A Live Coal in the Sea

by Madeleine L'engle

  She smiled sadly. ‘She’s very lovable.’ Then she asked, ‘Am I in any way a threat to her?’

  Raffi asked, “Am I in any way a threat to him, Dr. Rowan?”

  “Should that be your concern, Raffi?”

  “If I’m a threat to him, then he’ll take it out on me.”

  “In what way?”

  “He’ll put me down.”

  “How?”

  “Not physically.”

  “How, then?”

  “I never know if what he’s saying is true.”

  “Does he?” Dr. Rowan asked.

  “Does he know if what he’s saying is true?”

  Dr. Rowan nodded.

  Raffi laughed harshly. “He’s a good actor.”

  “Why do you wonder whether or not it’s true?”

  “He told me my grandmother was viciously selfish. That’s what he said. Viciously selfish.”

  “Do you think she is?”

  “No! I don’t think she’s selfish at all. At any rate, not any more than the ordinary selfishness we all have. I mean, we’re all trapped in our own bodies and our own minds. My grandmother has always been wonderful to me. I’ve missed her terribly since she left New York. Back when I was little, when Mom was still dancing and went on tour, she used to come stay, and take care of me. I love her, and I know she loves me.”

  “Why do you think your father would want to spoil that?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. I just don’t know. Mom loves my grandmother. Admires her. They get on really well. Sometimes Grandmother comes in to New York and they go to the theatre or ballet together. I think my grandmother misses my grandfather and the things they used to do together.”

  “They were married for a long time,” Dr. Rowan said, “and they went through a lot together.”

  “Well, I just hope my mom will hang in there with my dad. I know she calls Grandmother sometimes, just to talk. She’s an easy person to talk to.”

  ‘You’re easy to talk to,’ the girl said. ‘You don’t put me down or make me feel I’m being judged, or anything.’ She sat opposite Camilla on one of the old chairs in the Church House.

  After Mac left for Kenya, Camilla did not go near the Church House until the young man who took Mac’s place begged her to be available once a week for the students who needed to talk. ‘They trust you,’ he said. ‘Please. Just one afternoon a week. I’ve got more than I can handle and I really need help.’

  Finally she gave in, despite her feeling that she was unqualified.

  ‘You know how to listen,’ the young man said, ‘and mostly that’s all that’s needed, someone who’s willing to listen actively, not passively.’

  There was an attempt to protect the anonymity of both student and listener. No name was posted on the door. The student coming in to talk did not need to reveal identity. But Camilla’s afternoon was Tuesday, it was easy enough to figure out, and she had a steady stream of regulars, to whom she listened with concern and often with growing affection.

  One day a freshman came in, a young girl who lived at home, not in one of the dorms—one of the few “townies.” She looked very young, with pale gold hair which she wore straight, falling halfway down her back. She reminded Camilla of Professor Grange’s daughter, Noelle, who had been one of Mac’s Sunday-night group. But Noelle had rather ordinary brown hair and she would have been too young for college. This girl was more angular in manner and more glamorous in dress. She told Camilla that she frequently stayed overnight with friends in one or another of the dorms, rather than going home.

  ‘You do let your parents know when you do that, don’t you?’ Camilla asked.

  ‘I let Mom know. Dad’s away on sab—away for a few months.’ She was obviously angry and rebellious. She had had a fleeting affair and was terrified that she might be pregnant.

  So Camilla was relieved when she appeared the next week and said she’d started her period. ‘I suppose I was a fool. I was just experimenting. I thought maybe it would help me understand my father better.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He plays around. You know that.’

  ‘No,’ Camilla said. ‘I don’t know who your father is.’

  ‘Don’t you recognize me?’ the girl asked. ‘I was sure you did.’

  Camilla shook her head. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’m Noelle Grange.’

  ‘Noelle! But your hair—and you were younger—’

  ‘I’m still younger. I’m fifteen. I’m not the only freshman who’s fifteen, but there aren’t many of us. And I guess I have changed. I mean, I’m very mature-looking for my age. And I’ve turned into a blonde. After all, Dad touches up his hair, makes it that nice reddish color to go with his nickname. He thought he had us all fooled, but I found the stuff in his office. My brother, Andrew, is the one with the real red hair. I don’t entirely blame Dad for playing around a little. My mom’s a bit of a fascist. I love them both, but I try to be realistic.’

  Did Noelle realize that her father had played around with Camilla’s mother? She thought not. Surely Noelle would not speak with her as openly as she did if she knew. And there was no reason she should know.

  Noelle asked, ‘You really didn’t guess who I was?’

  Camilla shook her head. ‘Sorry, Noelle. You really do look very different, and quite lovely.’

  ‘Thanks. That makes me feel good. Andrew likes my hair this way, too.’

  ‘Your father’s away on sabbatical?’ It was hardly a question. She knew that Grange was away.

  ‘Yeah. This semester. He’ll be back in January. Don’t you know where he is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The University of Chicago.’

  ‘Oh.’ Camilla turned her face away to hide her surprise. That Grange should be in the same city as her mother seemed too blatant to be believable. She had simply been grateful that he was not on campus when her mother came to visit.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Noelle said. ‘Maybe I wanted to hurt you.’

  So she did know.

  ‘I don’t like myself very much. I don’t like the world much, either.’

  ‘It’s really better than you think,’ Camilla said.

  ‘Is it? I saw your mother once last spring. She and Dad were having a drink at the Taverna, but I saw them. Actually, Andrew and I were looking for them, though neither of us said it. Andrew just suggested, Let’s go have a soda. Anyhow, they were there. She is beautiful. And young-looking. Oh, God, she looked so young. If I hadn’t known, I’d have thought she was a student. I think she dazzled Andrew. He stuttered like mad the rest of the evening.’

  ‘Noelle.’ She ached for the anger in the girl’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry you had to know about all this.’ She had been the same age as Noelle when she first understood that her mother was being unfaithful to her father.

  ‘It’s the way of the world,’ Noelle said. ‘I mean, I’m not shocked or anything. Andrew was shocked. Hurt. Not me. Andrew’s worried about Mom, but she’s very self-sufficient. She got tenure before Dad did. I don’t really blame Dad for trying to assert himself.’

  Noelle’s time was nearly up. ‘Noelle, you don’t have to—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Having an affair is not the best response to your parents’ problems. They’re their problems, not yours. It was difficult for me to understand that my mother was not just my mother, but that she was also a confused adult with far more problems than I could begin to understand.’

  ‘Oh, I’m aware that they’re confused adults.’ Noelle’s voice was brittle. ‘Do you know what my mom did? She pulled up all her favorite rosebushes. Quoting Henry VI. Plantagenet says, “Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?” And Somerset answers, “Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?” There’ll be no roses in my mother’s garden.’

  Camilla did not reply.

  Noelle said, ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to go around having affairs, at least not without being prepared. As a matter of fact, I didn’t like it muc
h. I wish I were still young and moderately innocent, like my brother, even if he is lots older than I am. He’s in medical school, did you know?’ Camilla nodded. ‘I love Andrew,’ Noelle said, ‘more than anybody in the world, I think. He always shows it when he’s hurt, by stuttering more than usual. I don’t stutter. I either babble like a brook or shut up like a clam. Listen, I think I’m tougher than you are. I didn’t really mean to hurt you, and I can see that I have.’

  ‘Don’t try to be tough, Noelle. It doesn’t help.’

  ‘You bet it does. Realism, that’s where it’s at.’

  ‘Whose realism, Noelle? It isn’t as easy as that. I don’t think you’re anywhere near as tough as you pretend to be.’

  Noelle’s voice held a slight quaver. ‘I need to be tough. Honestly. And thanks for listening. And for caring. You and Mac are the only people I’ve trusted, and where is he?’

  Camilla looked around the shabby room as though expecting to see Mac sitting cross-legged in his usual chair. ‘Kenya.’

  ‘Kenya? In Africa?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What on earth’s he doing there?’

  ‘Helping people with literacy, I think.’

  ‘Hell, we’re illiterate enough right here. Do you miss him?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You’ve helped me, truly. I’ve never shocked you, and I’ve tried. You’re not going to stop me from coming to you, are you?’

  ‘Not if it’s a help.’

  ‘It is. And I’m glad you know who I am, now. That helps, too.’

  At mid-year Noelle told Camilla that she was transferring to another college. ‘They’ve offered me a terrific scholarship, more than I dared hope for. Dad’s coming back from Chicago and I’d just as soon not be around. Over to you. You can cope. With the rose and the thorns. Sorry, I know she’s your mother, but as far as I’m concerned she’s a canker sore up my father’s arse. There. I’ve finally succeeded in shocking you.’

  ‘You’ve finally shown me how much all this hurts.’

  ‘Sucks. This is the worst one he’s had. Mostly they’ve been one-night stands, or not much more. There was supposed to be some woman at the University of Georgia, but she didn’t last.’

  So I was wrong again, Camilla thought, wrong about his not playing around.

  Noelle asked, ‘You do think I’m doing the right thing to go away?’

  Camilla nodded affirmatively. Perhaps she, too, should have thought about going somewhere else for her degree. Too late now. If Red Grange was back on campus, would her mother keep finding excuses to come East? Probably.

  ‘I’ll be a little nearer to Andrew, and that’ll be good,’ Noelle said. ‘I bet he’ll make a terrific doctor. He’s way at the top of his class and he has bundles of friends. Maybe I’ll marry one of them. I’ll miss you, Cam.’

  She did not think she would miss Noelle, who was too much a reminder of Grange. But she held out her hand. ‘I wish you well. And that when you get away you can shuck off that hard shell.’

  ‘Being vulnerable’s for the birds,’ Noelle said. ‘Merry Christmas to you, too. In case you didn’t get it, that’s a pun.’ She left, slamming the door behind her.

  Camilla was grateful that Noelle was not around when Rose came East, to buy clothes, to visit Camilla. To see Grange? If so, they were somehow or other managing to be discreet.

  Camilla was again taking a course with Grange, a required course nobody else was teaching. She believed that she could be mature enough to separate the challenging professor from the dallying man, and mostly she succeeded. She looked at his reddish-gold hair, showing a little brown at the part, and felt that it was rather pathetic. But he was a good teacher, and she found herself, despite herself, enjoying him again, rather than just learning from him.

  ‘Oh, darling,’ Rose said, as they went from shop to shop, ‘it’s always so much fun to be with you. I don’t like that skirt on you, it’s loose and shapeless and too long, here, try this, oh, it’s so much fun to shop together.’

  Had it ever been fun? She was too aware of all the eyes on her mother, male eyes, of her mother’s own eye, roving …

  ‘Golly, Camilla, is that your mother! She’s gorgeous, and so young! I thought she was one of your students.’

  How her mother loved that, how she loved the shopping, having the salespeople saying that she couldn’t be Camilla’s mother, oh, no, she must be her sister …

  Camilla smiled. And smiled. And longed to get back to her little apartment. Her small stipend for her teaching assistantship gave her just enough to pay for her own way as long as she lived frugally. She was learning to cook for herself, and enjoying it. She had never cooked before. When she was a child her parents’ servants did not want her in the kitchen. In boarding school and college she had become used to institutional food. Now she bought cookbooks and pored over them, at first following the recipes with meticulous accuracy, slowly learning to add her own variations. As a popular young teacher she was often asked to one of the dorms for dinner, but she really preferred puttering about her own little kitchen.

  Her mother wanted to take her out to dinner.

  ‘No, Mother, I’ve got everything ready.’ She did not want her mother on display any more than necessary. She had prepared a dish of flounder stuffed with crab in a light sauce.

  ‘Darling, you’re marvelous. This is delicious. Who are your beaux? Are you dating anyone special?’

  Yes. No. He’s in Kenya.

  Camilla took the dishes out to the kitchen. Her voice was stiff. ‘I keep my nose pretty well to the grindstone.’

  ‘But, darling, that’s not healthy. I don’t want my little girl to be a greasy grind.’

  ‘I’m not your little girl anymore, Mother, and I’m not a greasy grind. I’m an astronomer and good at my work.’ She turned on the water in the sink to cover the quaver in her voice.

  Rose’s laugh was lilting. ‘How stuffy you are, just like your father.’

  We put up with you, Camilla thought bitterly, and then was ashamed of her anger.

  Yes, she was angry.

  She waited after class to speak to Professor Grange, standing by the low dais with his chair and table, until the other students had left.

  ‘Oh, hello, Camilla. I handed back your paper, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your apt use of quotations from Lewis Carroll for each section was delightful, absolutely delightful. So. What’s your problem?’

  ‘My mother and you.’

  His eyes went cold. Hazel eyes with no light in them. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair. ‘Is it any of your business?’

  ‘On this campus it is, yes.’

  ‘Camilla, just forget about it, please: You aren’t going to cause trouble, are you?’

  ‘I want it to stop.’

  ‘She’s leaving today, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then it’s going to stop, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Aren’t you being a little naïve? Your mother is charming, refreshing.’

  ‘But she’s married, and so are you.’ In her mind’s eye she saw Grange’s wife, the history professor, with a sharp, intelligent face, brown hair pulled back into a bun, dressed in comfortable tweed suits. She and Rose Dickinson could not be more different. Camilla raised her eyes and glanced at Grange. ‘You couldn’t go on keeping it secret.’

  ‘You wouldn’t—’

  ‘I wouldn’t, but somebody else would. My mother always makes a splash when she’s on campus. She’s noticed. Who she is with is noticed. If you think you can be discreet with my mother in a place as small as this, you’re more naïve than I am.’

  He had been appallingly calm. ‘Perhaps you’re right. You’ll have your master’s soon. It’s your last year here.’

  She did not tell him that she planned to stay on for her Ph.D.; it was not that she had any burning desire for the advanced degree, but while she was marking time she did not kno
w what else to do, and if she was to continue to teach, she would need that piece of paper.

  He smiled at her. ‘Let’s not let it make a difference between you and me. It wasn’t anything important, either to your mother or to me.’

  ‘It’s always important to Mother,’ she said, ‘while it lasts.’

  With her mother she had been less controlled. ‘How dare you! In a place like this, with someone who is—was—my friend.’

  ‘But of course he’s your friend, darling. He told me how marvelous you are, how brilliant, and that made me so happy. Red’s a dear man.’

  ‘He’s married. He has a wife.’

  ‘Oh, darling, how old-fashioned you are. She’s a dried-up prune. All intellect and no soul.’

  ‘She’s still his wife. She may not be as patient as Father. Mother, don’t ever have anything more to do with Professor Grange. Ever again.’

  ‘Oh, darling, you’re so …’

  ‘Mother.’

  Then the inevitable tears came, pleas for forgiveness, promises that it would never, ever happen again.

  ‘Not with him,’ Camilla said. ‘Not with anybody I know. Or I’ll never speak to you again.’

  Noelle wrote, less abrasive in her letters than she had been in the Church House. ‘I’m not the only one whose parents are a mess. I was overdramatizing myself, Andrew made me see that, and I got angry with the world and slapped you. You told me the world wasn’t that bad, and I’m finding it isn’t. I’ve made some good friends here, and I like my professors, or, at least, most of them.’

  It was easier to be fond of the Noelle of the letters than of the angry adolescent. But Camilla could never quite separate her from her father.

  One day during the spring semester Professor Grange asked Camilla to go out for coffee with him after class.

  ‘Sorry. I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She smiled faintly. ‘The ghost of my mother.’

  Standing on the small dais, he looked at her, below him on the classroom floor. ‘Camilla, you and your mother are very different people. Whether or not I occasionally see your mother is really none of your business. But let me reassure you that I do want to keep my wife, and that means circumspection, at the very least.’