A Live Coal in the Sea

by Madeleine L'engle

  ‘I know. Thank you both. But I have to finish the semester. And Mac has to get to his job.’

  She lay awake beside her mother for a long time. Wondering. Uncertain. She could not speak to her mother of her doubts. Something else her mother would not understand. To her mother, marriage was still all-important, and in her mind Camilla was almost old enough to be an old maid.

  She felt very cold. Understood why Mac might flee when things got too much for him. She was ready to get out of bed, get, somehow, to the airport, back to college, to safety, to certainty.

  ‘I’m not certain,’ she said to Mac, standing before him in the skimpy lace nightgown her mother had bought.

  ‘Hey,’ Mac said, ‘don’t worry. We won’t rush anything.’

  He picked her up and put her on the mattress of the canopied four-poster bed in the old inn where they were staying for two nights. The foreplay in which they had often indulged had delighted Camilla but—‘Oh, Mac, my mother—I’ve been so repressed—maybe I’m frigid.’

  Mac laughed. ‘Not you, my love.’

  ‘Yeah, but what’s terrified me most about sex is that I’ve been so afraid I’d like it, and if I did, I’d become like my mother, in bed with whoever was stroking her ego—’

  ‘Sweetie, shut up,’ Mac said, and put his mouth over hers.

  When she had her first orgasm she ascended like Elijah in a chariot of fire.

  SIX

  Corinth was an inferno of heat when she joined Mac in the early summer. She had never felt such steamy humidity, even in New York, but she had seldom been in the city for the hot summer months.

  The old rectory had the blessing of high ceilings and a shaded veranda, a Southern house built for shade and breeze in the summer. It had been furnished largely by the parishioners. Camilla had sent down the furniture from her little college apartment, and Mac had a few odd pieces, plus an old leather chair discarded by Art when his congregation gave him a new one. With pictures and flowers Camilla made it into their home.

  Sometimes, after Mac was asleep, after their lovemaking when they were slippery with sweat, she would lie awake in bed, looking at her rings, and feeling that she had moved to a distant planet, and only the old gold circlet that had belonged to Olivia’s mother was holding her together. A small parish in a Southern town was a jolting transition from a college campus in New England. She loved the beauty of the old white pillared houses, the great magnolia trees with their shiny leaves, for which Corinth was famous. But it was alien. Women still wore white gloves to church. She was expected to help with the Altar Guild, with potluck suppers, but Camilla had gone immediately to Athens, to the university, and introduced herself to Dr. Edith Edison. Had Professor Grange hinted that perhaps he and this woman had had an affair? Dr. Edison was considerably older, a striking-looking woman with snow-white hair with one black streak, and black eyebrows over near-black eyes. She welcomed Camilla with enthusiasm, and quickly arranged a teaching fellowship. Camilla’s life was more in Athens than in Corinth, and this was resented by the parishioners.

  ‘Don’t fret,’ Mac said. ‘The idea that the rector’s wife should be nothing but an appendage of the rector is long gone. I’m proud of you. Maybe you can help with the youth group. That’s mainly Sunday evenings, and we work well together with kids.’ Yes, they were good with kids, these Southern kids who asked most of the same questions they had heard in the old Church House. ‘If God is good, why is there war?’ And some newer ones which she found more disturbing. ‘My father says that Negroes have a lower IQ than we do.’ She let Southern Mac struggle with the racial questions, did better with the seemingly more impossible questions, such as the balance between human free will and divine omnipotence.

  She also found out through those Sunday-evening meetings who the big wheels in the parish were. Freddy Lee’s mother was the president of the Altar Guild; his father was a champion golfer and as far as she knew lived on inherited money.

  Two of their favorites were Pinky and Wiz Morrison. Their mother was president of the ECW (‘The Episcopal Church Women,’ Mac explained), and their father was the town’s most prominent lawyer.

  Gordie Byrd was plump and pimply and always had a candy bar in his hand if not in his mouth. His mother was Mrs. Lee’s sidekick in the Altar Guild, and Gordon, his father, was the town banker. It also was soon clear that Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Byrd were sisters.

  ‘Basically,’ Mac warned, ‘you can’t say anything about anybody, because they’re all related some way or other.’

  Camilla said ruefully, ‘I’ll try to hold my tongue. I get along better with the kids than I do with the parents.’

  Mac smiled at her. ‘You’ve never had to cope with parents before, have you? You’ll be fine. They’ll love you.’

  Mac was unduly optimistic, she thought. One by one the women of the parish came to call, accepting glasses of iced tea, looking around the rectory to see what Camilla had done to it.

  Mrs. Lee came on a Monday, with the flowers that had been used in church the day before. ‘This is not our best season for flowers, Mrs. Xanthakos,’ she apologized, ‘but we pride ourselves on using what we have.’

  ‘They’re lovely.’ Camilla took the offering and put it on the sideboard.

  ‘And if you’ll return the container on Sunday.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Now, dear Mrs. Xanthakos, we all know how brilliant you are, getting a Ph.D. and all that, but you do have to be careful what you say to the children.’

  ‘I try to be,’ Camilla replied. ‘Is there any problem?’

  ‘Something about Mac’s theory sounded a little to the left for a man of the cloth, if you know what I mean.’

  Camilla didn’t. Then it came to her. ‘Oh! Mach’s theory! It has nothing to do with my husband. It’s named after a scientist named Mach, M-a-c-h. Macarios Xanthakos has nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Oh?’ Polite disbelief.

  ‘When the youth group was over last night the dryer was going, as it so often is, and I asked them if they knew what it was about the dryer that dries the clothes.’

  ‘Heat, of course.’ The older woman sniffed.

  Camilla smiled. ‘Your son knew Mach’s theory. Freddy’s a very bright boy. He told us that the barrel in the dryer rotates, and that produces a centrifugal force which pulls the water out. Of course, Mrs. Lee, the heat does help,’ she added, trying to be polite.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Mrs. Lee said.

  ‘It’s really fascinating.’ Camilla poured more tea into Mrs. Lee’s glass, noticing Mrs. Lee’s eyes checking the silver pitcher, which had been a present from Art’s parishioners in Nashville. ‘Mach’s theory is that a centrifugal force is relative to the fixed stars.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The fixed stars.’ Camilla tried earnestly to explain. ‘If the fixed stars weren’t there, the centrifugal force wouldn’t be there, either, because everything in the universe interacts with everything else. And the dryer wouldn’t work and the clothes wouldn’t dry.’

  ‘This really sounds very—’

  Camilla continued, her face eager, ‘So the dryer in the kitchen in this one house in Corinth, Georgia, is interacting not only with the fixed stars but with the universe at large, even with the most distant stars and galaxies.’

  ‘Dear Mrs. Xanthakos!’ There was shock in the other woman’s voice. ‘Perhaps this is science, I gather you’re quite scientific, but the young people are supposed to be given religion during their youth group meetings. I was shocked by what my nephew Gordie told me.’

  ‘But don’t you see,’ Camilla urged, ‘this is religion. It’s an affirmation of the wonderful interdependence of the universe.’

  ‘Mrs. Xanthakos, we expect the young people to study what is in the Bible.’

  When Camilla told Mac of this conversation, he laughed heartily. ‘Sweetheart, Mrs. Lee—it was Mrs. Lee, wasn’t it?’ She nodded. ‘Mrs. Lee takes the Bible pretty literally. She
doesn’t get excited about the universe or Mach’s theory, which I’m sure she thinks is a Communist plot. Had Gordie Byrd been talking to her?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘That kid’s a troublemaker, as bad as his father. No wonder the other kids don’t trust him. They’re the most reactionary family in the parish, and I’m going to have to get my Thesaurus and look up another word for integration.’

  ‘Mac, your parents don’t feel like this—’

  ‘Of course they don’t. But, as I keep telling you, they’re special. Just hold off on science with Mrs. Lee and her ilk.’

  Camilla was defensive. ‘She asked me.’

  ‘Oh, my darling, don’t worry about it.’

  ‘I do. The kids are okay, but when I’m with the parents I feel they’re speaking a language I’ve never heard before.’

  ‘You’ll learn it.’ Mac’s smile held a tinge of sadness. ‘This is not going to be the easiest parish in the world for me, but I’m convinced that they need help, and that no one is beyond help.’ He sighed. ‘Hey, it’s a lovely evening. Let’s go sit under the big pine tree and have a glass of wine before dinner, or better yet—’

  ‘Better yet,’ Camilla said.

  The pine tree was protected by a thick hedge which gave them both shade from the sun lingering in the west, and privacy. This evening there was a slight breeze to cool them off. She could not get used to the unremitting heat. They bought a ceiling fan for their bedroom, which helped a little, but not enough.

  Mac sifted rusty pine needles through his fingers. ‘Darling, this heat is getting to you. We should get an air conditioner for the bedroom.’

  ‘We can’t afford it. Nor what it would do to our electric bill.’ Camilla was determined to live on what she and Mac made.

  Mac, used to the South, used to the heat, used to the rhythmic nasal accent, did not wilt, and Camilla tried not to show how difficult it was for her to acclimate.

  Mac reached for her, pulled up the skirt of her cotton dress, and she turned toward him, wriggling out of her clothes, just as the phone began to ring in the rectory.

  Mac jerked, startled, said reluctantly, ‘I’ll get it. It might be important, some crisis—’

  ‘You’d better run.’ Camilla leaned up on one elbow, sniffing the rich odor of fallen pine needles, hoping Mac wouldn’t be long. She closed her eyes, waiting, drifting, letting the breeze waft over her body.

  Mac came toward her, calling, ‘It’s your mother.’

  She pulled herself to her feet, rearranged her clothes. It was not unusual for Rose to call, paying no attention to either time zones or expense. She hurried into the house and into Mac’s study, where the phone was, plopped down into the brown leather chair. ‘Mother?’

  ‘Darling! Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Mother. Is everything okay?’

  ‘Oh, darling baby, more than okay. I’m not in Paris, I’m in Chicago. We flew over to see my doctor and we’re going back tomorrow. I had to call you.’

  Camilla felt a surge of anxiety. ‘Why did you need to see your doctor?’

  ‘Oh, baby, you know we come home often. Rafferty needs to consult … And I need to … But this time …’ Her mother’s voice was conspiratorial. ‘Baby, do you have any news?’

  ‘What?’ Camilla asked blankly.

  ‘Do you have anything to tell me? Anything special?’

  Camilla held the phone away from herself, looking at it as though it were alive. She had not yet told Art and Olivia. Only Mac knew that she was pretty sure she was pregnant. She, who was regular as a clock, was three weeks overdue.

  ‘Darling baby,’ came Rose’s voice, ‘do you know what I mean?’

  ‘Yes. I think so.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Mother, I don’t know yet. It’s a possibility. How on earth did you guess?’

  Rose sounded smug. ‘Mothers know these things. How wonderful, how absolutely wonderful, oh, what fun!’

  Camilla interrupted. ‘Mother, you haven’t told me why you’re in Chicago to see the doctor. What’s wrong?’

  ‘I wanted to see my very own doctor, darling. You see, oh, what fun! What fun we’re going to have!’

  ‘Mother! Please tell me what this is about.’

  ‘Darling baby, I’m pregnant, too.’

  Camilla was silent with shock.

  Rose said, ‘Oh, baby, it’s such fun. Here, let me put your father on.’

  Rafferty confirmed what Rose had said. ‘It’s quite definite, Camilla, and the doctor said everything should be all right. Rose is in excellent health, she’s still in her early forties, women are having babies later and later—’

  ‘Father. How do you feel?’

  ‘At first I was stunned. Unbelieving. It’s been so many years since you were born, and nothing—but perhaps this is just what Rose needs.’

  ‘What about you, Father? How do you feel about it?’

  ‘Numb. Perplexed. When nothing happened after you were born, when it seemed that for no physical reason we were not going to have another child, I stopped thinking about it.’

  ‘But now? Why now?’

  ‘The doctor says that the psychological processes in a woman’s becoming pregnant aren’t very well known. Her pregnancy is perhaps an affirmation to Rose that she’s still young. People used to talk about menopausal babies. Or it may have some connection with your marriage, with her losing, as it were, her first child.’

  ‘She lost me, as it were, a long time ago.’

  ‘I know that, my dear. But she’s happy. I hardly remember when I’ve seen her this happy. Maybe when you were little.’

  Camilla thought, bitterly,—Well, this may make her stay faithful for nine months, at least. She said, ‘It will make a big change in your lives, having another child.’

  ‘I know. I doubt if Rose realizes it yet.’

  ‘Father, is she psychologically capable of—’

  He said, ‘I’ve talked with the doctors, her obstetrician, her psychiatrist. They agree that the balance is precarious, but that she should not have an abortion. The obstetrician mentioned it as a remote possibility, and she had hysterics.’

  ‘Father, do you want this child?’

  A pause. ‘Camilla, after you were born I desperately wanted another baby. I just wonder, now, after all these years, after all that has happened, is it fair to the baby? On the other hand, you’ve survived what Rose and I have done to you, and perhaps this child will have your resilience.’

  ‘Mother says you’re going back to Paris.’

  ‘Yes. I could probably wind up my consulting job in a couple of months, but she has an idea that it would be romantic to have the baby in Paris. The obstetrician has given us the name of someone there she considers excellent. And you, Camilla, you’re pregnant?’

  ‘Yes. I’m pretty sure.’

  Her father sounded tired. ‘I don’t want this in any way to take away from your own joy.’

  ‘Oh, Father, I’m like you. I don’t know what to think.’ When she said goodbye, Camilla put the phone down blindly. ‘Mac. Did you hear?’

  ‘She told me,’ Mac said flatly. ‘I suppose it’s true?’

  ‘Father says it is. Mac, let’s call Mama and Papa.’

  Mama and Papa. The affectionate names slipped out easily. Since Camilla called her own parents Mother and Father, she had slipped into calling Olivia and Art Mama and Papa almost without transition.

  Olivia and Art came, as they often did, for a midweek ‘weekend,’ delighted at the news of Camilla’s pregnancy, accepting calmly that Rose, too, was pregnant. Art laughed so hard at Camilla’s trying to explain Mach’s theory to Mrs. Lee that tears streamed down his cheeks.

  Olivia assured Camilla that as soon as her pregnancy was known to the parish, she would meet with approval for doing what a good young wife was supposed to do.

  ‘What about my mother?’ Camilla asked. ‘Her baby will be my baby’s aunt or uncle.’

  They were sitting
in the rectory’s living room, which was partly library because one wall was covered with Camilla’s books, books on astronomy and physics, the mysteries which were her relaxation, and some general reference books. Mac’s theological books were half in his odd, long little office, which had been made out of one side of the garage, and half in his office in the parish house. The living room was comfortable. Olivia had brought bright cushions which hid the shabbiness of the couch. Camilla kept flowers on the coffee table in a pewter bowl Noelle had given her as a wedding present. Frank had given her a lovely antique shawl from Turkey with which she covered a scratched old sideboard too big for the dining room. Over the mantelpiece was a mirror in a gold frame. When Camilla had opened the package and read the card, ‘With love from Edward Osler,’ and asked Olivia, standing beside her, who he was, Olivia had answered, ‘He was one of Mac’s teachers, and important in our lives,’ in a tone of voice which forbade further questioning.

  When there was not something blooming, she managed to make arrangements from weeds and leaves garnered from her walks.

  Olivia looked around the pleasant room. ‘My dears, Rose’s baby isn’t going to make that much difference in your own lives. You are married. You have made the rectory into a charming home. And with a baby of your own on the way, you’re going to have plenty to keep you occupied. And you, Mac, have a lot of sheep under your care.’

  Camilla added, ‘And I’d like to get my course work finished and my thesis at least started before the baby comes.’

  ‘Good, but don’t push yourself,’ Art said. ‘You have time.’

  ‘Camilla, my dear,’ Olivia continued, ‘there’s a tradition in my family that every young mother needs help the first six weeks after a baby is born. I hope perhaps you would prefer me to a nurse.’

  ‘Oh, Mama, yes, that would be marvelous. My own mother, well, even if she weren’t pregnant with her own baby, she’s used to being waited on, rather than—’

  ‘Good. That’s settled, then. Now. Art and I do have news, too. Art has been elected bishop of North Florida.’

  They had known he was up for election, so the news was not a surprise.