Godmother Night

by Rachel Pollack

  They spent twenty minutes in the car, kissing and necking like teenagers as they slid their hands under each other’s clothes, stroking and digging their fingers into each other’s skin. They might have stayed longer if they hadn’t heard the van owner, whistling as he came up the path. Hours later, Kate wondered if he had seen them from below and was giving them a warning. “Are you sure you can drive?” Kate asked as Melissa lurched the car onto the road.

  “I’ll make frequent stops,” Melissa said, and set off down the mountain.

  When they’d passed the security gate, Melissa asked if they could go to Kate’s room. Hers was right above her father’s, she said, and she didn’t want to worry about making noise. “I don’t mind if he knows,” she said. “I just don’t like the idea of him listening.”

  “Do you think he would he try to listen?” Kate asked.

  “Of course.”

  Kate found flowers in the room when she entered, a mix of shapes and colors, as if someone had chosen them at random walking in a field. Kate said, “They’re gorgeous. The flowers, I mean. Thank you.”

  “Yes, they are,” Melissa said, and then, “Oh. Did you think I put them there? I thought you had. I wonder if my father ordered them. It would be like him to know what we were going to do before we did. And make sure he took part in some way.”

  Kate wished she could tell Melissa not to worry, tell her how these flowers came from someone else, who knew them, and Willie Reed for that matter, better than they knew themselves. She said nothing, only stroked Melissa’s hair, her cheeks, her lips, and down her neck to her breasts. They looked at each other until they could no longer tell where one face ended and the other began, and then they began to kiss—the lips, the cheeks and the chin, a tongue curling along an eyebrow, the neck, that long soft road to the body. They pulled each other’s clothes off so that they could rub all around and up and down each other, their nipples touching like flashes of explosions, their legs riding up each other’s thighs to press and slide against the electric wetness of their groins.

  Melissa lay on the bed for Kate to scrape her fingernails down the chest to the hard vibrating nipples, following her fingers with flicks of her tongue before she moved her face down to its home between Melissa’s legs.

  Kate discovered that day how there are many different kinds of orgasms, some which pulse steadily, arching the back over and over, and others which flood the body and the air around it. She discovered the intensity of following the orgasm in her lover’s body, gasping and moving with every wave and leap, and the orgasm in her own body that starts all by itself and never stops, an orgasm that will go on forever after, humming gently under the surface of her life.

  Hours later, the birds began their excited discovery of the coming dawn, a signal, Kate and Melissa decided, that they could trust themselves to sleep and start again when they awoke. Instead of closing her eyes, however, Melissa reached over Kate for something Kate had taken off and laid on the night table. “What’s this?”

  Kate half uncurled herself from Melissa’s breast and belly and thighs. “A whistle,” she said.

  Melissa laughed. “A whistle? You wear a whistle around your neck?” Kate said nothing. “It’s beautiful, actually. Mmm. It’s even got a kind of little labyrinth inscribed on it. Can I blow it?” She lifted it toward her mouth.

  “No!” Kate said, and grabbed it out of Melissa’s hand.

  “What’s wrong? What is it? I wasn’t going to blow it very loud.”

  Tell her, Kate thought. Tell her all of it—Mother Night, the MGs, Dead Jimmy, the healings…Melissa’s father…“Sorry,” she said. “It’s a…kind of a lucky charm. I got it when I was a child, and scared.”

  “Scared of what?”

  “I don’t know, everything. The world. Life. I remember I prayed one night for God to help me, and then the next day my…my mother gave me the whistle. I told myself that if things ever got really desperate I could blow the whistle and God would help me. Since then I’ve never blown it. I guess I sort of convinced myself that as long as I don’t blow it everything is okay. That must sound really crazy.”

  “No, it’s not,” Melissa said. “It’s sweet.” She took the whistle back and held it before her. “I promise never to blow it. Ever. After all, how bad can things get? I’ve got my snake charmer.” She set down the whistle and a moment later fell asleep.

  Kate stared at the flowers, whose colors were slowly returning in the morning light. It’s when things become really good that they become desperate, she thought. She thought of going outside and blowing the whistle into the clamor of the birds. She wanted to tell her godmother, “Protect us. Give us more than human shortness. Give us forever.” But moving, she told herself, would only wake Melissa, whose rolling breaths sounded sweeter than joy. Kate held Melissa tighter and closed her eyes.

  Three

  Bee Sting and Snake Girl

  They stayed together for two weeks, traveling along the coast, stopping early and staying late between the dark whispers of trees, the steadiness of water, the secret restlessness of yellow cliffs. They traveled to uncover each other in different places. And they traveled to avoid Melissa’s father, whose eyes and ears filled his house, as if his paintings had inserted him directly into the walls behind them. “The witch doctor’s potions work again,” he said. And “Do witch doctors only doctor witches? What do they do for sad little princesses?” So they left, and moved along the edge of the sea.

  It was Melissa who broke the spell and returned them to the world. Kate would have canceled everything (she’d already canceled a board meeting of the Godmother Foundation), but Melissa said that she had let her life wither to take care of her father, and now that Kate had given that life back to her she didn’t want to belittle the gift by ignoring it. So they flew toward the sun and their separate lives, plotting the times and places they would join together.

  With a couple of days before her next obligation, Kate decided to visit her mother. Maybe, she thought, she could make up a little for leaving so abruptly and not returning when she said she would. Kate believed, had believed for years as a staple of her life, that she treated her mother terribly, even betrayed her, all the time. She didn’t see her enough, she didn’t speak to her enough, she didn’t tell her enough about her life. Over and over Kate vowed she would spend more time with Laurie, or talk more deeply with her. But nothing ever changed. Like the dead, Kate once thought. Like Dead Jimmy.

  Laurie never complained. She would just say how proud she was of Kate’s success, as if her daughter’s career explained everything. But she never asked much about what Kate did. Or how she did it. She’d never even come to a workshop.

  As soon as she left Melissa, Kate wondered if she should have told her mother over the phone about what had happened. She’d told Laurie about Willie Reed and how the cure had worked. She’d talked about the crayon drawing, about Evans’s sarcasm, and she’d even told her how she’d become “close” with Willie’s daughter, and how they were traveling together up the coast. But her real feelings for Melissa she wanted to describe in person. At least that was what she assured herself.

  When she walked in the door, Kate found Laurie and Louise sitting on the couch, drinking coffee. While Kate talked with her mother about the flight she noticed that Louise was watching her, staring at Kate over the top of her mug. Kate noticed the picture on the mug—stick-figure women dancing over the tops of mountains. Kate was thinking how she and Melissa could do that, exactly that, dance from peak to peak, when Louise began laughing.

  “Louise—” Laurie said. “Watch it.”

  Kate said, “What’s going on?”

  “I can’t help it,” Louise said. “Kate Cohen in love. I just never thought I’d see it.”

  Laurie said, “Damn it, Louise.” To Kate she said, “Honey, I swear I didn’t say a word to her. No. No, I’ve got to be honest. I told her you were seeing someone. But that’s all.”

  Kate bent down to put her arms
around her mother’s shoulders. “It’s okay,” she said. “Really.” She turned toward Louise. “It’s that obvious?”

  “Well, with all those little lights popping all over your face, I would have to say yes. Not to mention your great skin tone.”

  Laurie said, “Louise, you’re a middle-aged lady. Don’t you think it’s time you learned some decorum?”

  “Nah,” Louise said. “I’ve got time to do that when I die. You can arrange my body as decorously as you like. What’s her name, Kate? See? You can trust your mother. Didn’t even tell me the woman’s name.”

  “Melissa,” Kate said. “Melissa Serenity Evans.”

  Laurie said, “Serenity. What a wonderful name.”

  “Not exactly,” Kate said. “Her father chose it. He’s a lifelong drunk. When Melissa’s mother got pregnant she insisted that Willie—Melissa’s father—go to a support group. Apparently they talked about serenity a great deal. Melissa thinks he pushed the name as a sarcastic joke.”

  “Wait a minute,” Louise said. “Willie? William Evans?” Kate nodded.

  While Laurie looked down, embarrassed, Louise said, “You know, I always suspected your work would bring groupies.” She held a hand up against Laurie’s objections. “I’m glad it’s brought something decent as well.”

  Laurie got up. “Kate, come on in the kitchen while I make you some coffee. Then we can all sit down and you can tell us everything.”

  Louise added, “Well, almost everything. We are middle-aged, you know.”

  In the kitchen Laurie said, “Honey, what Louise said about groupies. I didn’t want to talk about this on the phone, but are you sure that Melissa—that she really cares about you, and not just…what you’ve done for her?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “That was an awfully quick answer.”

  “It’s the only answer.”

  There was a pause, and Kate wondered if her mother was going to warn her to wait, or be careful, or cover herself against getting hurt. Instead, Laurie said, “Let me tell you something I’ve always admired about you. From the time you were a little girl, if you said you knew something you knew it.” She hugged Kate for a long time. “Congratulations. I can’t tell you how much I’ve waited for this.” She hesitated. “The love your mother and I—”

  “You’re my mother.”

  “Jaqe and I—the love we had, most people never know anything like that. Sometimes they find something they think is everything they could want, but deep down—and I really believe this—they know there’s something missing. Something just doesn’t fit right.”

  “What about Marcie? And Rebecca? And the others?” Shit, she thought to herself. Why did she have to do that?

  She began to apologize, but Laurie waved it away. For a while, Laurie said nothing. Then she turned her head slightly, and her eyes a little more. Kate followed her mother’s gaze to find herself looking at the old vinyl-covered chair that had stood in the corner of the kitchen through most of her childhood. “Do you see that chair?” Laurie said. Kate nodded. “That’s the chair I found your—I found Jaqe in. The day she died. I came in the kitchen and she was just sitting there. Bent over, with—with everything vanished. Just the body left. Her beautiful body was there, but she was gone.”

  “Oh, Mom,” Kate said. With all of her knowledge of death, she thought, she still could fall so deeply into the sadness of life. She said, “So that’s why you kept it. To remind you of her.”

  “Um-hum. And something else. Around that time—when we got the new chairs—” Laurie paused and made a face. “I started thinking I was going to lose my mind if I could never—never be with anyone again. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Of course.”

  “But I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t stand the thought of betraying Jaqe.”

  “Mom,” Kate said, “she’d been dead ten years.”

  “I knew that. And you know something else? I knew that Jaqe would want me to—have lovers—find someone. But I couldn’t just—just throw her out.”

  “Ah,” Kate said. “So you didn’t.”

  “Uh-uh. When it came time to get rid of the old furniture—you remember that, don’t you?—I kept that chair. Right there. So I knew she was with me. Sometimes I sat in it. I could almost feel her. Touching me, holding me. Telling me it was all right.” She reached out and touched her daughter’s cheek. “Sounds pretty spooky, huh? Either that or just plain nuts.”

  Kate didn’t answer for a moment. Finally she said, “Mom. Melissa and I—we’re like you and Jaqe.”

  “I believe you,” Laurie said. “I should never have worried. Not with you.”

  That night Kate talked to Melissa for two hours from the phone in her bedroom, telling her about Laurie and listening to Melissa’s description of traps laid for her by her department chairman. “The evil dragon,” she called him. “Whenever his snideness got too bad, I thought of my good witch, and how I had you and he didn’t. With such magic to protect me, what could he possibly do to me?”

  When Kate finally hung up the phone and went into the kitchen she found her mother sitting at the table reading a magazine. “I’m sorry,” Kate said.

  “Sorry?”

  “For tying up the phone so long.”

  Laurie put down her magazine. “Let me tell you a secret,” she said. “When you were a teenager I used to worry like hell because you didn’t talk on the phone for hours. That’s why I got you that phone in the first place.”

  Kate laughed. “That’s no secret. You used to ask me didn’t I want to call anybody. I think you weren’t sure if I should be calling boys or girls, but you knew it should be someone.”

  “Well see? That telephone owes you hours of service.”

  “Thanks.” About to leave the kitchen, Kate said, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course,” Laurie said. She looked nervous.

  Kate waited a long time. Finally she said, “It’s about secrets, actually. Did you ever keep secrets? I mean, real ones.”

  “Real?”

  “You know, things you couldn’t tell Jaqe. Couldn’t tell anyone.”

  “What secrets are you keeping?”

  “Nothing. I was just wondering.”

  “Are you sure? There’s nothing you need to tell me?”

  “Of course not.”

  Laurie sighed. “Secrets,” she said. “Secrets—growing up with secrets, living with a secret—it can kill you. It can become your instinct. Your first response. Whether it’s necessary or not.”

  “What if it’s something you just can’t tell? Maybe something no one would believe?”

  “I don’t know. I know that sometimes if you don’t do it when you have a chance, it can become much harder when you have no choice. Does that make any sense?”

  “I guess,” Kate said. “I mean yes. Yes, of course. I just don’t know.”

  “Do you know that you can always talk to me?”

  Can I? Kate thought. Or do you just say that because you’re my mother and that’s what you’re supposed to say? If I tell you about my godmother will you tell me why you hate her? Will you tell me what you hid from Jaqe? But how could she tell Laurie about Mother Night? She’d have to tell her how she’d lied to her, year after year. Silently, in her mind, she said to Mother Night, It’s not right. You shouldn’t have made me do that. And to Laurie—silently—You’re right. Secrets can become an instinct. Out loud she said, “Yes, of course I know that.”

  The next day Kate rented a car and drove to the place where her plants grew, Thorny Woods, it was called. Though she didn’t need any fresh tincture at the moment she also did not expect to get back to the area for at least a couple of months. And the Phytolacca would be just right now. Quickly she made her way through the woods, using a stick she found to push aside the thorn branches. It must have rained, for the path had gotten muddy and slippery with leaves, making Kate wish she’d borrowed Louise’s rubber boots before setting out. At least, she thought, the Phyt
olacca would yank out of the ground easily.

  She had almost filled her canvas bags when she noticed something strange near the base of one of the trees. It looked like a bone sticking out of the mud. Already filthy, she bent down and began digging with her hands and the stick. There was a whole cache of bones, she saw, bunched together in a narrow hole which someone must have dug—when? Last night? Last year? Last century? The rain had washed away so much dirt it made it hard to tell how deep the hole had been originally.

  Now that she’d found them, what should she do with them? She did her best to wipe the dirt off one of the larger ones. If only she could tell how old it was. But she didn’t know anything about bones. She squinted at it. Could it be from a person? Maybe a child. She made a face at the thought. If it was a child she should report it. But if she did that, wouldn’t they come and dig up the whole meadow? What would happen to the plants?

  She was still wondering about it when she heard a noise. Crying, she realized. The steady wail of a child crying somewhere in the woods. She put back the bone and stood up. The sound bouncing off the trees could be coming from anywhere. “Hello?” she called. “Where are you? Are you all right? Tell me where I can find you.” The crying went on. Several more times Kate called out, standing at different points along the ring of trees. No answer.

  And then as suddenly as it started, the crying stopped. “Hello?” Kate called again. “Is anyone there?” She thought of going to look for the child, but without even the sound she would have no idea where to start. Probably, she thought, the child’s mother had come for it. Again she considered speaking to the police, not just about the bones now, but the child as well. But wouldn’t they just answer politely and ignore her? “I was in the woods, officer, and I heard a child crying like it was lost, but then it stopped.” “Thank you, ma’am. If the crying stopped, then it probably wasn’t lost anymore.” The same with the bones. “I was in the woods and I saw a pile of bones uncovered by the rain.” “There’s no law against bones, ma’am. Probably a dog buried them. And what were you doing in the woods, ma’am?” “Well, I was pulling up plants.” “There is a law against that, ma’am.” Kate took a last look around, and when she couldn’t see any trace of the child, she left.