Irises

by Francisco X. Stork

  “I’m grateful that we talked, I really am,” Kate said. “I stayed awake after you went to sleep and among many other things, I kept replaying in my mind my mother’s words when she took me to Stanford four years ago. She said that God wanted me to be as smart as I could be, to hold nothing back, to become a good doctor so I could help others. And then she said no one should keep me from my dream unless I let them. And I asked her, ‘Why would I let them?’ and she answered, ‘Because you love them.’ It’s funny that I never focused on the fact that dreams could be abandoned or postponed because of love.”

  “I think it takes a certain kind of love to make our dreams come true,” he said.

  “My mother’s words reminded me of your sermon, remember? You said that to love is to deny yourself, to put others first. Then I thought about your ambition, about how you wanted to be the pastor of a big church in a rich community.”

  “And you think there’s something wrong with that?”

  “It’s just that I saw myself in your ambition. At one point I wanted to go to Stanford and be a doctor and I had good reasons for wanting that, but then I lost sight of other good things in my life . . . like Mary. Wanting to go to Stanford is fine, but there are things that are more important. That night, I saw I had lost track of those other things.” She looked into his eyes steadily, seriously.

  “And you think I have too?” he asked defensively.

  She ignored his tone and she went on, “When you told me that you wanted a bigger church, I thought of Father and all the sacrifices he made for his little church. He loved this church. Day by day he picked up his cross and carried it. I thought of all the people who serve the church in their own small way, like Mrs. Alvarado and her electric organ. They deserve a pastor who is committed to them.”

  “Just because I want to eventually move on, doesn’t mean I’m not committed to doing a good job while I’m here.”

  “I don’t mean to judge. I’m doing it, I know, but I don’t mean to. What was it that you said in your sermon? ‘The truth of love, the truth of sacrifice will set you free.’ All I’m trying to say is that love and sacrifice are more important than my ambition.”

  “You think I don’t love or sacrifice?”

  She ignored him again. “The one thing that became really clear that night is that there was no way that Mother would want me to leave Mary behind. Dreams need to take into account the present, the circumstances that are handed to us, the people who are given to us to love. So my dream has to include her somehow.” She smiled. “I miss the faith that Mary has. You know, Mary’s faith is simple and pure. Maybe if I spend more time with her, that faith will come to me.”

  “So . . .” He looked as if he was wondering what it was she wanted from him or why she had come to see him.

  “I could use your help. The church’s help as well.”

  She saw him exhale. “Tell me how I can help you.”

  “I need you to tell the deacons that Mary and I need more time. We can’t move by June first.”

  “Pardon?”

  “We can’t move just yet. I don’t know when, but it won’t be June first.”

  She saw him cross his right leg first and then his left. “Surely I need to give them a date.”

  “Tell them I’m willing to pay some reasonable rent, but we need to be in our home for at least a few more months.”

  “A few more months?” he stammered.

  “The church owes that to my father, to my mother, to Mary and me.”

  They stared at each other for a few seconds and then he smiled. “You’re a tough negotiator.”

  “Please, I need your help with this. It’s for Mary. She’ll have a better chance at understanding what needs to be done if she doesn’t have to worry about moving. If we decide to let Mother go, it would be better if we were all at home.”

  “Okay,” he said, “I think that’s reasonable. I can talk to the deacons and let them know we agreed to an extension.”

  Kate closed her eyes and said a silent thank-you. It was the closest she had come to praying in a very long time.

  Renata called Mary to tell her she had talked to her mother, and her mother was one hundred percent all right with being Mary’s guardian and having Mary live with them. Mary could stay with Renata until Jaime moved out and then she could use his room. Mary told her that she needed to think about it, but she knew that moving in with Renata meant putting Mama in a facility, and she couldn’t do that.

  After she hung up, Mary went to lie down on Papa’s bed. She turned on her side to look at Mama. Sometimes, when Mama had her eyes closed, she looked so peaceful. Mary wished she could feel that peace. What she wanted most of all was to talk to Kate, just talk to her. She wanted Kate to be her older sister, to hold her hand in these hard times. She missed her.

  She heard Kate come in, and got up from Papa’s bed. Kate was in their bedroom changing her clothes.

  “How are you?” Kate asked. There was a concerned tone in her voice.

  “How are you?” Mary responded.

  Kate put on a pair of gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. “We need to talk.” She had the same look Papa used to have whenever he had bad news.

  “Okay,” Mary said, scared. She started to sit on her bed.

  “Not here. Let’s go outside.”

  That worried Mary even more. The only people who ever talked outside were Papa and Kate.

  They sat on the wooden chairs. Mary noticed the climbing roses on the chain-link fence. The vines had woven themselves in and out of each link, becoming a permanent part of the fence.

  Kate turned her chair toward Mary. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you told me the other day, about how you don’t enjoy painting anymore.” Her words came out slowly, one at a time, like the last, tired drops of a rainstorm. “I should have noticed it before, but ever since Mother . . . became ill, you’re different. It’s as if the happy, joyful Mary that you were disappeared.”

  “Oh.” It was true, Mary thought. She was different since Mama’s accident.

  “Remember that time when I sat just about where you’re sitting now, and you painted my portrait?”

  “Yes. . . .”

  “There was something in you then that is no longer there. I can’t describe it. The best I can do is to use the same word that you use — light. There was a light in you that has gone dark. You yourself said to me how the lights you used to see in and around you were not there anymore. Do you remember telling me that?”

  “Yes.” Mary was glad that Kate remembered.

  “I’ve never been able to see the light in people, but I felt it in you once, and now I don’t. When Mama was well I used to see that light in her eyes as well.”

  “Kate, you’re worrying me. What are you trying to tell me?”

  “I think that your light and Mama’s light are connected somehow, that when hers went dark, so did yours.”

  “So . . .” Mary’s voice trembled.

  “So we need to make sure you get that joy back. We need to let your light shine again.”

  “But how?”

  “That light of yours, that joy of yours, came from Mama, but now it must come from you. You need to find it inside of you. That will only happen if you stop grieving for Mama. Right now it’s as if you see her die every day. Your grief is with you always. Mary, we need to do what Mama would want us to do.”

  “Kate . . .”

  “She would want us to let her go.”

  “No!” Mary managed to say. It felt as if somebody had gripped her throat.

  “Mary, just hear me out. It’s the only way for your light to return, the only way you’ll be able to paint again, the only way you’ll be the person you’re supposed to be.”

  Mary’s heart thumped so loud she could hear it. “No, it’s not possible.” She began to stand.

  Kate stood first, put her hands on Mary’s shoulders, and gently pushed her back into the chair. “Think of what Mother would want. She would wa
nt us to live our lives, wouldn’t she? She’s gone, Mary. She needs to be with Father in heaven.”

  Mary shook her head. “Do you even believe in heaven?”

  “It’s what Father believed, what Mother believed when she was alive. It’s what you believe.”

  “She’s still alive.”

  “No, she isn’t. Not really. Not the way she’s supposed to be alive.”

  “I can feel her love and I give love to her. That’s being alive.”

  “Mary, if she were alive, she’d be aware of the love she gives us and the love we give her.”

  “Do you really want to go away to Stanford so bad that you’re willing to do this?” Mary meant to hurt Kate.

  “It’s not about that. Yes, I’ve been ambitious and selfish, but it’s different now. I’m different now. I’ve called Stanford and they agreed to postpone my admission for a year. I’m staying here. I’ll take courses at UTEP while we work this out. All I’m asking is that you think about this, pray about it. I went to see a lawyer last week to get some information about the process of letting Mother go, but we’re not making any decisions until you’ve had time to think about this. Promise me you’ll think about it.”

  “There’s nothing to think about,” Mary said softly. She could not imagine a life without Mama in it.

  Kate turned to look at the roses. She spoke very quietly, almost in a whisper. “Letting go of her is not going to be easy for either one of us. We both love her so much. But I know she wants us to grow, and we won’t be able to grow with her in the state she’s in. Right now all our energies, our resources, our hopes go to Mama. But she would want all our energy and resources and hopes to go toward our dreams, the same dreams she had for us. I’m doing this for us, for you, so you can paint again. So you can paint with all your heart and soul like you used to. You’re too young to be carrying so many burdens.”

  What Kate said was true, Mary knew. Her painting had not been the same since Mama’s accident, and now there was no painting at all. But she put away that thought and said, “What if I never agree with you?”

  “I have faith that with time you will see it’s the right decision. There’s time. I’ll go to Stanford next year, or the year after that. I’m not going anyplace. But letting Mother go is still the right thing to do.”

  “I can’t let go of her,” Mary sobbed.

  Kate reached over to hold Mary’s hands. “Listen to me. I’m bringing this up now because it is something we need to confront. We have time. We can stay in this house. I’ve talked to Reverend Soto. He agreed.”

  “It’s him, isn’t it? This was his idea. He put this in your head,” Mary said, shaking her hands loose. “You like him. You’re going out with him.”

  “Yes, I’ve talked with him. But this is something that I feel is right because it is, not because anyone says it is. And no, there’s nothing between us. Even though he’s not as bad as you think he is.”

  Mary spoke between sobs. “Mrs. Fresquez said she could help me, help us. She’ll find a place for Mama in a facility. We don’t need to let Mama go.”

  “Putting Mama in a facility will not make things any better.” Kate began to cry too. After a while, she said, “Look at us.”

  “I didn’t know you could cry,” Mary said sarcastically.

  “It’s all right, Mary,” Kate said. “It’s okay to be angry. I’ll wait until your anger goes away.”

  “We’re not going to make it, living together,” Mary said. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse, while Kate lifted the bottom of her T-shirt to her eyes. “You should go live someplace else. Mama and I will manage.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “We’re not going to be sisters anymore.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  Mary let herself fall back on the chair. Kate tried to take Mary’s hand again, but Mary moved it away. There was something new in Kate, a softness that she had never seen before. It was a strange softness that was hard to describe — a softness that would not budge.

  “Mary, even though this is hard for us, I know it’s the right thing to do. I know it’s right to start talking about this. I can’t fully explain it. It’s like a voice, like Mother’s voice, telling me it’s okay.”

  Mary was struck by the fact that Kate felt it was the right thing to do, that she heard a voice like Mother’s telling her it was okay. She had never heard Kate speak that way before.

  After a long time, Mary said, “I’m moving in with Mama. I’ll sleep in Papa’s bed.” She realized that she sounded like a six-year-old, but she didn’t care.

  “Okay. I’ll help you pack,” Kate said.

  Mary could see that she was trying not to smile. “It’s not funny.”

  Kate shook her head. “I know it’s not funny. It’s just that, here we are, just the two of us. We’re all we have. All this time I’ve been dreaming of going to Stanford, and now it doesn’t seem all that important. I don’t want to go there without you. I’m even going to be lonely when you move to Mama’s room.”

  “Why do you want to do this, then?”

  “I’m doing it for you, for us. Sooner or later, you’ll believe me.”

  “It’s Mama who keeps us together.”

  “No, it’s us that keeps us together, what we do for each other. Our memories of Mother will keep us together, the living Mother we carry inside of us.”

  “Your problem is that you lost hope. You don’t believe in miracles, but miracles happen. Mama could wake up again.”

  Kate sighed. “Oh, Mary. Maybe I don’t believe in miracles as much as you do, but I do have hope. I hope you and I can stay close. I hope I can be the doctor I’m supposed to be. I hope you can continue to paint. I’ve been trying to look for God’s will in all of this, the way you or Father would look for it, and all I can see is that God’s will is for the living. God wants us to live. He wants to give us abundant life. He wants to give us light and He wants us to be a light unto others.”

  Mary shook her head. “The God I know is a god of love and kindness and He loves Mother as much as He loves you or me.”

  Kate and Mary were silent. Mary listened to Kate’s breathing and noticed that the rhythm of each inhalation and exhalation matched her own.

  Then, after a while, Kate spoke, her voice trembling. “Remember when Father died or was dying and you didn’t call 9-1-1? You said you wanted his soul to leave quietly. You said that’s what Father would have wanted. I don’t understand. You were willing to let Father’s soul go without interference, but you aren’t willing to do the same for Mother.”

  Mary pondered Kate’s words. The two situations seemed different, but she couldn’t express exactly how. Maybe they weren’t different. She needed time to figure it out.

  “When Father died you said you saw a light disappear. You said it was his soul. Remember?

  Mary nodded.

  “What about Mother? Have you seen a light in her since the accident?”

  Mary was silent. A small branch fell from the willow tree. She picked it up and caressed its baby green leaves. She felt drained. She wanted to lie down someplace and sleep for a few days. She got up slowly.

  “Mary . . .” Kate started to say.

  “I need to be alone,” Mary said.

  “Will you think about this, Mary? Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

  Mary walked away without answering.

  Kate watched Mary quietly open the gate and walk in the direction of the church. Knowing Mary, she was probably looking for a place to pray, to be alone, in the quiet of the sanctuary.

  Kate was about to go inside when she saw that the door to the toolshed stood open slightly. As she went to close it, she noticed Mary’s paintings inside. She stepped in, leaving the door open.

  The first painting she saw was the unfinished painting of the two irises. She remembered Van Gogh’s painting from art history class. It was amazing how close Mary had come to capturing the violet hues, the incandescent
light of the Van Gogh. She put the painting to one side and looked at the rest. She was so startled by the last one in the stack that she almost dropped it. It was her portrait, the one that Mary painted before Mama’s accident. Her long, dark brown hair flowed over her shoulders; her eyes sparkled with intelligence and kindness. She was glad the eyes in the portrait reflected kindness, for it meant that Mary had seen that in her once. Mary always spoke about the light she saw in others. There, Kate thought. Now I can see the light in me as well.

  She put her portrait back in its place, closed up the shed, and went back inside the house. She wished Father was around. The only decision she or Mary needed to make when he was alive was whether to obey willingly or unwillingly. Now the world seemed to be made of one choice after another, and each choice involved the suffering of someone, somewhere. She remembered Father’s words that last morning. Love makes everything that is heavy light. Was he wrong? So far, love seemed to be making everything that was heavy heavier. Either that or there was no love in what she was doing.

  She entered Mother’s room and saw her sleeping peacefully, her eyes closed. Kate lifted the sheet that covered her and lay down next to her. Tears came to her eyes with the realization that what she felt was love, what she was doing was for love and because of love. There was so much love in her and it was uncontainable. She held Mother’s hand and let her love flow through.

  She was about a block from the church when she heard the car honk.

  “Hey, Mary!” It was Marcos. “You need a ride?”

  “No, thank you.” She rubbed her eyes, trying to hide the fact that she was crying. Marcos pulled into the church lot and ran back to her.

  “What’s the matter? Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not crying,” she said, turning away from him.

  “Yes, you are. Look at you.”

  She turned back toward him, and the sight of his cut and bruised face only made her feel worse. She buried her face in her hands, sobbing. He reached out for her gently and put his arm around her shoulders. “What’s going on? Did someone do something to you? Tell me. I’ll beat them up.” He was trying to be funny.