by Tim LaHaye
“I am protected!” Nicky said.
“What?”
“I will not be hurt.”
“What are you saying?”
“You will get hurt before I will.”
Exasperated, Marilena turned to Viv.
“Let’s just go, Marilena. We’ll talk this through at home.”
“You don’t care that he’s not buckled in?”
“I agree he’s protected.”
Marilena swore. “I don’t know what either of you is talking about!”
“That’s the problem,” Viv said. “We’re in communication with the spirits every day. He is protected. He’s immune to danger from which others might suffer.”
“I’m not driving.”
“Then I will,” Viv said.
Nicky pointed at Marilena. “She is not sitting back here with me.”
Marilena wished she had a weapon. She’d test the so-called protection of this brat.
“Get out and switch places with me,” Viv said softly.
Marilena left the car, trembling; the last thing she wanted was to get back in. But what was she going to do, hitchhike? She didn’t want to go home either. She was without options. As she passed Viv in front of the car, the older woman said, “Breathe, Marilena. Calm yourself.”
Viv slid behind the wheel, but Marilena stood with her hand on the open passenger-side door, trying to relax. Nicky had settled into the backseat again, and Viv was talking softly to him, though Marilena could not hear. Finally she got in, slammed the door, and buckled up. She resolved not to even look at her son. Her son. He seemed like an animal.
“Caţea,” Nicky whispered.
Marilena whirled in spite of herself. “What did you call me?”
“You heard me.”
As Viv pulled back onto the road, Marilena again unbuckled and turned, swinging wildly. The boy dodged and weaved, laughing. Finally she reached his wrist and yanked, but he grabbed with his other hand, pulled her forearm to his mouth, and bit fiercely, drawing blood.
Marilena shrieked and pulled back.
Viv yelled, “Marilena! Stop!”
“He bit me!”
“You deserved it!” Viv said.
Marilena slid back into her seat, covering the wound with her free hand. “What?!”
“Yes,” Nicky said, “you deserved it. Caţea.”
Marilena screamed at Nicky, calling him a name worse than the one he had called her.
“This has to stop!” Viv said. “Marilena, you’re acting his age.”
That was the problem. He was acting older than his age.
“I need an emergency room,” Marilena said, blood oozing through her fingers. “The little monster probably has rabies.” She pulled her hand away and thrust her forearm toward Viv. Top and bottom teeth had sunk deep into her flesh.
“Oh, Dumnezeu!” Viv cried and pulled into the passing lane, the accelerator to the floor.
Marilena glared back at Nicky and held up her bleeding arm so he could see. “Look what you’ve done, copil nelegitim.”
He lifted his eyes from his book and smiled. He stuck his tongue out at her, and she burst into tears. Shaken to her soul, Marilena realized she was furious enough to kill him if she had the chance.
__
Twenty minutes later Viv wheeled into the hospital where Nicky had been born. She told Nicky to stay in the car and rushed Marilena in. It was almost as if a doctor had been waiting for them.
“There was an accident,” Viv said as he examined Marilena.
“An accident?” the doctor said. “This is a bite. A human bite. Too small for an adult. A child bit you?”
Marilena wanted to tell all, but Viv said, “I had to slam on the brakes to keep from hitting an animal, and she tried to protect my son. But he was thrown forward, causing this injury.”
Her son! For once Marilena was glad not to claim him. She squinted at the doctor, trying to read whether he was buying the account.
“Perhaps I should look him over,” he said.
“He’s fine,” Viv said. “Isn’t he, Marilena?”
“Yes,” she said, still trying to keep from trembling. “He’s just perfect.”
The wound from his upper teeth took eight stitches. The lower took six. Between the tetanus shot, the anesthetic, and the pain prescription, Marilena had mellowed by the time she returned to the SUV. That she found Nicky stretched out on the backseat, sleeping like a baby, renewed her fury.
“You’d better keep him away from me tonight, Viv,” she said.
“He won’t harm you,” Viv said. “I’ll see to that.”
“I’m not worried about him hurting me,” she said.
“Actually I think I will take him for a week’s vacation,” Viv said.
“Really? Where?”
“Do you care?”
“No, I guess I don’t.”
__
Marilena’s head felt so heavy she had to rest it on the back of the seat. That wasn’t comfortable, so she lowered the seat until it angled into the backseat. She was grateful Viv was driving slower now, because though Marilena’s arm was numb, the rest of her body ached. She felt vulnerable, her seat extending back to near where Nicky sat reading. At least she thought he was reading. She peeked left and found him staring at her.
“Read,” she whispered, hoping her tone would be the first step in a healing process. She did not want to be on the outs with her own son. It was his fault, she was certain, but she had overreacted, escalated things, not acted maturely. But who could have? Who would put up with a nine-year-old acting like that?
He flashed an obscene gesture, which made her sit up in spite of her fatigue and pain. “Nicky!” she said.
“Aunt Viv!” he called out. “She just flipped me off!”
“Marilena! Honestly!”
The fight had gone out of her. She wasn’t going to defend herself against lies. Viv would take his side anyway. Marilena turned and faced the passenger window. The scenery drifting by made her dizzy, so she shut her eyes while drowsiness overtook her. A sob rose in her throat, but she would not give in.
What had happened? What had become of her? Was it possible she had fallen so short of ever connecting with her own flesh and blood? She had wondered what could be worse than deeply loving a son with all of your being and having him act as if you didn’t exist. Now she knew: having him hate you enough to cause you to question your love for him.
Marilena didn’t want to hate him, and yet she had a feeling he was still looking daggers at her, scowling, prepared to call her names, give her the finger, falsely accuse. Why had she wanted a child in the first place? The gift that was to have brought her love and companionship as she grew old had become a curse that made anything good in her life pale to insignificance. What was there to live for? Her reading? Her study? Her research? They held no appeal if her own son hated her.
She heard Viv on her cell phone; it was clear she was talking with Mrs. Szabo. “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Carpathia and I have made some progress with Nicky already and believe you will see a changed boy when he returns to class. . . . We would like to get him out of that environment, take him on a vacation where we can work with him. . . . Thanks for understanding. If you don’t hear from us, expect him back a week from today.”
Marilena heard Nicky move forward. “Good one, Aunt Viv,” he said. He still wasn’t buckled in. Marilena almost wished Viv would lose control of the SUV to see if he really was protected.
“Marilena, can you drive?”
“What? No, I’m—”
“It’s less than ten kilometers, and I need to e-mail Reiche.”
“I’m out of it, Viv. Can’t it wait?”
“No, now—oh, never mind. I’ll just pull over.”
“I really need to get home, Viv.”
“Well, you can’t have it both ways. You’ll get home quicker by driving, because I need to do this.”
“Just call him.”
“I will, but not in the
car, Marilena. Because this message is private.”
Great. She’s going to tell him what has gone on.
Viv pulled over, got out, and slammed the door. Marilena surreptitiously lowered her window an inch, hoping to catch the conversation. Whenever Viv glanced her way, Marilena shut her eyes, but when she had the chance, she kept them open, trying to read the older woman’s lips.
At one point, Viv turned her back to the car and talked as she moseyed away.
Marilena said, “I love you, Nicky.”
Nothing.
She said it again. Still no response. She turned and found him stretched out, hands behind his head, asleep. Marilena envied him. How she would love to be able to close her eyes to the world, to the mess her life had become. She only hoped she could stretch out on her bed at home and drift off. Right now she couldn’t imagine it.
Marilena curled back into her least painful position, facing the side window.
Viv was striding back toward the car, talking earnestly. “Yes, yes, of course. You may tell him the deed is done. . . . I have no idea how long. . . . At least twenty-four hours, I suspect. . . . Tonight then for dinner. We’ll expect you at seven.”
Oh no. Please, no. Marilena fully expected the anesthetic to wear off by six, and she wouldn’t feel like preparing a meal for a guest.
“Reiche wants to talk to us,” Viv said as she got back in. “He’s coming tonight.”
“I’m not cooking,” Marilena said. “And I don’t know how sociable I’ll feel.”
Viv was immediately sarcastic. “Well, it’s all about you, Marilena. Don’t you worry. He’s bringing the food. And you don’t have to be sociable. My guess is you had better be prepared to listen.”
“What, I’m in trouble now? If Mr. Planchette has to know what went on today, why can’t he come help us with our child?”
“The child is not the problem, Marilena.”
SEVENTEEN
MARILENA HAD LONG loved the Cluj cottage. It was cozy and warm, and she could conjure up the smell of the smoke from the fireplace even when she was away. Now it beckoned as an oasis, but she dreaded sharing the space with the boy she no longer knew. Had she ever known him? He had always been so distant, resistant to cuddling and affection.
As Viv pulled in and the gravel crunched, Marilena groggily raised her seat, her limbs leaden. How she wished that either her son or her longtime friend would be thoughtful enough to help her from the car, into the cottage, into her bed so she could relax before Planchette arrived.
It was way too much to expect from Nicky, who had never proven thoughtful. But Viv? What had happened to her trademark selflessness, her sensitivity? Had she really turned against Marilena? Actually believed she had been in the wrong here? Certainly Marilena should not have attacked a little boy. But he hadn’t acted like a child. His meanness was deep and adult and nasty. Who could have or should have taken that kind of abuse, especially from one’s own child?
Nicky bounded out of the car before Marilena could open her door. Viv asked him to help set the table because “Uncle Reiche” was coming. So now he was an uncle the way Viv was an aunt? Shouldn’t that title be bestowed by the mother, if and when she so chose?
Nicky had better not agree to help Viv after he had been so vile toward Marilena. But he remained consistent. In a chipper tone he said, “No thanks!” He flung his book bag inside the cottage, then raced out to play with Star Diamond.
That was a relief. Though no one was helping her, Marilena would at least be able to retire to bed for a while. She felt way older than her years as she sleepwalked inside.
“I suppose preparing for Reiche is all on me,” Viv said.
Marilena didn’t answer. Being uncivil, even under these circumstances, nagged at her sensibilities, but she was not about to cave. If she ever deserved consideration, it was now. And if no one else was going to provide it, she herself would. She kicked off her shoes and gingerly stretched out atop the down quilt she so loved. Within seconds she was asleep.
__
Pain woke her, and Marilena was shaken to see that it was now dark out. She smelled Asian food and heard voices. Had it been Viv’s thoughtfulness that allowed her to sleep through dinner, or Viv’s and Mr. Planchette’s rudeness? No doubt they had exploited her absence to talk about her.
Marilena splashed water on her face, downed a couple of pain pills, and padded out. Nicky was at the computer in the next room.
Planchette rose, a bit too gallantly, Marilena thought, and greeted her warmly. She tried to force a smile.
“There’s a little left,” Viv said. “I didn’t know whether you’d be hungry, but I—”
“Famished,” Marilena said.
“—knew you’d want to sleep.”
“Thank you,” Marilena said, sitting heavily and eating directly out of one of the boxes. Hunger, she had always said, was the best seasoning, but the pungent tanginess of the food hit her strangely, probably due to her medication. Her arm throbbed.
“We need to talk,” Planchette said. “When you’re ready.”
Marilena was already tired of being treated like an invalid. “I’m ready.”
“Child abuse is a very serious matter,” Planchette said.
“Child abuse? I—”
“One word to the authorities, and you could easily lose your son.”
That didn’t sound so bad right then, but child abuse?
“Mr. Planchette, the boy—”
“Please don’t try to justify it, Mrs. Carpathia. Kids will be kids and boys will be boys. Regardless of his fault in this matter, you are the adult, the parent, and your actions are without excuse.”
“But—”
“Without excuse!”
“Fine! I heard you. I assume you are leaving the authorities out of this.”
“Of course. Civil authorities anyway. The association is most concerned. Frankly, your role as Nicolae’s mother has been compromised.”
“Nothing changes that I am his mother,” Marilena said.
“Let me be clear,” Planchette said. “You are on probation. I’d like to say that if there are no similar incidents for a year, you would be off probation, but I have been reminded by my human and spiritual superiors that there is zero toleranţă. One more physical attack on the chosen one—ever—and you lose your rights as his mother.”
Marilena could barely breathe. Her voice came timid and weak, and she hated herself for it. “And what about his attack on me?” She raised her bandaged arm, wincing at a fresh dagger of pain.
“Self defense!” Planchette and Viv crowed in unison. “What else could he do?”
“Oh, I see,” Marilena said, and she felt as she had in elementary school when kids ganged up and falsely accused her, jealous of the smartest kid in the class. When it was her word against several—true or not—her position was hopeless. She’d had to resign herself to her fate then, and she would have to now.
“So you will pledge that no similar outbursts will ever again occur?” Planchette said.
“If it happens, my punishment has already been determined. If I do it in spite of a pledge, does that change anything? I would simply be double guilty, guilty of the attack and guilty of breaking my word.”
“So you can’t assure me this won’t happen again?”
“That depends on whether I am again provoked.”
“Wrong answer,” Planchette said, forcing a smile.
“Wrong answer,” Viv parroted, and Marilena hated her.
“If I cannot walk away from here tonight with your assurance that this will never happen again, I can’t promise you’ll ever see your son again.”
And for all Marilena’s frustration with and revulsion for her own man-child, that cut deeply. They would actually attempt to separate her from Nicky? They would have to kill her first. And if they were able to effect it without killing her, she would have to kill herself. Surely nothing else was worth living for.
Could they really do this? Had she c
eded such rights to the association by pledging to raise Nicky in spiritualism? She couldn’t imagine.
“I will do my best,” she managed.
“That is hardly a pledge.”
“What do you want to hear?”
“That you were wrong. That you lost your head. That you realize you sought to do physical harm to a chosen envoy of the spirit realm. That you promise on your life to never again let anger and emotion rule you.”
Marilena set her jaw, her teeth grinding. “I acknowledge all that and accede to your wishes.”
“I’d like to hear it in your own words,” Planchette said.
I’ll just bet you would.
“I am sick. I am in pain. I feel incoherent. I would ask that you give me the benefit of the doubt on this, based on my spotless history, and accept that I have heard you and concur.”
Planchette seemed to study her. “Very well,” he said finally. “But I must say that your record is not as pristine as you may think. No, you have never before attacked the boy, but neither have you bonded with him in a healthy way. Our records indicate he is largely passive toward you.”
“How would you know that?”
“Why do you think Ms. Ivinisova is here? Just to help out? Surely you must know she is our eyes and ears.”
Marilena nodded. So she had been under scrutiny every day. And Viv had been funneling information to the powers that be. Terrific. Just terrific.
Did no one control Nicolae then? Was his status as a spiritual chosen one such that, regardless of what he did, he was untouchable? If he was some sort of a god, by definition even his odious actions were divine. Marilena’s only hope was to become his follower, his devotee. There had never been any mothering past his infancy, and there never would be. And she should never expect any acknowledgment from her son that she held any place of honor or prominence or even that she mattered to him.
She had borne him, suckled him, rocked him, changed him. But no child remembered such details, not even mortal ones. She had been merely a role player, a means to an end. Now she was to live at his mercy.
And what would happen if he leveled a false charge at her? claimed she attacked him when they were alone? Or worse, if Viv was there and yet sided with him anyway? End of story. End of relationship. Marilena came to the awful conclusion that she remained Nicky’s mother only at his whim. Probation, indeed. If she wanted to retain any position in his life, she had to become a linguşitor, a parazit, a sycophant.