Together: Knee!

As we've been reading in First Corinthians about unity and becoming one in the body of Christ, I kept it all in the back of my head as I looked for real-world examples.

Because unity is hard. It sounds and looks great on paper, but to put it into action requires a surrender of the self, or at least of selfish interests. It requires risk.

And being selfless and being selfless in taking risks isn't something we like to do much anymore. I'm seeing this play out in the battle over Ammon's metered water. Those who are fighting against higher water prices basically want the old system back where they could use as much of a resource as they wanted and still not pay a penny more than those who were more conservative in their use.

Then I read Ray Bradbury's "Something Wicked This Way Comes," and found two such examples -- and powerful ones.

The book has two climactic scenes that demonstrate how disparate people, working together for even the silliest of causes, can bring in the unity needed to accomplish a task.

First we see Charles Halloway taking on Mr. Dark and the Dust Witch during the amazing bullet trick, where only the baddies and Mr. Halloway, among everyone at the mysterious carnival, knows his only goal there is not to take part in a conjuring trick but to literally save the lives of his son Will and will's best friend Jim.

He's onstage, nursing a hand freshly-broken by Mr. Dark, listening to a hear pump, one that was nearly stilled by the Dust Witch, as his son and his friend lay somewhere in mortal peril. Mr. Dark himself points out the fact that with a broken hand, Mr. Halloway can't possibly hold the gun to do his part of the trick.

So:

"Boy!" shouted Charles Halloway.

Mr. Dark stiffened.

"I need a boy volunteer to help me hold the rifle!" shouted Charles Halloway.

"Someone! Anyone!" he shouted.

A few boys in the crowd shifted around on their toes.

"Boy!" shouted Charles Halloway. "Hold on. My son's out there. He'll volunteer, won't you, Will?"

The Witch flung one hand up to feel the shape of this audacity which came off the fifty-four-year-old man like a fever. Mr. Dark was spun around as if hit by a fast-traveling gunshot.

"Will!" called his father.

In the Wax Museum, Will sat motionless.

"Will!" called his father. "Come on, boy!"

The crowd looked left, looked right, looked back.

No answer.

Will sat in the Wax Museum.

Mr. Dark observed all of this with some respect, some degree of admiration, some concern; he seemed to be waiting, just as was Will's father.

"Will, come help your old man!" Mr. Halloway cried, jovially.

Will sat in the Wax Museum.

Mr. Dark smiled.

"Will! Willy! Come here!"

No answer.

"Willy! Don't you hear your old man?"

Mr. Dark stopped smiling.

For this last was the voice of a gentleman in the crowd, speaking up.

The crowd laughed.

"Will!" called a woman.

"Willy!" called another.

"Yoohoo!" A gentleman in a beard.

"Come on, William!" A boy.

The crowd laughed more, jostled elbows.

Charles Halloway called. They called. Charles Halloway called to the hills. They called to the hills.

"Will! Willy! William!"

A shadow shuttled and wove in the mirrors.

The Witch broke out in chandeliers of sweat.

"There!" The crowd stopped calling.

As did Charles Halloway, choked on the name of his son now, and silent.

For Will stood at the entrance of the Maze, like the wax figure that he almost was.

Charles Halloway had no idea what we was going to do to fight the evil of the carnival to win back his son. He'd assembled what he called a puny collection of weapons, including a broken cigarette lighter, a penknife, and a harmonica -- the contents of his pockets.

But here we see the power of unity.

For amusement, for laughter, for amazement, the crowd wanted to see the amazing bullet trick. And for that, Charles Halloway needed his son. So, unified, they called for him, calling him out of the Mirror Maze, his tomb.

Later we see something similar, more intimate, as Will and Mr. Halloway work their silly spell to bring Jim back to life, Jim stunned by a trip on the merry-go-round, half-grounded in reality, half in the empty world promised him by Mr. Dark.

Jim lies "as cold as spaded Earth, and Mr. Halloway is trying his best to help Will see that laughter, lightheartendess, might be the only thing to bring him back. Only when they whoop and holler together does Jim recover:

The harmonica tried a bad "Swanee River."

"Dad." Will shuffled, shaking his head, immensely tired. "Silly . . .!"

"Sure! We want that! Silly damn fool old man! Silly harmonica! Bad off-key tune!"

Dad whooped. He circled like a dancing crane. He was not in the silliness yet. He wanted to crack through. He had to break the moment!

"Will: louder, funnier, as the man said! Oh, hell, don't let them drink your tears and want more! Will! Don't let them take your crying, turn it upside down and use it for their own smile! I'll be damned if death wears my sadness for glad rags. Don't feed them one damn thing. Willy, loosen your bones! Breathe! Blow!"

He seized Will's hair, shook him.

"Nothing. . . funny . . ."

"Sure there is! Me! You! Jim! All of us! The whole shooting works! Look!

And Charles Halloway pulled faces, popped his eyes, mashed his nose, winked, cavorted like a chimpanzee-ape, waltzed with the wind, top-dance the dust, threw back his head to bay at the moon, dragging Will with him.

"Death's funny, God damn it! Bend, two, three,Will. Soft-shoe. Way down up on the Swanee River -- what's next Will? . . . Far far away! Will, your God-awful voice! Damn girl soprano! Sparrow in a tin can! Jump, boy!"

Will went up, came down, cheeks hotter, a wincing like lemons in his throat. He felt balloons grow in his chest.

Dad sucked the silver harmonica.

"That's where the old folks--" Will spoke.

"Stay!" bellowed his father.

Shuffle, tap, bounce, jog.

Where was Jim! Jim was forgotten.

Dad jabbed his ribs, tickling.

"De Camptown ladies sing this song!"

"Doo-dah!?" yelled Will. "Doo-dah!" he sang it now, with a tune. The balloon grew. His throat tickled.

"Camptown race track, five miles long!"

"Oh, doo-dah day!"

Man and boy did a minuet.

And in midstep, it happened.

Will felt the balloon grow huge within him.

He smiled.

"What?" Dad was surprised by those teeth.

Will snorted. Will giggled.

"What say?" asked Dad.

The force of the exploding warm balloon alone shoved Will's teeth apart, kicked his head back.

"Dad! Dad!"

They go on to sing, to dance, to cavort, and Jim comes around. They pull him up into the mad melee, and soon all three are dancing and laughing and they know -- for the moment -- they are happy and safe,

And unified. Which is what we should strive for. Before we ask if the new proprietors of the next carnival are already here.