The Winds of Marble Arch and Other Stories

by Connie Willis

  “Who’s Maggie Thatcher?” Twidge said.

  The docent, who was now as red in the face as her scarf, stood up. “It is clear there is no point in trying to talk to you. You’ve all been completely brainwashed by the male patriarchy.” She began grabbing up her folders. “You’re blind, all of you! You don’t even see that you’re victims of a male conspiracy to deprive you of your biological identity, of your very womanhood. The Liberation wasn’t a liberation at all. It was only another kind of slavery.”

  “Even if that were true,” I said, “even if it had been a conspiracy to bring us under male domination, it would have been worth it.”

  “She’s right, you know,” Karen said to Mother. “Traci’s absolutely right. There are some things worth giving up anything for, even your freedom, and getting rid of your period is definitely one of them.”

  “Victims!” the docent shouted. “You’ve been stripped of your femininity, and you don’t even care!” She stomped out, destroying several squash and a row of gladiolas in the process.

  “You know what I hated most before the Liberation?” Karen said, pouring the last of the dandelion wine into her glass. “Sanitary belts.”

  “And those cardboard tampon applicators,” Mother said.

  “I’m never going to join the Cyclists,” Twidge said.

  “Good,” I said.

  “Can I have dessert?”

  I called the waitress over, and Twidge ordered sugared violets. “Anyone else want dessert?” I asked. “Or more primrose wine?”

  “I think it’s wonderful the way you’re trying to help your sister,” Bysshe said, leaning closer to Viola.

  “And those Modess ads,” Mother said. “You remember, with those glamorous women in satin-brocade evening dresses and long white gloves, and below the picture was written, ‘Modess, because…’ I thought Modess was a perfume.”

  Karen giggled. “I thought it was a brand of champagne!”

  “I don’t think we’d better have any more wine,” I said.

  The phone started singing the minute I got to my chambers the next morning, the universal ring.

  “Karen went back to Iraq, didn’t she?” I asked Bysshe.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Viola said there was some snag over whether to put Disneyland on the West Bank or not.”

  “When did Viola call?”

  Bysshe looked sheepish. “I had breakfast with her and Twidge this morning.”

  “Oh.” I picked up the phone. “It’s probably Mother with a plan to kidnap Perdita. Hello?”

  “This is Evangeline, Perdita’s docent,” the voice on the phone said. “I hope you’re happy. You’ve bullied Perdita into surrendering to the enslaving male patriarchy.”

  “I have?” I said.

  “You obviously employed mind control, and I want you to know we intend to file charges.” She hung up. The phone rang again immediately, another universal.

  “What is the good of signatures when no one ever uses them?” I said, and picked up the phone.

  “Hi, Mom,” Perdita said. “I thought you’d want to know I’ve changed my mind about joining the Cyclists.”

  “Really?” I said, trying not to sound jubilant.

  “I found out they wear this red scarf thing on their arm. It covers up Sitting Bull’s horse.”

  “That is a problem,” I said.

  “Well, that’s not all. My docent told me about your lunch. Did Grandma Karen really tell you were right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Gosh! I didn’t believe that part. Well, anyway, my docent said you wouldn’t listen to her about how great menstruating is, that you all kept talking about the negative aspects of it, like bloating and cramps and crabbiness, and I said, ‘What are cramps?’ and she said, ‘Menstrual bleeding frequently causes headaches and discomfort,’ and I said, ‘Bleeding? Nobody ever said anything about bleeding!’ Why didn’t you tell me there was blood involved, Mother?”

  I had, but I felt it wiser to keep silent.

  “And you didn’t say a word about its being painful. And all the hormone fluctuations! Anybody’d have to be crazy to want to go through that when they didn’t have to! How did you stand it before the Liberation?”

  “They were days of dark oppression,” I said.

  “I guess! Well, anyway, I quit, and so my docent is really mad. But I told her it was a case of personal sovereignty, and she has to respect my decision. I’m still going to become a floratarian, though, and I don’t want you to try to talk me out of it.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.

  “You know, this whole thing is really your fault, Mom! If you’d told me about the pain part in the first place, none of this would have happened. Viola’s right! You never tell us anything!”

  Inn

  Christmas Eve. The organ played the last notes of “O Come, O Come Emmanuel,” and the choir sat down. Reverend Will hobbled slowly to the pulpit, clutching his sheaf of yellowed typewritten sheets.

  In the choir, Dee leaned over to Sharon and whispered, “Here we go. Twenty-four minutes and counting.”

  On Sharon’s other side, Virginia murmured, “‘And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.’”

  Reverend Wall set the papers on the pulpit, looked rheumily out over the congregation, and said, “‘And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David. To be taxed with Mary, his espoused wife, being great with child.’” He paused.

  “We know nothing of that journey up from Nazareth,” Virginia whispered.

  “We know nothing of that journey up from Nazareth,” Reverend Wall said, in a wavering voice, “what adventures befell the young couple, what inns they stopped at along the way. All we know is that on a Christmas Eve like this one they arrived in Bethlehem, and there was no room for then at the inn.”

  Virginia was scribbling something on the margin of her bulletin. Dee started to cough. “Do you have any cough drops?” she whispered to Sharon.

  “What happened to the ones I gave you last night?” Sharon whispered back.

  “Though we know nothing of their journey,” Reverend Wall said, his voice growing stronger, “we know much of the world they lived in. It was a world of censuses and soldiers, of bureaucrats and politicians, a world busy with property and rules and its own affairs.”

  Dee started to cough again. She rummaged in the pocket of her music folder and came up with a paper-wrapped cough drop. She unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth.

  “…a world too busy with its own business to even notice an insignificant couple from far away,” Reverend Wall intoned.

  Virginia passed her bulletin to Sharon. Dee leaned over to read it, too. It read, “What happened here last night after the rehearsal? When I came home from the mall, there were police cars outside.”

  Dee grabbed the bulletin and rummaged in her folder again. She found a pencil, scribbled “Somebody broke into the church,” and passed it across Sharon to Virginia.

  “You’re kidding,” Virginia whispered. “Were they caught?”

  “No,” Sharon said.

  The rehearsal on the twenty-third was supposed to start at seven. By a quarter to eight the choir was still standing at the back of the sanctuary, waiting to sing the processional, the shepherds and angels were bouncing off the walls, and Reverend Wall, in his chair behind the pulpit, had nodded off. The assistant minister, Reverend Lisa Farrison, was moving poinsettias onto the chancel steps to make room for the manger, and the choir director, Rose Henderson, was on her knees, hammering wooden bases onto the cardboard palm trees. They had fallen down twice already.

  “What do you think are the chances we’ll still be here when it’s time for the Christmas Eve service to start tomorrow night?” Sharon said, leaning against the sanctuary door.

  “I can’t be,” Virginia said,
looking at her watch. “I’ve got to be out at the mall before nine. Megan suddenly announced she wants Senior Prom Barbie.”

  “My throat feels terrible,” Dee said, feeling her glands. “Is it hot in here, or am I getting a fever?”

  “It’s hot in these robes,” Sharon said. “Why are we wearing them? This is a rehearsal.”

  “Rose wanted everything to be exactly like it’s going to be tomorrow night.”

  “If I’m exactly like this tomorrow night, I’ll be dead,” Dee said, trying to clear her throat. “I can’t get sick. I don’t have any of the presents wrapped, and I haven’t even thought about what we’re having for Christmas dinner.”

  “At least you have presents,” Virginia said. “I have eight people left to buy for. Not counting Senior Prom Barbie.”

  “I don’t have anything done. Christmas cards, shopping, wrapping, baking, nothing, and Bill’s parents are coming,” Sharon said. “Come on, let’s get this show on the road.”

  Rose and one of the junior choir angels hoisted the palm trees to standing. They listed badly to the right, as if Bethlehem were experiencing a hurricane. “Is that straight?” Rose called to the back of the church.

  “Yes,” Sharon said.

  “Lying in church,” Dee said. “Tsk, tsk.”

  “All right,” Rose said, picking up a bulletin. “Listen up, everybody. Here’s the order of worship. Introit by the brass quartet, processional, opening prayer, announcements—Reverend Farrison, is that where you want to talk about the ‘Least of These’ Project?”

  “Yes,” Reverend Farrison said. She walked to the front of the sanctuary. “And can I make a quick announcement right now?” She turned and faced the choir. “If anybody has anything else to donate, you need to bring it to the church by tomorrow morning at nine,” she said briskly. “That’s when we’re going to deliver them to the homeless. We still need blankets and canned goods. Bring them to the Fellowship Hall.”

  She walked back down the aisle, and Rose started in on her list again. “Announcements, ‘O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,’ Reverend Wall’s sermon—”

  Reverend Wall nodded awake at his name. “Ah,” he said, and hobbled toward the pulpit, clutching a sheaf of yellowed typewritten papers.

  “Oh, no,” Sharon said. “Not a Christmas pageant and a sermon. We’ll be here forever.”

  “Not a sermon,” Virginia said. “The sermon. All twenty-four minutes of it. I’ve got it memorized. He’s given it every year since he came.”

  “Longer than that,” Dee said. “I swear last year I heard him say something in it about World War I.”

  “‘And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city,’” Reverend Wall said. “‘And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth.’”

  “Oh, no,” Sharon said. “He’s going to give the whole sermon right now.”

  “We know nothing of that journey up from Bethlehem,” he said.

  “Thank you, Reverend Wall,” Rose said. “After the sermon, the choir sings ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’, and Mary and Joseph—”

  “What message does the story of their journey hold for us?” Reverend Wall said, picking up steam.

  Rose was hurrying up the aisle and up the chancel steps. “Reverend Wall, you don’t need to run through your sermon right now.”

  “What does it say to us,” he asked, “struggling to recover from a world war?”

  Dee nudged Sharon.

  “Reverend Wall,” Rose said, reaching the pulpit. “I’m afraid we don’t have time to go through your whole sermon right now. We need to run through the pageant now.”

  “Ah,” he said, and gathered up his papers.

  “All right,” Rose said. “The choir sings ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’, and Mary and Joseph, you come down the aisle.”

  Mary and Joseph, wearing bathrobes and Birkenstocks, assembled themselves at the back of the sanctuary, and started down the center aisle.

  “No, no, Mary and Joseph, not that way,” Rose said. “The wise men from the East have to come down the center aisle, and you’re coming up from Nazareth. You two come down the side aisle.”

  Mary and Joseph obliged, taking the aisle at a trot.

  “No, no, slow down,” Rose said. “You’re tired. You’ve walked all the way from Nazareth. Try it again.”

  They raced each other to the back of the church and started again, slower at first and then picking up speed.

  “The congregation won’t be able to see them,” Rose said, shaking her head. “What about lighting the side aisle? Can we do that, Reverend Farrison?”

  “She’s not here,” Dee said. “She went to get something.”

  “I’ll go get her,” Sharon said, and went down the hall.

  Miriam Hoskins was just going into the adult Sunday school room with a paper plate of frosted cookies. “Do you know where Reverend Farrison is?” Sharon asked her.

  “She was in the office a minute ago,” Miriam said, pointing with the plate.

  Sharon went down to the office. Reverend Farrison was standing at the desk, talking on the phone. “How soon can the van be here?” She motioned to Sharon she’d be a minute. “Well, can you find out?”

  Sharon waited, looking at the desk. There was a glass dish of paper-wrapped cough drops next to the phone, and beside it a can of smoked oysters and three cans of water chestnuts. Probably for the ‘Least of These’ Project, she thought ruefully.

  “Fifteen minutes? All right. Thank you,” Reverend Farrison said, and hung up. “Just a minute,” she told Sharon, and went to the outside door. She opened it and leaned out. Sharon could feel the icy air as she stood there. She wondered if it had started snowing.

  “The van will be here in a few minutes,” Reverend Farrison said to someone outside.

  Sharon looked out the stained-glass panels on either side of the door, trying to see who was out there.

  “It’ll take you to the shelter,” Reverend Farrison said. “No, you’ll have to wait outside.” She shut the door. “Now,” she said, turning to Sharon, “what did you want, Mrs. Englert?”

  Sharon said, still looking out the window, “They need you in the sanctuary.” It was starting to snow. The flakes looked blue through the glass.

  “I’ll be right there,” Reverend Farrison said. “I was just taking care of some homeless. That’s the second couple we’ve had tonight. We always get them at Christmas. What’s the problem? The palm trees?”

  “What?” Sharon said, still looking at the snow.

  Reverend Farrison followed her gaze. “The shelter van’s coming for them in a few minutes,” she said. “We can’t let them stay in here unsupervised. First Methodist’s had their collection stolen twice in the last month, and we’ve got all the donations for the ‘Least of These’ Project in there.” She gestured toward the Fellowship Hall.

  I thought they were for the homeless, Sharon thought. “Couldn’t they just wait in the sanctuary or something?” she said.

  Reverend Farrison sighed. “Letting them in isn’t doing them a kindness. They come here instead of the shelter because the shelter confiscates their liquor.” She started down the hall. “What did they need me for?”

  “Oh,” Sharon said, “the lights. They wanted to know if they could get lights over the side aisle for Mary and Joseph.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “The lights in this church are such a mess.” She stopped at the bank of switches next to the stairs that led down to the choir room and the Sunday school rooms. “Tell me what this turns on.”

  She flicked a switch. The hall light went off. She switched it back on and tried another one.

  “That’s the light in the office,” Sharon said, “and the downstairs hall, and that one’s the adult Sunday school room.”

  “What’s this one?” Reverend Farrison said.

  There was a yelp from the choir members. Kids screamed.

  “The sanctuary,” Sharon said. “Okay, that’s the side aisle lights.�
� She called down to the sanctuary. “How’s that?”

  “Fine,” Rose called. “No, wait, the organ’s off.”

  Reverend Farrison flicked another switch, and the organ came on with a groan.

  “Now the side lights are off,” Sharon said, “and so’s the pulpit light.”

  “I told you they were a mess,” Reverend Farrison said. She flicked another switch. “What did that do?”

  “It turned the porch light off.”

  “Good. We’ll leave it off. Maybe it will discourage any more homeless from coming,” she said. “Reverend Wall let a homeless man wait inside last week, and he relieved himself on the carpet in the adult Sunday school room. We had to have it cleaned.” She looked reprovingly at Sharon. “With these people, you can’t let your compassion get the better of you.”

  No, Sharon thought. Jesus did, and look what happened to him.

  “The innkeeper could have turned them away,” Reverend Wall intoned. “He was a busy man, and his inn was full of travelers. He could have shut the door on Mary and Joseph.”

  Virginia leaned across Sharon to Dee. “Did whoever broke in take anything?”

  “No,” Sharon said.

  “Whoever it was urinated on the floor in the nursery,” Dee whispered, and Reverend Wall trailed off confusedly and looked over at the choir.

  Dee began coughing loudly, trying to smother it with her hand. He smiled vaguely at her and started again. “The innkeeper could have turned them away.”

  Dee waited a minute, and then opened her hymnal to her bulletin and began writing on it. She passed it to Virginia, who read it and then passed it back to Sharon.

  “Reverend Farrison thinks some of the homeless got in,” it read. “They tore up the palm trees, too. Ripped the bases right off. Can you imagine anybody doing something like that?”

  “As the innkeeper found room for Mary and Joseph that Christmas Eve long ago,” Reverend Wall said, building to a finish “let us find room in our hearts for Christ. Amen.”

  The organ began the intro to “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” and Mary and Joseph appeared at the back with Miriam Hoskins. She adjusted Mary’s white veil and whispered something to them. Joseph pulled at his glued-on beard.