Marsha's Deal

by Laura Solomon

  * * *

  The blood clot began in Don's leg but travelled all the way to his brain. Once there, it caused a massive stroke, which killed him. Iris's death had taken place just six months earlier and Marsha did not know how she was going to survive this second cruel blow which had taken place in such a short space of time. Don had sensibly taken out life insurance, and Marsha was named as sole beneficiary. When Don died Marsha was paid out to the tune of three quarters of a million dollars. Their house was freehold by now.

  This time Marsha managed not to fall into her old patterns and she thwarted depression. She did not crawl into a hole and hide, did not take to her bed. She stayed out in the open, a woman functioning in the world, competent and successful. She kept going into the bakery every day, preparing muffins and croissants, crème buns and chocolate eclairs. She cursed Satan. This death too, she reasoned, had been caused by the devil.

  Marsha's thoughts grew dark and she began to think about how she could get revenge on the devil. She knew that it would be difficult but she decided to give it a try. She thought long and hard for over six weeks and eventually she settled upon the idea of becoming a nun and saving souls. She would work in brothels, bars, clubs and youth centres. She made her way to the Sisters of Mercy Convent in Wellington and told them that she wanted to be trained up. She was taken in. She spent two years with the sisters and took her vows then headed back to the wide world to practice what she had learned.

  Marsha encountered Rita, who had been a prostitute for three years, at the pub. Marsha was there on a mission to save souls and Rita looked in need of saving. Rita, who had just found out she was pregnant to an unknown customer, was stoned on heroin, leaning on the bar, talking to the barman, her top displaying her ample cleavage, her mascara and lipstick smudged, a cigarette dangling from her lips. Yet she seemed vulnerable too, something about her made Marsha know that God wanted her to reach out to Rita. Marsha, wearing a plain skirt and blouse with a silver cross around her neck, walked across to where Rita stood. Rita looked at her and wobbled on her six inch high heels.

  “You look like you're in need of help”, said Marsha. “I'm a nun.”

  “So I guess you don't want a drink then. What the hell are you doing in a bar anyway? I thought this was Satan's playground.”

  “I've come to save souls.”

  “You're a bit late with me, sweetheart. I'm beyond saving.”

  “No-one's beyond help. Here's my number.”

  Marsha had her name and number all written down pre-prepared on slips of paper for the souls she was intending to save. Rita snatched the number from her and tucked it into her bra. Marsha quietly left the building.

  “First time I've ever got a nun's number in a bar”, said Rita to the barman, in Marsha's wake.

  Rita went home, got undressed and went to sleep. The next morning when she awoke the piece of paper was lying on the floor next to her bed. Rita felt sick in her stomach and ran to the bathroom and vomited, a reminder that she was pregnant. She had already had an abortion and a miscarriage, both of which had been traumatic and she didn't know what to do or where to turn regarding this new pregnancy. She had been given this phone number. She thought about it for the morning, staying at home and drinking ginger tea for nausea and then at midday phoned Marsha. She was coming down from the last night's fix and she was feeling depressed and agitated.

  “Hi it's me, Rita, the lady from the bar,” said Rita.

  “Oh it's great to hear from you. Are you okay?”

  It was the first time anybody had demonstrated any caring towards Rita in four years. Her boyfriend had treated her badly, playing silly mind games, standing her up and cheating on her with her best friend and as a prostitute she had knives held to her throat, been stalked and harassed and her nerves were further frayed from her heroin habit. Now, to top it all off, she was pregnant and she didn't have a clue who the father was – it could have been one of several men. Rita couldn't help herself, she burst into tears.

  “Sounds like you need a shoulder to cry on. How about we meet for coffee today? On Oriental Parade.”

  “Yes”, sniffled Rita. “That sounds good. What time?”

  “11.30. At Express Café.”

  “Okay.”

  The two women met at Express Café at 11.30. Rita was wearing white hot pants and a hot pink off the shoulder T-shirt. Marsha ordered a fruit smoothie, Rita ordered a double shot espresso. They sat down opposite one another on the smooth wooden tables that were arranged outside the café. Marsha took a sip of her smoothie.

  “When I saw you in the bar I had the feeling that you might be in some kind of trouble.”

  “Well, it's just that I'm pregnant and I don't know who the father is. I work as a prostitute. It could be any one of a number of men.”

  Marsha said nothing, letting the silence speak.

  “I'm also on heroin”, ventured Rita tentatively, wondering how harshly Marsha would judge her.

  Marsha was not judgemental; her training had taught her not to be.

  “Are you looking for help?”

  Rita who was five foot five, eight weeks pregnant and down to 43 kilo said “I don't think I can continue the way I've been going. It's just not feasible.”

  Rita knew it was terrible to use heroin while pregnant but she had not been able to kick the habit. She was eight weeks pregnant but did not want to go for an abortion. It carried half her genes. Maybe this nun could help her save the baby and save herself.

  Marsha took Rita's side and proved herself to be of enormous use. She visited her every day and helped her get onto a methadone programme, leaving her heroin habit behind. She spoke to Rita about who else could help her raise the baby and Rita said she could give the baby to her parents to raise. Her parents lived on an isolated farm in Taranaki and knew nothing about Rita's wayward life. Rita's was a sad story. She opened up to Marsha over the course of several weeks.

  “I originally went 'on the game' to support a heroin habit which had spiraled out of control after I was unceremoniously dumped by my first real boyfriend. I had been in love with him, and we had been living together in Newtown in Wellington. He had woken up one morning and turned to me and said 'You know what honey I just don't think this is going to work out. I just don't love you anymore.' These words struck me like a thunderbolt, struck me in the heart and I turned increasingly to heroin to cope. I was already a casual user. I liked the golden glow it gave me, peaceful and serene, as if I was a lotus flower floating calmly above the muddy waters of life. I quickly became an addict.”

  “Yes”, said Marsha. “I can see how that would happen.”

  “When I came down I was forced to face reality, forced to face the fact that I was twenty-six years old, with nothing to my name; no qualifications, no car, no home to call her own and now no boyfriend. The heroin was costly and Rita was on the dole, so she turned to prostitution to fund her habit. She was a lone unit, walking the streets on her own. She knew it was dangerous but she didn't care, being dumped had hardened her, and the heroin made her oblivious to danger anyway. She engaged in risky behaviour. She often got into strange men's cars and gave them hand jobs, blow jobs and sex without condoms for $50, $70 and $100. She sold herself cheap because she had low self-esteem. Afterwards she'd walk home alone to her tiny council flat. She'd also taken up chain-smoking and was never to be found without a cigarette in her mouth. She got two new tattoos; a dragon on her back and a lotus on her upper arm.

  Marsha talked to Rita about how she could fruitfully fill her days, since she was leaving prostitution behind. Rita showed her two tattoos and said she'd always wanted to learn how to do tattoo art. She said she had a pile of drawings at home from when she'd been on the dole and lived with her boyfriend and from her downtime as a prostitute. Marsha said she would help her find an apprenticeship.

  Wiremu Anaru had been running his tattoo parlour in a side street just off Molesworth Street for over a decade when Rita, clutching a few of her drawings, wa
lked through his door. She was wearing black leather pants and a red lace up bodice and Wiremu looked up from the copy of Tattoo Today he was reading and thought to himself 'Hello, who's this then?' He did not speak out loud. He tried not to stare. Rita was accompanied by Marsha who wore her typical uniform of a plain skirt and simple blouse with a silver cross around her neck. Marsha walked up to the counter.

  “Hello”, she said boldly. “I'm Marsha and this is Rita. We've come to see you about an apprenticeship.”

  Wiremu raised one eyebrow.

  “For Rita”, Marsha added hastily. “I've got a job. I work for God.”

  “Has she got a portfolio?”, asked Wiremu. “I can't take on anybody without seeing some of their work.”

  “Yes. I understand”, said Marsha quickly. “Actually, she's brought some of her work to show you. We hope you'll like it.”

  Marsha motioned for Rita to step forward. Rita, who had been lurking in the shadows, stepped forward into the light. She said hello to Wiremu then shyly laid her drawings on the countertop for him to examine. Marsha was surprised - she hadn't expected Rita to be shy about showing her artwork to somebody. There were pictures of dragons, fairies, lotuses and roses. Wiremu made his way through the drawings. Marsha held her breath, unsure of what his reaction was going to be, but desperately wanting things to work out for Rita. When he reached the end of the drawings Wiremu breathed a sigh.

  “Well,” he said, looking up. “The lady can draw.”

  Marsha and Rita turned to each other and smiled.

  “Really?” said Rita. “I wasn't sure….”

  “Not many people have natural talent”, said Wiremu. “But you do. I'm happy to offer you an apprenticeship. Starting Monday. But you have to be on time each day. I can train you up – but there's to be no slacking on the job. No drink and no drugs. You're here to work, to learn the trade.”

  “Sure thing”, said Rita. “And thanks so much for giving me this fantastic opportunity.”

  Rita was a changed woman since Marsha had got her off the drugs. She'd even been home to visit her parents and rekindled family bonds.

  Marsha went home that night happy that she had thwarted the devil by saving Rita Ngata from her own personal hell. Now that Rita was on the right track she would look around for more souls to save, more drowning people whom she could teach to float, or swim.

  She was looking through Property Press the following week when the idea occurred to her to buy an old property in need of renovation and set up an orphanage. She called around three of the real estate agents in town and one of them came up trumps saying she had an old villa in Seatoun that needed work. Marsha made an appointment and went to see the property. The house had been built in the 1920s and had a big verandah out the front which appealed instantly to Marsha. She could already see the orphans she adopted playing there. There was a wide flat lawn bordered by a garden that had run to weeds, but that had a lot of potential. Inside, there was a large kitchen with two ovens, a sizeable dining room and lounge and six bedrooms of varying size. The property, which was slightly run down, was for sale for $600,000. Marsha wanted to keep some of her life insurance money aside to help the orphans, so went to the bank to ask for a mortgage of $300,000, using her freehold property as collateral. The mortgage was granted. Marsha made an offer on the property and the sale went through successfully. She decided to call her orphanage Marsha Lee's Home For Emerging Angels.

  The following week, she went to the local youth centre and found Daniel. Daniel Reed had been born to two P addicts on the dole. His real father had left his mother soon after Daniel had been born and his step-father was physically abusive and would beat him round the legs with the jug cord whenever he was angry, which was often. Marsha had decided it was a good idea to frequent the youth centre to find lost souls and it was there that she met Daniel. He was playing pool when she met him and had just thrown the pool cue to the floor, accusing his opponent of cheating. Marsha went up to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

  “What did that pool cue ever do to you?” she asked.

  “What's it to you?”

  Marsha whipped one of her pre-penned paper slips from her purse.

  “If you feel you need to talk to somebody, I'm just a phone call away.”

  Daniel scoffed.

  “I don't need to talk to no nun.”

  Marsha walked quietly away.

  That night Daniel went home and was beaten by his step-father for being late, even though he was only half an hour after his curfew. The following day he was still sore and he took Marsha's number from his pocket and dialed. Marsha picked up after three rings.

  “Hello, it's Marsha speaking.”

  “Oh hi, it's just Daniel – the kid from the youth centre.”

  “Nice to hear from you Daniel. Would you like to meet for a drink?”

  “Where and when?”

  “Are you free later today?”

  “Okay. Where?”

  “Express Café on Oriental Parade. At 2pm.”

  “Okay, see you then.”

  Daniel could not believe he had just rung a nun. He would never admit it to his mates, they would think he was soft. Luckily his step-dad was out at 2pm so he could leave without getting questioned. When the hour rolled around he took his skateboard and skated down to Oriental Parade. Marsha did not recognize him at first; he had his woolen beanie pulled down low over his eyes and his hoodie covered up his skinny form. Daniel saw Marsha drinking a smoothie and started to wimp out. What was he doing? He couldn't confide in a nun! He was just about to turn on his heels and walk away when Marsha spotted him and called out.

  “Hi Daniel, good to see you.”

  Daniel paused in his tracks. She had seen him! Busted. He'd have to go through with it now. He summoned some bluster and walked over to where Marsha sat.

  “Hey, how's it hangin”', he asked, with a sneer of the lip.

  Marsha gestured to the seat opposite.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  Daniel plonked himself down. He would not look Marsha in the eye. There was silence for half a minute and then Marsha broke the ice by saying “I see you're into skateboarding. My nephew was too.”

  “Yea, me and my mates like it at the skate park. So much freedom. No one to tell you what to do.”

  “It's good to have interests, what else are you interested in?”

  “Pool.”

  “I've bought a new villa and I'm thinking about setting up a games room there. Maybe with a pool table. I like playing pool myself.”

  “You! Nuns don't play pool.”

  “This one does.”

  Daniel looked disbelieving. He rose to his feet, making to leave. Marsha handed him another slip of paper.

  Christ, thought Daniel. This nun's persistent.

  “That's the address of the villa. I'm setting up a safe home for troubled youths. Call by anytime you like. You never know I might give you a game of pool.”

  Daniel put the paper in his pocket, thinking that he would throw it away when he got home, first chance he got.

  Marsha rented out the house she had been living in and moved into the villa. It was warm and welcoming, it wrapped its arms around her. She had a good feeling about the house – it was going to be a safe haven for herself and others.

  Daniel did not throw the paper away. It remained in his jeans pocket and he retrieved it after his Mum yelled at him for leaving the front door open resulting in the cat going out at night. Daniel was sixteen years old and hated it at home. He longed for a nurturing mother to come home to, a house filled with fresh baking and love. Instead, he had a house full of empty beer bottles and beatings. Marsha had shown him a light – that there is good in the world and that people do care. She had inspired him to try and find a better life for himself. He took out his mobile phone and dialed Marsha's number. Marsha picked up after two rings.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi it's just Daniel. My home life sucks. I'm thinking about running
away.”

  “Before you take such a drastic step how about you come round for a cup of hot chocolate and we can discuss things.”

  “Okay. What's the address?”

  She told him. He was glad to have somebody to talk to. He couldn't burden his mates with his troubles, they would make fun of him and tell him to toughen up.

  Daniel grabbed his skateboard and a bag full of his meagre belongings and headed around to the property. When he arrived Marsha was out on the verandah painting her fingernails pink. She waved at him. He hesitated and then walked up the front steps of the house. He still could not look her in the eye.

  “How's it going?” said Marsha.

  “My Mum yelled at me over nothing”, sulked Daniel. “She's always telling me off. Seems like I can never do anything right.”

  He went to scratch his shoulder and his collar stretched. Marsha caught a glimpse of dark purple bruising on his collar bone.

  “That doesn't look good,” she said.

  “Just a skating accident”, lied Daniel, looking at the floorboards and fidgeting with his thumbs.

  “It's terrible to feel that you have no safe place”, said Marsha. “You can come and stay here if you like. I picked up some furniture cheap last week. There's five spare bedrooms, first in first served, you can take your pick.”

  Daniel looked relieved. He heaved a sigh.

  “Thanks very much.”

  “Come on. I'll show you around.”

  Marsha led the way down the hall to the first of the bedrooms.

  “This'll do fine”, said Daniel. “I don't need to see any more of the rooms. I'm exhausted. I'm going to crash.”

  “Have you had dinner?”

  Daniel lied again.

  “Yes”, he said. “I made it before I came here.”

  * * *

  Tama Higgins was a social worker at Child Protection Services in Wellington. She heard about Marsha through Rita when she was getting a small tattoo of a butterfly done. She tracked her down to the property on Rutherhill Road. She had a long list of children needing foster care and she thought that Marsha could help. First on the list was eleven year old Sally Bunton, a selective mute who hadn't spoken a word in over seven years. Sally was currently in temporary accommodation with an elderly lady who said she couldn't care for her much longer; she couldn't handle the silence. Tama went to visit Marsha at Rutherhill Road, taking her list with her, and Marsha said she would help with Sally and maybe one of two of the others a little further down the track once Sally was settled in. Sally moved in the following Sunday. She had a full head of blonde ringlets and big green eyes that stared at you in an unnerving manner. She chose the bedroom next to Daniel's. Marsha was helping her unpack her belongings when she discovered a great stack of Sally's recipe books; Gourmet Muffins, Berry Delights, 101 Ways With Chocolate. Sally was a prodigious chef who had learned her skills from her grandmother, who had always claimed to be part witch, and looking into Sally's eyes, it was difficult to wonder if she had not inherited a touch of the magician too. She seemed to hold deep secrets; this feeling this was only enhanced by her mutism which made her seem both mysterious and strange.