A House Like a Lotus

by Madeleine L'engle

  He said, “My father told me we must learn to love such people, because they must be sick in their minds, and only love could heal such sickness. When people have great power, lo, they become very sick, and must be loved as we love those who are dying. It was not easy, my Polly, after I had seen my father’s back and heard his screams.”

  Suddenly he put his hand under my chin and looked hard into my eyes. I could not hide my confusion and pain. “My Polly,” he said gently, “let us not hold on to past wounds. You don’t have to bear it with me. I see you entering into the hurt of others, and I love you for it, but you must try not to carry too much.”

  His words echoed Max’s the night she told me about her father, and the echo almost undid me.

  He went on. “I do not think it is love if it is too easy. Have you not yet lived long enough to need to love someone who is not easy to love? Surely you have known people who have done wrong things and need to be healed.”

  I bowed my head and a tear dropped onto the page. Quickly I took a tissue from my pocket and blotted it, where it had fallen on the foot of the Laughing Christ. I looked up and saw Bashemath and Millie walking toward us. I could not speak to them. I ran to one of the open arches and jumped down, ran blindly to the shadows of the fig sycamore.

  I could hear Omio running after me, but I could not see him for the blinding tears. His arms went around me.

  “You are not crying about my father.” I blew my nose, shaking my head. “What is causing your tears?”

  I could not tell him. I wiped them away with the palms of my hands.

  “Who has hurt you?” he asked. When I did not answer, but shook my head again, he kissed both my eyelids, the still slightly puffy one first, then the other.

  Renny had kissed my eyelids, too. Young Doctor Renier, with his stethoscope and white jacket and all-American face, couldn’t have been more different from Omio, and yet they were alike in their experience, and my nonexperience.

  When I woke up in the green shade of the sleeping porch of Nell, the nurse, she was sitting looking at me. ‘I’m home only for a few minutes,’ she said. ‘I hope I didn’t frighten you.’

  ‘No.’ A mockingbird was singing sweetly in the magnolia tree.

  ‘I just need to get a few things. I’m doing a double shift, covering for a friend. Renny asked me to fix you some more broth. Here it is, donax soup. It’ll cure all ills.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Even in my state of shock I was impressed by Nell’s offering of donax soup. The tiny shells are no longer easy to find, so it was a real gift. ‘Thank you, a lot.’

  ‘Renny’ll be back a little after five. He’s a good man. He’ll be a good doctor, but that doesn’t make a good man. Renny’s good.’

  ‘I know.’

  She stood looking down at me. ‘You’re just a child.’

  I moved my head negatively against the pillow. ‘Not now.’

  ‘Whatever it is, whoever it was, it’ll pass, you’ll get over it. People have bad things happen but they survive.’ She turned away from me, took some things out of one of her drawers. ‘You’ll be okay?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks for taking me in.’

  ‘Make yourself at home. Wander about the place. There isn’t much to it. But you’ll be here when Renny gets back?’ She was afraid I was going to run away. But I’d already run away. There wasn’t any place else to run.

  ‘I’ll be here.’

  After she left I managed to drink the donax soup with its delicate ocean flavor. At first I thought I was going to throw up, but I didn’t, and I got it all down. For some reason that seemed important, if only for Nell’s generosity in giving me such a rare delicacy. Then I wandered around a little. There was only the large sleeping porch, and a living room with a couch, where she probably slept in winter, and a kitchen and bath. It was obvious that Nell rented it furnished.

  I went back to the porch. To bed. Nell’s bed.

  Nell had given me donax soup, something special. Renny, too, always gave to me. He didn’t take. Straw wanted to take. Max—

  I started to cry, but crying was exhausting, and I fell into sleep in the middle of a sob. I woke up as I heard Renny letting himself in, hurrying to the porch.

  ‘Did you sleep?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Nell make you some broth?’

  ‘Donax soup. That was really nice of her.’

  ‘Nell’s a nice person. A good nurse.’ He perched on the bed beside me. ‘I want to take you home, Polly.’

  ‘No. Not yet. I need to—I’m too confused, Renny. I can’t see my parents till—’

  He stroked my hair back from my forehead. ‘Why are you confused, Polly? Tell me.’

  ‘Straw—’ I said, knowing that I was incoherent, but not knowing how to make sense. ‘He killed a tortoise, with some other guys, and he liked doing it—’

  ‘Polly, honey, what’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘If you try to take love, it’s as bad as—as bad as that.’

  ‘Don’t let someone like that creep upset you.’

  ‘It’s just that—he tried to take—and it doesn’t work that way—it has to be given—’

  ‘Hush,’ he said, ‘hush. Yes, it has to be given.’ And he kissed my eyelids again, then my lips, the way he did when he cut the motor on the boat when we’d been together. And the kiss continued on past the point where he usually broke off. Then, slowly, he pulled away.

  I groped for him, as though I were blind. ‘Renny, please, please—’ My lips touched his.

  And he was kissing me again, and slipping the shorty nightgown over my head. His strong and gentle hands began to stroke me, his hands, his lips, his tongue.

  Gentle. Not frightening. Knowing what he was doing. I felt my nipples rise, and it startled me.

  ‘Shhh,’ Renny whispered. ‘Shhh, it’s all right, don’t worry, just relax and listen to your body.’

  He was slow, rhythmic, gentle, moving down my

  body, down …

  and I was nothing but my body

  there was a sharp brief pain

  brief

  and then a sweet spasm went through me

  and I seemed to rise into the air

  no more pain

  just the sweetness

  the incredible

  oh, the

  and then Renny, panting

  I pressed him hard against me.

  He kissed my eyelids in the darkness, under the fig sycamore. “We’d better go back to the others,” he said. Omio said.

  Bashemath and Millie were drinking tea, sitting at the table. I hoped I didn’t look as though I’d been crying. Norine came toward me. “Where were you, Polly?” she accused. “That same young man phoned you again, and I couldn’t find you.”

  Bashemath said, in her calm, deep voice, “She doesn’t have to tell you whenever she goes for a walk, Norine.”

  “Well, you missed him once more,” Norine said to me.

  “Is he going to call again?” I asked.

  “He didn’t say.”

  I wasn’t sure whether I wanted him to or not. This world of Osia Theola was a completely different world from Athens, and Zachary seemed alien to it. Still, I was glad he had called. I was glad he had sent flowers.

  “Tea, Norine?” Millie asked. “Polly?”

  “No, thank you,” Norine said. “I have work to do.”

  “Do you need me?” I asked. “I’ve typed Bashemath’s stencil. Shall I run it off?”

  “Not now, Polly. I’m going over some of my lectures.”

  “Then I’d love some tea,” I said.

  Norine trotted across the dusty compound to the office, and Bashemath got a mug, and Millie poured me tea from the large pot on the table.

  Millie said, “There are some hot peppers by the dormitory building. I’ve picked a few, to add to the dinner tonight. This food is good, but not overly seasoned.”

  Bashemath spoke, following her own train of thought. “Do not let Norine bother you with her
sharp ways. She has a heart of gold.”

  “She doesn’t bother me,” I replied. “And I’m here to work.”

  “But not to be overworked.”

  “Oh, I’m not, and I like work.”

  Omio drained his mug. “We’re not likely to have another free afternoon. How about a swim? Or is it too hot?”

  “Much too hot,” Bashemath said.

  “I don’t swim. I’m afraid of crocodiles,” Millie said.

  Omio laughed. “But this is Cyprus, not Cameroon.”

  “Nevertheless,” Millie said firmly, “no. Thank you.”

  “I’d love a swim,” I said.

  “Let’s meet under the fig sycamore.” Omio smiled at me.

  He was there, waiting for me, and we started downhill. “Polly, forgive me.”

  “For what?”

  “I have given you, lo, a romantic picture of Baki. It is not only the Christians there who have done bad things. If the missionaries were not overly concerned about whether or not the women covered themselves, it was because they were more concerned about the black magic, the witchcraft. Using hateful, hurting magic was as bad as beating a man and rubbing salt in the wounds. Worse. It could kill. We Bakians and the Christians were alike, some good people, turning the heart to love, others wicked, turning to greed and power.”

  He was holding my hand, swinging it, as we walked. I said, “I guess everybody’s like that.” And then I asked, “Does your Laughing Christ always laugh?”

  His hand squeezed mine. “It is said that in time of great disaster tears fall from his eyes. My great-grandfather is supposed to have seen him cry before a tidal wave which killed many of our people. I have seen only the laughter, and there have been bad things in Baki. But if I ever saw him cry, I think I would be very afraid.”

  Did the statue on Max’s landing ever weep?

  We left the houses of the village and moved quietly along the path protected by high walls of grasses plumed with pale fronds, bleached by the fierce sun. And then we came to a tiny pasture I hadn’t noticed the night before in the dark. In the pasture were the most beautiful little goats I’d ever seen, with soft, silky hair, and long, drooping ears. We stopped and admired them. They looked at us with great, startled eyes, then went back to grazing.

  When we reached the place which Vee had tried to clear of stones, Omio sat down in the water and began to throw stones far up on the shore, to make the path wider. I joined him, throwing the rounded stones as far as possible.

  “If we keep at this a little every day,” Omio said, “we will keep the path open. I think Vee has tender feet. She is a poet.”

  That seemed rather a non sequitur, but I thought it likely that Vee did have tender feet, or she wouldn’t have bothered to move the stones. My cut foot was not that tough, either. I was glad of the path.

  When we had finished throwing what Omio decided were enough stones, he said, “Last night you held back because of Vee, and that was nice of you. But I think you swim well. Let’s race.” And he splashed into the water and threw himself under a breaker.

  I followed. I have learned that it is not a good idea for a girl to beat a man in a race, even though I think that’s stupid. However, I did not have to hold back with Omio. It was all I could do to keep up with him.

  “How do you come to swim so well?” he asked while we were splashing into shore. The sun was low on the horizon; evening came early to Cyprus; and the sky was flushed with a lovely light.

  “I’ve lived on islands most of my life. We swim a lot.”

  Omio took my hand, and we walked on up the beach. “You are promised?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “You have a boyfriend? A special one?”

  “No.”

  “In Baki, by your age, a woman is at least promised.”

  “In my country I’m considered too young. At least my parents would certainly think so.”

  Omio swung my hand. “It’s time we went home.” He gave me his shining smile. “It is home, isn’t it?”

  Yes. Already the monastery was home.

  After the evening meal, with the dark closing in, Krhis said that we would stay in the cloister for the staff meeting instead of going to the upper room. He had each of the staff members talk a little bit about what they planned to do. Bashemath expected to have everything ready for a book fair, posters and all, by the first weekend. Millie hoped they’d be telling their own stories. Frank talked about the hope for small presses, and then, at his urging, Millie sang for us, and then Norine suggested that Omio do one of the Bakian dances.

  Without embarrassment, Omio stood up and stripped off his T-shirt, kicked off his sandals. Then he moved into a dance which started with his entire body undulating in slow rhythm. Then the tempo accelerated until Krhis began to clap, joined by Frank, then Millie and Norine. Then Omio squatted low to the ground, with one leg, then the other, stretching out, somewhat like Russian Cossack dances, but much more quickly, incredibly quickly, and then he rose, rose, until he was leaping high into the air, fingers stretching him taller, higher …

  Then the clapping began to come more slowly, winding him down. He was glistening with sweat, breathing in short, panting gasps, and the clapping changed from being an accompaniment to the dance, to applause.

  “Lo, now we must sing Saranam.” His voice was breathless, and he looked to Millie, who started singing.

  In the midst of foes I cry to thee,

  From the ends of earth, wherever I may be,

  My strength in helplessness, O answer me,

  Saranam, saranam, saranam.

  Make my heart to grow as great as thine,

  So through my hurt your love may shine,

  My love be yours, your love be mine,

  Saranam, saranam, saranam.

  “What does it mean, ‘saranam’?” I asked.

  “Refuge,” Norine said.

  “God’s richest blessing,” Millie added.

  Krhis said, “There is no English equivalent.”

  Frank laughed. “There doesn’t need to be. Saranam says it all, loving, giving, caring.”

  Omio said, “I think it is like a Bakian word which means that love does not judge.”

  Vee added, “Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.”

  “What’s that?” Bashemath asked.

  “Shakespeare, from one of the sonnets.”

  “Shakespeare?” Millie asked.

  “Sonnets?” asked Bashemath.

  Suddenly I realized that things I’d taken for granted, as part of my background, were unknown to people of other cultures.

  “Shakespeare is probably our greatest writer in the English language,” Vee said, “and the sonnet is a form of poetry. I’ll talk about it in one of the workshops. I even hope to have people writing sonnets.”

  Another thing I realized was how little I knew about Vee. I knew from her poems and novels that she had loved, and passionately. Because of Norine I knew she had an insane husband. There were a few chinks my imagination could fill in, but I realized something else that evening. I realized I was too young to understand much that had happened in the lives of these people who had quickly become my friends.

  We finished the lemonade, which was tart and lovely, and Krhis sent us off to bed. I walked across the compound with Omio and Vee.

  “Too late for a swim,” she said. “Ah, well, we’ll make time tomorrow.”

  “Too bad Frank can’t come with us,” I said.

  Vee nodded. “He does swim at home, in a pool. He misses it.”

  “Lo, he is a kind man, is Frank,” Omio said.

  “Yes,” Vee agreed. “I wonder if someone who has never suffered, known loss and pain, is capable of true kindness?”

  Omio took my hand. “We find much true kindness here in Osia Theola.”

  I watered Zachary’s flowers, which were thirsty in this heat, then wrote in my school journal till my eyes drooped with sleep. Got into bed and turned out the light. Co
uld smell the punky odor of the mosquito coil. Could smell the bug repellent I’d sprayed on the shutters. My eye was still itchy, so I guessed closing the shutters was worth it. Under my door I could see a line of yellow from the hall, where the light burned all night. A faint glow filtered through the shutters, and I longed to be able to open them to the sky and the night birds and the sound of the sea. I turned on my stomach. My pillow was hot, so I pushed it onto the floor. I thought of Omio coming to find me under the fig-sycamore tree, and I felt his lips brushing my eyelids.

  I woke up in a puddle of sweat. I could not hear the dull whir of the fan. There was no line of light under the door. Because the power tended to go out on Benne Seed whenever all the development people ran their air-conditioners, I guessed that the power in the monastery maybe had gone off because all the fans were on. I peered at the travel alarm. Ten past three.

  I got up and drew open one shutter just enough so that I could slip out on the balcony. The sky was filled with stars. There were no lights on in the village. So the power was off there, too. No one was stirring. Except the mosquitoes.

  I withdrew and got back into my damp bed. I could hear Millie snoring, and her snore was so different from her glorious voice that it made me giggle. Millie looked as though she should have a baby in her arms. Norine had said that all Millie’s family had died. Children, too?

  I would have liked to have Millie come in and sit by me and stroke my hair back from my forehead and sing to me, one of the verses from Saranam, maybe.

  But I was not Millie’s child.

  And I wasn’t a child anymore. It felt lonely.

  Mother came in to me the night Renny brought me home, and sat on the bed by me, reaching her hand out to smooth my hair. ‘Renny didn’t tell me how you cut your foot.’

  ‘I was running barefoot on Max’s driveway, like an idiot. It was lucky Renny dropped by.’ That was the story I’d cooked up and sold to Renny.

  ‘Why would Renny have dropped by?’