Flaming Tree

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  Something in the bin caught his eye and he pointed. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

  There in the trash beside the broken dove was the clay head Kelsey had seen in Marisa’s photograph. No one but Tyler could have put it there, and that seemed shocking—as though, symbolically, he really had thrown his son away.

  She lifted the head out carefully and turned it about in her hands to give herself time to recover from her own mingled indignation and pity. She might understand the gesture, but she hated Tyler for making it. As long as this was his attitude, it might be impossible for Jody to recover.

  “This really is very good,” she said, even as she recognized that this happier likeness Jody had created bore little resemblance to the stricken woman in the bed upstairs.

  “I didn’t want to look at it anymore,” he said bleakly.

  She let that go. “May I borrow this for a while?”

  “What do you want it for?”

  “Come and see,” she challenged. “We can’t be sure what will work and what won’t. It depends on how much Jody can remember, and what he can see and recognize. Those are the things we need to find out. We need to know where to begin with him.”

  Carrying the head carefully, lest it too crumble, Kelsey walked out of the room and up the stairs, leaving Tyler to follow or not as he pleased. At least she must have made him curious, because he came with her.

  At the door of Jody’s room she paused. “Please go in and speak to him as though you understand that he can hear. He can, you know. Tell him something pleasant. Something kind.”

  Tyler was so tall that she had to look up to meet his eyes. In a sense, he was like Jody—giving nothing away in his expression. Yet there was a slight response—almost the twitch of a smile on that grim mouth.

  “Yes, Mrs. Stewart,” he said mildly, and she knew he spoke partly in mockery, and partly because she had reached him just a little.

  For an instant she felt almost as triumphant as she had when Jody had said his first “no.” She stood aside, out of Jody’s range of vision, and let his father approach the bed alone.

  “Hi, Jody,” Tyler said.

  The boy’s eyelids blinked rapidly, and his father went on.

  “This afternoon we’ll take you out for a while. Is there any place you’d most like to go?”

  Jody’s head moved slightly, and Kelsey knew he was looking at his father. This time the movement wasn’t a spastic jerking. She hoped that Tyler realized that this too was a triumph.

  “It’s okay, Jody,” Tyler said. “I know you can’t tell me yet, but Mrs. Stewart says you’ll begin to talk again one of these days.”

  She hadn’t told him anything of the sort, but that was fine—this was what Jody needed to hear, and she felt almost proud of her new pupil, his father.

  “This afternoon,” Tyler went on, “we’re going to Tor House. You always liked to go there with me. You liked to climb the Hawk Tower …” Tyler broke off, remembering that this time there’d be no climbing. “Do you want to go there today?”

  The wild blinking occurred again, and this time Jody pressed his lips together and produced a grunting “mm” sound. Kelsey spoke quickly, lest Tyler spoil what had happened.

  “That’s very good, Jody. You’re telling us you want to go, aren’t you?”

  Jody said “mm” again, and Kelsey looked at Tyler. He seemed a bit shaken. It would be chastening for him to remember the careless things he and others had said in front of his son since the accident. Even doctors weren’t always thoughtful about what they said in the presence of patients they believed were unconscious.

  Tyler, however, was not one to reveal his own feelings readily, and when he spoke to Kelsey his tone was cold again. “What are you planning to do with that clay head you’ve brought with you?”

  Kelsey had set the head on a table, and now she picked it up and carried it to Jody’s chair. She took his right hand and moved the fingers so they could touch the clay face, all the while talking to him.

  “Do you remember this head, Jody? You made this at Marisa Marsh’s house, and it’s really beautiful. It must look just like your mother. Can you feel the face under your fingers, Jody?”

  There was no telling how much he could sense since coma and stroke victims often lost connection with their hands.

  Kelsey handed the head to Tyler. “Hold this for a moment, please.” Ginnie came closer so she could watch as Kelsey bent Jody’s elbow and held his right hand up close to his own face. She touched Jody’s cheek with his fingers, let the fingers stroke his lips, tap his nose, and once more Jody put his tongue out, this time to touch his own fingers.

  “There!” Kelsey cried. “You see—you do know that’s your own hand. Can you feel it a little now? When you touch this beautiful head you made, can you feel it with your fingers?”

  Tyler brought the head close, and Kelsey touched the face again with Jody’s fingers as she had made them stroke his own face. A sound like laughter burst from him—a sound of satisfaction.

  “Keep thinking about your hand, Jody. This is your right hand. It’s the same wonderful hand that formed this clay. Remember that it’s there, and one of these days it will do what you tell it to—the way it used to. Tomorrow we’ll work on the other hand.”

  Tyler handed the clay head abruptly to Ginnie and almost fled from the room. He had had all he could take.

  Kelsey ran after him and caught up with him in the hall. This was the moment—while he was still moved and perhaps blaming himself for a number of things.

  “You saw how he responded,” she said. “Now perhaps you can come to see Jody and talk to him every day. He needs you. He needs for you to touch and hug him. And there’s another thing—he needs his mother too. When we take him out this afternoon, perhaps you could carry him upstairs first to see his mother. When she understands that it isn’t as hopeless as she thought, perhaps—”

  Tyler broke in. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

  “Then do you mind if I take him to her? You’ve given me so little time.”

  “Do as you like.”

  As he walked off she recognized the thin wire she balanced on. One bad slip, and Tyler would be against her all over again—this time for good.

  Ginnie was waiting for her eagerly when she went back to Jody’s room, and they spoke together softly.

  Ginnie, however, shook her head when Kelsey mentioned taking Jody to see his mother. “She’s still too sick. She’s damaged, and she needs to mend before she sees him. If she says the wrong thing to him, or turns away, it could stop the progress you’re making.”

  “There are always setbacks, and we have to deal with those too. Perhaps I could talk to her first, and if she’s too negative, we won’t do it.”

  Hana appeared with their luncheon tray, and Ginnie and Kelsey went across the hall to a small room where a table had been set. Ginnie had turned on the television set to keep Jody company. They could see him through the open door, and hear him if he made any sounds of discomfort.

  As they ate soup and salads, Ginnie returned to what Kelsey had said, speaking softly.

  “I don’t know if it would help him to see Ruth now. I knew her when we were in college and roomed together. We were good friends for a while. I saw a lot of Denis too, and visited their house near Palm Springs on weekends. I even met the General once when he came home from the wars. That background helps me to understand Ruth a little better now. At least, I try to understand. You never saw such a doting father as General Langford was toward his daughter. I don’t think he even liked Denis, who tried so hard to please him. Dora knew how to get around him indirectly, but Denis never learned that. I suppose Ruth was protected and spoiled, and had everything her own way. That doesn’t make a person strong and able to deal with trouble when it comes. I feel sorry for her, Kelsey. I feel sorry for Denis too—and even for Tyler. Ruth, especially, needs to face what’s real. Perhaps she’ll never be the way she was before, and nei
ther will Jody. But she’s not accepting that and trying to build on it.”

  Ginnie had more good sense than anyone else in this house. “What would you try with her?”

  “She needs to learn how to forgive Jody, and forgive herself. He was only being a heedless little boy, but the truth is that they fell because of his wild behavior. So that’s all mixed up in the feelings his mother and father have about him. I think Tyler has turned everything off inside himself so he won’t feel at all. He’s lost his son—for good, he thinks, and his wife may be a permanent invalid. Sometimes trouble strengthens, and sometimes it destroys. It depends on the person it happens to.”

  “Thank you for saying these things, Ginnie. I do need to understand. But at the same time, I have only a few days in which to show Tyler that Jody should have a chance. They need to help him.”

  “I don’t know if they can until they help themselves,” Ginnie said. “Be careful.”

  “I will—I’ll really try. Mr. Hammond told me that Ruth could learn to walk again, if only she would attempt it.”

  “How do you get her to believe that?”

  “If we could get her started thinking about that little boy in there, and what he needs.… Ginnie, was she a loving mother? I asked Tyler that, and he said that of course she was.”

  Ginnie nodded, and the black wings of her hair moved against her cheeks. “The most loving. Jody was devoted to her too.”

  “Does Jody understand why she doesn’t come down to see him? I mean that she can’t walk?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve tried to talk to him sometimes, but he’s never given any sign of understanding until now.”

  “Anyway,” Kelsey repeated her theme resolutely, “Jody has to come first with me, and let—”

  “The chips fall where they may?” Ginnie said sadly.

  Kelsey knew all about how tough recovery was—she hadn’t made it fully herself yet. But all she could do now was work with Jody, fight for him.

  Ginnie glanced across the hall toward Jody’s room, where the boy sat motionless, strapped in his chair. There were no little animal sounds now, and perhaps he was listening to television.

  “I wonder—” Ginnie said. “If you could understand a little more about the way things were when Ruth and I were finishing college.… There was a time when I even thought I was in love with Denis, and perhaps he was a little in love with me. That was around the time when Ruth first met Tyler, and they fell in love. Tyler always said he’d never marry, but that didn’t make any difference to Ruth. She wanted him and she went after him—just as the General had taught her to do about anything she wanted. She mapped a real campaign to get Tyler. In a way she was a complete innocent. She thought things had to come her way, because that’s how it had always been. So she got what she wanted, and they were married about a year after her graduation. I went off to nursing school, and I didn’t see much of them after that. Not until I came to work at the hospital in Monterey. When Ruth heard I was there, she invited me to come for a visit. So I was here when it happened. I took care of Jody in the hospital, and then Tyler asked me to come here and look after him for as long as he was at home.”

  Ginnie was silent and her own sadness came through.

  “So we go on from here,” Kelsey said. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Kelsey, there’s a man in San Francisco I’m going to marry one of these days—when I’m no longer taking care of Jody. He’ll wait, and I think it will turn out all right. He’s Chinese-American, like me, and a businessman. Denis and I are friends, and that’s fine. It was never all that serious for either of us.”

  “What about Dora Langford in all this? I think she’s watching me, and I don’t know what to make of her.”

  “Don’t be fooled by her fluttery manner. She learned that while the General was alive. If she thought you were a threat to Ruth, she’d certainly watch you. Though I don’t see why she should think that.”

  “Last night she came to the inn to see Denis.”

  Ginnie, spooning soup, looked up quickly, and Kelsey went on.

  “I was there when Dora told Denis that Ruth is afraid of Tyler. She said you overheard a quarrel between them the day of the accident. Would it help me any to know about that? She said Jody was present and became hysterical. That’s why they went out to Point Lobos—a treat for him to calm him down.”

  “Yes, I saw Jody afterwards, and he was almost out of control. Ruth managed to get him quiet enough so they could go on that fatal picnic. I had a feeling that Tyler pushed the quarrel, whatever it was about.”

  “Have you any idea why Jody was so upset?”

  “He was—is—a sensitive little boy, and it must have been terrible to witness all that anger between his parents. They should have had better sense. But I suppose a fight can come on pretty fast.”

  They finished their lunch in silence. Kelsey had the feeling—as she’d had once before—that Ginnie, for all her seeming openness, held something back that troubled her.

  Now, however, Kelsey decided to talk to Ruth, since Tyler hadn’t actually rejected her suggestion. Though this wasn’t a task she looked forward to.

  “Good luck,” Ginnie said, and went back to Jody, while Kelsey went determinedly upstairs. At least, determination was the outer shield she had to wear.

  VIII

  Dora Langford met Kelsey at the door. Looking past her into the room, Kelsey could see Ruth lying against pillows with her eyes closed. Once more, the room seemed to quiver with color—much too invigorating color. At least Tyler was absent.

  “Is she asleep?” Kelsey asked.

  Dora didn’t move out of the doorway. “I don’t think so, but—”

  “Could I speak with her for just a moment?”

  Dora Langford looked toward the bed before she stepped aside. “I suppose so. Please try not to upset her.”

  “I have some good news to tell her,” Kelsey said, and followed Dora toward the bed.

  “Company, dear,” Dora told her daughter gently.

  Nothing about Ruth’s empty face changed, but she opened her eyes—those great gray eyes that were so much like Jody’s, and even trimmed with the same long lashes.

  Kelsey sat down in the chair near the bed. “I’d like to tell you about what we’re doing with Jody, Mrs. Hammond.”

  Ruth’s unblinking stare was disconcerting, but Kelsey sensed that this might be her one means of protection, just as her husband had his own guard up against more wounding.

  “Jody is trying to talk,” she went on. “He has started trying to form one or two simple words, and that’s a beginning. A wonderful beginning.

  “Ginnie and I will get him dressed every day now—to bring him back to a world he can live in again. We’ve heard him laugh, and I’m sure he understands some of what we say. How much he can remember, or even how much he sees, we can’t be sure yet. He did recognize the picture of a lion, and he said a very strong ‘no’ when I called it an elephant.”

  At least Kelsey had caught the attention of the woman in the bed. “Do you really think Jody can recover?” she asked listlessly. “My husband doesn’t believe that.”

  “Your husband may have changed his mind—just a little. This afternoon we’re taking Jody out for a while—to Tor House, Mr. Hammond said, and I think your son wants to go.”

  “Tor House!” For the first time there seemed feeling in Ruth’s response. “Tyler was always obsessed with Robinson Jeffers.”

  Kelsey went on quietly. “Jody must feel terribly alone, not being able to communicate in any way. Only Ginnie Soong and the television set talk to him. He needs new experiences to catch his attention, to stimulate new interest.”

  “His doctors say he probably can’t hear us, or understand anything. So what on earth can you possibly accomplish?”

  “He’s already proved them wrong. All we can do is try—just try. That’s better than giving up and doing nothing.”

  Ruth reached a thin hand to a table near her bed.
Her fingers rested on the rim of a small, blue-glazed bowl with a pattern of flying birds etched into the clay. The birds were crude, yet they had a certain grace of form that suggested flight—like those geese that flew across the ceiling of Marisa Marsh’s studio.

  “Is that Jody’s work?” Kelsey asked.

  As if her hand had moved absently, without her being aware, Ruth drew it back and hid it under the sheet, rejecting her own gesture.

  Of course she’d be remembering the small son who had made the bowl, and was now lost. Kelsey went on quickly.

  “Perhaps he’ll be able to work like that again, Mrs. Hammond. This is what you need to work toward, to believe in.”

  Ruth spoke to her mother. “Take that bowl away! I can’t bear to look at it. You should never have put it there. I don’t want to remember. Do you understand, both of you? I don’t want to remember!” Her voice had risen in desperation.

  It was always hard to be cautious with despairing parents, and Kelsey seldom kept quiet at the right time. “That’s giving up!”

  Again Ruth turned gray eyes upon her. “Why shouldn’t I give up? It’s better than false hope that only means more pain. Don’t you see how cruel it is—to hope? That’s all you have to offer. Sometimes all that’s left to do is give up.”

  Ruth Hammond had made her own choice, but no one had the right to choose that for Jody.

  “Brains can heal,” Kelsey said. “I’ve seen remarkable recoveries. Anything can happen. He’s not a vegetable!”

  Ruth turned her head away, as though this effort had wearied her. She had gone back to her own clouded inner life, and Kelsey wanted to cry, Wait, don’t go away—Jody needs you! But Dora touched her arm and motioned toward the door. She had already removed the bowl from Ruth’s sight.

  Kelsey looked about the bright room with its exclamation points of red. Obviously Ruth had done this room to suit her own lively tastes, but now the room was much too strident and demanding. These were the wrong colors for healing. Marisa understood about such things.