“Daddy?” Harriet said after a while.
“Yes?” said Mr. Welsch.
“Are you religious?”
“No,” said Mr. Welsch, looking up at the sky. “That is, I don’t follow any organized religion. That is not to say I am not a religious man. I don’t know how I could look at those stars and not be a religious man. I just mean that I have made up my own set of ethics and don’t take them from any organized religion.”
“Do you pray?”
“No. No, I don’t, Harriet. Why?” He was sitting on a log above her and he looked down at her very seriously, very sincerely.
“Because … I just wondered about very religious people.” Harriet shifted around a bit. She wondered what it was she had wondered.
“What about them?”
“Well… I don’t know. I just wondered. Do they really mean it?”
“Some of them. Some of them don’t. Some of them just say a lot of words and they don’t mean anything. It depends on the person. I do think, though, that we should respect someone’s religion whether we share it or not.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, never laugh at anyone’s religion, because whether you take it seriously or not, they do. And more than that, people who think enough to even have a religion should be respected at least for the thinking. Of course that’s a trap too. Some people haven’t thought at all and just follow other people and take on their religion without ever thinking at all. But you shouldn’t even laugh at them, just pity them.”
It was getting more confusing all the time. Her father always seemed to talk like this—very clearly in the beginning, and the longer it went on the more confusing it got.
“Well… I meant… suppose, for instance, someone thought about religion all the time?”
“It would depend what they’re thinking.”
“Well… I mean, like a fanatic.”
“Frankly I don’t cotton to fanatics of any description. They tend to think the end justifies the means, always. I’ve never seen a fanatic that didn’t think that, and that’s just stupid.” Mr. Welsch appeared to be getting very heated. “How can it? When there never are any ends … everything goes on and on … so it remains that we are all means. … I just don’t understand why people don’t see that. It’s what’s causing all the trouble today.”
What is he talking about? thought Harriet. She decided to ignore him.
“Do you read the Bible?” she asked.
“Not now, but I have, certainly. It’s a fascinating book. If you want to grow up to be a writer, there’s no better book for you to read.”
Harriet almost fell into the fire. “Really?”
“Absolutely. In my opinion, the poetry has never been equaled.”
Recovering herself, Harriet tried to keep on the track. “Does Mother read the Bible?”
“Sometimes.”
“She does?” Harriet was very surprised. Why would one read it when the other didn’t? Did they fight about this? But she couldn’t remember any real fights between her parents, only minor skirmishes which lasted a few minutes.
“Does she pray?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Welsch, looking rather fierce. “I don’t consider that any of my business.”
“Oh,” said Harriet, considerably surprised at this. Didn’t married people know everything about each other? If so, why not? She intended to know everything about the man she married. She thought she knew everything about Sport already, so if she married him she wouldn’t have much to find out.
“You’re full of questions tonight, aren’t you?” said her father, smiling.
She wished he wouldn’t do that. She didn’t know what to say to things like that: Yes, I am full of questions? No, I am not, I am always full of questions? … Where another child would blush or mumble something, Harriet always commanded this situation by staring open-eyed into the eyes of the questioner. Few adults were able to withstand this. They turned away.
Mr. Welsch turned away. “Here they come,” he said, looking out toward the spit, “and what in the world has Janie got?”
“It’s that old swan corpse,” said Harriet. “She likes things like that.” They watched them walking toward the fire.
“Look!” said Janie triumphantly, sweeping the skeleton in an arc past Beth Ellen, who jumped away horrified. “Isn’t it great?”
“I don’t know, Janie,” said Mrs. Welsch, laughing. “I don’t want to see your mother’s face when you get out of the car. It’s no addition to a household.”
“I know just what she’ll do,” said Janie with disgust, “run screaming into the house and call my father on the phone. Then they’ll try to talk me out of it, but they won’t be able to throw it out because neither my mother nor the maid will touch it.” Janie looked lovingly at the long skeleton neck of the swan. “Just look at that,” she said, stroking the vertebrae.
“It’s one of God’s more beautiful creatures,” said Mrs. Welsch. Mr. Welsch smiled at her.
“It doesn’t look half bad, even dead,” said Harriet.
here were three mattresses on the upstairs sleeping balcony over the living room, so when there were too many children for Harriet’s room, they slept up there. When they were all in bed, Harriet said, “Listen, I want to ask you something, both of you. Do you believe in God?”
Beth Ellen thought immediately of a dark night, long ago, when she had been only four years old. She had been with her grandmother and grandfather in the back of the long black car. A great storm raged and thundered around the car as it slid along the dark country roads. The rain beat against the windows. Mrs. Hansen had said something about God. Above the banging of the storm Beth Ellen had asked her grandmother a question. “Is God good?”
There had been a silence and then her grandmother had said, “Yes,” very quietly.
“Why does he make storms that scare us, then?” Beth Ellen had asked promptly.
It had made her grandfather laugh. Beth Ellen had loved the moment because she liked to make him laugh. “You’ve got a very logical mind, little girl,” he had said, and she had felt proud. The memory flew swiftly, taking only a second.
“I don’t know,” she answered Harriet. “I think I do.”
“Janie?” asked Harriet.
“What?” said Janie loudly.
“What do you think of God?”
“Nonsense,” said Janie promptly.
“What?”
“It’s all a lot of nonsense. I don’t believe a word of it. I told my mother that the other day and she fainted dead away.”
Beth Ellen could almost feel Janie smiling fiercely in the dark. “A lot of people believe in it,” she said timidly.
“Who?” said Janie. “Anyway,” she continued, “that’s their problem. A lot of people thought the world was flat too. So what? What do they know?”
“Well… how do you know?” said Harriet.
“I just know,” said Janie emphatically. “There isn’t any God and there never was one and that’s that.”
“Well… where did the idea come from, then?” Harriet persisted.
“Who knows where rotten ideas come from? Just throw them out, that’s what I say,” Janie snapped.
You couldn’t help but admire Janie, thought Beth Ellen. She never seemed to be in doubt about anything.
“After all, you don’t believe in Greek gods, do you? Well, they did, and then the idea got thrown out because it wasn’t any good. I mean, after all, all those people supposed to be sitting on top of that mountain. Ridiculous!” Janie sounded furious. There was a small silence. “I guess,” continued Janie, in a musing voice now, “that people made up God to make themselves feel better. After all, when you think about space, I mean all that space out there, it is pretty ghastly.”
It sure was. Beth Ellen felt attacked by space like the slap of a hand. The thought was horrible. Space. Just empty space and her floating around in it.
Janie snored once br
iefly.
“Look at that,” said Harriet loudly. “She knocked herself right out!”
Beth Ellen kept thinking about space. Was that what happened when the bomb dropped and the world was destroyed? Did it split in half like an orange and everyone just float around? Lonely, so lonely, it would be. And kind of embarrassing, humiliating for some reason, to be there all alone and no place to put your feet down and walk around. No one to talk to, just lonely thoughts flying around in your head.
“I don’t know what’s so bad about space,” said Harriet. “I’d like to go to the moon. I’d rather go to Mars, actually. I can’t wait to see what those other people look like.”
“Suppose there aren’t any?” said Beth Ellen, feeling lonelier than ever.
“Of course there are,” said Harriet. “There’s people on every planet, I’m convinced of it. They may look like shoe trees or something, but they’re there.”
Beth Ellen thought about people on other planets. Did they hurt? Did they feel things?
“What does it feel like when you believe in God?” asked Harriet into the darkness.
“I don’t know,” said Beth Ellen. I’ve never really thought about it, she said to herself.
“Oh, Beth Ellen, what a funny mouse you are,” said Harriet with rather kind disgust. She turned over noisily in bed to indicate that the conversation was ended and she would soon be fast asleep.
Beth Ellen began to think about the beginning of the world, the beginning of time. Who started it all anyway? She let her mind creep back to the cave men. A cave. At the end of the cave, God. She was falling asleep. Right before she fell asleep she turned a corner in the long winding path of the cave and came to the end.
At the end there was a clay shelf. Spread on the shelf was a fur blanket and on the fur was a tiger, a huge tiger who said not a word but stared at her.
God?
Then who made the blanket?
he phone rang the next morning just as they were finishing a big Sunday breakfast of pancakes and bacon. Mrs. Welsch answered it.
“Oh! How wonderful! Of course, yes, I’ll send her right home!” She hung up the phone and looked at Beth Ellen. “They’re here!” she said happily, her face a great smile.
Beth Ellen sank in her chair.
“Your mother and Wallace have just arrived and are dying to see you!” said Mrs. Welsch. “You better hurry along, darling.”
“Hooray!” said Harriet and jumped up.
“Where are you going, Harriet?” asked Mrs. Welsch. “I think Beth Ellen would rather see her parents alone the first time.”
Beth Ellen got up. I don’t know if I want to see them at all, she thought.
“We’ll just ride with her to her road,” said Harriet, getting all her beach stuff ready and rushing out the door.
Janie shrugged and finished her breakfast. Beth Ellen thanked Mrs. Welsch and Mr. Welsch in a shy little voice, then walked to her bike as to the electric chair.
Harriet was already out the driveway. “Come on, Janie, we’re going to the beach,” she yelled back. Janie got up, got her things, and went to her bike.
When they were all three out in the road and away from the house, Harriet stopped her bike. Beth Ellen and Janie pulled alongside.
“You wouldn’t mind, would you, Mouse, if we just got one little peek?” Harriet said in her most wheedling manner.
“I don’t—” began Beth Ellen.
“We could just ride up the driveway on our bikes, and when they come to the door, we’d see them and then we’d ride right away.”
“I don’t think so….” Beth Ellen hesitated.
“We could look in the window; they wouldn’t even see us.” Harriet was desperate.
“Maybe she doesn’t want us to,” said Janie. “They’re her parents. You have to think of that.”
“Why?” Harriet was beside herself. She hardly knew what she was saying.
“Look, Beth Ellen,” she continued, going so fast she stumbled over her words, “if we just rode up ever so quiet and looked in the window or hid in the bushes or ran around back or just waited in the road until they go out in the car, we could at least see them through the car window. That wouldn’t hurt, would it? What would that hurt?”
“Harriet, why don’t you stop?” said Janie, but she was bored with it, and putting her bike down, she sat in the road.
Beth Ellen looked at Janie as though her last hope had washed out to sea. In fact it had, because Harriet was relentless. “Beth Ellen, listen to this. If I don’t see your parents, how am I going to know what they’re like? Answer me that. How am I going to know?”
Beth Ellen thought it totally immaterial what Harriet knew or did not know, but she wasn’t sure how to say this. She looked, therefore, at her foot.
“Harriet,” said Janie, looking up, “you’re a pain in the nose.”
“Listen, Janie, you’re my guest; you keep quiet!” Harriet was very moved by the prospect of seeing Beth Ellen’s parents.
“I,” said Janie, “am a scientist. I am able to take a train. I don’t have to put up with anything from anybody.”
Harriet’s mouth fell open. Beth Ellen shifted her gaze from her foot to a scab on her knee. If only they could stand talking all day and she would never have to go home.
Janie’s eyes were flashing. She and Harriet held an eye contest until Harriet broke.
“Well!” she said brilliantly. Janie looked away. “Janie?” said Harriet tentatively. She used the voice that she used when she asked her mother if she could go to the movies. Janie looked up ready to say No.
“Janie, it won’t hurt anything just to see what they look like. We don’t have to meet them. We don’t have to say a word.”
“It’s up to Beth Ellen,” said Janie with gritted teeth, and nothing could have been more definite.
They both looked at Beth Ellen. Harriet felt intensely frustrated. She wanted to shake Beth Ellen by her curly hair. No one ever seemed to understand how important it was to see, to just see, to see everything.
“All right,” said Beth Ellen finally. It couldn’t be any worse with them there, she thought.
Harriet whooped and they all got on their bikes again. As they rode into the Hansens’ driveway they saw a long black limousine parked by the front door.
Harriet looked at the license plate. It was a rented car; she knew because her father had told her they had special plates. “Hey!” she said. “Is that them?”
“How should I know?” said Beth Ellen. She was as white as a cloud. “I don’t know them,” she added.
“Should we go right in or around the back?” asked Harriet, out of breath with anticipation.
Beth Ellen bit her lip, took a deep breath, then spoke so loudly she startled herself. “Let’s just go right up to the front door. I live there, after all.”
Harriet turned and looked at her with admiration. Janie looked a little worried. “We don’t have to, Mouse,” she said gently.
“We’re going in,” said Beth Ellen abruptly and pushed off. Harriet pushed off after her and Janie after her. It reminded Harriet of a troop movement in the movies.
They rolled down the driveway. Harriet wondered if they were being watched from the house.
The front door flew open and the most beautiful woman in the world appeared. She wore a white dress, and rushed through the door. She stopped, as though painting her own portrait, then flew across the lawn, little cries of “Darling, darling” escaping her lips.
The whole thing was such a shock to Beth Ellen that she fell right off her bike.
The woman in white ran toward her sprawled figure. Harriet braked to a stop, her mouth open. Janie had stopped immediately and now stood a short way back.
“Darling, my little darling, my cherub, my beauty, my sweet child, here, let Mummy help you,” said the vision, bending to Beth Ellen.
Harriet looked her over carefully. To say that she was a beautiful woman would be an understatement. There was an extraor
dinary glow to her tan face; her thin body, like the body of a dancer, moved with amazing grace. Well, thought Harriet, I’ve never seen a mother look like that. I’ve never even seen any kind of woman look like that.
Beth Ellen lay there looking up through the spokes at what was supposed to be her mother. The beautiful white vision cooed at her, held out her arms, talked baby talk, and altogether frightened Beth Ellen out of her wits. She tried to pull her bicycle over her head like a blanket. This didn’t look like anybody’s mother she had ever seen. Not one of the mothers of the kids at school looked like this. What would Harriet and Janie think?
“Darling… come here to me, darling.” She held out scented arms and half closed her large dark eyes. Oh, God, thought Beth Ellen, why couldn’t she have been fat and wearing a flowered dress?
“Darling …?” She made one more try at eliciting some response from Beth Ellen, then gave up, calling beautifully over her shoulder, “Wallace…. Wallace? Do come here, pet; she seems to be hurt.”
Harriet and Janie stood straight and still, like first lieutenants to Beth Ellen’s fallen captain. When Wallace appeared in the doorway, Harriet said “Wow” under her breath. “It’s the Prince and the Princess,” she whispered to Janie. Janie scowled.
But when Wallace moved he was disappointing. He didn’t walk; he seemed to tiptoe. He didn’t smile; he pinched his face in half like a glove doll. He’s the strangest man I’ve ever seen, thought Harriet. He’s like a man in a cuckoo clock, or a wooden soldier. Wind him up and he goes back to Europe.
He tiptoed over to The Mother. He peered down into the spokes. Beth Ellen shrank back.
“Hup, hup,” he said, “here, here, girl. Give us a hand and we’ll pull you out.” Beth Ellen shrank more. “Come, girl, come on,” he said.
Like calling a dog, thought Harriet.
He lifted the bicycle off of Beth Ellen, who looked then like a clam with no shell. Her mother lifted her to her feet and brushed off her shorts. Beth Ellen looked at her feet.
“Let me look at you,” drawled The Mother, lifting Beth Ellen’s face to hers. “Ah, yes, you’re not bad at all, are you? You could do with a little fixing, but you’ve got definite possibilities.”
The Long Secret Page 9
