The Night of the Comet

by George Bishop

  And yet, something was obviously not altogether right. There was a desperation to his conviction, as though he feared that if he admitted any doubt at all, the whole castle of his belief would crumble to the ground, and as the night of the comet approached, I watched him with a growing apprehension.

  Sometimes while scribbling at his papers, he’d put down his pen, pull off his glasses, and press his hands over his eyes. He’d hold this pose for a long minute, jamming his palms so tightly to his face that his arms would begin to tremble. He’d make a pained sound, like a dog’s whimper, and then slide his hands away to reveal wet, bloodshot eyes. Then he’d blink, replace his glasses, take a deep breath, and resume his work.

  Every time he did this, I wondered what he was seeing behind his covered-up eyes, what dark vision of the past or the future he was trying so hard to obliterate.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Groovy Science

  by Alan Broussard

  He’s here at last. Our long nights of waiting are over. We can put aside our spyglass, step out into the street, and greet our guest with open arms. I refer of course to Comet Kohoutek.

  By now readers of this column are well acquainted with our cosmic visitor from outer space. Discovered last spring by Dr. Kohoutek, tracked by astronomers of every nation as he approached the Earth, our friend will put in a stunning farewell appearance this week as he begins his return journey to …

  Late Sunday afternoon I sat at the kitchen table with the newspaper. My father had already left with Mr. Coot to go set up for the comet viewing. I was to meet Peter soon, and together we would bike downtown to join our fathers in the square. Outside, the light was low and silvery, making mirrors of all the windows at the Martellos’ house. They were due back home from their vacation today, but I hadn’t seen any sign of them yet.

  Like my father, I had high hopes for the evening. Three days ago I’d received a postcard from Gabriella, sent from Colorado. I’d already studied it exhaustively, but I looked over it again now while I waited for her family to return.

  The front of the card was a color photograph of skiers coming down a mountainside; above them on the slope was a rustic lodge where more skiers were gathered. A chairlift cut across a backdrop of pines. Gabriella had playfully drawn a circle around one of the skiers, with an arrow and a label saying “Me!” She’d also drawn a tiny stick figure of a deer peeking out of the trees, with another arrow: “Deer!”

  On the reverse was her message:

  Junior!

  Hey, it’s me. Are you surprised? Snow is great. We skied skeid skiied? in Vail yesterday and saw a whole herd of deer on the mountain. How’s your Christmas? See you soon!

  Your friend,

  Gabriella

  xoxo

  Here, finally, was the proof I’d been waiting for. She missed me; she’d been thinking of me during her vacation. Perhaps she’d even thought of me at the same time I was thinking of her, skiing down the slope in her hooded jacket. She’d seen the deer gathered against the trees, lifting their heads as she sailed past, and in that very moment she’d said to herself, I’ll bet Junior would like this. Later in the lodge—perhaps the same lodge in the photograph—her cheeks stinging from the cold, she’d stopped off at the gift shop, looked through the cards, and chosen one especially for me.

  But most important was her message on the back, and I examined it again to see if there was anything I’d missed. I loved the offhanded intimacy of her greeting, and the self-deprecating joke about her uncertain spelling skills, and then her expression of concern for my own holiday. “See you soon” with an exclamation mark was obviously another way of saying “I can’t wait to see you again.” But I puzzled long and hard over that word “friend.” Was it meant to be ironic? Another joke? Or was it sincere, a reminder of how much our friendship meant to her? Either way, the subtext of her entire message was revealed in the last thing she wrote, down at the very edge of the card, an impulsive admission of her true feelings for me, and a private reference to our magical night together: kiss-hug, kiss-hug.

  Or maybe not.

  Maybe I was misreading everything. Maybe her words and scratchings were just the ordinary conventions that a teenage girl used when she jotted a quick postcard. Or maybe Gabriella herself was confused about her feelings for me, and thus the confusing messages that I read in her card.

  I propped her card up against a drinking glass and reviewed again all the evidence of our love: the smiles and whispers we’d shared in the corridors at school, the pinch she’d given me that one night, our handholding in the planetarium, her appearances on her balcony, our kiss (our kiss!), and now her card from Colorado with its closing “xoxo.” The facts seemed indisputable; it all added up. And yet, the closer I looked at it, the less clear it became. Despite all the evidence, I couldn’t get rid of a nagging doubt that told me I was only wishing into existence something that wasn’t there at all.

  This, I saw, was where science failed you. All of my father’s talk about the “objective observation” and “trusting the evidence of your senses” was of little use when it came to trying to understand other people. People, I was beginning to believe, didn’t so easily conform to the rules of science. With people, it was all just guesswork. You might think you knew someone perfectly well, and that she knew you, but there was still that wall of flesh between you. And it wasn’t as if you could pin someone down on a laboratory table and cut her open like a frog to find out what was going on inside her. You could never know what was going on inside another person, not really.

  Follow your heart, my mother would say, and the rest would follow. That was the best you could do. In the uncertain seas of human relationships, the only reliable compass was your heart. And the heart—the heart never lied. Did it?

  I checked her house again. Still no sign of them. Feeling inspired, I found some typing paper and wrote a note for her; I had to redo it three times before I was satisfied with it. I welcomed her home and said I hoped she had a good holiday. I reminded her about the comet viewing in the square and said I hoped I’d see her there. I would look for her tonight, I wrote, adding that there was something important I needed to tell her. I signed it “Your friend, Junior. xoxoxo.” Then I tucked the paper into an envelope, along with one of my father’s fliers, and wrote her name on the outside.

  I stood and looked out the window to see how the weather was holding up. A scattering of low, well-formed clouds drifted under a blue-gray sky. They moved slowly, like cardboard cutouts being thoughtfully arranged here and there by an invisible hand. What were they? Stratus? Cumulus? Cirrus? My father would’ve known; he knew how to read clouds, could say exactly what they meant and what weather they portended. I tried to decipher them myself, looking for a sign that would tell me how the evening would turn out. One cloud looked like a mountain on fire. Another looked like a rabbit hiding behind a bush. Still another, if I squinted in a certain way, looked like Gabriella lying back on a pillow, her hair scattered extravagantly around her shoulders.…

  I grabbed my coat, went out the back door, and was just pulling my bike from the side of the shed when a movement across the bayou caught my eye. I turned to see our Rambler roll up and stop at the curb in front of the Martellos’ house.

  What was this? The light fell on the car windows so that I couldn’t make out who was driving. Sensing something odd about it being there, though, I stepped behind the corner of the garage shed to watch. Our car sat there for some time. When another car passed behind it on the street, the driver quickly turned her head as if to hide her face, and then I saw that it was my mother. She studied our house for a moment, shifting to see it better through the trees. Then she turned forward again, put both her hands on the steering wheel, and stared straight ahead, like she was sitting at an intersection waiting for a light to change.

  By then I had an idea of what she was doing at the Martellos’ house, and seeing my mother waiting in the street like this for Frank to come home from his vacati
on—so hopeful, so vulnerable—made my heart go out to her.

  Fifteen minutes later, my legs were tired, I was beginning to shiver from the cold, and she was still waiting there. Brown leaves tumbled across the Martellos’ driveway. Nearby in the trees, two crows had begun arguing back and forth, their caws sounding sharp and angry in the winter air.

  At last the Martellos appeared. They rolled up in their white Cadillac, coming from the direction of the Beau Rivage Estates sign. Their car turned into the driveway, crossing in front of our Rambler, and then stopped with two tires on the drive, two in the street. I could just make out Frank and Barbara in the front seat. They looked sideways through their windows at our car; they exchanged some words with each other, and then Frank resumed driving down to their garage. I hid myself more carefully behind the shed as the automatic door opened and he turned in.

  A moment later, the Martellos all walked out of their garage. Gabriella wore sunglasses and carried a blue airline travel bag over one shoulder. Mr. and Mrs. Martello both wore alpine-style sweaters and dark pants. The whole family looked tanned and fit, the picture of health and prosperity. They stood in their driveway staring up at our car. Mr. Martello pointed for Gabriella to go inside. She hesitated. He repeated his order, and she turned and slumped into the garage, looking back over her shoulder.

  Frank and Barbara argued briefly at the bottom of their drive, the wind blurring their words so that I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then my mother stepped out of the car, closed the door behind her, and began walking down the driveway. The Martellos stopped arguing and turned to watch her.

  She wore an outfit I’d never seen on her before, an attractive navy-blue suit with a snug skirt and a matching jacket trimmed in black fur. On her feet, black high-heeled shoes. Her hair was freshly styled, and she wore a white pearl necklace. She looked, I thought, not quite like herself, but rather the self she wished to be. As she walked down the concrete drive toward the Martellos, she carried herself with an erect, shaky determination.

  Ooh love, I thought: look at what it had done to her.

  I felt queasy with dread. I hated to see this, but at the same time I couldn’t pry my eyes away. I leaned into the side of the shed, scratching at flakes of old paint with my fingernail while I watched the scene play out across the water like it was a movie with the sound turned off. Only this movie, I feared, wasn’t one of those old-style Hollywood romances that my mother loved so much, but a bleaker, more modern movie, one featuring imperfect people making bad decisions that led to endings that weren’t guaranteed to be happy.

  Frank left his wife and walked up to meet my mother halfway down the drive. Her face, I could see as she came nearer, was made up, her lips bright red. Frank acted puzzled to see her; he shook his head and opened out his hands. She nodded and spoke seriously to him for a minute. Frank pointed to his house, where Barbara stood watching from the bottom of the drive. Gabriella was watching, too; I saw her standing just inside the garage door, peeking out.

  My mother kept talking. At one point she looked like she might begin crying. She put her hand on Frank’s shoulder and touched her fingers to the back of his neck. He grabbed her hand and moved it away. Then he took my mother by the elbow and steered her up the drive, away from his house.

  That was it. That was all it took—that one public gesture of Frank’s, him removing my mother’s hand from his shoulder and leading her away from his house—to show everyone exactly where she stood. He put her in the Rambler and closed the door, returning her, as it were, to her place. He stepped back … but then my mother stubbornly opened the door and got out again. He went to put her back in the car, but as he grabbed her, her knees went sideways and she crumpled like a broken doll onto the sidewalk.

  My poor, poor mother. I wanted to do something to help her, but what could I have done? Shouted to Frank to leave her alone? Swum across the bayou and carried her home? Frank tried to pick her up by the arm, but she yanked it away from him and refused to move. He started to walk away, shouting something at her. She dropped her head pathetically over her arms. Then Frank came back and tried again. He hauled her up from the sidewalk and managed to get her seated in the car. He closed the door and pointed for her to go, like you would point for a stray dog to get out of your yard.

  He waited for her to leave. She wouldn’t. She rolled down her window. He put his head down near her face, said something, and stepped back. He slapped twice on the hood of the car, bam bam. Finally she started the engine and, her humiliation complete, she drove away, fallen leaves rippling sadly in the wake of the car.

  Gabriella by now had given up hiding and stood beside her mother near the garage. Mr. Martello turned and gave them an over-the-head wave with both his arms from the top of the drive, as though to signal, It’s safe. She’s gone. It’s all right now. Barbara didn’t wait for him but, putting her hand on Gabriella’s back, turned and headed inside with her daughter.

  And although the distance was great, and although my eyes by now were clouded with outrage and shame, I could’ve sworn that before they disappeared into the garage, I saw Mrs. Martello’s face relax into an expression of satisfaction.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  SOME more of history’s most legendary and fearsome comets, as described to our class by my father and recorded by me in my notebook that year:

  Moses’s Star: At the birth of Moses, a moving star streaming long radiant tails of light was seen by the Magi of Egypt; they read it as an omen for the Pharaoh, who ordered that all male Jewish babies born under its sign be drowned in the River Nile.

  The famous Comet of Carthage: Shone over Hannibal’s armies as he marched his elephants across the Alps and into Italy to defeat the Romans. Twenty years later, the same comet reappeared and shone for eighty-eight days over Asia Minor with such a furious, horrible luster that Hannibal the Great drank poison and killed himself.

  Mithridates’s Star: Upon seeing this dreadful comet that was so bright it eclipsed the noonday sun, Mithridates, King of Pontus, conqueror of Asia Minor, drank poison and then had his eldest son decapitate him with his sword.

  Caesar’s Comet of 50 BC: Lit Julius Caesar’s way as he crossed the Rubicon River into Roman Italy, initiating a great civil war from which there could be no return. Caesar’s wife Calpurnia saw another comet in a dream and warned Caesar of the omen, but this could do nothing to forestall its appearance on the Ides of March, when Caesar was murdered by Brutus in the Roman senate. The comet lingered for seven nights, rising always at midnight, and was visible to all the citizens of Rome, who recognized it as the soul of Caesar ascending to heaven.

  St. Peter’s Comet hung like a sword over the city of Jerusalem, portending the destruction of the Temple in the year 70 AD.

  Vespasian’s Comet in 79 AD accompanied the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, which covered the city of Pompeii in lava and ash. Emperor Vespasian himself was warned of the dangers of this comet; he scoffed at the warnings, and then died a miserable death.

  Constantine’s Comet, seen burning in the shape of a cross above the battlefield, prompted Constantine the Great to kneel on the ground and become a Christian. 312 AD.

  In 410 AD, under an immense sword-shaped comet that shone over Italy for four months, the Visigoths sacked and plundered Rome, bringing an end to the Roman Empire.

  Attila, King of the Huns and Scourge of God, was overthrown in a great battle against the Romans on the Catalaunian plains under a terrible comet that appeared as a brilliant white angel brandishing a fiery sword; Christianity was saved. 451 AD.

  Mohammed’s Star: A great scimitar-shaped comet that appeared over Arabia in the year 570, heralding the birth of the Prophet.

  Charlemagne’s Comet: A torch-shaped comet seen above Germany in 814, foretelling the king’s death. Upon sighting the comet, King Charlemagne divided his empire among his successors, made his confession, and died.

  In January of the year 1000, the Great Millennial Comet was observed all over Euro
pe. Many feared it heralded the end of the world. The comet was shaped like a horrible dragon, and its mysterious light was said to be able to penetrate walls, illuminating the interior of homes and palaces with a sinister red glow. Followed by floods, famines, earthquakes, and universal panic.

  The Easter Comet of 1066: A seven-rayed comet that shone for forty nights, waxing and waning with the Moon; it guided William the Conqueror across the English Channel to his victory over King Harold at the Battle of Hastings.

  Genghis Khan’s Star: In 1222, appeared as a demon’s head with a crown of fire as the Great Khan slaughtered 1 million people in the city of Herat. When the comet retreated, Genghis Khan took it as a bad omen and also retreated. He soon died.

  In 1453, Constantinople, the magnificent capital of the Orient, succumbed to the fire and sword of the Turks under the illumination of an immense, terrifying comet that resembled a fire-breathing snake.

  In 1519, the Aztec emperor Montezuma witnessed a bright, white-bearded comet that foretold the end of his empire and the return of the god Quetzalcoatl; that same year, when the Spanish conquistador Cortez appeared from the eastern sea, the emperor Montezuma fell to the ground to welcome his white-bearded god.

  The Great Parisian Comet of 1528 appeared over Paris as a bent arm holding aloft an enormous sword, as though ready to strike the city; at the point of the sword shone three bright stars, and on both sides of the sword were visible a great number of knives, axes, and blood-colored pikes. The air all about the comet was filled with a ghostly hoard of hideous faces with silver beards and bristling hair. The Seine River overflowed. Fires, famine, pestilence.

  In 1556, upon seeing a terrible blood-red comet in the sky, Charles V abdicated his throne and became a monk. There followed widespread wars over Europe, the Turks ravaged Hungary, and Bloody Mary, Queen of England, began her persecution of Protestants, burning thousands alive at the stake.