“Wow, what about their mothers? Do they avoid their mothers?” asks Ruth the Doctor’s Wife. Laughter ripples through the coach. Ruth frowns.
“I’ve heard about some women who’ve chosen to live an abstinent lifestyle but not join a nunnery. The term for them, you see, is ‘consecrated virgins,’” Linda the Humanitarian Worker says.
“Why not just become a nun?” asks Dwight the Lay Minister.
“These women want to live secular lifestyles. They want jobs and careers outside of the Church, but they want to do the Church’s work when they can without all of the distractions of the secular life. The Church is more than happy to consecrate them,” Hubert the Bishop replies.
“Good for them! As long as people are still procreating, the world will go on,” says Bella. “And I, for one, intend to do my duty to at least try to keep this world peopled!” Bella playful nudges Hector with her elbow. He shrinks away from her. Again, laughter ripples through the coach.
Linda says, fingering her pendant. “I know what it’s like to love only one man.”
“Yeah,” says Kirk, “It’s called ‘monogamy.’”
“No, I mean what it’s like to give your heart to someone and when he, he—dies—your heart goes with him. You see, when Tom died in the Gulf War, I knew I could never love another man as a husband.”
Sandra the Senator’s Daughter says, “Aw, how sweet! How did you two meet?”
“Well, we lived in the same neighborhood when we were growing up. One Saturday, neighborhood kids were playing hide and seek, and we ended up behind a garden shed together. He kissed me and then ran away. We both later admitted that we knew after that kiss that we would be together.” Ernest grimaces, puts his KenKen book in the seatback pocket, shifts to the window seat, leans his head against the window, and closes his eyes.
“We began formally dating in high school. You see, in high school, Tom wasn’t especially interested in a particular career path. He had lots of interests but ended up joining the Army. It seemed like a good way to get some experience and pay for college later on when he had a better idea of what he wanted to do. At the time, he really didn’t expect to have to go to war, but the Gulf War came up.”
“Wars have a way of doing that,” says Senator Pam. ”Many couples faced with that situation decide to go ahead and get married.”
“They do, but we decided to wait to get married until he returned, thinking it would be no big deal, you see, but it turned out to be a very big deal. Some couples have a special song but we had a special Bible passage, 1 Corinthians chapter 13.
Joyce, back in her seat, closes her eyes and recites, “Charity, meaning love, suffers long. It is patient and kind. Love is not proud. Love acts appropriately, thinks good thoughts, and rejoices in good things. Love never fails.” Kirk puts his arm around Joyce. “And I rejoice in my Joyce. Her love gives me joy time and time again.” Linda looks out the window, her eyes scanning the darkness and she smiles at some private thought.
“At the time, the part about love being patient and kind was important in our relationship. Now I think of the passage in terms of God’s love for us. That love has helped me to go on, you see, and so I have turned my grief into God’s goodness, His love for us—agape.”
Oriel the Hotel Manager, with Rose the Waitress now sleeping against her shoulder, exclaims, “‘Pledging My Love!’” and then sings, “Forever my darling our love will be true.”
Linda follows, “May this fire in my soul, dear, forever burn. And it does.”
I break in, “Linda, show the group your lovely pendant.”
Linda looks down and pulls the pendant away from her neck so the group can see it. “The pendant was like an engagement ring, a promise that our love would last. That was nearly twenty years ago, and our love has lasted. You see, I could never love another man like I love Tom,” Linda says. ”Theresa, if I may, I would like to tell the next tale, since I’ve already prattled on for a bit.” Theresa nods. Blanche and Franklin quietly leave the coach. Hallelujah! Evidently, they got a sleeper car after all. I guess Linda’s story of thwarted love got them going. Talk about trying to keep the world peopled!
As the coach doors begin to shut behind them, Alice jumps up and follows them from the coach. I wonder what’s going on. Alice seemed perturbed when I mentioned she should talk with Linda and now she leaves just as Linda starts her tale. I thought Alice would want to make Linda’s acquaintance since they seem to have so much in common.
Linda
THE HUMANITARIAN WORKER’S TALE
LINDA: Some of you know that I do humanitarian work in Africa with an organization I found through my church. You see, many African folk tales deal with looking out for the common good.
GITA THE COOK: Yes, it’s the idea of ‘it takes a village.’
LINDA: Exactly. Everywhere, it’s important that people work together to achieve common goals, but especially so in Africa. The tale I want to tell is set long ago and deals with a family—a mother, a father, and two teen-aged children. They were struggling to survive, you see. They lived in a rough hut and some days had very little to eat. They all worked very hard but still lived on the edge of poverty.
JOHN THE PASTOR: Like many of my parishioners. (His wife whispers to him. He stands and digs a thin blanket from a carry-on in the overhead rack and spreads it over her.)
LINDA: One day at the market, the mother bought a battered clay pot to replace one that had broken. When she got home and prepared to make vegetable soup, she found a single coin in the bottom of the pot. You see, the mother was an honest woman, so she brought the whole pot back to the market. The proprietor, a stranger in the community, commended the woman for her honesty and told her to keep the pot and the coin as a reward. After profusely thanking the stranger, the woman used the coin to buy some extra cassava flour. The next morning when the woman went to cook breakfast, she found the pot filled with coins. Again, she returned to the market, but the stranger was gone.
DMITRI THE HACKER: That’s like winning the lottery. (He pulls out a set of noise-cancelling headphones from the overnight bag on the seat beside him, puts them on, and opens up a copy of US Weekly.)
LINDA: The family discussed what to do with this money. They agreed to spend it on basic necessities for themselves and give the rest anonymously to needy people in the community. They were afraid if they gave the money publicly that people would accuse them of theft since they were a poor family. They knew of one young woman who wanted to marry but didn’t have a suitable dowry, so one night, they left a gift for her family. They looked around their community, you see, and distributed the coins from the pot to those in need. Every time they dispensed the last of the coins, the pot filled up again. The family was befuddled. They thought of just leaving the pot full of coins but in the long run decided to keep on secretly benefiting their community. They left coins for a young man who needed yam seeds in order to start a farm and for a woman whose chickens had been killed by a dog. They always thanked their ancestral spirits with gifts of kola nuts and palm wine bought with their bounty.
The community was curious as to where these gifts were coming from, you see. However, since these anonymous presents made life in the village less grueling, the people continued to offer thanks to their personal gods and to accept the gifts. Finally, one spiteful villager decided to set a trap. He let it be known that he was expecting a visit from relatives from another village and he needed some extra kola nuts. That night, the spiteful man caught the husband leaving coins inside his compound. He raised a cry and the other villagers came running. The spiteful man accused the husband, you see, who told the story of his wife buying the pot and having it fill with coins. The villagers asked to see this pot, so the wife brought it out. The hot-headed member of the community accused the family of making up the story and coming by the money dishonestly. A magic pot? Really? And he dashed the pot to the ground before anyone could stop him.
DWIGHT THE LAY MINISTER: That was pretty stupid.
(Trumpets elephant-like into his handkerchief. SEAN THE DEACON glances back at DWIGHT and shakes his head.)
LINDA: It was. The villagers were angry that the spiteful man had prevented them from finding out the truth by destroying the pot. The family lived quietly for a while but without their miraculous pot, you see, once again fell on hard times. The community saw what was happening and suffered, too, as the anonymous gifts had benefitted everyone. Because of the family’s previous generosity, the people finally believed the family’s story and exiled the hot-head. The people of the village made sure that the generous family never went hungry again.
“I love the attitude of looking out for one another in your tale, Linda,” says John.
“Thanks,” says Linda, as she returns to her seat.
“As a pastor, I see too many people, especially teenagers, who have no one but themselves to depend on,” John says.
Oriel the Hotel Manager speaks up from the back of the coach. “Shoot, it’s not just kids from the lower class who face problems. I had a young man who worked for me as a bell boy at the Tabard. His parents were rolling in dough. He didn’t need the money. But his parents were busy with their lives as jet setters. Sometimes, his parents would take off on a long vacation and leave him at home alone. If we had a room open at the hotel, occasionally I would let him sleep there instead of going home to a big, empty house.”
John says, “That’s very thoughtful, Oriel. We’ve been talking of examples of negligent parents, but many parents go the extra mile for their children.” He turns to Theresa. “Since Linda told a story about how a community worked together, I’d like to tell a story of how one individual made a selfless choice to help someone else. “May I?”
“Absolutely, John,” says Theresa. “That would be very nice.”
John
THE PASTOR’S TALE
JOHN: The story goes like this. A mother and son were driving one night in a wooded area. Suddenly, a deer appeared in the headlights. The mother could do nothing except brake and pray. The deer bounced up and its legs came through the windshield. Both mother and son were quite shaken up and the car was totaled. The mother had minor injuries which healed quickly. However, one of the deer’s hooves tore off the son’s left ear. The family was grateful that neither mother nor son was injured more severely, but the son faced a lot of taunting at school over the missing ear. Teenagers, as we all know, can be cruel.
RENE/E THE TRANSGENDER WOMAN: You don’t have to tell me about it! (She leans back into a neck pillow which she had pulled out and resumes her bourré game.)
JOHN: As a male, he did not want to grow his hair long to cover the scar on the side of his head. The family talked with their doctor about possible solutions. The doctor suggested that the parents try to find someone who might donate an ear to the young fellow, so the parents put out a plea to their church and community. Sadly, they did not find a suitable donor. Time passed. High school graduation neared. The parents truly wanted their son to be able to start fresh at college, with two ears. They prayed and their church community prayed about it. One evening after supper, the parents announced to their son that they had found the best graduation gift ever—a new ear. Finally, someone had volunteered to donate an ear to the young man, with one stipulation—the donor must remain anonymous. The operation was a success and the young man went on to do well in college and to lead a successful life.
Years later, as happens, the mother died. As the son and father approached the coffin one last time before closing the lid, the father said to the son that he needed to show him something. The father reached down and gently pulled back the hair on the left side of the mother’s head. She was missing her left ear. As it turns out, the anonymous donor had been the mother. The son was moved to even more tears.
Dwight the Lay Minister guffaws. The wisps of his comb-over now hang limply beside his head. “What a sappy tale. Like, I heard that tale years ago in a sermon. Surely you could come up with a better story than that, pastor.”
John’s wife stands up, hands her blanket to John, and goes back to Dwight’s seat. “Let me see your hands.” Dwight hesitates and then holds out one hand. She turns it over and then holds it up for all to see. “Smooth as a baby’s bottom,” she pronounces. “I’ll bet you even get professional manicures.” The clanging of a railroad crossing warning signal sounds as the train thunders through a small town, sparing Dwight from responding. John’s wife goes to the middle where John still stands. “Honey, let me see your hands.” John holds out one hand, which she caresses and then holds up. “Look at the callouses on this hand,” she insists, her voice rising. Dmitri the Hacker takes off his headphones and looks back at the unfolding kerfuffle. “My husband does chores or makes home repairs for those in our community who need help—single women or the elderly or infirm—regardless of how much money they give to the church. My husband serves as a father figure or brother figure to boys and even men in our community. Many nights, I set extra plates at our kitchen table for these boys, some with absent fathers. My husband gladly counsels these young men regarding how to make good choices or how to deal with the fallout from bad choices. Many times, we get calls in the middle of the night from a drunk teenager needing a ride or to mediate a domestic dispute.”
John goes to his wife and puts his arm around her shoulders. “Thanks, honey, but these people don’t want to hear about me.” She deflates.
“You’re a good man and you told a good story,” she says. John and his wife return to their seats, where he covers her again with the blanket.
Linda the Humanitarian Worker softly sings, “’I believe that somewhere in the darkest night, a candle glows.’ John, your home is clearly a glowing candle in your community.”
Alice the Widow quietly reenters the coach and slips into her seat at the front of the coach. I am sorry she missed Linda’s tale. Maybe they can connect later.
“Ha, what a nice tale of motherly love,” Seymour the Doctor says. “But not all children appreciate their parents’ sacrifices. Parents sacrifice for their children even before their birth, and what do they get back? Ingratitude. Think of King Lear and his ungrateful daughters—how sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child. As much as things change, they remain the same.”
“Not all children are like that, though,” counters Ruth the Doctor’s Wife, scowling at Seymour. “Sometimes it’s the parents who are ungrateful—or closed-minded.”
Rene/e the Transgender Woman says, “My parents—especially my father—had trouble accepting my sexuality.”
“Times change and keep on changing,” says Sean the Deacon. “Used to be, kids graduated from high school or college and left their parents’ house. These days, some kids live in their parents’ basements forever because they just can’t get a job.”
Bella the Academic says, “I teach with a man whose daughter joined a cult. Talk about a problem! She gave what few worldly goods she had to the cult leader. Rumor had it that the leader kept the women as wives, brainwashed them into believing that the American way of life was under siege, and they had to create their own little army to keep a pure race going. They lived in Wyoming or Utah or somewhere out west. My colleague and his wife did what they could to get her away from the group, but she was an adult, supposedly making her own choices.”
Linda says, “How sad. You’d think people would learn based on people such as Jim Jones, David Koresh, and Charles Manson. But they don’t.”
“Who remembers the Moonies?” asks Senator Pam.
I break in, trying to lighten the discussion. “Are we not part of the cult of Elvis?” My comment is met with silence. I shrug. “Just playing devil’s advocate.”
Hector the Elvis Tribute Artist sings, “Well, that’s alright mama, that’s alright for you, that’s alright mama, just anyway you do.” Bella beams at him and tries to tuck her hand in his elbow but he shifts away from her.
Senator Pam says, “Sometimes it takes years for kids to stop blamin
g their parents for their own problems.”
“For some, it never happens,” responds Sandra the Senator’s Daughter.
“Supposedly, Mark Twain remarked upon how ignorant his father was when Twain was fourteen but how much smarter his father had become in the seven years before Twain turned twenty-one,” says Adam the Senator’s Aide.
Seymour stands, faces the middle of the coach, and picks up his theme. “Parents guard their children carefully if they can. But what’s a parent to do with an ungrateful child? In some countries, it’s culturally acceptable for parents or a family member to kill daughters who bring shame on the family. I’ve read stories of fathers who kill their daughters or mothers who help kill their daughters—poison them, beat them, stab them—because the daughters were ‘too Western’ or had sex outside of marriage, you know what I mean. Sometimes, the daughter simply talked to a man outside of the family or became pregnant as a result of incest.”
“Not all mothers in those situations act against their daughters, though,” says Adam. “But in those cultures, what’s a woman to do if she objects to her husband committing an honor killing? Her life is at risk, too.”
Gita the Cook stands and looks at Sandra. “This is why I must go back to India. I am very much afraid to go against the wishes of my family.”
I explain, “It’s not unheard of in Classical literature for a father to safeguard his daughter’s virtue by killing her, with her permission.”
King Arthur a Techie, who supposedly wrote his thesis on The Canterbury Tales, looks up from his screen. “Doesn’t that happen in the Physician’s Tale?”
“Yes,” I reply. “A corrupt judge wants to take the virginity of a young woman. She and her father agree that he will kill her rather than allow her to be defiled in that way.”
The Graceland Tales Page 8
