“Well, do you want to try it? Do you want to go?”
“Do I want to go!” I cried, scrambling the clips into a rubber-band box. “How soon do we leave? Half an hour? Ten minutes? Did you leave the motor running?”
“Woops, woops!” The doctor took me by both arms and looked soberly into my eyes.
“We can’t set our hopes too high,” he said quietly. “It may be that for such knowledge we aren’t teachable—”
I looked soberly back at him, my heart crying in fear that it might be so.
“Look,” I said slowly. “If you had a hunger, a great big gnawing—inside hunger and no money and you saw a bakery shop window, which would you do? Turn your back on it? Or would you press your nose as close as you could against the glass and let at least your eyes feast? I know what I’d do.” I reached for my sweater.
“And, you know, you never can tell. The shop door might open a crack, maybe—someday—”
Interlude: Lea 4
“I’d like to talk with her a minute,” Lea said to Karen as the chattering group broke up. “May I?”
“Why, sure,” Karen said. “Melodye, have you a minute?”
“Oh, Karen!” Melodye threaded the rows back to Lea’s corner. “That was wonderful! It was just like living it for the first time again, only underneath I knew what was coming next. But even so my blood ran cold when Abie—” She shuddered. “Bro—ther! Was that ever a day!”
“Melodye,” Karen said, “this is Lea. She wants to talk with you.”
“Hi, fellow alien,” Melodye smiled. “I’ve been wanting to meet you.”
“Do you believe—” Lea hesitated. “Was that really true?”
“Of course it was,” Melodye said. “I can show you my scars—mental, that is—from trying to learn to lift.” Then she laughed. “Don’t feel funny about doubting it. I still have my 3 A.M.-ses when I can’t believe it myself.” She sobered. “But it is true. The People are the People.”
“And even if you’re not of the People,” Lea faltered, “could they—could they help anyway? I don’t mean anything broken. I mean, nothing visible—” She was suddenly covered with a sense of shame and betrayal as though caught hanging out a black line of sins in the morning sun. She turned her face away.
“They can help.” Melodye touched Lea’s shoulder gently. “And, Lea, they never judge. They mend where mending is needed and leave the judgment to God.” And she was gone.
“Maybe,” Lea mourned, “if I had sinned some enormous sins I could have something big to forgive myself so I could start over, but all these niggling nibbling little nothingnesses—”
“All these niggling little, nibbling little nothingnesses that compounded themselves into such a great despair,” Karen said. “And what is despair but a separation from the Presence—”
“Then the People do believe that there is—?”
“Our Home may be gone,” Karen said firmly, “and all of us exiles if you want to look at it that way, but there’s no galaxy wide enough to separate us from the Presence.”
Later that night Lea sat up in bed. “Karen?”
“Yes?” Karen’s voice came instantly from the darkness though Lea knew she was down the hall.
“Are you still shielding me from—from whatever it was?”
“No,” Karen said. “I released you this morning.”
“That’s what I thought.” Lea drew a quavering breath. “Right now it’s all gone away, as though it had never been, but I’m still nowhere and going nowhere. Just waiting. And if I wait long enough it’ll come back again, that I know. Karen, what can I do to—not to be where I am now when it comes back?”
“You’re beginning to work at it now,” Karen said. “And if it does come back we’re here to help. It will never be so impenetrable again.”
“How could it be?” Lea murmured. “How could I have gone through anything as black as that and survived—or ever do it again?”
Lea lay back with a sigh. Then, sleepily, “Karen?”
“Yes?”
“Who was that down at the pool?”
“Don’t you know?” Karen’s voice smiled. “Have you looked around at all?”
“What good would it do? I can’t remember what he looked like. It’s been so long since I’ve noticed anything—and then the blackness—But he brought me back to the house, didn’t he? You must have seen him—”
“Must I?” Karen teased. “Maybe we could arrange to have him carry you again. ‘Arms remember when eyes forget.’ ”
“There’s something wrong with that quotation,” Lea said drowsily. “But I’ll skip it for now.”
It seemed to Lea that she had just slipped under the edge of sleep when she heard Karen.
“What!” Karen cried. “Right now? Not tomorrow?”
“Karen!” Lea called, groping in the darkness for the light switch. “What’s the matter?”
“The matter!” Karen laughed and shot through the window, turning and tumbling ecstatically in midair.
“Nothing’s the matter! Oh, Lea, come and be joyful!” She grabbed Lea’s hands and pulled her up from the bed.
“No! Karen! No!” Lea cried as her bare feet curled themselves away from the empty air that seemed to lick at them. “Put me down!” Terror sharpened her voice.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Karen said, releasing her to plump gently down on her bed. She herself flashed again across the room and back in a froth of nightgowny ruffles. “Oh, be joyful! Be joyful unto the Lord!”
“What is it!” Lea cried, suddenly afraid, afraid of anything that might change things as they were. The vast emptiness began to cave away inside her. The blackness was a cloud the size of a man’s hand on the far horizon.
“It’s Valancy!” Karen cried, shooting away back through the window. “I have to get dressed! The baby’s here!”
“The baby!” Lea was bewildered. “What baby?”
“Is there any other baby?” Karen’s voice floated back, muffled. “Valancy and Jemmy’s. It’s here! I’m an aunt! Oh, dear, now I’m well on the way to becoming an ancestress. I thought they would never get around to it. It’s a girl! At least Jemmy says he thinks it’s a girl. He’s so excited that it could be both, or even triplets! Well, as soon as Valancy gets back—” She walked back through the door, brushing her hair briskly.
“What hospital did she go to?” Lea asked. “Isn’t this pretty isolated—”
“Hospital? Oh, none, of course. She’s at home.”
“But you said when she gets back—”
“Yes. It’s a far solemn journey to bring back a new life from the Presence. It takes a while.”
“But I didn’t even notice!” Lea cried. “Valancy was there tonight and I don’t remember—”
“But then you haven’t been noticing much of anything for a long time,” Karen said gently.
“But anything as obvious as that!” Lea protested.
“Fact remains, the baby’s here and it’s Valancy’s—with a little cooperation from Jemmy—and she didn’t carry it around in a knitting bag!”
“Okay, Jemmy, I’m coming. Hold the fort!” She flashed, feet free of the floor, out the door, her hairbrush hovering forlornly, forgotten, in midair, until it finally drifted slowly out the door to the hall.
Lea huddled on the tumbled bed. A baby. A new life. “I had forgotten,” she thought. “Birth and death have still been going on. The world is still out there, wagging along as usual. I thought it had stopped. It had stopped for me. I lost winter. I lost spring. It must be summer now. Just think! Just think! There are people who found all my black days full of joyful anticipation—bright jewels slipping off the thread of time! And I’ve been going around and around like a donkey dragging a weight around a stake, winding myself tighter and tighter—” She straightened suddenly on the bed, spread-eagling out of her tight huddle. The darkness poured like a heavy flood in through the door—down from the ceiling—up from the floor.
“Karen!” she crie
d, feeling herself caught up to be crammed back into the boundaryless nothingness of herself again.
“No!” she gritted through her teeth. “Not this time!” She turned face down on the bed, clutching the pillow tightly with both hands. “Give me strength! Give me strength!” With an effort, almost physical, she turned her thoughts. “The baby—a new baby—crying. Do babies of the People cry? They must, having to leave the Presence for Earth. The baby—tiny fists clenched tightly, eyes clenched tightly shut. All powder and flannel and tiny curling feet. I can hold her. Tomorrow I can hold her. And feel the continuity of life—the eternal coming of God into the world. Rockabye baby. Sleep, baby, sleep. Thy father watches His sheep. A new baby—tiny red fingers to curl around my finger. A baby—Valancy’s baby—”
And by the time dawn arrived Lea was sleeping, her face smoothing out from the agony of the black night. There was almost triumph upon it.
That evening Karen and Lea walked through the gathering twilight to the schoolhouse. The softly crisp evening air was so clear and quiet that voices and far laughter echoed around them.
“Wait, Lea.” Karen was waving to someone. “Here comes Santhy. She’s just learning to lift. Bet her mother doesn’t know she’s still out.” She laughed softly.
Lea watched with wonder as the tiny five-year-old approached them in short abrupt little arcs, her brief skirts flattening and flaring as she lifted and landed.
“She’s using more energy lifting than if she walked,” Karen said softly, “but she’s so proud of herself. Let’s wait for her. She wants us.”
By now Lea could see the grave intent look on Santhy’s face and could almost hear the little grunts as she took off until she finally landed, staggering, against Lea. Lea steadied her, dropping down beside her, holding her gently in the circle of her arms.
“You’re Lea,” Santhy said, smiling shyly.
“Yes,” Lea said. “How did you know?”
“Oh, we all know you. You’re our new God-bless every night.”
“Oh.” Lea was taken aback.
“I brought you something,” Santhy said, her hand clenched in a bulging little pocket. “I saved it from our ’joicing party for the new baby. I don’t care if you’re an Outsider. I saw you wading in the creek and you’re pretty.” She pulled her hand out of her pocket and deposited on Lea’s palm a softly glowing bluey-green object. “It’s a koomatka,” she whispered. “Don’t let Mama see it. I was s’posed to eat it but I had two—” She spread her arms and lifted up right past Lea’s nose.
“A koomatka,” Lea said, getting up and holding out her hand wonderingly, the glow from it deepening in the dusk.
“Yes,” Karen said. “She really shouldn’t have. It’s forbidden to show to Outsiders, you know.”
“Must I give it back?” Lea asked wistfully. “Can’t I keep it even if I don’t belong?”
Karen looked at her soberly for a moment, then she smiled. “You can keep it, or eat it, though you probably won’t like it. It tastes like music sounds, you know. But you may have it—even if you don’t belong.”
Lea’s hand closed softly around the koomatka as the two turned toward the schoolhouse. “Speaking of belonging—” Karen said, “it’s Dita’s turn tonight. She knows plenty about belonging and not belonging.”
“I wondered about tonight. I mean not waiting for Valancy—” Lea shielded her eyes against the bright open door as they mounted the steps.
“Oh, she wouldn’t miss it,” Karen said. “She’ll listen in from home.”
They were the last to arrive. Invocation over, Dita was already in the chair behind the desk, her hands folded primly in front of her. “Valancy,” she said, “we’re all here now. Are you ready?”
“Oh, yes.” Lea could feel Valancy’s answer. “Our Baby’s asleep now.”
The group laughed at the capitals in Valancy’s voice.
“You didn’t invent babies,” Dita laughed.
“Hah!” Jemmy’s voice answered triumphantly. “This one we did!”
Lea looked around the laughing group. “They’re happy!” she thought. “In a world like this they’re happy anyway! What do they have as a touchstone?” She studied the group as Dita began, and under the first flow of Dita’s words she thought, “Maybe this is the answer. Maybe this is the touchstone. When any one of them cries out the others hear—and listen. Not just with their ears but with their hearts. No matter who cries out—someone listens—”
“My theme,” Dita said soberly, “is very brief—but oh, the heartbreak in it. It’s ‘And your children shall wander in the wilderness.’ ” Her clasped hands tightened on each other. “I was wandering that day...”
Wilderness
“Well, how do you expect Bruce to concentrate on spelling when he’s so worried about his daddy?” I thumbed through my second graders’ art papers, hoping to find one lift out of the prosaic.
“ ‘Worried about his daddy’?” Mrs. Kanz looked up from her spelling tests. “What makes you think he’s worried about him?”
“Why, he’s practically sick for fear he won’t come home this time.” I turned the paper upside down and looked again. “I thought you knew everything about everyone,” I teased. “You’ve briefed me real good in these last three weeks. I feel like a resident instead of a newcomer.” I sighed and righted the paper. It was still a tree with six apples on it.
“But I certainly didn’t know Stell and Mark were having trouble.” Mrs. Kanz was chagrined.
“They had an awful fight the night before he left,” I said. “Nearly scared the waddin’ out of Bruce.”
“How do you know?” Mrs. Kanz’s eyes were suddenly sharp. “You haven’t met Stell yet and Bruce hasn’t said a word all week except yes and no.
I let my breath out slowly. “Oh, no!” I thought. “Not already! Not already!”
“Oh, a little bird told me,” I said lightly, busying myself with my papers to hide the small tremble of my hands.
“Little bird, toosh! You probably heard it from Marie, though how she—”
“Could be,” I said, “could be.” I bundled up my papers hurriedly. “Oops! Recess is almost over. Gotta get downstairs before the thundering herd arrives.”
The sound of the old worn steps was hollow under my hurried feet, but not nearly so hollow as the feeling in my stomach.
Only three weeks and I had almost betrayed myself already. Why couldn’t I remember! Besides, the child wasn’t even in my room. I had no business knowing anything about him. Just because he had leaned so quietly, so long, over his literature book last Monday—and I had only looked a little...
At the foot of the stairs I was engulfed waist-deep in children sweeping in from the playground. Gratefully I let myself be swept with them into the classroom.
That afternoon I leaned with my back against the window sill and looked over my quiet class. Well, quiet insofar as moving around the room was concerned, but each child humming audibly or inaudibly with the untiring dynamos of the young—the mostly inarticulate thought patterns of happy children. All but Lucine, my twelve-year-old first grader, who hummed briefly to a stimulus and then clicked off, hummed again and clicked off. There was a short somewhere, and her flat empty eyes showed it.
I sighed and turned my back on the room, wandering my eyes up the steepness of Black Mesa as it towered above the school, trying to lose myself from apprehension, trying to forget why I had run away—nearly five hundred miles—trying to forget those things that tugged at my sanity, things that could tear me loose from reality and set me adrift... Adrift? Oh, glory! Set me free! Set me free! I hooked my pointer fingers through the old wire grating that protected the bottom of the window and tugged sharply. Old nails grated and old wire gave, and I sneezed through the dry acid bite of ancient dust.
I sat down at my desk and rummaged for a Kleenex and sneezed again, trying to ignore, but knowing too well, the heavy nudge and tug inside me. That tiny near betrayal had cracked my tight protective shell. All
that I had packed away so resolutely was shouldering and elbowing its way...
I swept my children out of spelling into numbers so fast that Lucine poised precariously on the edge of tears until she clicked on again and murkily perceived where we had gone.
“Now, look, Petie,” I said, trying again to find a way through his stubborn block against number words, “this is the picture of two, but this is the name of two...”
After the school buses were gone I scrambled and slid down the steep slope of the hill below the gaunt old schoolhouse and walked the railroad ties back toward the hotel-boarding house where I stayed. Eyes intent on my feet but brightly conscious of the rails on either side, I counted my way through the clot of old buildings that was town, and out the other side. If I could keep something on my mind I could keep ghosts out of my thoughts.
I stopped briefly at the hotel to leave my things and then pursued the single rail line on down the little valley, over the shaky old trestle that was never used any more, and left it at the tailings dump and started up the hill, enjoying fiercely the necessary lunge and pull, tug and climb, that stretched my muscles, quickened my heartbeat, and pumped my breath up hard against the top of my throat.
Panting, I grabbed a manzanita bush and pulled myself up the last steep slope. I perched myself, knees to chest, on the crumbly outcropping of shale at the base of the huge brick chimney, arms embracing my legs, my cheek pressed to my knees. I sat with closed eyes, letting the late-afternoon sun soak into me. “If only this could be all,” I thought wistfully. “If only there were nothing but sitting in the sun, soaking up warmth. Just being, without questions.” And for a long blissful time I let that be all.
But I couldn’t put it off any longer. I felt the first slow trickling through the crack in my armor. I counted trees, I counted telephone poles, I said timestables until I found myself thinking six times nine is ninety-six, and then I gave up and let the floodgates open wide.
“It’s always like this,” one of me cried to the rest of me. “You promised! You promised and now you’re giving in again—after all this time!”
Ingathering Page 14