Godmother Night

by Rachel Pollack

  Jaqe made a noise, half sob, half whimper. Her leg throbbed so badly it felt twice its size, and she felt nauseous from the pain. Everything looked deserted, as if somehow everyone had left, as if a war had come, killing everyone with fallout, or neutron bombs, leaving the buildings whole and killing all the people. Stop it, Jaqe ordered herself. She squeezed her hands into fists and took a deep breath.

  She heard a rattling noise nearby. When she looked, she thought she saw someone walking around the side of a house. Jaqe limped across the street. She called out, “Excuse me? Hello? Hey!” And then she stopped on the edge of a lawn. She hadn’t seen a person at all, but a doll, one of those life-size cardboard skeletons people hang up for Halloween. A gust of wind shook it, and once again the legs and arms rattled against the house like someone about to run away. Oh God, Jaqe thought, Help me.

  A soft noise came along the street behind her. When she turned, Jaqe saw a small red car, a two-seater, roll to a stop before a droopy tree with no leaves and a gray trunk. The car looked as worn out as the houses, with faded paint, rust holes along the bottom, a large dent in the back fender, even a crack in the side window. The tires, bald as a dead tree, sagged on the road. Inside sat an old woman with skin so covered in delicate lines her face looked like a map of the world. The sun seemed to penetrate right through her skin to light up her bones and give the impression that her body shone with its own radiance. Despite her fragility she sat upright in the car, with her hands lightly on the steering wheel. She wore a light green dress with a piece of multicolored chiffon that fluttered out from the shoulders like a cape. Her fine white hair danced in the breeze.

  The woman got out of the car. Without any plan of what she wanted to say, Jaqe walked across the road. The old woman held out her hands, and Jaqe’s own hands drifted up to them. When the woman smiled, the sun shone directly on her teeth, so that Jaqe, dazzled, had to turn her face for a moment. When she looked again the white straw had darkened and softened into tumults of red hair. All the cracked lines of the face had faded; the skin shone. Beneath the thin dress, Jaqe could see the soft curves of a young body. Behind the woman, the red car, smooth and spotless, perched on whitewall tires that looked about to smile.

  Jaqe tried to pull her hands away, but the woman held them fast without any pressure. “Hello, Jaqe,” she said. “How lovely to see you again.”

  “Let go of me,” Jaqe said. “I know what you are.”

  Mother Night laughed. “Do you?”

  “What have you done to this place?” Jaqe demanded. “What did you do to the people, the houses?”

  “Oh, Jaqe,” Mother Night said, and shook her head. “You have it all wrong. This sort of thing happens when I don’t do anything.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Jaqe said. “You did this. You took them all away.” Mother Night didn’t answer. “What do you want from us? Why can’t you leave us alone?” Again no answer. “You’ve got no right. It’s not fair.” She wanted to kick her, to knock her down in the road, to throw her back against her little red car.

  Mother Night said, “Look at me, Jaqe.”

  Jaqe turned her head away. “No! Leave me alone.” Again she tried to pull away, and again Mother Night held tight to her hands. Slowly, her breath as heavy as the old car that had labored up the road, Jaqe brought around her eyes. She didn’t know what she expected to see, maybe a dark shadow licked by flames or a skull-like head with a lolling tongue. But all she found was that sweet face, and those smiling eyes. Hardly knowing she was doing it, Jaqe bent down in the street to lay her head against Mother Night’s belly.

  Mother Night said, “That’s a nasty wound, Jaqe. Let me see.” She bent down to touch Jaqe’s leg.

  Suddenly the pain was gone; Jaqe gasped in surprise. She smiled. It felt so good, so peaceful. When she looked at her leg, the place where the wound had been shone bright and joyous. A memory came to Jaqe from years ago: a warm wave, and she and her mommy lying in the surf on the edge of the sea.

  Somewhere down the street she heard a noise. Lazily she inclined her head. It sounded like a girl, she thought, about ten or eleven, calling to a friend. From somewhere else came the cough of a lawn mower. Jaqe stood to look up and down the street at clean lawns decorated with bushes and flower beds. Water from the sprinklers darkened the smooth streets and the freshly painted houses. At one end of the street a woman sunbathed in a lawn chair. At the other end, a man in sweatpants and a headband braced himself against a tree and pushed as if he would uproot the world.

  “You see,” Mother Night said, “it’s really very simple.”

  Jaqe started to nod, then stopped herself. Mother Night’s smile washed over her. “There’s a girl,” Jaqe said, and pointed vaguely toward the park.

  “She’s all right,” Mother Night said.

  “You don’t understand. She ran into the woods. She’s all alone. We’ve got to find her.”

  “She’s fine. You helped her. You buried the bones for her, don’t forget that. You don’t know what will come of that.”

  “But we can’t just leave her.”

  “She’ll do fine. Really she will.”

  Jaqe grimaced. There was something—something about a dream. She said, “What happened to the girl’s brother?”

  Mother Night said, “That doesn’t concern you.”

  “But—”

  “It’s all right, Jaqe. Trust me.” Jaqe didn’t answer. “Trust me,” Mother Night said.

  “I can’t,” Jaqe said. “I can’t trust you. You’ll take Laurie from me.”

  “Oh, Jaqe,” Mother Night said. “Is that the problem? You should have told me. I will make you a promise. I will never take Laurie from you. Does that help?”

  Jaqe clenched her fists against the relief that tried to wash over her. “How can I believe you?” she said.

  Mother Night smiled again. Her shrug sent her dress rippling down her body. She said, “Why should I lie to you?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t stand the thought of losing her.”

  “Then free yourself from torment. Trust my promise.” Jaqe said nothing. Mother Night said, “Poor Jaqe. Maybe as the months go by and Laurie remains with you, you’ll come to believe that I mean what I say.”

  A gust of wind blew Jaqe’s hair across her face. It lifted Mother Night’s hair and the cape from her dress so that they flared like flags. Jaqe closed her eyes again, only to see Bill shouting filth at her. “I’ve got to get back,” she said.

  Mother Night started toward her car. “I’ll drive you.”

  Jaqe took a step, then stopped. “Is it safe?”

  “I’ve never had an accident.”

  Jaqe couldn’t help herself. She began to laugh, first nervously, then with a shout that drowned out the lawn mower. She opened the door of Mother Night’s car and sank down in the leather seat.

  As they drove away, something made Jaqe look back. On the edge of a lawn burned a single candle, fresh and strong, with a flame that held steady in the afternoon sun.

  Seven

  The Children of the Sky

  Jaqe and Mother Night sat parked across the street from Laurie’s house. With the doors and curtains closed to protect the air conditioning, the house looked to Jaqe like a castle with the drawbridge up. But at least the garage door stood open, revealing Mrs. Cohen’s minicompact parked beside Bill’s Buick. They were all there, the whole gang.

  Jaqe looked at Mother Night. “I guess you can’t come with me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mother Night said. “I’ve got an appointment.”

  Jaqe shuddered, remembering a story she’d read once. “Okay,” she said. “It would probably just make me nervous.” she got out of the car.

  Mother Night held out a hand. “Good luck, Jaqe,” she said.

  Jaqe hesitated a moment, then jumped her hand out to shake Mother Night’s. “Thanks,” she said. At the door, before she rang the bell, she looked back. As the red sports car turned the corner, a thin hand waved out the wi
ndow. And then Jaqe was alone. She took a breath and jabbed the bell.

  Bill answered the door. “Hey, Jaqe,” he said. He called out, “Here she is. No need to worry.” Jaqe resisted the urge to shove him as she marched into the living room. Bill said, “Glad you’re back. I told Laurie you’d just gone for a walk, but you know how nervous she gets.”

  Laurie said, “Hi, sweetie. We got you a present.” Janet added, “Laurie was so nervous it wouldn’t fit. I promised her we’d bring it right back if it didn’t.”

  Jaqe stood in the middle of the room, looking from one to the other. In the back of the house she heard a TV laugh track; Ellen must be watching a sitcom. Jaqe thought, They look so goddamn normal. And, It’s not true. It can’t be true.

  “Jaqe,” Laurie said. “What’s wrong?” When she came closer she saw the torn smock, the dirt stains on Jaqe’s face and hands, the scratches up and down her legs and arms. “Oh my God,” she said. “What happened to you?” She tried to take Jaqe’s hands, but Jaqe pulled them away. Laurie said, “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

  Bill said, “Did you fall or something? She must have fallen.”

  Janet fingered the torn smock. “Why are you wearing this?”

  Jaqe jerked her shoulder away. She didn’t want any of them touching her, not even…She said, “I didn’t have time to change. I had to leave in a hurry.”

  Jaqe thought Laurie glanced at her father, but she wasn’t sure. Laurie looked about to cry as she asked, “Honey, what’s wrong? Please tell me.”

  “What’s wrong,” Jaqe said, “is that your father has a very peculiar idea of a haircut.”

  “Huh?” Bill said. “What’s she talking about?” He looked at his wife. “Can you figure out what she’s talking about?” Laurie was staring at the floor, her fists clenched.

  “Jaqe,” Janet said, “you’re not being very clear.”

  “No? Then how’s this? Your husband tried to rape me. Is that clear enough?”

  “What?” Bill shouted, and Janet’s golden purr leaped a register as she said, “How can you say that? That’s disgusting.” Laurie stared down at the floor.

  “What’s disgusting?” Ellen said. She stood in the archway of the hall leading to the back bedrooms.

  “Get out of here,” Janet ordered. “Go to your room.”

  “Let her stay,” Jaqe said. “She’s got to learn about her father sometime.”

  Janet said, “Don’t you tell me what to do with my child. She doesn’t need to hear your sick fantasies.” To Ellen she said, “Go to your room. Don’t make me tell you again.”

  Coolly, Ellen looked from her father to Jaqe, and then to Laurie. She glanced once more at her father, smiled briefly and shrugged, and then shuffled back to her television.

  “Jesus,” Bill said. “I don’t know what she’s talking about. All I did was cut her hair.”

  “And rip open my clothes. And cut me with the scissors—”

  “That’s a lie,” Bill said. “You did that yourself.”

  “And stick his hand inside my pants—”

  Janet stamped her foot. “Stop it. Stop making up filth about my husband.” She shook her head, “Oh Jaqe, poor Jaqe, you must be so confused. We took you in. We treated you like our own daughter.”

  Laurie slammed her fists against the paneled wall. A Degas print bounced off its hook and onto the floor. “Shut up,” Laurie ordered her mother. “You know goddamn well she’s telling the truth.”

  “Laurie!” Janet said. “This is your father.”

  Laurie paid no attention. She took two steps toward her father and hit the heels of her hands against his shoulders. “Goddamn you,” she said crying. “Goddamn you. You couldn’t keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

  Jaqe wanted to run. She wanted to put on her own shirt and run outside before she threw up. Bill was saying, “I didn’t touch her. I didn’t go near her,” and Laurie was shouting something about too many lies, and Janet was going on about how Jaqe needed help, living in a sick fantasy world, and now Laurie was telling her mother, “You know who the sick one is. You know,” and Jaqe knew she had to get out.

  “Laurie,” Jaqe said, “take me away from here,” but Laurie was shouting something at her father, or maybe her mother. “Please,” Jaqe said.

  Jaqe didn’t know if Laurie actually heard her or just saw the tears in her face. She broke off whatever accusation she was launching and reached over to Jaqe, only to stand there with her hands half rising, then rubbing against her jeans, unable to reach all the way to touch her lover. Jaqe said, “Get me out of here.”

  Laurie said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Please,” Jaqe said.

  “Did he—how far did he—”

  “I’m okay,” Jaqe told her. Her own voice sounded funny to her. “Just take me away from here.”

  Janet said, “Jaqe, you look sick. Why don’t you just lie down?” Her hand slithered up toward Jaqe’s shoulder.

  Laurie slapped it away. “Keep your hands off her,” she said, and finally, as if the movement had released her, took Jaqe in her arms. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she said. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. We’ll go upstairs, and I’ll pack your stuff, and I’ll call a taxi.”

  Boxes, plastic bags, and clothes with tags on them lay on top of the bed. Laurie swept them onto the floor and started throwing things into their canvas bags. Her hands shook, and twice she dropped things. Jaqe meanwhile pulled off the smock and threw it against the wall. When she’d pulled on a T-shirt she sat down in a pink wing chair that had stood in the corner of Laurie’s room almost from the day Laurie was born. Jaqe stared at the floor and only looked up when Laurie had just about finished packing. “Laurie,” she said. Laurie stood still but didn’t look at her. “How did you know I was telling the truth and your father was lying?”

  There was a pause, then Laurie shrugged. “Of course you were telling the truth,” she said. “I love you. You’d never make up a story like that.”

  “But you told your mother that she knew it was true. What did you mean?”

  “Well—I don’t know—just that she should know you’d never lie.”

  Jaqe said nothing.

  Laurie called for the taxi from the old princess phone her parents had installed for her back in junior high school. While they were waiting, Janet knocked on the door. “Laurie,” she said, “I want to talk to you.”

  “Go away,” Laurie said.

  Janet rattled the locked door handle. “I’m your mother,” she said. “I demand you let me in.”

  Laurie shouted, “Get away from us!”

  Jaqe and Laurie said nothing until they heard the sound of the taxi honking for them. Then Laurie went over to Jaqe and squatted down in front of the chair. “You okay?” she said. Jaqe nodded. Laurie said, “I’m sorry, Jaqe. I’m really sorry.”

  “Let’s just go,” Jaqe said.

  They rushed through the house. In the living room, Bill was gone but Janet was waiting, ready to grab Laurie as they made for the door. “You can’t do this,” Janet said. Laurie shook her away and yanked open the door. Janet said, “She’s sick, Laurie. Can’t you see that?” But Laurie was already rushing for the cab, while Janet stood in the doorway.

  The cab driver was a young woman with red spiky hair. She lounged back in the seat, seemingly paying no attention to her passengers. Laurie climbed in, but Jaqe only stood there. The driver wore a black tank top and black cutoff jeans. Next to her on the front seat lay a leather jacket. All Jaqe could see was the satin lining, but she knew that if she turned it over she’d find a gold labyrinth and words in flowing script.

  Laurie said, “C’mon, Jaqe.” Jaqe stood in front of the open car door. She promised, Jaqe told herself. She gave me a promise. When she heard Janet’s footsteps behind her, she jumped in and slammed the door. Laurie said, “The bus station. Let’s go.” The driver made a cocking motion with her fingers and the car rolled away.

  When they got to the bus sta
tion/hardware store, Jaqe suggested that Laurie run into the coffee shop for tickets and a schedule while she paid the driver. Thrilled to be doing something, Laurie half sprinted across the road. The driver ran her fingers through her hair as she examined herself in the rearview mirror. “That’s five dollars,” she said. Jaqe took five dollars and fifty cents from her purse and dropped it in the woman’s hand, careful not to touch the skin. “Thanks,” the woman said.

  Jaqe opened the door, then turned back. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  The woman shrugged. “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “Can I trust her?”

  “Trust her?”

  “You know who I’m talking about. Does she mean what she says?”

  The driver grinned. “Kid, Mother always means exactly what she says.”

  Jaqe didn’t know if this reassured her or not, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say, so she got out of the car. She saw Laurie coming back across the street and was about to meet her when she turned once more. The driver was looking up at her, still grinning. Jaqe said, “Tell her thank you for me, okay?”

  The driver nodded. “Sure thing.” She whistled softly as she put the car in gear and drove away.

  “Good news,” Laurie said as she strode up to Jaqe. “There’s a bus in an hour. We can have something to eat in the coffee shop.”

  Jaqe stared at her. Laurie stood there like her old self, weight on one foot, hands in pockets. Doesn’t she care? Jaqe thought. What the hell was all the screaming about? She said, “I don’t want to wait. That’s just where your folks will look if they come after us.”