Certain Women

by Madeleine L'engle

  ‘David?’

  ‘Yes. King David from the Bible. I want to write a play for your father. Is that audacious of me?’

  She tried to keep her voice light. ‘Sure, but why not?’

  ‘So this may be the second scene with David, and it may have to be played by a younger actor, though most of the play will be about the mature David.’ He sounded simultaneously eager and unsure. ‘Read it.’

  She looked at the page.

  The scene is Saul’s palace, and the old king is sitting on his throne, writhing, beating the air with his arms and legs. David comes in with his harp, a diffident lad with nevertheless a joyous spring to his step; Scripture describes him as ‘ruddy, and withal of a beautiful countenance, and goodly to look to.’ He approaches the king and sits on a stool at his feet, not afraid of the old man’s violence, and begins to sing. As he sings, the king quietens, leans his head back against the throne, closes his eyes in peaceful sleep.

  Nik leaned toward her, singing the next lines, softly. ‘“O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is”—that’s from the Psalms.’

  She nodded. It’s beautiful, Nik.’

  ‘You really like it?’

  ‘I think it’s lovely—David’s singing to drive away Saul’s madness.’

  ‘This is just a beginning. I wanted to know what you thought of the idea. See, I think David would be a perfect role for your father.’

  She drew in her breath sharply.

  ‘Your father and I talked about it at the party, opening night. He says he’s always wanted to play David.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice was low.

  ‘He says your grandfather suggested it to him years ago, told him it would be a perfect role for him. Emma, he was really pleased when I mentioned it. What I want to emphasize is David’s humanness, his unwiseness in love, for instance, rather than the battles. I want to bring his wives and children to life—Emma, is something wrong?’

  ‘No—no—Grandpa does love David, and Papa’s always wanted—’

  ‘Something’s upset you. What’s the matter? Have I done something, said something?’

  ‘No, sorry, it’s something else. Go on, please.’

  ‘You don’t think my play stinks—I mean, my idea for it?’

  ‘No, Nik, I think it’s a wonderful idea.’ She was breathing normally. Back in control.

  ‘What I want is an ensemble piece.’ Nik signaled the waiter to bring him another sandwich. ‘King David had eight wives and God knows how many unnamed wives and concubines, but contrary to what comes across in the Bible, where the women are merely names—I want them to be real people—Abigail, for instance, and maybe Maacah, and Bathsheba. I’m really going to want your input here, Em.’

  ‘You’re welcome to any input I can give you.” Her voice was carefully level.

  “Thank you. Can we do a quick rundown of King David’s wives? Michal, his first wife. Cold. Very aware of being a king’s daughter—she was King Saul’s daughter, remember. Do you know King David’s story?’

  ‘Yes, it was one of Grandpa’s favorites. I told you about my Grandpa Bowman, the preacher?’

  ‘Yes. Okay, Michal was aware of being a king’s wife. She cared about her position. Snooty. So. Who’s next?’

  It was a rhetorical question, but Emma answered. ‘Abigail.’ Grandpa had taught her well.

  ‘Abigail. The one wife he truly married for love.’

  ‘Not Bathsheba?’

  Nik grinned. ‘That was lust, more than love. And then, immediately after Abigail, came Ahinoam.’

  ‘Ahinoam caused a lot of grief.’ Emma’s lips tightened briefly.

  ‘A lot,’ Nik agreed. ‘I’ll want to talk to you about that when we get to her, chronologically. Right now I just want to list them. Maacah, who was a king’s daughter, and who had two unnamed sons, and Absalom, and Tamar.’

  Emma let out a breath.

  Nik moved on to David’s next wife, Haggith. ‘She’s important, because she had Adonijah, and he’s one of the contenders for the throne at the end of David’s life, a real threat to Solomon. Then there’s Abital, and we don’t know anything about her, or her son, Shephatiah. Then there’s Eglah, who had Ithream: ditto. And, finally, Bathsheba.’

  ‘Is she going to be the juicy role?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Juicy enough, but not the best role. Who I have in mind for you is Abigail. She probably won’t come in till the second act, but I want her to be almost as important as David. Before we get to her, there’s a whole lot of exposition needed. I’m using Zeruiah, and Asahel, and I hope I can bring some laughter into their scenes.’

  Emma nodded. ‘Good. So you’ll use Zeruiah and Asahel sort of like the butler and the maid in English drawing-room comedies?’

  Nik shook his head. ‘My play is going to be anything but a drawing-room comedy. There’ll have to be humor to lighten it, of course, but I want to write a really serious play, something very different from this piece of fluff you’re acting in now.’

  ‘It’s not fluff.’

  ‘Thanks. Of course I wanted you to say that. But I’m really excited about this new play.’

  The waiter sidled up to their table and put the bill in front of Nik.

  ‘What’s my share?’ Emma asked.

  Nik laughed. ‘Sweetie, you’ve eaten half a sandwich and I’ve had three. My treat.’ He paid the bill. ‘I’ll walk you home.’

  In the doorway of her apartment on West Fifty-fifth Street he paused, took her face in his hands, kissed her gently. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  It was good. It was enough. If he wanted to write a play about King David and his wives and children, then that was what he should do. He had kissed her. Beautifully. She sang while she bathed, got ready for bed.

  What had happened to their love?

  She took her father’s cup to the galley and washed it, looking at the sky shading from a hazy blue down to a soft grey as it met the darker grey of water, thinking of the scenes from Nik’s David play which had lain for all these years in the Portia’s chart drawers.

  “Em—”

  She jumped, startled out of her memories. Ben had come in to the main cabin from the deck and was standing behind her.

  She reached for a tea towel and began drying the cup.

  “Can I help?”

  She shook her head, put the cup away.

  “Em, I couldn’t help hearing—”

  “What?” She was still barely back in the present.

  “Your father asking you about Nik.”

  “Oh, Ben, he’s my father, and he loves me. I’d like to protect him, but I realize I can’t.” Her voice galloped unsteadily.

  “I hate to see you hurting this way.”

  “Thanks, Ben, but life’s full of hurt, you know that.”

  “I wish I could help.”

  “You do help. It means a lot that you care. And you’re giving Papa a last summer on the Portia. Right now that’s what matters.”

  “We love him. We love you both. Where’s Alice?”

  “She’s taking a nap. She was up with Papa a good bit last night.”

  Ben scowled. “It’s hell. It isn’t right. What should happen to us is that we should grow to whatever is our peak, and then blow up in a blast of fireworks.”

  “That sounds good, Ben. But Papa’s reached several peaks as an actor. I’m not sure when he should have blown up.” She smiled. “I’m going up to him.”

  “Okay. And it’s okay, Em, in the long run of things. It’s all part of a cycle and I don’t know what got into me.” He turned on his heel and went back out on deck.

  Emma returned to the pilothouse. Pulled David’s pillows up so that he could sit more comfortably.

  “If I’d left Nik alone—if nothing had happened—”

  “But a lot of things happened, Papa.”

  “If Nik had finished his play—”

  “It w
asn’t really Nik’s kind of play. He’s better at comedy.”

  “It could have been good,” David said. “It’s one of my few real regrets, that I never played David.”

  Amazing that her father could speak of having few regrets. She riffled Nik’s pages, remembering going with him after the theater to have supper with her father and Sophie. Sophie always had them sit at the oval dining table, with the candles lit, as though for a formal meal, and then laughed with them as David turned on the overhead lights so that he could see to read the small print in Nik’s Bible, brought milk in a bottle to the table, spurning the silver pitcher she offered him.

  ‘This Zeruiah, David’s sister,’ David Wheaton said. ‘What’s she like?’

  Nik laughed, a little ruefully. ‘I visualize her as being somewhat like my mother, old for her age. Living with my father was enough to age anybody. As for Zeruiah, I guess most women back then aged early. Short, dumpy, worn by work and worries. Greying brown hair. A bit of a gossip. I think my mother’s happiest times were schmoozing with the neighbors as they swept their stoops. I see Zeruiah as calmer than my mother, more in control of her life. But I’d like to honor my mother in Zeruiah.’

  ‘That’s nice, Nik!’ Sophie exclaimed. ‘I like that.’

  ‘You’ve obviously thought about this a lot,’ David said.

  ‘I’ve had this idea for a play ever since I first saw you in The Road to Rome. You were superb as Hannibal.’

  ‘My Davie is always terrific,’ Sophie said. ‘But I agree with you about Hannibal.’

  Nik smiled at her. ‘And right then I thought, Someday I’ll write a play for him, and what role more obvious than David? Okay, we’ve established that Samuel anointed Saul king.’ He opened his Bible to a place he had marked with a slip of paper. ‘And here it says that Saul shows his strength by hewing a yoke of oxen in pieces, and gathers himself an army—’ Nik stopped short as he saw Emma’s eyebrows shoot up.

  ‘Hewing a yoke of oxen? Onstage?’ she asked.

  David and Sophie burst into laughter, and Nik joined in.

  ‘What a thought. No, I think I can just refer to some of the things that happen before David comes into the picture.’ Nik hungrily finished the bowl of black-bean soup Sophie had made.

  Sophie asked, ‘If David was meant to become king, why did Samuel anoint Saul first?’

  ‘Looks.’ Nik smiled at Sophie, nodding thanks as she refilled his soup bowl. ‘David was an unknown stripling, up in the hills with his sheep, and Saul was a movie-star type, strong and gorgeous to look at.’

  ‘Gary Cooper,’ Emma suggested.

  ‘Robert Taylor,’ Sophie said.

  ‘Gregory Peck. Whoever.’ Nik shut his Bible. ‘And old Samuel made the obvious choice.’

  ‘Saul’s going to be a marvelous role for an older actor,’ David said. ‘I see him first as shy and almost uncouth, surprised when Samuel chooses him. And then it will take real ability to show this strong man’s disintegration into jealousy and madness, until he’s almost like Lear at the end. If you don’t finish this play soon, Nik, I may be too old for David, and then I’ll have to play Saul.’

  ‘You’ll play David, Dave,’ Nik said. ‘The play won’t be anything without you.’

  ‘Emma’s grandpa thought Saul was full of pride,’ Nik said. ‘But it still seems strange to me, God refusing to talk to Saul ever again.’

  ‘Do you think God speaks to President Roosevelt?’ Sophie asked. ‘Or that he listens?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  Emma said, ‘Grandpa says it comforts him to remember that God never uses perfect people.’

  ‘Some people think Roosevelt is perfect,’ Sophie pursued.

  Do you?’ Emma asked Nik.

  ‘No. Probably the leader we need right now, but far from perfect. And I suspect that, like Samuel, he listens to himself and thinks it’s God.’

  ‘You must meet Emma’s Grandpa Bowman,’ David said. ‘He can tell you whatever you need to know about Samuel, Saul, and David.’

  ‘Someday.’ Nik’s voice was wistful. ‘Anyhow, I have a real problem with knowing how far back I have to go. I mean, I’d like to start with David, but I have to get over a certain amount of exposition, such as Saul making a thank offering to God without waiting for the prophet to do it, and Samuel is furious with Saul for …

  … upstaging him.’ Grandpa Bowman often used theatrical terms. ‘You see, my dear children, that the people God has chosen to use throughout history, and still today, are never the good and moral and qualified people. They’re faulty and flawed and complicated enough to be fascinating and infuriating.’

  ‘Like you.’ Emma sat with Louis on her grandfather’s porch.

  ‘Saul or Samuel?’ Grandpa Bowman asked.

  ‘Samuel, of course.’

  The old man laughed. ‘I came to the Lord late, after I was fully grown and working on my own. I was walking in the woods when the Lord came to me in a vision.’

  ‘Grandpa,’ Emma asked without guile, ‘have any of your visions come true?’ She froze, as he turned on her, shouting.

  ‘Many of them. Many, many. Your mother turned away from my visions and refused to fulfill them.’

  ‘Okay, Grandpa, okay. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘Only the Lord can upset me,’ he bellowed.

  ‘Hey, Grandpa,’ Louis said eagerly, ‘have you ever had any visions about me?’

  ‘You, child? No. I have had no visions about you. Are you disappointed?’

  ‘It would depend on what the visions were.’

  ‘You’re a good boy. Your mother has brought you up well.’

  ‘You do like my mom?’

  ‘She’s a pet lamb, like you.’

  ‘Grandpa, would it have been better if my papa hadn’t married all those other wives?’

  Grandpa Bowman huffed softly. ‘I’m not comfortable with better or worse. It is simply a fact, Louis, that he did. He is a human being.’

  ‘And human beings make mistakes?’

  ‘Inevitably.’

  ‘Grandpa, do you think God ever makes mistakes?’

  Grandpa Bowman turned to Emma. ‘How would you answer that question?’

  Emma thought, frowning. ‘Well. We often think God makes mistakes because we’d rather blame God than blame ourselves.’

  ‘Heah, heah! So go on.’

  Emma paused and scratched a mosquito bite. ‘Well. Human beings make mistakes because we have free will.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It was pretty risky of God to give us free will.’

  ‘Very risky,’ Grandpa Bowman said.

  ‘Do you think it was a mistake?’

  ‘I am not God,’ Grandpa Bowman said. ‘But I am happy that I am a human being who can make mistakes, and not an insect, who cannot.’

  Louis asked, ‘Have you made mistakes, Grandpa?’

  ‘A great many.’

  ‘Your grandpa,’ Nik said, ‘doesn’t sound like the ordinary fundamentalist preacher.’

  Emma smiled and reached for her glass of ginger ale. Nik had called for Emma after the theater and taken her to their usual restaurant, where the dark wooden walls of their booth made them feel private and protected. ‘He’s wide open. He and my Episcopalian grandmother were great friends.’

  Nik looked up at the waiter who was hovering over them. They were the last people in the restaurant. He reached for the bill. Emma no longer asked about her share. In their world of theater, Nik’s picking up the tab meant that he thought of her seriously as his girl.

  She rose, and the waiter, who had come to regard them benevolently, helped her on with her coat.

  They walked to Emma’s apartment. Despite the late hour, the streets were crowded with servicemen on leave, looking for respite and amusement.

  Nik startled Emma by asking, ‘Does your grandpa ever come to New York?’

  ‘No. He hates to travel.’

  ‘Would he come to New York if, for instance, you were to get marrie
d?’

  Emma felt herself tremble slightly, and hoped that Nik did not feel it. ‘I don’t know.’ She paused in the doorway. ‘Thanks for walking me home.’ She reached for her keys.

  He put his hand over hers and put his arms around her to kiss her.

  Grandpa Bowman would surely come if Emma got married. She could not imagine being married by anyone except Grandpa Bowman.

  “Too bad Alice and Ben never had a chance to know your Grandpa Bowman, Emma.” David Wheaton looked at his wife, who was at the wheel.

  Alice turned, pushing her fingers through her short curly hair. “We never knew our own grandparents, either. Our loss. Hey, this is a lovely inlet, and there aren’t any other boats. How about stopping here for the night?”

  Emma looked around the sheltering cove. Climactic fir trees, old enough so that they would grow no higher, came down to the rocky cliff that plunged deep into the water. Cedar trees added another shade of green. At the top of a dead, bare tree sat a bald eagle, ignoring them.

  Emma saw a flash of brown and something slid into the water. “What’s that?”

  “An otter, most likely.” Alice swiveled off the high stool in front of the wheel. She called out, “Ben, okay if we anchor here?”

  Ben came up the steps from the main cabin to the pilothouse and consulted his chart. “Sure. I’ll go let down the anchor.” He slid open the door to the narrow deck that ran along the side of the Portia, and went to the foredeck.

  “Take the wheel, please, Em.” Alice went out onto the deck, running lightly to the much wider foredeck. She still moved like a young woman. Ben was there ahead of her, and then Emma heard the mechanical whirring of the anchor being lowered.

  Alice and Emma brought a folding table out to the pilothouse so that they could be with David for dinner. Clouds had gathered over them and rain began to fall, slowly running down the windshield, a soft, summer rain. The Portia sat sturdily at anchor, its slow rocking barely perceptible. The red limbs of the madrona trees gleamed wetly. Misty clouds hung between the trees and the water, drifted against the mountains.