(Wrath-05)-The Master's Cry (2012)

by Chris Stewart

  At forty-three, the black woman was petite, with a thin face and small nose. Mary Shaye Dupree was an old southern name that went back three hundred years, back to the mistress of an old French plantation owner on the outskirts of New Orleans. But that was a long time ago, and Mary Shaye had no sense of her southern roots. Four generations before, her kin had migrated north, looking for jobs and freedom from the cotton fields, but she hardly knew about them or appreciated what they did.

  Mary was a strong and good-looking woman, but her strength was fading fast, for the world and its burdens were bringing defeat. Wrapping her arms around her shoulders, she shivered from the night air. She studied her reflection in the window, staring into her own eyes. Seeing the defeat, she turned quickly away.

  Walking down the narrow hallway, Mary made her way back to her bedroom and stared at her daughter’s gaunt face in the dim light. The child was beautiful still, though her hair had grown thin and her lips had drawn tight. She was sleeping in pain; that was clear from her groans. As Mary studied her, she felt the helpless pangs of despair. She was no longer angry—she only felt empty now.

  The best thing she had ever done in her life was to take this little girl and bring her into her home. Some of her happiest moments had been when she held this child in her arms. For almost six years she had loved her as if she were her own—maybe more, she didn’t know—all she knew was that she loved her until she couldn’t love any more.

  And now her little girl was being taken, piece by piece, day by day. The vibrant laugh, the soft hugs, the wonderful smile—all of it fading, all of it dying away.

  Kelly Beth opened her eyes and looked up at her mom.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Mary said quietly.

  “I had a weird dream,” Kelly Beth answered, her voice dragging out from fatigue.

  “Tell me about it.” Mary sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “I don’t know, Mom. It was so real. So clear. But I don’t get it.”

  “That’s the way of dreams,” her mother answered softly.

  Kelly Beth waited, catching her breath. “I was watching a funeral,” she began. “There was a horse and a wagon, and lots of military guys around, and this beautiful little girl, the funeral must have been for her dad. And when it was over, she looked up to the sky like she was talking to God.”

  Her mother listened, then nodded. “Is that all?” she asked.

  “No, Mom, and this is the part that I don’t get. While I was watching this funeral, it felt like it was for someone I knew, someone almost like a brother, I think.”

  Her mother smiled, then pulled her close. “But you don’t have a brother, Kelly.”

  The girl relaxed against her pillow. “But the feeling was so clear.”

  Her mother patted her hand, then kissed her cheek. “Think about it,” she said, “and maybe you’ll figure it out.”

  The little girl closed her eyes, exhaustion overcoming her again. Seconds later, she was asleep.

  *******

  Mary watched her daughter for a long time, then wiped her eyes, stepped across the mattress, and lay down on her bed. Resting on her pillow, she stared up at the dark.

  She was relieved and happy to have Azadeh here, but Kelly was fading quickly now, and Mary felt like it wasn’t fair to bring Azadeh into this situation after all that she had been through. But it was what it was, and there was nothing she could do.

  Rolling over, she thought of the young men she had seen on the street. The two young preachers looked ridiculously out of place, like baby-faced monks in their white shirts and ties. “Go back to Utah!” one of the tenement neighbors had mocked them as they had walked down the street. The boys had smiled and waved to her, then continued on their way. That was two weeks before, and she had not seen them since.

  The worried mother thought about them, then rolled across the mattress once again.

  The night passed in silence, but sleep didn’t come, for the faces of the strangers seemed to haunt her somehow. Why couldn’t she forget them? It made no sense at all! Who were they, these preachers? And why did she burn inside?

  “Find them!” a quiet voice seemed to cry in her soul. “I have a great work for your children. Go out and find them so they can save Kelly’s life!”

  SIXTEEN

  East Side, Chicago, Illinois

  Mary got out of bed long before anyone else was awake. The sun was barely up and the city was still coated in dark hues. She checked Kelly Beth’s drip line, felt her face, then pulled on a T-shirt, sweatpants, and some old leather shoes. She wrote Azadeh a quick note, then let herself out of the apartment and headed for the stairs—easier and faster to walk five floors down than to wait for the elevator.

  Crossing the noisy, six-lane street that ran in front of the housing complex, she dodged a dozen yellow cabs and police cars. The riots had subsided, but the tension was still as thick as the smell of exhaust in the air and it seemed the police were everywhere. Walking through the screen door at the old corner market, she headed immediately to the cooler, looking for some milk and eggs. The cooler was almost completely empty: A few sodas and some hot dogs were all it contained. She walked back to the counter and in her most commanding voice said, “Marlo, you swore to me that you’d have some dairy products by this morning.”

  The large black man looked at her regretfully. “I’m sorry, Mary, I really am. They promised they’d send us a truck yesterday, but you know the gig, we’re the last ones in line. You think they’re going to bust their butts to get some stuff down here to East Side? I don’t think so, dear. We’ll get it when the white folks in midtown and Naperville are stocked up and fat.”

  Mary leaned into the counter. “Marlo, you got to help me. You know what I’m going through with Kelly Beth. She has to have some milk with her morning medicine or she gets sick to her stomach. I’m not exaggerating, Marlo, she gets sick and throws up. You can’t do that to her. Please, isn’t there something you could do?”

  The store owner shook his head. “I can’t turn water into milk. I can’t just make it appear. I’m not hiding anything in the back cooler. I just don’t have anything right now.”

  Mary clenched her jaw in sadness and frustration. “So a bomb goes off in D.C. and the entire world falls apart. A bomb goes off in D.C. and all the milk and dairy products in Chicago disappear. It isn’t right, Marlo, I’m telling you it isn’t right.”

  “Tell me about it, Mary. I haven’t slept in five days. Four nights in a row, I’ve had to stand guard by my front door. Do you know how many thugs I’ve had to scare away from my place?” He reached beneath the counter and stroked the shotgun he had hidden there. “I’m the only joint on the block that hasn’t been completely looted.”

  Mary glanced behind her at the nearly bare shelves. “I don’t know, Marlo, it looks pretty well looted to me.”

  The man only huffed. “The cops don’t care about any of us black store owners. The Koreans and Pakistanis up in Gary, they get taken care of, but us folks down here in the projects, we got to fend for ourselves.”

  Mary shrugged and looked around. “Any bread?” she said.

  Marlo seemed to stop and think before reaching down below the counter. Feeling beside the shotgun, he pulled out two loaves. “My last two,” he said, then nodded to the back door. “There are a couple dozen eggs in the back room. You better get them, too.”

  Mary squinted. “Thank you, Marlo. I mean that. Thanks.”

  She started walking toward the backroom cooler and Marlo called out to her. “You could take some of those eggs and mix them with warm coffee. Give that to Kelly with her medicine. That’ll help keep it down.”

  Mary went into the back room, then returned to the counter with the cartons. “Hey, Marlo,” she said as he rang up her small sack of groceries. “There are a couple guys around here. I haven’t seen them in a while. Young guys. You know them?”

  The store owner shook his head. “I don’t know. You talking cops?”


  “No, no, no. Preachers. Or preacher types.”

  “Jehovah Witnesses. I thought they abandoned this miserable place.”

  Mary hesitated. “I don’t think that’s them,” she said.

  Marlo shuffled his feet. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “God and his preachers have abandoned this place. Nothing here but misery. That’s what’s left in this place.”

  Mary thought in silence. “I was hoping,” she started before Marlo cut her off.

  “Don’t go hoping, Mary. That’s a foolish thing to do. There isn’t no more hope here, Mary. You can’t find no hope at all.”

  Mary nodded sadly, bitter disappointment seeping deep into her soul. You told me to find them! she thought sullenly. Someone who could help me. But how can I find them if they’re not here anymore!

  *******

  Mary waited in the lobby for the elevator, grocery sack in hand. Minutes passed. The elevator never descended—apparently it was broken again—so she headed up the stairs, grateful she lived only five flights up.

  Letting herself into her apartment, she kicked off her leather shoes behind the door and headed for the kitchen. Azadeh was sitting at the small table, the newspaper spread out, reading the front page. A large picture of blackened Washington, D.C., took up most of the space above the fold. Mary glanced at it. “Anything new?” she asked.

  “I don’t understand most of it,” Azadeh answered. “I read to help me with my English.”

  “That’s good,” Mary said as she placed the small sack of groceries on the narrow counter next to the refrigerator. Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, “Have you looked in on Kelly?”

  “She is asleep,” Azadeh answered. She hesitated, then added, “She seemed cold. I put another blanket on her and sat with her for a time. I did not try to wake her, but I just wanted, you know, I just thought she might like someone there, even if she was asleep. I hope that was OK. I sat by her on the mattress and sang a little song.”

  Mary turned to face her. “That’s sweet, baby. You are kind. And you’re right, I sometimes think she’s asleep but then I’m surprised to find out that she was awake and hearing everything that I said.”

  Azadeh pressed her lips together, thinking of Miss Pari. “My father used to sing me a song when I was young,” she said. “It is a beautiful song, a little sad, but in a nice sort of way.” She started singing in Farsi, the words gentle and slow.

  Mary closed her eyes as she listened. “That is beautiful,” she said when Azadeh was finished.

  Azadeh looked away, embarrassed.

  “Will you teach me the words? Will you translate them into English?”

  “I will try,” Azadeh answered. “But they don’t translate exactly.”

  “Try. Please. Do the best that you can.”

  Azadeh thought a long moment, then started singing.

  The world that I give you

  Is not always sunny and bright.

  But knowing I love you

  Will help make it right.

  So when the dark settles,

  And the storms fill the night,

  Remember I’ll be waiting

  When it comes,

  Morning Light.

  Mary smiled. “So beautiful. I love that!”

  Azadeh let her eyes fall to the floor. Mary watched her closely. The young woman was dressed in a black skirt that rested on her knees and a red blouse with a matching sash around her waist. Her thick black hair fell past her shoulders and was tied with a ribbon at the back. Her skin was a perfect bronze, her eyes large and bright. She didn’t have on any makeup, but she didn’t need any and never would. Staring at her, Mary realized she was as naturally beautiful as anyone she had ever seen before.

  “Gosh, it’s so good to have you here!” she exclaimed.

  Azadeh smiled shyly.

  Mary stared at her a moment longer. “You don’t have any idea how beautiful you are, do you, Azadeh?” She sat down at the small kitchen table as she spoke.

  Azadeh lowered her eyes but didn’t answer.

  Mary leaned toward her. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

  The look on Azadeh’s face assured Mary that she didn’t. Mary thought for a long moment. It was going to be hard. And it almost seemed wrong. But she had to tell her. She had to warn her. She had to strip away some of her innocence if she was going to survive in this place. She had to lay it out to prepare her to live in this new world. It was a wonder, an absolute modern-day miracle, that someone as old as Azadeh could be so innocent. It was—she didn’t know how to describe it—renewing and beautiful. Many of the children around her had little babies of their own, yet Azadeh seemed to be completely innocent of such things. “Azadeh,” she started, “you are a beautiful young lady. I know that all this is new, but you’re going to have to be careful.”

  Azadeh looked at her. “Careful,” she echoed.

  “Careful, baby. There are people around here, people in this city, in this neighborhood, in this building even, who will hurt you or take advantage of you in very bad ways. Some of them will try to fool you. They’ll pretend to be your friend. They’ll act one way one day, then turn on you, baby. Do you understand anything I’m saying?”

  Azadeh met Mary’s eyes. She remembered the Iraqi who had come to fetch her from the camp, the man who claimed to be an agent for the uncle she didn’t have. She remembered the way he had looked at her, the way he had summed her up with his eyes. She remembered other men, some old, some young, who looked at her the same way. So yes, she understood. She understood much more than Mary thought.

  Mary waited, intertwining her fingers nervously. “We’ll talk more a little later,” she finally said. “Now, did you get some breakfast?”

  Azadeh’s forehead furrowed.

  “Breakfast. You know, did you get something to eat?”

  “No, not yet, but I made myself some tea if that’s all right.”

  “Sure. Anything. This is your home; you can have anything you like.” Mary stood up, went to the counter, and started putting the little bit of groceries away. “Azadeh, I have to go down to Columbus tomorrow,” she said as she worked. “Kelly has an appointment with a doctor at a special clinic down there. It’s been scheduled for months. She has seen him a couple of times, but this will probably be her last visit. I really hate to leave you, but it’s a long drive, about four hours each way, so I’m going to leave tonight.”

  “I will be fine,” Azadeh answered. “You do not have to worry about me.”

  “Really? You’ll be OK?”

  “Of course, Mary.”

  Azadeh heard a child’s voice calling from down the hall. Mary heard it too. Both of them stood and walked toward the bedroom.

  *******

  Mary went in first while Azadeh stood near the doorway, unsure of whether she should go in or stay out. Mary knelt on the mattress, lifting Kelly’s hand. “How you doing, baby doll?” she asked.

  Azadeh noted Mary’s cheerful voice. She knew the woman was forcing herself to be so positive, and she admired her ability.

  “Good morning, Mom,” Kelly answered.

  “You slept in this morning.”

  “I was tired, I guess.” Kelly didn’t notice the stranger standing at the door. Mary leaned over and kissed her forehead, then stood and pulled up the heavy Venetian blinds. The sky was clear, and sunlight flooded into the crowded room. “Kelly, remember we talked about the young lady who was going to come and stay with us.”

  The child’s eyes immediately brightened. She slowly turned her head and looked toward the door. “She’s here! You’re here!” She reached for Azadeh’s hand. “Azadeh. You’re here! My mom and I have been waiting! My name is Kelly Beth.” The little girl struggled to sit up.

  Azadeh moved toward her and dropped to the floor. She took the girl’s hand and held it. “Hi, Kelly Beth,” she said.

  The two young women appraised each other. “Oh my gosh, you’re so beautiful,” Kelly said. “Even more beautiful th
an your picture. Isn’t she beautiful, Mom?”

  Mary had to laugh. “Funny you should mention that,” she said.

  Azadeh held her hand more tightly. “Miss Kelly, you are the beautiful one.”

  The little girl shook her head and smiled. “No, Azadeh. Not since—” she shot a quick look toward Mary. “You have told her, Mom?”

  Mary moved back toward the floor mattress and sat down beside Azadeh. “Yeah, baby. She knows.”

  Kelly turned back to Azadeh. “I used to be beautiful like you. Well, maybe not so beautiful, but I was pretty. But not now. Not anymore.”

  Azadeh shook her head. “No, Miss Kelly, I can see it. I can see through the sickness. You are still beautiful.”

  The younger girl looked uncomfortable. “I hate for people to see me anymore. It’s embarrassing.”

  Azadeh whispered something to her in Farsi.

  “What was that?” Kelly asked.

  Azadeh repeated the phrase, this time in English: “Beautiful is the soul that looks out from my eyes.”

  Kelly listened and thought a moment. “I like that,” she said. She looked away, her forehead furrowed, then slowly turned to Mary. “Mom, last night I woke up. I told you about my dream? That’s true, right?”

  “Yes,” Mary answered.

  Kelly turned back to Azadeh. “She was in my dream,” she said, pointing, her voice animated now. “I remember it all perfectly now. There was a funeral. A little girl. Lots of soldiers. But Azadeh was there too. She was standing in the back. And she was, she was crying.”

  Kelly looked into Azadeh’s eyes. “Why were you crying, Azadeh?” she asked. “Why were you in my dream?”

  SEVENTEEN