Good Friday
Reconciling Two Images
Along the service road, along the interstate, past the Dairy Queen, but before the barbecue joint, three men stand propped on wooden crosses. They are dressed in interpretative garb fashioned by their wives from scraps of fabric found in the bargain bin.
Earl had been waiting all year for his starring role, and as he gazed out at the line of traffic slowing on the highway to gawk at his Halloween-blood-soaked-tunic and his plastic crown of thorns, he felt a deep kinship and love for his community he had never before experienced. A volunteer fireman and construction worker, he had helped these folks in moments of deep distress and had also built homes for them. Some of them had gathered on hay bales scattered around the church parking lot to take in the scene, their distance from the three men enforced by boys from the JV football team dressed in Roman Centurion garb and brandishing Styrofoam swords.
Five thousand miles away, Darya Kozyreva has been led away from the Russian courtroom where she has just been convicted of “discrediting” the Russian army by gluing an anti-war quotation on a statue of the Ukrainian poet Taras Shevchenko that stands in St. Petersburg. The quotation was as follows: “Oh bury me, then rise ye up/And break your heavy chains/And water with the tyrant’s blood/the freedom you have gained.”
Earl is not considering Ukraine. He doesn’t even know that much about it. His attention is being diverted from his agape moment by the smell of smoked brisket and pork ribs wafting down the hill and embracing the mock-Golgotha crowd in a temptation veiled in mesquite wood smoke. At this point, the gawkers begin to trickle out and make their way up the hill to acquire their carnivorous treat. Earl’s stomach begins to growl in a Pavlovian response to the aroma.
Darya Kozyreva is 19 years old, pale, and thin, with bags under her eyes that make her appear both older than she is and frightened. When she is led from the courtroom she will be taken to a prison in an undisclosed location to serve her three-year sentence, where the last of her youth will be given up for a protest she cared deeply about.
Earl calls out to his wife and asks her if she can bring him a chopped beef sandwich. His gut is screaming at him for something to eat, as in his excitement for his role in the history of Christian martyrdom, he had forgotten to eat lunch. She refuses to help him. She tells him that it would ruin the effect if he were up on that cross eating a sandwich. It is then that he realizes that he is only 30 minutes into his 3-hour shift as the crucified Lord. He is then overcome with doubt about his ability to still the growing pain in his stomach and see this through.
Darya will receive one meal a day that she must force herself to eat. Despite its intentional inedibility, she must eat to survive.
Earl wants to climb down from his misery and wants to eat with the rest of the folks chomping through their brisket sandwiches and pork ribs while looking at him from their haybale seats. But the script calls for him to be lowered by the JV soldiers after his fake death that is still hours away. He shifts on his feet. A bead of sweat forms on his brow. The pain in his stomach has enveloped his entire mid-section.
“The things I do for you people.” He mutters.
No one hears him.