The Pirate Queen

by Patricia Hickman

  “My wife just left. She’s tired of hospital food. So am I,” said Mort.

  “My mother’s gone for some coffee. You want a coffee? I can call her.”

  “I’ll pass. Coffee’s not coffee anymore. It’s all that flavored stuff and burned coffee beans. Diner coffee. Now that’s coffee.”

  “I like diners,” said Saphora.

  “Mary’s bringing me back a club sandwich if she can find one.”

  “The only restaurant around here is Italian, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s okay. Sorry about your husband. I talk to him when no one’s around. You never know.”

  “You talk to him?” That was comforting.

  “He doesn’t answer. But I don’t mind,” said Mort.

  “I’m glad. I think he can hear us,” said Saphora. She opened her purse. “I’m going to read to him, if you don’t care.”

  “I’d like that.” Mort closed his eyes.

  Saphora read the passage about the tears in a bottle. Then she said, “I don’t know what it means, love. But I’m glad you left behind your notes. I like reading them.”

  “I know that scripture,” said Mort. “My mother used to talk about God saving our tears in a bottle. It must be from Jewish history. My mother, she was Jewish.”

  “God must have a water tower for mine,” said Saphora.

  “How long has your husband been sick?”

  “A month. He was doing so well.”

  “It’s not over till it’s over,” said Mort. “The tears you think you’ve wasted on cancer, they’re not wasted.”

  “You don’t really believe God saves tears, do you?”

  “I think he counts them.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “That’s when he’s the most attentive.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He hangs out around human suffering.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Look at where Jesus went. Where there was pain, there was Jesus.”

  “But you’re Jewish.”

  “Just on my mother’s side.”

  “Then he must be at the hospital a lot. You think he’s here beside Bender?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you ever feel him?” she asked.

  “I started out just talking to him, like he’s a regular guy. With due respect, he’s, well, God and all that. But then one day, he was just there.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Not out loud. But I felt him with me, like he was there listening to me.”

  “What was he like?”

  “Love like I couldn’t describe. You try it. Just get alone someplace and talk to him. See if he shows up. What would it hurt?”

  Daisy came in through the door backward, pushing it open with her rear end and holding out two coffees. “The line was as long as California,” she said.

  “Mort, this is my mother, Daisy.”

  “We’re talking about God,” said Mort.

  “People do that in hospitals,” said Daisy. “Have you ever seen an angel?” she asked.

  “Not me,” said Mort. “I don’t think I’d know. Like the scriptures say, you might be entertaining angels unaware. I’d be unaware.”

  “But he says he can feel God,” said Saphora.

  “I did right after my husband died,” Daisy said. She had a story no matter what was brought up. But she had never mentioned this one. She said, “At first I was mad at him for leaving me all alone. Then one day when I was really steamed and lonesome, I cleaned out the refrigerator of anything that reminded me of Bernie. I was throwing out anchovies, and suddenly it was like someone was standing behind me. I turned around and no one was there.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t God,” said Mort.

  “Who then?” asked Daisy.

  “Bernie’s shadow, mad at you for throwing out perfectly good anchovies,” said Mort.

  15

  What is right for one soul may not be right for another. It may mean having to stand on your own and do something strange in the eyes of others.

  EILEEN CADDY

  Reverend Mims was pleased as could be that Saphora wanted to meet him at the Marina Bistro for breakfast. He was done with his chores of straightening the chairs and offering assistance to the infirm for the week. He told her, as a matter of fact, that he was going straight to Duke after he met with Saphora. That gave her as much consolation as knowing praying Mort was rooming with Bender.

  Saphora kissed Emerald good-bye. Her flight was leaving at noon. She had finished a small square of the blue wall hanging after all. “I’ll ship it to you when it’s finished,” she said. “It’s a patchwork of our family.” She held up the blue knitted square. She had woven purple yarn into the center, creating a design of three female figures.

  “It’s got three women in it,” said Saphora, finding nice things to say about a wall hanging that Emerald might never finish. “Is that you and Mother and me?”

  “Us three. But I’ll make the rest a surprise,” said Emerald. She kissed her and wheeled her luggage out the door while Saphora locked it. “You must be going back to Duke.”

  “I’m going to meet a minister.”

  “About Bender?” asked Emerald.

  “I guess so,” said Saphora.

  “Have him say a prayer for me. I get so under the weight of things,” said Emerald.

  “Em, you don’t have to,” she told her. But then, it was Em’s way. She wouldn’t be Em without her clouds overhead. She offered, “I’ll drive you out and get you on the main road. Then you just follow the map I laid out for you.” Saphora helped her put her luggage in the rental car trunk.

  Emerald followed Saphora and then turned right. Saphora watched Em until the shade trees enveloped her. Saphora turned left and then right into the tiny marina. A row of blue bicycles parked in the bike rack surrounded one nice, lean black racer, the only bike locked into the rack.

  Pastor Mims walked out of the bistro and waved. He held a bike helmet under his one good arm.

  “Is that your racing bike?” asked Saphora. She imagined that riding with one paralyzed hand had taken some practice.

  “It’s mine. I’m training for a charity ride.”

  He led her to the back of the restaurant where he had already reserved a table for them with the view of the water. He asked the waitress to bring him a large juice.

  Saphora pulled out Bender’s Bible. That made the pastor grin so big that Saphora turned red, as if she were one of those women who carried Bibles into public places to make some kind of statement. “I found this in my husband’s room.” She opened it to one of the places he had bookmarked. “Bender wrote out some questions in his Bible. I had this idea in my head that if I asked you the questions, I could read the answers to him.”

  “He’d like that, Saphora. But I don’t claim to have all the answers.”

  That made her like him even better. Saphora ordered an egg biscuit and coffee. Then she said, “There’s a verse that talks about God saving tears in a bottle and writing them in a book.”

  “A psalm of David.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s a song book. First off,” said Mims, “the Psalms are songs that came out of real people’s struggles. This one was written by the shepherd boy who became a king. David’s story can be read in second Samuel. If you read from that book, you’ll find David was being chased by his enemies. He wrote the songs for his people to use to thank God for his persistence to see them through attack after attack from their enemies.”

  “But what does this mean, that he saves our tears in a bottle? Is the Bible always literal?”

  “No. Within the context of this song, it’s a metaphor.”

  “What can I tell Bender?”

  “God is watching over him, so close that he sees every tear that Bender has shed.” Her silence left him to respond, “Saphora, maybe you should try praying before you read the scriptures. Then ask God to show you what he’s trying to tell y
ou.”

  She read the scripture again. Then she said, “He sounds like he’s trying to, I don’t know, get his mental mind-set right.”

  “Partly. There’s a metaphor in it.”

  “About God? About him being close by? I met a man who says he can feel God near him.”

  “It’s possible. Although I don’t always feel God close by.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No.”

  “How do you go on doing what you do then?”

  “The same way a tree grows. When God is silent, he is maturing me. My spiritual and emotional roots grow beneath the surface of my life.” He must have read her pensive expression when he said, “Then other days, seemingly out of the blue, I feel him again. Some like to call that a time of refreshing.”

  She closed the Bible. “But, Pastor John, I never feel him close by.”

  “Faith is believing what you can’t see. Sometimes that means you can’t feel anything either.”

  “If I could have a prayer wish, I’d like to feel him. Is that a selfish prayer?”

  “You can talk to him about it. I don’t think it’s selfish. It’s a reasonable request from a searching woman.”

  “You’ve made me feel better.”

  He had been kind and patient to address Bender’s questions. “Can I help with anything else?”

  “If you don’t mind.” She had not said this to anyone ever. But she hoped that by saying it, she’d be free of some of the burden she had felt these past few years. “Is it wrong to think I might have married the wrong man?”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “He’s given me a lot of grief. I know he’s not going to confess that to you.”

  “I can’t tell you what he’s confessed.”

  “Can you give me a hint?”

  He laughed so hard that she laughed too. Then she said, “I know. It’s private between the two of you.”

  “That Sunday when you brought him to church?”

  “His one and only time in church, yes?”

  “He left behind a card. You know those visitor cards you were handed coming in the door.”

  “He did accept it,” she said.

  “He wrote a note to me. It said, ‘I want to talk to you, Mims, about Jesus, your church, and my cancer.’”

  “He was looking for answers,” said Saphora. “I thought so.”

  “That’s normal for his condition.”

  “I’m searching too, Pastor John.”

  “You keep doing what you’re doing—looking for answers. God hasn’t left you all alone, Saphora. There’s more to say, but today let’s just leave it at me answering what you’ve asked.”

  “My head’s full of a lot of questions.”

  “God knows those in advance of your asking them. He is that close to you, Saphora.”

  She started crying as if the whole Neuse River was running over the banks and out through her soul.

  Tobias was waiting on the porch when Saphora pulled in. He got up and grinned as she walked toward him. “I’ve been riding around bored as all get-out. Could I climb up the tree house?”

  “You should have rung the doorbell. My mother would have let you in.” Now that she thought about it, it was probably best he had waited. “I’ll get you a cold Coke,” she said, letting him in. “You stay in the tree or you can play inside. Just let your mom know.”

  “I told her. She knows I’m here.”

  Daisy was watching an old movie. She sat on the sofa clutching a box of tissues.

  “We’ve got company,” said Saphora.

  “Oh, hello, friend of Eddie’s … ah,” said Daisy, “I guess?”

  “Mother, Tobias,” said Saphora.

  “I miss him so much I’m bored to death,” said Tobias.

  Saphora got out two canned colas and gave one to Tobias. He went out the back onto the deck and then climbed up the ladder.

  “I had hoped to see Eddie myself. I want to hug Turner so hard I might hurt him,” said Daisy.

  “He got bad news. Someone quit at the hospital, and he has to take a weekend shift.”

  “But Gwennie’s coming, isn’t she?” Daisy asked.

  “I believe so. The young man next door’s taken a liking to her. Luke. He’s an artist.” Saphora turned down the volume on Daisy’s movie.

  “Artist? If he’s not rich, he must be an extraordinary guy to be of interest to Gwennie.”

  “I don’t think it will last. But he sure is moony over her. Poor guy.”

  “The last thing she’d do is get serious about an artist. What’s he do anyway, paint portraits?”

  “Pottery.”

  “That’s worse, isn’t it? Like those people who travel around hawking their wares at food festivals. I’m not knocking it. I’m just saying.” Daisy sat forward, having trouble hearing her movie. She picked up the remote and increased the sound again.

  The telephone rang. It was Jamie. She was sitting out in the driveway. Saphora invited her inside. When she opened the door, Jamie looked like someone had kicked her in the stomach.

  “Is Tobias here?” she asked.

  “He is, but he told me you knew he came here.”

  “He left upset. He was playing down at the marina. He tried to get some other boys interested in a kickball game. But one of them told the others not to go near him, that he had AIDS. There was a girl there who started screaming. Tobias was embarrassed. I’m just weary of seeing him wounded.”

  “I’m sorry as can be,” said Saphora.

  “The last thing I wanted was for it to be all over town, but now that’s a hopeless wish. When I brought him here for the summer it was so he could get away from the crazies.”

  “I don’t know why kids are so cruel,” said Daisy. “Why would they think a little boy has AIDS anyway? Like kids know what AIDS is. He should have told them to get lost.”

  Saphora’s first thought was to try to stop Jamie from answering. But then she reasoned that she and Jamie had become friends because Jamie didn’t have to hide Tobias’s sickness around her. “Mother, this is Jamie, Tobias’s mother. She adopted him. He does have AIDS.”

  “I don’t believe it,” said Daisy.

  “He was born with it,” said Jamie.

  “From his mother? Is that how?” asked Daisy. She turned up the movie another decibel.

  “That’s enough. Jamie, you don’t have to say anymore,” said Saphora.

  “She drifted city to city,” said Jamie. “She could have gotten it a lot of ways. I don’t even know if there is a grave anywhere. She had a sister who saw to her after she passed. Toby handles it like an adult.”

  “But he’s been playing with Eddie,” said Daisy. “You know it’s different in every country. I saw a whole special about it.”

  “It is different in every country,” said Jamie. “A different cocktail of meds is used to treat it everywhere it has spread. But it’s not a danger to children playing with a child who has the disease.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense,” said Daisy.

  Jamie managed to show her some understanding. “None taken.” She said to Saphora, “We were going to the dance tonight. But now I’m sure Tobias is going to want to pack up and head home.”

  “I’m going to the dance.” Saphora surprised herself saying it. “You have to bring him, Jamie.”

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  By the time Jamie coaxed Tobias out of the tree, he was not at all agreeable to attending. Saphora promised him, “There will be so many there, and all new people to meet. I wish you’d come, Tobias.”

  “Maybe just drop in,” he said. “Before we leave Oriental for home.”

  Saphora kissed him and gave him a hug. “You are such a grownup sometimes, Tobias.”

  She saw them out. Then she sat out on the deck until she could hear Luke shoveling. She yelled, “I’ve decided to go to the dance.”

  “I know. Gwennie told me,” he said through the fence. He could not be seen at al
l. But a little dirt was thrown into the air, the tip of the shovel rotating and swinging back to earth. And then it was dark.

  Saphora was thinking about Gwennie Thursday night when she was deciding what shoes to wear. She admired women who could dance in heels. Gwennie danced in them as if she were wearing house shoes. But Saphora could hardly walk in them, let alone dance. She picked out a pair of soft leather flats. She put them on and then danced a few steps in front of the vanity mirror. She looked like a grown woman trying out for the high school cheerleading squad—the train had already come and gone.

  The doorbell rang. She pulled on a black cotton-knit top and the earrings Bender had given her two birthdays past. She got to the front door, and there was Luke looking as if his cat had died.

  “What’s going on?” asked Saphora.

  He walked past her into the house. “It’s Gwennie. She says she’s having problems with her client. She’s not coming this weekend.”

  “She’s not told me that,” said Saphora.

  “She will.”

  “I’ll talk to her. You know Gwennie’s under a load at work.”

  “I know. But I think she’d come if I weren’t here waiting for her,” said Luke. “Now I’m ruining things for you.”

  “Don’t say such things.”

  “She’s a free spirit. I’m a threat to her freedom.”

  “Luke, you’ve just met. Don’t take it to mean more than what she’s told you,” said Saphora, turning on the outside light.

  “I’m going to call her and tell her that she doesn’t have to worry about coming here. I’ve got an art show to attend in Louisiana.” He was no longer hearing anything Saphora said. “I’ll call her now.”

  “Wait, Luke!” He was right about her, of course. But she could not stand to see him so dejected. “She just doesn’t move quickly, that’s all.”

  “I understand Gwennie. That’s why I can’t get her out of my head—and please don’t tell her I said that. It’s been three years since my wife died. It took me nearly that long to come out of my fog and finally buy this house, so I understand moving slowly. And I’m not the type that expects her to rearrange her life around me.” He was talking as if he had a list of things to get out. “But I know she needs to come home this weekend for your sake and her dad’s sake. So I’m going to Louisiana. Once she knows, she’ll be here with you. You watch and see if I’m not right.”