A Live Coal in the Sea

by Madeleine L'engle

  ELEVEN

  No?

  Andrew’s words didn’t help, nor those of his child-psychiatrist friend. Nor Luisa’s. Nor Herb Morrison, Pinky’s father, the toughest lawyer they knew. Nothing helped.

  The story was all over the papers. With pictures. Columns and columns of words. More pictures. Taxi being torn out of Camilla’s arms as Harriet plucked him away. Passionate opinions, pro and con. Grange was the child’s biological father. But Mac was the one Taxi knew as father. Camilla was the one he called Mommy.

  Camilla took Frankie to Florida, to the beach house. Mac moved to New York, to the seminary. The farewell parties the parish had planned dwindled away.

  Luisa flew down to Jacksonville, rented a car, and drove to the beach. Olivia and Frankie were walking along the water’s edge, occasionally picking up a shell, or scurrying away from an aggressive wavelet. Quantum was walking along slightly behind them, lifting his feet fastidiously from the sand, but keeping his amber eyes on Frankie.

  Camilla was on the porch, rocking, as dazed as though Red Grange and his lawyers had literally beaten her over the head. Camilla looked at Luisa with dull eyes which seemed a muddy grey. ‘I thought no judge would take a baby away from his mother.’

  ‘But you aren’t—’

  ‘I am! I am Taxi’s mother. Not his sister. Half sister. It was my milk that helped him over the worst of his allergies, my arms that held him when he had fever. Mac is his father. Mac picked Taxi up with one arm, Frankie with the other. Of course nobody would separate us. It wasn’t human.’

  ‘It isn’t compassion that matters in litigation,’ Luisa said dryly. ‘Or even truth. And this was a tangled truth, and the lawyers tangled it even further.’

  ‘Harriet’s expensive lawyers.’

  ‘Very expensive. Very clever. And Harriet got her child. Grange got his son.’

  ‘He’s not,’ Camilla said. ‘He can’t be.’

  ‘Legally, biologically, it seems that he is. Psychologically and spiritually of course he isn’t. Mac is. I never knew Grange well, Camilla, but this isn’t love for Taxi.’ Luisa plunked herself down on the porch steps, her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands, looking out to sea.

  Camilla asked the ocean, the sky, ‘Did anybody ask what this is doing to Frankie? She has nightmares every night. She screams for Taxi the minute she opens her eyes.’

  ‘Can she see him? They wouldn’t stop that, would they?’

  ‘They’ve gone on a world tour, Harriet and Grange and—And we’ve spent all the money we have, and more. Mama and Papa have helped. Bishops aren’t rich, contrary to what people think. We’re all bled white.’

  ‘I’ve come to help you pack, to get you moved,’ Luisa said. ‘Maybe it’s best for Frankie to start over again in a new house, a new city, make new friends. Maybe Harriet is right that the break should be complete. Maybe this way the kids will heal.’

  ‘Will they heal?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Luisa said bluntly. ‘It’s a hell of a trauma for them, but kids can be extraordinarily resilient. And don’t forget you and Mac believe in God.’

  ‘Some of the time,’ Camilla said. ‘Not right now.’

  Nevertheless, the move to New York helped. There were no memories of Taxi in the spacious seminary apartment. But Frankie insisted that the two youth beds be in her bedroom. Every night she prayed for Taxi to return.

  But there were other children at the seminary to play with, older ones for baby-sitters, not as much like family as the youth group, at least not yet. There were new things to do. Luisa brought Frankie an easel of drawing paper, and a set of large-sized crayons. ‘She’s a little young for this,’ Luisa said, ‘but it may help her get some things out instead of burying them inside where they’ll fester.’

  Camilla watched, awed, as Frankie took the crayons and scrawled, angrily, black, red, purple. No attempt at representation. In any case, she was far too young for anything more than holding a crayon in her small hand and making it move in a wavy line across the page, or occasionally banging the paper with heavy dots.

  ‘Actually,’ one of the women in Camilla’s building said, ‘she’s really extraordinary for such a little one. This is a talent that can stand watching.’

  Almost imperceptibly Camilla began to feel healing from the city where she had grown up. Through Dr. Edison’s influence and, perhaps, Professor Grange’s guilt, she quickly found a position at New York University, replacing a middle-aged man who had a heart attack and had to request a long leave of absence. After she had settled Frankie in a small play group, she walked daily from the seminary to Washington Square and NYU, feeling somehow younger as she revisited old haunts. Luisa was living on the Upper East Side and had an office nearby.

  ‘If I had all the time in the world,’ Luisa said, ‘I’d take the bus. Or even a taxi. Meanwhile, I’ll have to ride the subway. How’s Mac?’

  ‘Working hard. He has too much to do, and that’s probably good for him right now.’

  New York was a world in which there had never been a Taxi. Camilla could not pray with Frankie for Taxi’s return, because she did not think it was possible.

  Occasionally Luisa would call. ‘Hey, I can’t use my opera tickets (or ballet tickets, or symphony tickets) tonight, so why don’t you and Mac go?’

  Camilla suspected that Luisa had no intention of using the tickets herself, that she knew that Camilla and Mac could not afford such luxuries, but she accepted them gratefully. It was a time not only to rejoice in the opera but for her and Mac to have a chance to be alone together. Sometimes it seemed that they did not know what to say.

  ‘Hey,’ Luisa said, ‘don’t worry. When people have been through hell it usually makes them mute for a while.’

  When Camilla had been with Mac and Frankie in New York for several months, Noelle called. ‘Andrew didn’t think I ought to phone you,’ she said, ‘but he and Liz don’t have children yet, and I thought maybe …’

  Camilla almost slammed down the phone. What could Noelle say that would not add hurt to hurt? Instead, she asked, trying to sound interested, ‘How are the twins?’

  ‘The most gorgeous creatures in the world, if they don’t kill me first. Dad called Mom. I know it’s weird, but then, so’s everything else about all this. Harriet’s getting on Dad’s nerves, since he called Mom. They’re not having an easy time with Taxi.’

  ‘Did they expect to?’ Camilla tried to keep anger out of her voice.

  ‘Dad told Mom that Taxi needs constant attention. Mom asked, “Like his mother?” Sorry, Cam, but she does have a point. Listen, I know that sounded awful, I could bite my tongue off, but it’s all so … I’m really, really sorry. But I know you want to know what’s going on. I would, in your place. If my twins—’

  ‘Yes. Thanks.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t think much is going on, except it isn’t all like a movie, the way Dad expected, with Taxi happy and good as gold. I just want you to know that if I hear anything I will tell you. If you want me to.’

  ‘Yes.’ Camilla’s voice was suddenly hoarse. ‘Please.’

  ‘What I mean is—maybe if it isn’t as much fun as they thought it would be, maybe they won’t want to keep him … well, who knows?’

  ‘Don’t,’ Camilla said. ‘Don’t give us false hope, Noelle.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Oh, Camilla, it’s only because I care. You’ve been so good to me, and I want to do something to help, and I’m afraid I’ve only made it worse.’

  “No wonder he’s screwed up,” Raffi said. “But does that give him a right to punish the rest of the universe?”

  “My darling”—Camilla held out her hands to the apple-wood fire—“I’m not very objective where your father is concerned.”

  “He really was adorable as a little boy? Like in that picture over your bed?”

  “Yes. Just as.” Camilla smiled. “I gather quite a few of your friends find him adorable right now.”

  “Not my dad. That silly idiot he’s playin
g.”

  “Raffi,” Camilla said, “I hoped to make you understand a little.”

  “Give me time, Grandmother. Let it soak in. So how long did this Red Grange and his Harriet have my dad?”

  “Three years. They were driving along the Riviera and they went over the edge on one of those hairpin turns, with a large bus coming toward them. Taxi was asleep in the back seat. He wasn’t even hurt. But Grange and Harriet were killed. It seems they had been drinking.” She kept her voice level, emotionless.

  “So what happened?”

  “Noelle and Andrew called us.”

  “Noelle? Andrew?”

  “Grange’s children by his first wife. Good people. Noelle and her banker husband are living in Berlin. Andrew’s a physician.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Raffi said. “Sure. I remember him. He was my doctor’s husband, the doctor I had when I was a kid. Dr. Liz. I liked them both. But I was a healthy kid, so I didn’t see much of them. So go on, Grandmother. What happened after Andrew and Noelle called?”

  “Mac and I flew to France. At first Taxi didn’t even recognize us. Then he was hysterical. I managed to get my arms around him, to hold him, with Mac’s help, to quieten his kicking and screaming.”

  “Where was Frankie?”

  “Mama—my mother-in-law—came to stay with her while we were away.”

  “So that was some kind of continuity for Frankie.”

  “Yes. Mama and Papa were always stable elements in their lives. Fixed stars.” Camilla rose and put another log on the fire. Her hands were shaking. “Frankie simply took for granted that God had answered her prayers and Taxi was back.”

  “But he wasn’t the same Taxi, was he?”

  “Nothing was the same for Taxi. For any of us. We weren’t in the familiar rectory in Corinth. The seminary was an alien place. Our apartment was strange. Everything on one floor. There was no Dr. Edith, no Pinky and the other kids in the youth group. Only Quantum, the cat, was familiar. No, he wasn’t the same Taxi. He was three years older. He knew how to read. He spoke as much French as English. He wanted to go back to Corinth, to the way things were.”

  Night after night Camilla rocked Taxi, holding him as though he were a baby, rocking and crooning until he relaxed enough to go to sleep.

  ‘Don’t neglect Frankie,’ Mac warned.

  Camilla looked at him painfully. ‘He needs so much, so much. What am I to do?’

  ‘Take him to the beach, to Florida,’ Luisa advised. ‘That will at least be something familiar.’

  ‘Yes, Mama and Papa have suggested that. But Mac can’t get away. His schedule is particularly heavy right now.’

  ‘I’ll come with you. He needs to be in a familiar setting for at least a few weeks.’

  ‘You, Lu? How can you?’

  ‘I can manage for about ten days. It will be difficult, but I think I can do it.’

  ‘Then please, please do.’

  ‘I gather Grange and Harriet did the best they could with him, within their limitations, but he has the look of an abused child.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ They were in Camilla’s little study, Camilla sitting behind her desk as though for protection. Luisa was lounging in an ancient but comfortable chair that Camilla had rescued from being put out for the Salvation Army. The children were at a neighbor’s apartment where there were other children, and where they had been invited to watch a home movie. Taxi was not happy about leaving Camilla, even for a few hours, but the movie had been a sufficient lure.

  ‘What about abuse?’ Luisa demanded.

  ‘I was putting him to bed. He wouldn’t let me help dry him, but I saw a funny little round scar on the back of his shoulder and asked him about it. It was a cigarette burn.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘It wasn’t done on purpose. From what Taxi told me, Harriet had evidently been drinking, and was waving her cigarette around one day at the beach when all Taxi had on was bathing trunks.’

  ‘Were there any more scars?’

  ‘Only that one.’

  ‘Only that physical one. So Harriet was an alcoholic.’

  ‘Evidently the crowd she and Grange went around with drank a lot.’

  Luisa’s voice was outraged. ‘The beautiful people, with nothing to do but drink and smoke and gamble and wander from one playground to another, looking for God knows what. Did they stay abroad the whole time?’

  ‘Yes. According to Noelle they kept talking about coming home, but they never did.’

  ‘Where did they live?’

  ‘The French Riviera mostly. Also Monte Carlo and places like Morocco.’

  ‘So Harriet was loaded.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will Taxi get her money?’

  ‘No.’ Camilla stood up and went to the window, which, like most city windows, bore traces of rain and grime. It looked across the seminary close and she saw students hurrying up and down the paths, some with coat collars turned up against the wind. The brick buildings, over a century old, looked shabbily weathered. In the apartment there was a feeling of cold and damp seeping around the window frame. ‘No,’ she repeated, ‘and I’m just as glad.’

  ‘Why not, if Harriet regarded Taxi as her son?’

  ‘She didn’t have a will.’

  Luisa groaned. ‘Good God, it’s amazing how many people put off making wills because it reminds them of their mortality.’

  ‘Harriet lived lavishly. They stayed at expensive hotels and Harriet gambled. She lost enormous sums of money at the casino in Monte Carlo, so much she’d have been in serious trouble if she’d lived. What little she had left went to her brother, and he very generously offered to divide it with us. We told him to keep it and let us get on with our lives. We asked him to promise not to interfere with Taxi in any way, and he agreed. He has children of his own to educate.’

  Luisa pressed, ‘What about Grange?’

  Camilla turned back to her desk. ‘He wasn’t a wealthy man. Most academics aren’t. They lived on Harriet’s money. He did have a will, an old one. What he had—it wasn’t much, he gambled, too—went to Andrew and Noelle. Andrew wanted it all to go to Taxi.’

  ‘Andrew’s a good guy,’ Luisa said. ‘We frequently bump into each other over coffee at our local greasy spoon, and talk shop. He’s referred some adolescent patients to me. You and Mac doing okay—I mean, financially?’

  ‘Sure. We’re finally out of debt. We’re not rolling, but we manage, like most of the people at the seminary. And I have a salary, too. We’re fine.’

  ‘What about your father?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’d help, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘He would, if we needed him to. But we don’t. Listen, Lu, your offer to go to Florida—’

  ‘When were you planning to go?’

  ‘This weekend.’

  ‘Got your tickets yet?’

  ‘No. I seem to be dragging my feet about everything.’

  ‘Don’t fret. I’ll call my travel agent. I need a break, too. It’ll be good for me.’

  They heard the children come in, banging the door, and then they appeared in the study doorway. Taxi had found Quantum and was carrying him, nearly upside down.

  ‘How was the movie?’

  ‘Terrific,’ Frankie said.

  ‘Shitty. I want milk and cookies,’ Taxi announced.

  Camilla made no comment on his language. ‘Help yourselves. One glass of milk, and one cookie each, understood?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Quantum slithered out of Taxi’s grip, and the children followed him out, heading for the kitchen.

  Luisa demanded, ‘Are you taking Taxi to a shrink?’

  ‘I will, as soon as we get back from the beach. Will you take him on?’

  ‘No way. I’m your oldest friend. I’m much too close. I can give you a couple of referrals, and I’ll check with Andrew. I’ll be in the wings, always. You know that.’

  “Oh, God, Grandmother, how did you manage?”

  �
�The beach house helped, because it was familiar, because Mama and Papa were there, because Lu was there, because the ocean rolling in to shore always calms me, because there were lots of shells for the children to collect.”

  “But you couldn’t stay there forever.”

  “The ten days Luisa promised. I had to get back to Mac, and we had to bring Taxi to the apartment in the seminary and teach him that it was home. And we had to let him start school.”

  “How was it?”

  “For the first few days he was terrified, but then he began to realize that he could read more easily than the other children, and the teacher had him show off a little, not too much, just enough to give him some self-confidence.”

  “And Aunt Frankie?”

  “She was ecstatic to have him home. But it wasn’t the same.”

  “Mom,” Frankie said, “you sound terrible.”

  “Oh, darling, sorry, I’m just tired, and I’m so glad you phoned. You do have the most marvelous way of calling when my morale needs a boost.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing. I’ve been—I’ve been thinking about how hard it was for you when Taxi came back to us after Grange and Harriet died.”

  “Hard on all of us.”

  “The first few days you painted in brilliant colors, but then you splashed purple and black onto the paper, painting out your confusion. We got Taxi an easel and paints, too, but once he had them, he wasn’t interested.”

  “No,” Frankie said. “He didn’t want his own paints. He wanted mine.”

  “And you didn’t understand. How could you? He was rough with you. You were bigger than he was and defended yourself, but it broke your heart.”

  “Aunt Luisa helped, more than the shrink.”

  “Even the best shrink can’t undo the past.”

  Frankie laughed. “Taxi called Aunt Luisa all kinds of horrible names. He picked up quite a vocabulary while he was away from us. As I look back on it, Mom, you were really good about that. You paid no attention to it, you didn’t get uptight, and finally he quit.”

  “Finally.”