"Well, that's it!" her mother cried now. "That's the limit! No child of mine is becoming a Catholic while I'm alive. I'll die first! Isn't she satisfied that her boy is taking—is taking—" Her voice was rising into its high and girlish modulations and she couldn't go on.
"I don't intend to be a Catholic, but if I'm going to marry one, mightn't I as well have a few instructions about them for free?"
"Who said?"
"Martin."
"When was this? What's he up to?"
"It's a requirement of the Church."
"What makes those people think they have the right to hold a control over the lives of others, is what I'd like to know! What gives them the gall?"
"Oh, Mama. All I have to do is read a catechism and talk to some priest once or twice."
"Where'd you learn this? From a priest?"
Alpha bowed her head and fiddled in the lap of her dress for a while. "Martin," she said.
"So his mother already has the poor calf bawling after you about it, huh?"
"No."
"They’ll make you convert! They always do! They’ll ruin your natural wonderment and belief in the Lord. You'll see! You'll end up like Daddy." It was a turkey gobbler's gargled gorge the notes of the name came out of now!
"Mama. My goodness. It's Father Krull, you know."
"So much the worse! He's not just a priest, he's her cousin!”
"But he's so—"
"Don't ever claim I didn't warn you, when I have again and again," her mother said, and went tripping noisily into her room as she did whenever Jerome was brought up, and flung herself down on the bed and lay unmoving for the afternoon, her arms covered by the undone mass of her golden, hip-length hair.
*
Even before Father Krull was ordained a priest, he was looked on as bishop material, perhaps even the stuff of which cardinals are made. He was a little overweight, but not really. He was a logician and as well versed in canonical law as some of his instructors. And funny, too! He loved old books, footnotes, knowledge, the smell of dusty pages, and his superiors and fellow seminarians sensed that his was a helpless love above his head. Oh, well. He earned one of the best academic records at St. Bede's, in St. Paul, but it was understood that this was merely another outgrowth of his love and not a goal. Or was it at that? His first appointment, then, was to St., ah, Whatyoumaycallit's in Wahpeton, and there he soon advanced to the position of assistant pastor and everybody's friend. He was about to be made a monsignor and be transferred again to the cathedral in Fargo, St. Mary's, and be a part of the gang of boys in the bishop's office there, at St. Mary's, when he asked to serve, instead, as pastor of the church in Courtenay, another St. Mary's, a tiny church, a mission, actually, being served by the priest out of St. Boniface in Wimbledon, Father Stahl; Courtenay was Father Krull's home town, his birthplace, and his request so out of line his superiors suspected that perhaps he had, indeed, learned too much too easily—how could they know his mind?—and advanced too fast, and might need to humble himself for a time. His request was honored, of course. He was sent to Courtenay. Within the year it became obvious why he'd asked to be sent there. He was going blind. He wanted to go blind on home ground.
He began to walk with an uncharacteristic, taut-limbed, trembling, jittery unsteadiness when more than a block from his house or the church, and made fewer house calls than before. He'd been gregarious at first and that's how he'd been remembered as a boy. Now another boy, a constantly shifting and changing one in altar boy's clothes, guided him by the elbow for processions and graveside rites. He'd taken care of his own house until now, but a cleaning lady started to come twice a week and then three or four times. She caught him moving his hand in front of his eyes. His books and newspapers had to be read to him. The top of his head turned bald. A length of clothesline wire ran from the back corner of his house to the outhouse. Wires were strung around the lawn, and a strand led to the church and another to the front door. His face went round and gray and his remaining hair fell out in patches. He had to give the parish back to Father Stahl. He stopped wearing his rabat and collar, and his grayish or black clothes were usually soiled and smelled of a male. He had his cousin's husband, Charles Neumiller, build a platform and an altar and tabernacle along one wall of his living room, and said daily Mass there, performing the ritual entirely by touch, his altar boy usually Bernice Donnegan, his live-in housekeeper now, a broad-shouldered, curly-haired, affable-lipped and mannishly loud but lightspirited, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound Irishwoman, her cotton stockings almost always down around her ankles because they were such a bother with the shots of insulin she had to give herself.
"At first I could distinguish between daylight and the dark," he said, "but I can't now. Not with my eyes, that is. I feel the change on my skin now, especially here." He touched his cheek beneath the eye. "The day is filled with less activity than the dark—just the opposite of what I'd always thought and been taught to believe. Or maybe we don't really listen during the day. I don't believe in demonology, of course, the presence of spirits or any of that sort of nonsense, except in the respect that there might be saints in some form, but the dark has a personality, is my word. It's benign. I study it as I might a poem, discovering resonances in it I've never heard, or seeing a portion of it appear in another dimension or plane beneath the page. I can feel when somebody in the neighborhood is sleepless, you see. And if anybody is in pain, it comes to me in streaks that are red with silver beams in them. Cats must feel the same way at times. During the day they sometimes move in harmony with the dark. That's why we watch them. I should have one, I suppose. A black one! Hah! Every night has its distinctive color, or layers of colors, like the layers of colors in a lake, and every one appears in a different form from the one before it. Last night, for instance, when the sun was all through with his display, I felt a current of molecular change around my head area here like an electrical charge, and saw a moment of light. Off, on. And I felt if this could happen, why then God, through his son, Jesus, could certainly change water into wine for a wedding ceremony. And most of my life I'd inwardly scoffed at that as 'the Cana magician's trick.' That ruffed grouse has been drumming in the same corner of that field for four nights now. I know if a particular wren is nesting here, as one did this spring, or which dove that was. Each has a voice as individual as yours, my dear."
He raised his eyes, grainy-gray and protuberant, and stared out of their opaqueness with such inner illumination it seemed he was studying you with approval, and then he bowed his head and his fatty lids covered his pupils halfway. "Is there anything in this lesson that bothers you?"
"The Trinity," Alpha said. "Those three-Gods-in-one."
"There's a tale, probably apocryphal, about one of the saints—Thomas or Peter, I believe. He was walking a beach, sand with rocks around, determined to prove his worth and solve the riddle of the Trinity, when he saw a golden-haired boy filling a sea shell with water and pouring it out on the beach. 'What are you doing?' the saint is said to have asked. 'I'm emptying the sea, shthe boy told him. 'Even if you kept at it without a rest, you could never do such a thing in your entire lifetime, my boy,' the saint said. 'Nor will you, in your lifetime, sir, understand the Trinity,' the boy said, and disappeared."
"Why didn't the saint offer to help?"
"Oh, ho, you!" Father Krull said.
"I don't know if I'm angry at the Trinity itself—I mean, not the people in it—or just so prejudiced against the Church I figure everything it teaches is purposely misleading me."
"If it were either of those, I don't think you'd be here."
"Don't I have to be, sir?"
"Ha! Yes, but you could sit there, like the others I counsel, and keep saying, 'Uh huh, uh huh,' so I could say 'Fine!' and you could get married. It's not necessary to understand all of this, much less believe in it. This is merely to help you understand how Martin's mind works on certain matters out of reflex. If you know some of the reasons, you can be closer to him in your m
arriage, or so I've always assumed."
"I figure if there are three Gods, then why not five or six, huh? Or a dozen of them. And then there are all the saints, who could include just about practically anybody, the way it seems in your Church. That sounds like paganism to me.”
"I know you've acted in high school, and at the college, I hear, and I'm sure you can portray more roles than the Lucy you did for us, can't you? Your voice was so singing."
"Of course I can."
"Couldn't you use that to help you see the Trinity, thinking of it as different guises God could assume?"
"I guess I could."
"It's easier to have a feeling for it if you've grown up with the religion, as Martin has, and it has to be felt to be believed. Religion is visceral." He drew back in his chair. "Your hour is up. Martin's pacing the sidewalk again. He doesn't realize you're really interested in the faith and not just wrangling."
"I am?"
There was a silence between them, interwound with the scrape and crush of Martin's shoes on the sidewalk, creer chee, creaca chee, creesh shee, and then Father Krull said, "Ask him to come in and have a cup of coffee with us."
"All right."
"Unless there's something more?"
"It doesn't have to do with this lesson. It's the paper I have to sign, where I promise to bring my children up in the Catholic Church, the one Adele signed. Well, it makes me sick to think that people who aren't even born yet are going to be bound by a promise of mine."
"That document's primitive and absurd, and in violation of even your civil rights. There's no justification for it, and someday it'll be thrown out of the Church altogether. When you come to signing it, if you do, cross your fingers."
"What!"
They both laughed.
"But don't tell any of the Neumillers I said that. Now let's have some of that coffee. Bernice! Coffee for three, or four, if you care to join us. It's Alpha and Martin.”
Martin came in. He brought her to these sessions and left right away and went shopping or on errands, or drove out of town and over the gently tilting farmlands all around until Alpha's hour was up. She always stayed longer. She talked to Martin about what she and Father Krull had talked about, which he wasn't sure you should do, and her persistence and breeziness made him uneasy with himself and her. He didn't look forward to the time, near the end of her instructions, when they'd have to counsel together—such a sharp tongue! Just the idea of arguing with a priest made sweat come out along his hairline. This afternoon, after coffee and sympathetic small talk. Father Krull said he wanted to speak to him alone. What was up? Alpha went out and down the steps, sashaying with her purse toward the car, and Father Krull came to the screen door where Martin gripped a trembling hat, and stared beyond him, as if following Alpha's walk, and said, "Isn't she a fine girl?"
"Yes, she is," Martin said.
"I don't give personal advice, but since you and I are related, I will to you. When you're married, and I expect you will be soon, live as far as you can from your mother. Give her time to accept Alpha as your wife."
"Certainly."
"And you'll have to be very attentive to your husbandly duties. Alpha is one of the most passionate women I've met."
Martin blushed; he'd never expected a priest to make such a confession to him, he who usually confessed to Father here, but had started dropping anonymously into confessionals in Wimbledon or Rogers or Jamestown lately so Father wouldn't hear how much he already knew of that part of her.
"One thing more," Father said. His lids lifted, exposing his eyes, and he shook a finger so close to Martin's chest it seemed for an instant he could see, and Martin felt from him the sudden emanations of his intuition and moral authority. "This: Don't you ever, ever, even if your life depends on it, try to persuade that girl to become a Catholic, do you hear?"
6
IN LOVE WITH MYSELF
NOV 24 Martin took me to Thanksgiving dinner in the Belmont Hotel and proposed a late December date for our wedding. I approved. So toward the 22nd we go, hearts clean as razors, and I'm praying all the way
NOV 26 At Home. Ironed clothes, seven dress shirts for Daddy, and did other Saturday chores, trying to work up courage to tell Mama about our wedding date, and did, finally, down on my knees with floor wax. To my great surprise she took it with calm. Daddy just laughed and made eyes like a wolf.. Woof! Mama planned and talked and gave me simple womanly advice, and I was so happy I wanted to hug her and say, "I love you. Mama! I'll miss you a lot!"
DEC 7 As we were sitting down to supper in the teacherage, Martin walked in, took my hand and led me up to the front of the room, and put a ring, a half-carat diamond, on the finger that will hold the matching band, and I felt my heart would leave if I breathed out, the diamond's so huge! "Yes," I said, holding the ring on show and being an actress. "I'll be married soon, you know." And then I realized how terrified I was and felt I wouldn't be peeing again for a while.
DEC 11 We went to Fr Krull's and had supper with Fr and Vince and Adele, who'll be standing up for us, tit for tat. After supper, while those three visited, I had my last session with Fr. I was wondering to him earlier if I hadn't got interested in religion because of Jerome, and wanted to say some kind word to him now, and then he said, "Why don't we just spend these last few minutes together in silence." I listened and heard the Lord in currents of wind through wheat or flax! I'm alive at last or have died.
DEC 22 [The entries for the rest of the year are in pencil and the handwriting is rapid and minute.— ed.] My heart's so full I feel it's been carrying me around smiling instead of me it. I cried so much at noon I was afraid to go back to school and when I finally did Cissel said I looked so bad I better leave. I took a shower and worked up so much lather I gagged on it, afraid Martin would come in with my hair all soaped, and was dressed and ready, for once in my life, when HE showed up. I got my face straightened, tried to make it smile, and walked out the doorway toward the end of my life. Vince and Adele were at Fr's. We were married at 5 p.m. I was numb from below the waist and saw the legs of Martin's trousers jiggling with the shakes. We were a fright. We went home royalty to Mama, at last, legal, at least, who had a wedding supper ready, but could stay only an hour, a disappointment to her — forgive us, Mama, I'm in such a rush! — because we had to get back to our places at Uxbridge and Rogers and, pack by 9 for the train to Ill. Then at Rogers we learned the train was an hour late, so wouldn't have had to have hurried so much, Ma, dear, and had time to address our Xmas cards "Martin & Alpha N" We're here, I thought. Then Vince and Adele, my new husband, and I all got on the steaming train for III with Mr. Bujalski, the stationmaster, showering us with rice. Vince's touch. I cried so much at his thoughtfulness and the day that Martin got mad at me. I'm just a girl of the plains, I guess, and I'm riding the Soo Line.
DEC 23 We rode the Soo until 7 and then got on the Burlington Zephyr, which is elegant. Porters are your friends. We took the Rock Island from Chicago and got into Peoria at 9. Fred met us at the station and drove us all out in silver starlight to the small farm where the N's are renting, about 3 miles from Forest Creek. None of the family but Vince and Adele knew we were married, and when Mrs. N saw me along with Vince and Adele and started wondering where I could sleep, Martin said, "She'll sleep with me, Mother." Oh, Lord, the look on her face would have won a prize in trying not to show what you really feel. Martin said, "She's my wife, Mother. We were married yesterday." She smiled and said she was glad of that. Who ever knows what she's up to?
DEC 24 We went into Bloomington in the afternoon to get Jay and Mr. N, who've been working on some kind of building there. When Mr. N heard about our marriage, he cried out and threw his arms around me and beat me on the back and then gave me a big kiss! I love him better than Martin, I lie. In Bloomington we had our wedding picture taken and did some last-minute Xmas shopping together as man and wife. On the way back. Mar felt queasy and feverish, and his lips were on fire but not for me. We went to Midnight Mass i
n Havana, a high one, and I sat through the whole mournful bore of it watching sweat pour off his face until the side of it was glazed gray.
DEC 25 What an awful Xmas and honeymoon! Mar was like an oven beside me all night, but with real fever! I think neither of us slept, nor did we do more. He sweat until he and the bed were soaking. My new negligee got wet! He has a raw sore throat along with the fever and I'm so helpless I'm in tears most of the time and want to change myself. There's so little time in this nightgown, I love him so much, I'm so glad to be married, and now if only he were well and in good voice!
DEC 28 A cold wave has moved down and settled here. Martin is feeling better from the warm cloths I held over his throat, but now he's insulted by himself for getting sick at such a time, and that makes me feel worse, of course, because I want it, oh boy, do I, oh boy, yes! Our wedding pictures (the proofs, actually) came today and all are surprisingly good. Do I really look that young and pleased and will my children always see me so?
1939
JAN 7 Home. Mama not well. We got here before anybody was up and I washed clothes all day for Mama and my husband, while he chopped kindling for the fire for it. The water for it. Oh, hell. Tonight is the last of our 17 day honeymoon and after the day's work, when we finally drug ourselves clunking up to my room, Daddy had put thumbtacks and dried chicken manure and everything else imaginable in our bed, including a patched-up old inner tube. "Horse condom," he said, when I threw it down the stairs at him. "You better make sure he knows how to use it."
JAN 9 I was so tired my first day back at school I couldn't even enjoy being called Mrs. Neumiller. Or maybe it's because I'm in Uxbridge, the same old place, Martin is in Rogers, and the days go on the same as before we were married. Our wedding pictures came in the mail and I was disappointed after all, at least with my face, which looks like the fox that got the grapes.
Beyond the Bedroom Wall Page 13