The Other Side of the Sun

by Madeleine L'engle

  Honoria started to rock back and forth, slowly, rhythmically. “I got to go to the Granddam. I got to stop them. When, Lord, when? Tell me how?”

  “No, Honoria, you can’t do that—”

  “What about your baby, Miss Stella?”

  “I will not let them hurt Miss Stella, Grandmother.”

  “How you going to stop them? You been away too long, son. You do not know them. I do. Your mother was married to my son. She spit on his shadow. She cause his death.”

  Clive said, “That be not why Jimmy die.”

  Honoria began to moan. “I do not know, I do not know how she do it. She kiss evil, and she get its power. She spread darkness, she do, no good pretending she don’t.” Her voice deepened again to a groan.

  For Honoria to lose control this way was as shocking as Uncle Hoadley’s horrible nocturnal visit to me. But I had not wanted to comfort and strengthen Uncle Hoadley. I had wanted only to drive him further into darkness.

  Honoria stopped her keening movement. “Lord. Lord. Tell me.”

  “What do you know, Grandmother? You must tell us.”

  “I be an old woman. I got to pull them apart, separate them, the things the cards told me and what the Lord say.”

  Clive had been sitting on the straight chair, his Bible on his knees. Now he closed it, rose, went to his wife. “Honoria.” His voice was flint. “Listen to me. Once was a prophet, named Elijah. A prophet of the Lord. But people round him forgot the Lord, went whoring after the little gods.”

  “Like the little gods of Kairogi …” Honoria whispered.

  “Like the little gods of the scrub. When you was in Kairogi, the little gods was all you had. The only gods. You had no choice. They was before Miss Mado show you the Lord.”

  “Mado, Mado …”

  “If you go back to the little gods now, then you be doing like the people round about Elijah.”

  “I do not go back to the little gods. The Zenumins do.”

  “You think the little gods of the Zenumins be stronger than the Lord?”

  “Clive,” Honoria groaned, “they can do evil, they already done it, you know that, we cannot let them hurt Miss Stella—”

  “They do evil only when we let them, only when we turn from the Lord.”

  “Nothing stop Tron when the hating is on him.”

  “You think the Lord can’t stop Tron? Listen to me, old woman. The people round Elijah knowed about the Lord. But they turn their backs on him and build altars under the palms on the high places of the dunes.”

  I said, “Like the Zenumins—”

  Clive’s voice did not falter. “And they worshipped the little gods in the dark places. They give them burnt offerings, and when the little gods snickered and told them to bring human hearts to their altars, they do that, too. They took young men and children, they took little babies, and they sacrificed them on the altars of the little gods. And Elijah got an-angered. He say to the wizards and the witches and the magicians, you think you little gods is so big, they ain’t as big as the Lord. And they say, All our little gods is bigger and more powerful than you one little Lord. Oh-ho, say Elijah, you just try the Lord and see. So they fix them altars to the little gods, an Elijah fix him an altar to the Lord, and he say to the magicians and the wizards and the witches, Call on the names of your gods and I will call on the Name of the Lord, and the God that answereth by fire, let him be God. So they call on their little gods, the gods of the spitting against the shadow, and the stealing of the hank of hair, the gods of the skin under the fingernail and the little doll and the pins, saying, O hear us. They call and the from morning until noon, and their little gods don’t make answer, no answer at all, so they jump on their altars which they had made. And Elijah say, Where your little gods? they off talking with each other? they gone on a trip into town? maybe they gone to sleep coz they so tired? Why don’t you wake them up? And the wizards and the witches and the magicians call and call, and nothing happen. Then Elijah say, Gather round. And he say, Pour water over the altar to the Lord. So they pour on water. And he say, Pour on more water. So they pour on more water. And he say, Pour on water again the third time. And they pour it on the third time. Then Elijah call out in a voice, Hear me, O Lord, hear me, that this people may know that you are the Lord. Then the fire of the Lord fell and burn up the wood and the stone and the dust and lick up all the water they had poured, and when the people saw it they fell on their faces.”

  Honoria bowed over. “What you want me to do?”

  “Not just you,” Clive said. “I am with you, and Mr. James. All of us who were Nyssa and who are Illyria. We going to do what Elijah do. We going to call on the Lord. He take care of the little gods.”

  Honoria straightened up in decision. “You be right. I go.”

  “Grandmother,” Ron said, “Saintie told us that you would know where Mr. James is.”

  She nodded. “In the secret room, the room Claudius Broadley see fit to make when he build him Illyria. After the war we occasion to use it because they still people we had to hide first from the soldiers, then from the Klan. Miss Mado and I thought best we keep it secret, like the treasure, but Mr. Hoadley must know ’bout it. Likely Therro found it, wasn’t much Therro didn’t find, and what he did he share with Mr. Hoadley.”

  “How did you guess Mr. James is there?”

  “No guessing, son. Food missing. Not much, likely Tron bring something in from the scrub. I notice food missing, Tron shadowing in and out, Eben asking where Mr. James be. Mr. Hoadley come to the kitchen to tell me ’bout Mr. James being in Jefferson all week, talks about some highfalutin law case, and Mr. Hoadley don’t discuss no law cases with me. So I make sure Mr. James be in the secret room, see to it that he get proper vittels, and leave him be.”

  “Leave him!” I cried.

  “Safer for Mr. James, Miss Stella. If Mr. Hoadley go to take him bread or water and he be gone, then trouble come on top of it, we got not time. We got to have time. Mr. James send messages to Jefferson; we got to give Washington time, Mr. James do not discuss with me what Mr. Hoadley planning. He trust me to know it got to be stopped.”

  “All right, Grandmother,” Ron said. “How much time have you got? Do you know? What are you going to do?”

  “I got to pray, son. Can’t do nothing on my own. Then tomorrow night I go to the Zenumins, to the Dark Clearing. I was forgetting my Powers. I was losing faith. I pray now. Tonight. All day tomorrow.”

  “Grandmother, do you have that much time?”

  “Nothing going to happen before tomorrow night. The Lord done told me that while Clive be talking. Nothing I can do without I pray. My Powers do not come at beck and call. But they will come. Then I go to Zenumins. The Lord will take care of the little gods.”

  “Will the powers come, Grandmother? I am afraid for Illyria. For Stella.”

  Honoria did not answer. She went to the open window and knelt.

  How could Honoria’s prayers possibly prevent the Granddam from doing harm, or keep Tron from whatever dark plan he was nursing? What did it mean, this pitting of God against the gods? I knew nothing about Elijah. It was easier for me to believe in the dark gods of the Zenumins than in Clive’s and Honoria’s Lord.

  Ronnie said, “Ste—Miss Stella, don’t leave the house tomorrow. Don’t go on the beach alone. I will come for you after dinner. Don’t go anywhere without me. I’ll be waiting at the foot of the ramp.”

  SIX

  1

  In the morning when I went out onto the beach the air had the clear and terrible emptiness which comes before a storm. I looked up and all I could see was an incredible, blinding blue. But there was an almost invisible tremor, a crackling in the sheen, warning that before evening the thunderclouds would begin to mass on the horizon. It was a relief to think of the physical storm.

  Aunt Olivia and Aunt Des were in the slough, and waved in greeting. Aunt Olivia said, “Something’s going on, and nobody will tell me what it is.”

  “Rea
lly, Olivia why do you run on so about something going on?”

  “Because, daz it, something is. And it’s not right that we should be kept in the dark. Stella, do you know what it is? You tell us.”

  “I’m not sure, Aunt Olivia. I’m not sure of anything since I had my sunstroke.”

  “I asked Hoadley, and he just went all lofty. Something about some case he and James have to cope with in Jefferson.”

  “People have great faith in James,” Aunt Des said.

  “So do I,” Aunt Olivia said.

  “Of course you do.” Aunt Mary Desborough lay on her back in the too-quiet water. “Although James couldn’t keep Nyssa from being destroyed, could he?”

  Aunt Olivia, dog-paddling, squinted against the brilliance of the early-morning sun. “I am beginning to learn that Nyssa was not destroyed.”

  “Of course Nyssa was destroyed. It was burned to the ground. There was death and horror and we lost everything.”

  “I wonder,” Aunt Olivia said softly. “I wonder.”

  Clive served breakfast as usual. Honoria did not appear, and I pictured her still kneeling by the window in prayer: the safety of Illyria, of my marriage, of Terry’s and my baby, all hung by the thread of Honoria’s prayer.

  I could not settle down to anything. Uncle Hoadley had disappeared. Aunt Des took one of the straw hats and a parasol and went to the garden. I did not know where Aunt Olivia was.

  Aunt Irene, like me, was restless. She ordered the horse hitched so that she could drive up the beach to Cousin Lucille, then decided it was too hot. Finally she asked me to play cribbage with her. I tried, but could not keep my mind on the cards. Nor could she. It was Aunt Irene who finally flung the cards impatiently on the table. “Stella, I can’t stand it, I can’t stand it another minute.”

  “What’s the matter, Aunt Irene?” My mind was hardly on her petty problems.

  “Stella, I’ve done things that I ought not to have done.” She picked up her cards, studied them. “Funny, this is the best hand I’ve had in a long time, and I don’t even care. Do you suppose that means anything?”

  “If you want to play, Aunt Irene, let’s go ahead.”

  “I can’t. I thought—Stella, I never had anything against you, you must understand that.”

  I waited.

  “All I wanted was to have Hoadley love me. Is that so strange? But I know Hoadley, oh yes, I have cause to know Hoadley. I realized from the first moment he laid eyes on you … As for me, Hoadley’s never—not from the first. I was very beautiful when he married me. You do believe that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Aunt Irene.”

  “I was the most beautiful girl Jefferson ever—and I had money. People look down on Utteley money, but that hasn’t kept them from enjoying what it can buy. They say I bought Hoadley with it, but that’s not true. I was beautiful. And I was good. I wanted to be a good wife to him. To give him children. But I never liked—I never could—and Hoadley—and then there was all that horror when Ron was born and I thought Hoadley—so I went to Belle—”

  “But how could you possibly go to her!”

  “She kept making me promises. And when she looked in the cards she told me things that were true, so I—I kept going because I wanted—”

  “Wanted what?”

  “I wanted to hurt Hoadley, to get even. And not only with Hoadley. Everybody. All of them. All these years, looking down on my Utteley money and getting fat on it. Little Irene wasn’t good enough for Hoadley, or the old aunts, the old fools, or Mado, too, for all her pretending. I knew what she really thought, and when Therro and Kitty—I knew what Therro was like, I saw through him right from the first.”

  “Aunt Irene, what are you trying to tell me?”

  “Belle Zenumin wants to hurt you.”

  “Why, Aunt Irene? Why?”

  “Because of Ron, you little fool. She saw it in the cards—Ron is witched by you.”

  I felt ice-cold. “Aunt Irene, that is absolute nonsense. I love Ron as a friend, and I think he’s come to be fond of me.”

  “Stella, you don’t understand. Ron’s a nigger.”

  “How can you say that? Ron’s half Renier, he—”

  “Why did you come here? You’re as bad as Mado. But Belle will get you. If anybody harms one of her sons, she will never forgive. I’m warning you, Stella, because I wish you no harm. You couldn’t help it if Hoadley—I know that wasn’t your fault. But to let Ron—that was wicked of you, wicked. Belle told me to bring her something of yours, and I tried, but Honoria stopped me.”

  “It’s all right, Aunt Irene.” My voice was as chill as my hands. “Belle managed. She was the one who scratched my cheek, not Minou. And she has some of my hair.”

  “Aren’t you frightened?”

  “Yes. I’m frightened. But not of that.”

  Aunt Irene stood up. “I’ve warned you. I’ve done my duty. Nobody can say I didn’t warn you. My conscience is clear. If you don’t know what she can do, then it’s your fault, not mine. How long is it you’ve been with us, and you haven’t had a word from Terry, not a word?”

  “He’ll get in touch with me as soon as he can.” I left her looking virtuously at the cards scattered on the game table, and went to the writing room.

  Aunt Olivia was there. She had her little rosewood desk on her knees, but she was not writing letters. She was looking at her notebook of Mado’s poetry.

  “Aunt Irene’s been warning me,” I said.

  “What about?”

  “Belle Zenumin.”

  Aunt Olivia’s finger marked her place in the notebook. “That’s a switch. She’s been sneaking off to Belle Zenumin for years.”

  “She’s—oh, Aunt Olivia, does she hate everybody?”

  Aunt Olivia looked at me mildly. “Didn’t you know that?”

  “She wants revenge.” I shuddered.

  “Hasn’t she had it? What about Jimmy’s death? And Therro’s and Kitty’s drowning? It was Irene who told Jimmy that Therro had been with Belle.”

  “But—”

  “She hit on the truth without ever knowing it herself—just like Irene. She blamed Therro for leading Hoadley into the scrub. She blamed Therro for all Hoadley’s excesses and perversions. When she thought Hoadley had been pleasuring himself with Belle, she wanted to revenge herself on Therro for leading Hoadley astray, and she thought she could do it through Jimmy.”

  I felt as I had felt when I saw the lizard with its head crushed.

  “Irene,” Aunt Olivia said, “is as primitive as Belle. There’s not much to choose between them.” She looked down at the book of poems, then back at me. “Or between any of us, if it comes to that. Am I any less to blame than Irene because I’ve done nothing, because I’ve withdrawn from life out of fear of the damage I might do if I plunged into it? And if we had been kinder to Irene from the beginning, perhaps—oh, Stella, if we are surrounded by hate and revenge, we all share the blame. For what has happened. For what is going to happen.”

  “What is going to happen?”

  “I was hoping you might tell me something.”

  I wanted desperately to tell Aunt Olivia everything, as I had told Ron. Why not? Everybody underestimated Aunt Olivia. Why didn’t she have a right to know?

  Perhaps she did, but I did not have the right to tell her.

  But I could share with her my anxiety about Ron. So I told her what Uncle Hoadley had said, and Aunt Irene, and the ugly word nigger. And about the White Rider circling me when Ron hid under the dock.

  “The Riders are just looking for something like this to give them an excuse to—they’ve been restless for a long time now, they’re hungry for blood. Oh, God, they’ll jump at the first excuse they get to string up a black man.”

  “No, Aunt Olivia, you can’t mean that—”

  “Can’t I? You don’t know them.”

  “But Uncle Hoadley—”

  “He joined them to try to stop some of the terrible things—oh, Stella, do you have any idea w
hat a lynching is like?”

  “Ron told me.”

  “None of the horrors you read about in history books—the ghastly tortures of the Inquisition—nothing that has been done by barbarians, by the Chinese—Stella, we were supposed to be civilized here in the South once upon a time. Can you imagine covering a man with boiling tar, and castrating him, and tearing out his eyes, and then when he’s mutilated beyond recognition, when he’s a screaming, bloody mass of agony, hanging him?”

  “Stop it, Aunt Olivia!”

  “I wish I could stop it! But I can’t! No one can! Have you ever smelled burning flesh? I have! This isn’t a nightmare—we won’t wake up and say thank God it isn’t real. If Kitty after three days in the ocean was no longer recognizable—I saw Jimmy when Mado brought him home. It happened, Stella, the Riders did this. They still do!”

  “But not Ronnie—you can’t mean—”

  “If someone just whispers that Ronnie has even looked at you, that will be enough, the mood they’re in. Where is he now?”

  “The twins’ cottage, I suppose. He’s coming this evening—”

  “He’ll be all right in the daytime. They never do anything by daylight. We’ll have to get him here before evening, that’s our only hope, and keep him here.”

  I wanted to think she was hysterical. I wanted not to believe her. “Even if you get Ron to Illyria, how will you get him to stay?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to think of something. Maybe I’d better forget my prejudices and pray for inspiration.”

  “Aunt Olivia, if one believes in God, how much is it all right to ask of him?”

  “I don’t know, lovey. Everything, I suppose.”

  “Yes, but what I mean is—we can’t just tell him to do everything for us, can we? We can’t just say ‘Destroy the Zenumins,’ and ‘Take care of Illyria,’ and sit back and leave it all to him, can we?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s that easy. Mado said that if we offer everything that happens to us to God, then he can turn it to good.”