Read Online People in Trouble by Sarah Schulman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sarah Schulman
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dragged her son along enough times to be sure he knew everything he'd need to be able to participate. But Peter remained faithfully unaware of the larger meanings behind the rituals. The priest entered.
They all rose. An organ played. There were murmurings in various languages and constant movement as people came and went from their pews. After all, this cathedral was a major tourist attraction. This wasn't some quiet neighborhood church.
Peter made wishes. He always made the same ones, in the same order.
He had kept those wishes in that order for years and years. He wanted to do good work, have it be recognized and stay healthy. Kate should stay healthy too. These didn't seem to be outrageous demands. And he wanted to be loved. As he was reciting his own private liturgy, about forty men stood up together from among the worshipers and turned to face them. These forty men turned their backs to the pulpit while the service was in progress. Peter's eyes happened to focus on the face of one who seemed somewhat familiar. Perhaps he lived in the same neighborhood. The man was thin and unsure of what he was doing. He was lanky and older with a gray mustache and bushy gray hair. He was uncomfortable. The man wore a black T-shirt with a pink triangle and the word Justice across his chest. It did not make him look like Superman. He was an anxious, regular guy. All the men had the same shirts. Some were robust and effeminate. Some were shy. They were all strong-willed and very serious. The men stood with their backs to the priest who continued his service as though nothing was happening.
One of them held up a sign that said Living with AIDS for Two Years and Five Months-No Time for Red Tape.
These are men with AIDS, Peter realized. Forty of them. But that one doesn't look like he has it. He looks like he works out.
The thin one has definitely got it.
He took another look at the familiar one and decided that he had definitely seen him somewhere before and that that guy probably didn't have it.
That black man, thought Peter. I wonder if he's gay or if he got it from drugs.
Then the black man spoke.
"The church is the world's most powerful hypocrite," he said. Peter noted that the man's voice and gestures were campy.
They shouldn't have let him be the spokesm:an, Peter thought. They should have picked somebody more masculine, so people would be more sympathetic.
The man kept speaking.
"Why don't all you gay priests and nuns come out and get the church off the backs of your brothers and sisters? Stop spending poor people's money trying to take away everyone's sexuality.
Spend it on affirmative care for people with AIDS."
The crowd behaved pretty well. All these months of media blitz had prepared them in some way for this moment. A flurry of simultaneous translation into a variety of languages subsided once the audience was fully informed as to the content of that man's speech. Some of the visitors murmured with disapproval, others with compassion. Some looked like they wished they hadn't brought their children. Some tourists brushed it off as one of those "typical New York experiences" they'd heard so much about, then prided themselves on actually encountering. Some took pictures with flash. The men stood quietly, the worshipers sat quietly and the only noise was the voice of the priest droning over the sound system as though these men were nothing, as though they were not there. Then the mass was over and the men filed out. Peter decided to be natural and went to the front steps trying not to express any opinion to anyone who might be looking at him. It was a windy day, suddenly, for the first time all season.
Some of the men were cold because they had not thought to bring sweaters. They stood around not knowing what to do for the
They all rose. An organ played. There were murmurings in various languages and constant movement as people came and went from their pews. After all, this cathedral was a major tourist attraction. This wasn't some quiet neighborhood church.
Peter made wishes. He always made the same ones, in the same order.
He had kept those wishes in that order for years and years. He wanted to do good work, have it be recognized and stay healthy. Kate should stay healthy too. These didn't seem to be outrageous demands. And he wanted to be loved. As he was reciting his own private liturgy, about forty men stood up together from among the worshipers and turned to face them. These forty men turned their backs to the pulpit while the service was in progress. Peter's eyes happened to focus on the face of one who seemed somewhat familiar. Perhaps he lived in the same neighborhood. The man was thin and unsure of what he was doing. He was lanky and older with a gray mustache and bushy gray hair. He was uncomfortable. The man wore a black T-shirt with a pink triangle and the word Justice across his chest. It did not make him look like Superman. He was an anxious, regular guy. All the men had the same shirts. Some were robust and effeminate. Some were shy. They were all strong-willed and very serious. The men stood with their backs to the priest who continued his service as though nothing was happening.
One of them held up a sign that said Living with AIDS for Two Years and Five Months-No Time for Red Tape.
These are men with AIDS, Peter realized. Forty of them. But that one doesn't look like he has it. He looks like he works out.
The thin one has definitely got it.
He took another look at the familiar one and decided that he had definitely seen him somewhere before and that that guy probably didn't have it.
That black man, thought Peter. I wonder if he's gay or if he got it from drugs.
Then the black man spoke.
"The church is the world's most powerful hypocrite," he said. Peter noted that the man's voice and gestures were campy.
They shouldn't have let him be the spokesm:an, Peter thought. They should have picked somebody more masculine, so people would be more sympathetic.
The man kept speaking.
"Why don't all you gay priests and nuns come out and get the church off the backs of your brothers and sisters? Stop spending poor people's money trying to take away everyone's sexuality.
Spend it on affirmative care for people with AIDS."
The crowd behaved pretty well. All these months of media blitz had prepared them in some way for this moment. A flurry of simultaneous translation into a variety of languages subsided once the audience was fully informed as to the content of that man's speech. Some of the visitors murmured with disapproval, others with compassion. Some looked like they wished they hadn't brought their children. Some tourists brushed it off as one of those "typical New York experiences" they'd heard so much about, then prided themselves on actually encountering. Some took pictures with flash. The men stood quietly, the worshipers sat quietly and the only noise was the voice of the priest droning over the sound system as though these men were nothing, as though they were not there. Then the mass was over and the men filed out. Peter decided to be natural and went to the front steps trying not to express any opinion to anyone who might be looking at him. It was a windy day, suddenly, for the first time all season.
Some of the men were cold because they had not thought to bring sweaters. They stood around not knowing what to do for the
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