No Inspection Language

Charismata

Chapter 134: No Inspection Language

Ruthie had been waiting all morning for the Church to reinvent the home visit.

She was not disappointed.

Janine's note arrived before noon in Levi's folded hand and Halloran's call arrived eight minutes later sounding like a bishop who had accidentally swallowed the phrase household stabilisation and was trying to get it back up without damaging his dignity.

"Don't say it again," Ruthie told him.

"I wasn't going to."

"Liar."

Naomi took Janine's sheet. Read it. Whistled once.

"They've reached the front door."

Mercer, from the cupboard under the stairs where church chairs went to confess:

"They were always going to."

Anand laid Derby's hallway note beside the new Geneva warnings and then, beside that, Noreen Bell's postcard from Leicester:

IF THEY CROSS THE THRESHOLD HOLDING ONLY CONCERN, SEND THEM AWAY

Ezra came in behind the words as if summoned by sentence alone.

"Who's being sent away."

"Half the Church if God is kind," Ruthie said.

She cleared the hall table. Again. St. Anne's had become the sort of place where English ecclesiology kept finding itself rewritten beside the kettle because no one important had the sense to stay out of kitchens.

At the top of the page she wrote:

NO INSPECTION LANGUAGE

Naomi approved at once.

"Finally, a heading with blood in it."

Ruthie began the banned phrases list while her temper was still hot enough to be useful.

HOME VISIT

CHECK-IN

HOUSEHOLD SUPPORT CONTACT

STABILISATION

WRAPAROUND

FAMILY ACCOMPANIMENT

Mercer peered over her shoulder.

"Family accompaniment sounds like a string quartet for divorce."

"Shut up."

Ezra added,

OUTREACH

Naomi said,

"That one's for later."

"No," Ezra said. "That one's for now."

Anand read Janine's note again.

"We need the positive lines fast. Before the country hears only no."

Ruthie hated that he was right. Positive lines invited softness. Softness invited nonsense.

Still. The field needed verbs.

So they began.

BY INVITATION ONLY

NAMED TASK

NAMED PART OF ROOM

ONE OR TWO PEOPLE MAXIMUM

LEAVE WHEN TASK IS DONE

Naomi looked up.

"Add hands."

"Meaning."

"Meaning if they arrive empty-handed, they're there to notice things."

Mercer said,

"Or to ask about them."

Ruthie wrote, in capitals big enough to offend Geneva from here:

TAKE A SCREWDRIVER, NOT A QUESTIONNAIRE

Ezra closed his eyes once.

"Hideous."

"Perfect," Naomi said.

Halloran was still on the line because bishops in panic often lingered near clarity like moths at a porch light.

"Could one say mop instead of screwdriver in some cases."

"Yes," Ruthie said. "You could say soup, screwdriver, mop, bulb, bracket, bin bag, shelf, tea towel, curtain rail. Anything with a handle is safer than concern."

Mercer added,

"Not flowers."

They all looked at him.

"Why not flowers."

"Because flowers admire the room."

So hateful and so correct Naomi wrote it in the margin at once:

NOT FLOWERS

Ezra said,

"And if they say hallway only."

Ruthie pointed at the page.

"Yes."

Naomi wrote:

IF THEY SAY HALLWAY ONLY, DO NOT TOUCH THE TABLE

Halloran made a noise like a man being saved against his will.

"I needed that in 2009."

"You still do," Ruthie replied.

The telephone clicked and Belfast replaced Carlisle before anyone had formally ended anything. Aoife did not waste words.

"Question."

"Go."

"Woman in Newtownards wants her sister and one church friend to come in on Saturdays and sort laundry before the children wake up. Is that church."

Ruthie answered,

"Who asked."

"The woman."

"What task."

"Laundry and breakfast pans."

"Who leaves first."

Aoife paused.

"Church friend."

"Good. Then it's Saturday, not ministry."

Aoife laughed.

"You're becoming unbearable."

"I have always been unbearable."

The line changed again before the silence was even warm. Peter Hallam this time, which should have been exhausting and wasn't because Derby had taught him humility.

"I think I've nearly made a mistake."

Ruthie straightened.

"Tell me fast."

"Amanda asked whether I could help with the living room curtains next Friday and my first instinct was to ask how things generally were in the flat and now I need either absolution or corrective violence."

Naomi slapped the table with delight.

"There. That's the sentence."

Ruthie took the pencil. Wrote:

DO NOT TURN ONE TASK INTO GENERAL INTEREST

Then to Peter:

"You are not forgiven, but you are correct. Ask what curtain fittings she needs. Then shut your mouth and bring the drill."

"Understood."

Ezra, listening:

"Add exit."

"We have leave when task is done."

"No. Add it plainer. If tea is offered after, fine. But tea is not owed."

Mercer nodded.

"Yes."

So Ruthie wrote:

TEA MAY FOLLOW. TEA IS NOT DUE

That made Naomi laugh into her sleeve until she nearly lost breath.

"This whole country is being rebuilt by the ugliest sentences ever written."

"As it should be."

By mid-afternoon the sheet had become foul enough to be useful.

NO INSPECTION LANGUAGE

NO HOME VISIT

NO CHECK-IN

NO STABILISATION

NO WRAPAROUND

BY INVITATION ONLY

NAMED TASK

NAMED PART OF ROOM

ONE OR TWO PEOPLE MAXIMUM

TAKE A SCREWDRIVER, NOT A QUESTIONNAIRE

NOT FLOWERS

IF THEY SAY HALLWAY ONLY, DO NOT TOUCH THE TABLE

DO NOT TURN ONE TASK INTO GENERAL INTEREST

LEAVE WHEN TASK IS DONE

TEA MAY FOLLOW. TEA IS NOT DUE

Anand read it back once. Then again more slowly.

"Needs the why."

Ruthie looked betrayed.

"No."

"One line only."

She thought. Hated that she had to. Then wrote at the bottom in smaller hand than the rest:

HELP THE ROOM. DO NOT LEARN IT BY FORCE.

No one spoke for a moment after that.

Because this was the edge of the new mercy. Not just helping elsewhere. Not just lending keys and chairs.

Crossing a threshold without taking possession of the story inside it.

Naomi folded the first copy for Derby. Mercer took Carlisle. Ezra took Belfast and Newtownards because weather carried better from his mouth than from most paper.

Ruthie slid one final copy into the tin with the others.

"This country," she said, "is going to start thinking Christianity means changing a bulb and keeping your opinions in your pockets."

Mercer looked up from sealing envelopes.

"Could do worse."

She hated that he was right. Which was becoming, irritatingly, one of the better signs in the house.