“At the convent Sister Mary Agnes was always saying experience is not the same for everybody,” Phyllis continues. “Some people have twenty years’ experience, others have one year’s experience twenty times. Well, Grace clearly learn from her work, but I not sure she learn from her life.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Two times now Grace just throw any semblance of sanity to the winds. The first time is obvious, with the result sleeping beside you. But now she won’t tell the child’s father about him. Does that make sense?”
“I’ve told her that myself.”
“I don’t see how she can enjoy that child while she is hiding him from his father. Better she let everybody know, share him with all concerned, especially since it going to happen eventually anyway.”
“There’s a lot of wisdom in that.”
“You know what start the fuss?” It isn’t a question — just a prelude to the story Phyllis wants to tell, which he already knows. “I meet the child’s father’s wife one morning in the park near our house in Geneva. Jeremiah is running up and down after ducks, and this woman just arrive and announce Jeremiah is her husband’s child! I nearly faint, but my state was nothing compared to hers. She was slobbering and bawling so bad, I invite her home with us. That is over two years gone, and Grace won’t get over it. She think I was out to cause trouble, and if anything, it was the exact opposite.”
“I would have been upset too, if I were Grace.”
“I don’t say no, Jimmy. But till now she won’t let me explain. And me, all the time minding this child, seeing him watch other children’s fathers, sure he is wondering where his father is. You yourself hear him just now say he need a papa to pee. Which is not to say I was thinking about all that when I asked the woman home. It just seem like the decent thing to do. What was I to do? Say, ‘Oh well, is your husband’s child, but you better get over it?’ ”
He nods, non-committal. He’s glad he can’t look at her directly on account of a brilliant shaft of sunlight coming through the window opposite.
“Anyway,” Phyllis is an indignant storyteller, “that is how it went. I suppose I was thinking the child could do with a father, and if his papa were willing to be involved in his life, it would be a good thing. Furthermore, if after she foolishly go and have a baby for a married man, his wife turn out to be decent and reasonable instead of jealous and vindictive, that is more than a blessing.”
“I’d say that was lucky, and pretty unusual, yes.”
“Grace was royally upset when she find out who the woman was, and I’m not saying she didn’t have a right. We had a discussion about it the same day … ”
“Discussion?” The light has moved and he is smiling at her.
“Okay. Quarrel. She won’t listen, just keep insisting that it’s her child, and she can do what she like. It get heated, and I liken her to her father.”
“He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“Long time aback.”
“And Grace never knew him or anything about him?”
“She was eighteen when Mr. Carpenter, her adopted grandfather, told her about me. At that time he made her to know that her father was a wicked man.”
“Lots of people say that about lots of fathers.”
“If Mr. Carpenter say he was a bad man and St. Peter say he was a angel, she would believe her grandfather.”
“So it’s natural that she was hurt when you compared her to this man her Grandpa said was so bad?”
“I tell her I was sorry if I upset her or cause Jeremiah any distress. I even offer to go back to New York. She move right past it, don’t want to talk about it, tell me is her business who the child’s father is, she not admitting it’s Mr. Blackman and we must just pick up where we leave off, go on as usual.”
“Do you think that’s what she’s done, as far as her relationship with Jeremiah’s father is concerned?”
“Seem to me that’s how she deal with all her personal problems: never identify whys and wherefores. Just pass through, swallow like medicine and press on.”
“Medicine should make you better.”
“Maybe not medicine, then, maybe spit. The thing is, when she talk about her first boyfriend, Charlie — not that she say much, mark you — or when she speak of her visits to you in Mabuli, she turn into somebody different, or maybe she turn into her real self, I don’t know, but she is another person those times.”
Jimmy scribbles this down mentally as something to think more about. “She’s not told me a lot about Charlie either. Losing him the way she did must have been hard and she and he seem to have worked very well together. As for Mabuli, she knows we think of her as family, and she sees the difference she makes in the lives of many people. That may have something to do with it.”
“Well, I suppose that could be why. I just hope she figure it out soon. I must say I have a lot of sympathy for Mrs. Blackman. She want to stay in touch and keep seeing Jeremiah, and I didn’t see how I could say no. Jeremiah is her step-son. If the man ever decide to take the case to court, dog nyam Grace supper. So Mona and I write and talk on the phone. Not behind Grace back neither. I tell her I was doing it.”
“That’s as it should be.”
“I tell her that my keeping in touch with Mrs. Blackman would cause no problems, which I knew it wouldn’t. After that, Mona stop by the park and visit us when she come to Geneva. It wasn’t so often — maybe four times since the first time. Jeremiah know her good. He never talk to his mother about her, though I don’t tell him not to. I suppose children just know not to do some things.”
The priest yawns, then hastily apologizes.
“I can see you are tired Jimmy, and I soon finish, but I need help deciding what to do. I don’t ever talk to Mona about the ins and outs. It’s not my business. But it’s not right where Jeremiah and his father are concerned. His step-mother too.”
“You keep encouraging Grace to tell his father?”
“But after this child is not going grow up, graduate from university, and get married without his father finding out that he exist!”
“It would be unlikely.”
“Then this year, the university write to say … ”
“ … they were giving her the DIS Award.”
“I can’t understand why she never tell them no. Can’t you say no to these things?”
“You can, but that would create awkwardness, especially given Grace’s line of work.”
“Well, she tell them yes, she accept, and that is what lead to the most recent disturbance.”
The plane bounces as if on cue. It is a drop of maybe twenty feet. The seat belt sign goes on, and the captain announces there will be turbulence for several minutes. Jeremiah stirs, flaps a hand as though to brush away some creature bothering him, then settles down.
“Don’t repeat that last word,” Jimmy shakes his head, pretends to warn, wagging his finger.
“If she was going to get this award, that mean St. Chris papers, regional papers, maybe even the overseas papers would be researching her life, doing articles about her, and so on. I decide I better tell her, for if it was to take her by surprise, I wouldn’t forgive myself.”
“Tell her what, Phyllis?”
“That her father was my half-brother, which I expect she told you. But there is more she doesn’t yet know.”
The plane is surfing another series of big air waves.
“How did she respond to what you told her about her father?”
“She don’t talk to me so much these days, which is okay, in a way, for it’s Jeremiah I’m most concerned about. These are grown-ups, responsible for a child’s life!”
“Is Grace certain Jeremiah’s father doesn’t know about him?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t. That’s why I don’t understand this alteration of plans. When she said she wasn’t taking Jeremiah to St. Chris, I assumed she didn’t want his father to find out about him.”
“You were right. She didn’t change the plan. It w
as I who arranged for you both to come. But go on. You said there was something you hadn’t yet told Grace.”
“After it come out that I was making a baby, old Mr. Carpenter visit my grandma to see if he could help, and he and Ralston take a walk up a hillside near where we live.”
“What happened?”
“Some say Ralston lose his life in a accident; some say Gramps push him, and good riddance!”
It is a brilliant one o’clock. Clouds like the meringues Mapome used to whip up in her blue earthenware mixing-bowl are just mounting the northern sky, a basin paler than he remembers from his last time in St. Chris. He gets them quickly through immigration, takes Jeremiah to the bathroom again, and then installs the still half-sleeping child in his stroller. While Phyllis changes his clothes and coaxes him to drink something, Jimmy finds the bags, loads up a cart, and leads the three of them out of the airport.
“We’re going to The Xooana Inn, please,” he says to the cabbie, then turns to Phyllis. “I made bookings there. Grace’s office pulled rank. They’ll move her into a suite big enough for you and Jeremiah. Graduation is at four-thirty. We’ll make it just in time.”
At half-past one their taxi is rattling down the slope of the promontory on which the airport stands. Jimmy sees the bridge across Boatman’s River, rusty girders like strings of a huge old harp, and the highway that goes up into the hills to the UA campus.
Jeremiah is awake, staring out through the window at a huge bird, flying escort. “Look, Grandma. A big duck!”
“That’s a good guess, Jeremiah, but it’s actually a blue-crested gull. It’s the national bird of St. Chris.”
“Whazaanashnalbird, Grandma?”
“It’s a bird that all the people love and want to represent their island.”
“Whazanisland Grandma?”
“It’s a small country that has water all around it. Look out through the window. See the water?”
“Yes, Grandma.”
“Keep looking. See where it goes.”
Jeremiah resumes gazing out of the window and shortly is asleep again.
“Jimmy, you said you arranged for us to come because you knew something was wrong with Grace. How did you know?”
“You won’t believe me if I tell you.”
“Try me.”
“I had a dream about Grace receiving her award at the ceremony. She was reaching out and — ” The image of Grace’s exploding arm makes him pause. Also, he isn’t accustomed to the fact of a mere dream telling him what is to come. He usually has an epileptic seizure, followed by something like a vision. The fact that it’s a plain old dream is less harassing but it leaves him in doubt. Ironically, the violence of the fits or of some accompanying illness stands as a perverse guarantee, underwriting the reliability of what he foresees. That isn’t the case this time. Still, his instincts say the dream is the real thing.
“And what?” Phyllis urges.
“Something was wrong with her arm, so she dropped the award. I could see she was seriously ill.”
“What was wrong with her?”
“I’m not sure, but I know it’s bad.”
“Why didn’t you tell me right away? Why wait? I’ve a right to know.”
“It was a dream, Phyllis. This has a long history that I can’t go into now. It explains why I’m less confident in the present case than I might otherwise be. I didn’t say anything primarily because
… ” He thinks again of the seizures, the absent warranty. “I worried about upsetting you, only to get here and find Grace perfectly fine.”
“But you seem so certain.”
“I am sure — and I’m not!”
“What are we going to do?”
“We can pray.”
They join hands and close their eyes. The child’s breaths, a gentle tide, go in and out. Phyllis opens her eyes and speaks first. “How did you arrange for us to come? Can you give instructions for Grace?”
“I have her power of attorney. I’ve had it since Jeremiah was born.”
“Isn’t that untoward, you being a priest and all?”
“It’s unusual, yes, but not untoward. I have it because I am a priest.”
“You’re speaking in parables now, Jimmy. She gave you power of attorney because you are a priest?”
“Want to listen to some more hard-to-believe stuff?”
“You know my life. Want anything harder to believe?”
“Okay. When I was a novice, I made a thirty-day retreat with a priest named J.J. — for John Jeremiah — Kelly.”
“Is that where the child’s name comes from?”
“Yes. J.J. was murdered before the retreat ended.”
“Where? In Mabuli?”
“Yes, but in all likelihood, not by any Mabulian. He and I got very close, just talking twice a day over two weeks.”
“Mmmm. It can happen. I know.”
“Well, this tale takes a lot of knowing. I’d been married as a young man, very happily. I lost my wife in an accident not long before I entered the priesthood. She was pregnant. I was so broken up, that, awful as it sounds, I was glad to be giving my life this time around to someone who couldn’t die.”
“Never thought of it that way.”
“Nor had I, till then. I was very concerned on that retreat about being able to live a life of celibacy, having been married and all that.”
“Hard, eh?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, J.J. gave me an assignment. There’s a big stained glass window depicting the Annunciation in the chapel, with St. Joseph in the background. We call it the Angelus window. I spent most of my meditation time there. John said to ask Joseph if he wanted Mary the way a man wants a woman.”
“That’s never occurred to me either. And what did Joseph say when you asked him?”
“He gave me a puzzle. I couldn’t figure it out for a long time. When I met Grace, the pieces began to fall into place.”
“How?”
“Joseph said I’d lost a woman with a baby, but God would give me another, also with a baby, to take care of.”
“And Grace and Jeremiah are who he promised?”
“For sure.”
“The sea’s done,” Jeremiah turns from the window, wide awake, and announces precisely. “And I have a secret.”
“What’s the secret, Jeremiah?” they ask together.
“Is not a secret if I tell you. Is a secret for Mama.”
“Is it a story?” Jimmy knows his secrets are often stories.
“No, Tules, is not a story.”
“Make sure you keep it in a safe place. All right?”
“Kidoki.”
MARK,
JIMMY,
GRACE
55
Showtime
Mona suggests it.
“Why don’t we ask Grace to join us for a glass of sherry before we go downstairs to lunch?”
What is the woman thinking? If she and Grace meet in public, neither will risk unpleasantness. St. Chris is too small. In private is another matter! Mark hopes they will be cordial, but if they aren’t, his insurance is the presence of others. Time will pass, it will eventually be over, lunch, graduation, the award ceremony. The curfew will mercifully have them indoors early, and that will be that.
He is immediately ashamed of himself for thinking in these terms about these two women for whom he cares. Neither of them is a shrew, though Grace has a viper’s tongue on her when she is ready, and Mona, in her element, can hold strong men at bay. But who knows women? Who can predict what they will do, when?
“Mark? Are you dozing?”
“Not just dozing, dear. I’m soundly asleep.”
“Listen, outside this door you is chancellor, but you is no chancellor in this bed. Didn’t you hear what I said?”
He rolls over, lies on his back, and opens his eyes. The sun is conducting an inspection through clerestory windows along the top of the east-facing wall, focusing families of motes and a pair of tiny twin spiders suspen
ded on invisible threads. In a move he strongly encouraged, the refurbishment committee had asked the architects to preserve aspects of the original building — cedar floors, coolers on the windows, fretwork along the eaves. The light troops at an angle down the wall and masses on the floor, warming the old wood. The last bit of night shrouds the corner of the room where the bed is, for the windows on the adjacent walls are shut tight. Mona didn’t want any lizards wriggling in. One has come anyway: a yellow-brown curry lizard is standing guard at the foot of a pot containing a prosperous croton, its leaves a fiery green, the tracery of veins outlined in orange.
The trick would be to have some kind of collapse and stay holed up here for the day. He pulls his feet back under the sheet. Maybe he will. “I don’t really think it’s necessary, Mona. We’ll see her at twelve for lunch, and she probably has any number of things to do between now and then.”
“She’ll be ready long before twelve, Mark, and twiddling her thumbs till it’s time to go down. She’s right here in The Xooana. Why don’t we just ask her?”
“Fine. Are you going to ask her?”
“I don’t know her. You can just run down to her room.”
“I should think the phone would be fine.”
“Don’t you think a friendly rap on her door would be nice?”
What is she doing? Does she know? And if so, is she encouraging a tryst minutes before lunch? Planning to barge into the room seconds after he enters and catch him with Grace in his arms?
“If chancellor’s wives don’t do that, for sure chancellors don’t.”
“I thought you were a different kind of chancellor.”
“Dear, we wouldn’t want to catch the lady en déshabillé, and the only way to avoid that is to call and ask if she’d receive us, in which case you might as well issue the invitation on the phone.”
He hears Mona answer a rap on the door.
“Dr. Carpenter. Do come in. You look lovely.”
“Thank you. So do you. That sari is exquisite.”
“Originally my mother’s. She’d thank you for the compliment. Do sit. Mark will be out in a minute. What can I get you to drink? Sherry, perhaps?”
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