her preaching and teaching that she was unable to complete her task in three years. Let's all bow our heads for a moment of silent prayer, and raise our hands in hope and support of Martha."

Ethen cries. He wipes up his tears with plenty of time to spare before the congregation opens their eyes. Smiling as best he can again, he catches the gaze of Clay; his arms are planted in his pockets. It's doubtful he prayed.

Gracie confirms the minute's expiry. "Our congregation, it is my honor and privilege to add to our great tradition the 'Martha's Steps' feast. This name is chosen in honor of the fifth missionary, Martha, and for Ethen, here her son, who inspired this new tradition. From this day onward, in remembrance of the work and sacrifice of our missionaries, and in honor of the Mother Goddess, we shall mark each returning missionary with this feast of celebration and gratitude."

"My congregation, please join us at the banquet tables, where we shall all feast and rejoice together. You may not know that the returning missionary is expected to bring a special treat from the culture of their respective assignments. We encourage all those missionaries to bring home a sweet treat from the lands they have been in, to share with all of us... perhaps some delicious candy from Nemeon, or some spicy sauce from Hephion. Prior, this was a tradition reserved for our clergy, but we are distributing the experience to you now, to more appropriately share the labor and appreciation of our missionaries. Please enjoy the exotic delicacies, and don't be surprised to see the Mother Goddess herself sampling them among you!"

The congregation splits into pockets of discussion and laughter, as some begin to occupy the main serving table. There is fresh fruit, home-grown vegetables, a variety of herbs and cheeses, wines, sweets, stews, dishes of noodles, and roasted game. There is more food than can be eaten.

Gracie approaches Ethen. She speaks in a quieter, more intimate, more solemn tone. "My condolences for your Mother's delay, Ethen. I know that you have been anxious enough about her return and that this has been difficult for you. I too was eager to see your mother's reaction to all this." Ethen knows she speaks of more than just the homecoming. "Please know that the Church and I stand beside you and your family. We have faith that the Mother Goddess is ensuring your Mother's safety and that she will return to you soon. In the meantime, we welcome you to join us for this honorary feast. I hope that this feast and celebration can provide you with a bit of comfort and peace in the meantime. The Mother Goddess is a loving and merciful divine, and I am certain that she has Martha's best interest at heart. Let us wait patiently, and trust that she will be returned to us safely in due time."

"Maybe she went home first. Maybe I should go see if she's there."

"Maybe. Missionaries know to return to their base of operations first."

"She certainly isn't one to dismiss protocol."

"Why don't you go see? There's no point in staying here if you are not present." She smiles lovingly at him.

"Ok. I'm just worried. Something doesn't feel right."

"I hope she is just late. Maybe she will arrive as soon as you leave… this is the sense of humor of the Goddess; I wouldn't be surprised."

Ethen bows to her and makes his way towards the door, working through the crowd and volleying lobs of condolences and support with his thanks. He emerges near Clay.

"Will you bring me some food?" Clay asks unceremoniously.

"Hey I'm going back to my apartment. Maybe my mom showed up there."

"Can you bring me a plate of food back when you return?"

"Clay, just go over and get some food man, I'll be gone a while." Ethen imagines Clay at the banquet by himself. "Or, do you want to come with me?"

"Do you have food at your place?"

"Just some leftover take-out."

"How much?"

"Like… half a serving of noodles."

Clay raises one side of his lip and squints in thought.

"Nah, I'll just find an opening when no one is around the table."

"Ok… good luck Clay." Ethen was incredulous that he was the one wishing Clay the luck. Clay lumbers off lankily towards the far end of the grand buffet table, across the foyer.

Ethen pulls open the church's glass doors composed. He straightens his tie and button down, then placing one hand in his pressed khaki pants, strolls to the left to exit the outer facade at the doorway facing the old fence with the cover of overgrown foliage. Outside, he turns right and heads for the street crossing. Once he is free of being immediately associated with the exit, he starts to jog. He doesn't know why. His apartment is the one cross and four blocks away to the left, and it would only save him a few minutes at a jog than at a normal pace.

He didn't have much sleep the night before. The bedsheets upon him were too stuffy and hot, yet his skin froze with them off. He had stared up at the popcorn ceiling, detailing where the steam from the kitchen had peeled small portions off. At one point, he attempted to pleasure himself, thinking the energy expended would do the trick. But he couldn't complete his fantasy… his thoughts were moving clouds and Gracie's face was lost or exchanged for another's at the most inopportune times. This left him feeling not only sweaty but filthy, so he took a shower at 2 AM. There he ran thought-experiments, assessing the mixology: him, his mother, him and his mother, the First Priestess, him and the First Priestess, the Priestess and his mother.

What would his new relationship say to his mother? What would she think?

Somehow, his eyes finally collapsed like he did to the bed, and his thoughts eventually arrested. It was morning in the blink or two of his bloodshot eyes.

The door of his apartment is thrown open like shrapnel. The comely eyes of Ethen's mother smile back at him, but they are entombed in glass… all pictures.

"Mom?" There is only the hum and honk of cars out on the street. He looks to the bed, the shower, the fridge for any signs of additional life. There are none. Ethen dumps himself into a chair at the kitchen table, sighing. He hangs around for a minute or two, paranoid that she is walking up the stairs or taking the elevator, and will be just missed if he takes the wrong way down.

Too overwhelmed to know if her absence there is good news or not, he resigns himself to a slow march back to the church. The morning sun is mocking in its resplendence; a dazzling array of sparkles and pollen-particled rays reaching through leaves to dapple his path. Was he supposed to be that happy? Was that the universe's way of dictating his correct mood?

He walks up to the third intersection. One more block and a right until the church. As always, he's careful to give pause after his walk light illuminates, in order to allow the idiots a chance to speed through the red light undeterred at the prospect of becoming murderers. He had seen too many people hit by drivers on these streets, by people too important or mindless to be inconvenienced two minutes.

He is thinking of vehicle-borne fatalities when it happens. A loud, tectonic boom from somewhere ahead. The sound enters him through his feet, takes entirely too long to travel through him, and tosses him back into the curb like trash missing a can. Obtunded, he stands up, holding his ears. The ringing sounds like people screaming. A pillar of black smoke towers towards the sky a few hundred yards ahead, rising behind buildings in between. He slowly lets his hands off his ears, his eyes in disbelief. An explosion has occurred. There is no ringing in his ears.

He darts forward, towards the explosion, in a sure direction; more than can be said for his mind, which goes in many. At the end of the block, he looks right. Smoke and screams flee from inside an abandoned building, causing concern among onlookers. People gather to investigate, some working their way in through the rusted doorways to aid. One is carrying a body; a child, limp and bloodied. Others pour out, crying and crawling, walking and wailing. This is the church. Those were the people inside.

He shouts at the scene. It is not a name — not "Gracie", not "Clay". It is not a word — not "no", not "help". It is not a question — not "what?", not "mom?". It is all of those things at once. It is a guttural byproduct that predates language. It overrules thought. It is the syllable of sheer horror.