by Boyd Oxlade
There were more prayers. Carl vaguely recognized the Gloria in English. The priest’s voice rang out again.
‘Peace be with you!’
The congregation turned to one another and shook hands…Carl took his mother’s hand and smiled at her. She frowned at him worriedly.
‘You all right, dear?’
‘Yes, Mother.’
He turned to the man next to him. The man grinned, holding out his hand. It was Mustafa…
Carl looked at him, into his dark eyes; they shone with happiness.
‘Peace be with you, and with your spirit!’ said Mustafa…There was an echo: ‘I forgive you.’
Carl took the man’s hand. No, of course it wasn’t Mustafa. He wasn’t even very much like him, but it meant something. All this did.
He looked toward the altar. People were lining up taking Communion.
How beautiful everything was! The church had changed its geometry in a queer way. It seemed longer…loftier…How could he have thought this place drab? How clear the colours were!
His mother got up.
‘Excuse me, dear.’
She got out of the pew with difficulty and waddled up the aisle. He watched her, smiling.
How old she has gotten lately—Ah! It would be a…mercy. After all, she’s very sick. He was washed by a languorous pity. She won’t mind—Mustafa doesn’t mind…
The communicants returned. His mother sat down again puffing, her hand to her chest.
‘Dear, I think we can go now. I feel a little frail.’
‘Yes, of course, Mother.’
They pushed past Carl’s neighbour.
Strange—he really isn’t anything like…No, it was a vision—it really meant something! He was exalted.
He reached the top of the low stone steps outside the church door. His mother waited.
‘Come on, dear. I really must go home.’
‘Yes, Mother…wait a bit.’
He looked around.
How wonderful it all was. Why, Brunswick was beautiful! The sun glanced and bounced off the cars whizzing past. How shiny they were…he had never realized how many different clear, lovely colours cars were. And the trees! He could see every leaf so distinctly…the shades of green were…delicious.
The sky wasn’t just blue but…like in an old painting from the Middle Ages. What was the word? Cerulean…yes. And the sun…He looked into it without pain and away slowly. His eyes filled with tears of joy.
Everything seemed as if it were meant. No longer did he feel as if he were part of some tawdry accident…he felt part of something ordered, deliberate.
He walked down gracefully and took his mother’s arm.
‘Can we get a taxi, dear? I know it’s not far but I don’t think I can…’
‘Of course, Mother.’
He raised his hand. A taxi stopped immediately. He nodded to himself—yes.
They got in and his mother gave the address.
‘Carl,’ she said, ‘I hope you weren’t offended by what I said before.’
‘No, Mother, you can’t offend me.’
‘That’s good, dear. You know I want what’s best for you.’
‘Do you, Mother? That’s nice.’
He looked at her benevolently. How small she is—silly little woman.
She was talking. He watched her thin, sunken mouth moving mechanically in her flabby cheeks. Distantly he heard her say:
‘You do seem better after church, Carl. More relaxed…I knew you would.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Carl, ‘I feel much better.’
‘Oh dear!’ she said, gasping a little. ‘I wish I could say the same…I better take a pill.’
She fumbled with the catch on her bag.
‘No, Mother,’ he said, smiling, holding her hand. ‘You wait. I’ll put you into bed and bring you a cup of tea and you’ll feel better. Why don’t you give me your bag…I’ll carry it.’
‘That’s a good boy.’
He could hear her wheezing.
As the taxi turned into Carl’s street, he looked out the window and saw Dave and June. She was pushing a pram…Dave was limping heavily.
He looked at them incuriously, his face calm. Actually, he wasn’t quite sure who they were.
The taxi pulled up.
Will it be now? he thought luxuriously. Or will I just wish it to happen.
He helped his mother out and up the front path…
*
As Dave and June turned into Carl’s street, they were arguing.
‘Why the hell did we have to come so far, Dave? You know you shouldn’t be walking on that leg!’ Dave’s leg had been in a plastic brace since the day he had fallen in the cemetery. ‘And why do we have to come this way, for Christ’s sake? This is Carl’s street, isn’t it? I don’t want to see the little creep. You still haven’t explained what…’
‘Just shut up, June,’ Dave said, limping along, new lines of pain in his face. ‘I just wanted…Jesus! There he is!’
The taxi drove past, Carl looking out blank-faced.
‘Here! Stop, hon, June! Stop, wait!’
Dave stood still, watching the car stop and Carl help his mother out.
Dave strained to see the fifty yards between him and Carl.
‘Shit!’ he muttered.
‘Dave, what’s wrong?’
‘Shut up!’
He bent urgently forward, his bad leg braced.
The way Carl had his arm across her shoulders! There was something…He was like a…like a praying mantis! Jesus! No…
Dave saw Carl look up into the sun, smiling. He and his mother went into the house. The door closed.
Dave shook his head violently. He beat his fist against his knee. I’ll have to tell them…
‘No!’
‘Look, Dave,’ she said, with love and exasperation, ‘what’s wrong?’
Dave gazed at her, his face suffering.
‘Come home, June…I got to tell you something.’
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