My Sister, My Love

by Joyce Carol Oates

  It was arranged that Mummy would drive to the Chaplins’, and Trix Chaplin would drive everyone to the ice rink in her eight-seater Road Warrior S.U.V. Hesitantly Mummy asked if she could rent skates for Edna Louise at the rink, and there was a pause of just a moment before Trix Chaplin said, “Well, no. I wouldn’t think so. But I’ll bring a pair of Carrie’s last-year’s skates for Edna Louise, Carrie has outgrown. I’m sure that they will fit her.”

  Mummy bit her lower lip! Had Mummy made, as Bix would say, a foe paw?

  (How reluctant Mummy was to purchase ice skates for a four-year-old, especially expensive ice skates of the kind you’d naturally expect to see at the Halcyon Hills Ice Rink; after Mummy had paid so much for little Skyler’s skates, that had come to nothing.)

  Charlemagne Drive was less than two miles from Ravens Crest Drive yet on the far side of a social abyss, as Betsey Rampike knew well. The meandering private drive crested the northern ridge of the Village of Fair Hills and the Chaplins’ house was a custom-built multi-level structure by the architect Shubishi, that descended a small mountain looking across Sylvan Lake (not man-made) to ex-Senator Mack Steadley’s horse farm/estate on three hundred acres of prime New Jersey land; their house, as Trix Chaplin ruefully complained, had become “out-grown”—“crowded”—for the family, with only six bedrooms (the Chaplins had four children of whom Carrie was the youngest) and Mr. Chaplin’s elderly mother living with them; an indoor swimming pool, a guesthouse, a gazebo, tennis courts and a pond (too small for the girls to skate seriously on, and anyway the ice was rippled and not smooth enough for skating). All this, on just five acres! Mr. Chaplin, Bud to his friends, was an investment officer at Fiduciary Trust of New Jersey and Trix Chaplin, with a law degree from Fordham, was a “full-time mom”—“or do I mean an ‘over-time’ mom?”—just like Betsey Rampike.

  It was so, on her wistful little drives in the lime-green Chevy Impala Betsey Rampike had several times cruised along Charlemagne Drive undeterred by signs warning PRIVATE ROAD NO WAY OUT but she’d never seen the Chaplin house set back from the road and teasingly hidden by evergreens. Now when Mummy turned into the Chaplins’ gravelled driveway and approached the multi-level glass-and-stucco house on a hill overlooking Sylvan Lake, Mummy stared and seemed about to speak but did not speak; and in the passenger’s seat beside her Edna Louise said, fearfully, “Is that where Carrie lives, Mummy? Is that a house?”

  AT THE HALCYON HILLS ICE RINK, WHICH WAS SO MUCH LARGER AND NICER than the outdoor rink at Horace C. Slipp Park, Mummy tried not to be intimidated by the other mothers and their skater-daughters, all of whom were older than Edna Louise; she tried not to expect too much of Edna Louise, as foolishly she’d expected too much of Skyler. There were girl-skaters at the rink of middle-school and high-school age who were skating as well as, or better than, Betsey Sckulhorne had skated as a girl, among them Carrie Chaplin’s older sister Michelle who was seventeen and a senior at Fair Hills Day. Edna Louise seemed nearly feverish with anticipation as Mummy laced up Carrie Chaplin’s outgrown skates (white kidskin, high ankle supports, exquisite stitching) on the girl’s tiny feet and walked her hand in hand out onto the ice where other younger children, both boys and girls, were skidding, staggering, losing their balance and falling onto the ice, and being hoisted up to try again amid a good deal of noise; and there was Edna Louise frowning in concentration, her strange stark cobalt-blue eyes narrowed, at first wobbling on the new, unfamiliar skates, but by degrees as tightly she gripped Mummy’s hand and followed Mummy’s instructions—“Go slowly, honey: Mummy has you”—“Right foot forward, sweetie: ‘glide’”—it seemed that Edna Louise already knew how to skate, by instinct.

  The other girls were so encouraging! Trix Chaplin laughed in delight: “Edna Louise is doing so well, Betsey! Are you sure she has never skated before?”

  It was during this first skating session, while watching Edna Louise on her borrowed skates, on the ice, now in the company of eleven-year-old June Chaplin who’d taken the little girl by the hand, to give her instructions, that Betsey Rampike was made to realize for the first time My daughter is special! my daughter is blessed by God! my daughter will be the way God will reward me for my faith in Him and God will elevate my daughter above all rivals.*

  AND SO IT HAPPENED, ALMOST BY CHANCE, THAT, IN THE FALL OF 1994 while Skyler Rampike was still made to endure the rigor/pain of rehab three times a week, his little sister Edna Louise began taking skating lessons at the Halcyon rink, along with the Chaplin girls; and that Betsey Rampike who’d so yearned to be, one day, among those Montessori mothers invited to the Chaplins’ house for their annual Christmas party, was invited that year, with her husband Bix Rampike. Of the girl-skaters who regularly practiced at the Halcyon rink, it was Edna Louise who captivated the attention of onlookers with her diminutive size and her skating talent that seemed so disproportionate to that size. “Why, what a little angel!” began to be heard, by Betsey Rampike whose heart beat hard in anticipation, and in apprehension.

  Noted, too, was the fact that while other child-skaters frequently fell on the ice and cried, the “little angel” did not often fall and, when she did, only just laughed to show that she wasn’t hurt, and quickly scrambled to her feet and continued skating.

  So too Edna Louise was likely to be the last child to leave the rink. The last child to unlace her skates. As if her life depended on skating more than one observer noted. As if, even so young, she could see into the future and understood her destiny.*

  Four-year-old Edna Louise Rampike was one of thirty-plus child-skaters in the annual Halcyon Winter Carnival, a gala event attended mostly by adoring families and relatives, and on the ice that evening, to amplified, antic Tchaikovsky (“Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies”), Edna Louise was an appealing, diminutive figure in a pink satin fairy costume with bobbing fairy-wings attached to her small shoulders, matching ribbons in her hair and wide frightened eyes. (Glancing into the audience for Mummy? for Daddy?—but of course, Daddy hadn’t been able to come, Daddy was away on business and “damned sorry.”) Skyler who’d never seen his little sister in such public circumstances, shyly skating with a troupe of small, very novice child-skaters in fairy attire, winced at the sight, steeled himself for the inevitable fall, shut his eyes—and when he opened them, there was Edna Louise completing her brief, somewhat shaky performance, clearly the most skilled of the little troupe, and still on her feet. Applause was immediate and lavish for all the skaters: “Bravo!”—“Terrific!” With other mothers, Mummy hurried to hug her darling little skater, as Skyler remained seated and staring, bewildered. For hadn’t Edna Louise fallen on the ice? Hadn’t Skyler clearly seen her fall? As Skyler himself had fallen on the ice, and from the rings in the gym, and injured himself?

  Tears sparkling in her warm brown eyes, Mummy was hugging a dazed-looking Edna Louise. As Skyler limped to them he overheard Mummy’s ecstatic voice, “If only Daddy could have seen you, darling. He’d have been so proud of us both. Next time!”

  WAS SKYLER JEALOUS OF HIS LITTLE SISTER, NOOOO SKYLER WAS NOT.

  Did Skyler hope for a mishap on the ice, an injury to his brave little sister, noooo Skyler did not.

  (REALLY, THIS IS SO! I SWEAR.)

  AS ALL BLISS-CULTISTS KNOW, IT WASN’T AT THE HALCYON WINTER CARNIVAL in 1994 that Bliss Rampike made her official debut on the ice but at the “Tots-on-Ice Capades” at the Meadowlands, New Jersey, on Valentine’s Day 1994.

  “Tots-on-Ice” was a popular annual New Jersey event open to any aspiring young skater whose parents were willing to pay the $200 entry fee in exchange for the possibility of winning glittery fake-silver tiaras and fake-brass trophies plus a few seconds of local TV news footage and a few photographs in the back pages of newspapers. For ambitious/deluded parents thinking to launch their children into Olympic-team status “Tots-on-Ice” was ideal. As Mary Baker Eddy so famously said You can’t go broke underestimating the taste of the American people.

  Or was it A sucke
r is born every minute the canny seer Mrs. Eddy said. Whichever.

  At the Halcyon Hills Rink, where Edna Louise Rampike had become a fond, familiar sight, one of the most dedicated, as she was one of the most talented, of young skaters, it was suggested to Betsey Rampike that she enter her daughter in “Tots-on-Ice” though Edna Louise was very young and inexperienced. (There were just two divisions in Tots-on-Ice for both sexes: skaters to age eight, and skaters to age eleven.) The older Chaplin daughters had both skated in previous “Tots-on-Ice Capades” and the elder, Michelle, had placed second in her age category as a ten-year-old. But Trix Chaplin believed that, at age five, Carrie wasn’t yet ready for the competition; and that it might be “unwise”—“premature”—for Betsey to enter Edna Louise. “She’s obviously a gifted skater but she hasn’t had experience with such a large, noisy audience. Think how much stronger Edna Louise will be next year.”

  Mummy, who’d come to adore Trix Chaplin,* even as she was intimidated by Trix Chaplin, and, in a way, resented and disliked Trix Chaplin, felt the sting of the woman’s jealousy. Unwise! Premature! For weeks, Mummy had felt the near-palpable jealousy, envy, and covert spite of the other skaters’ mothers at the Halcyon rink, even as Mummy was reminded of the jealousy, envy, and not-so-covert spite of her high school girlfriends in Hagarstown when Betsey Sckulhorne, daughter of a renowned local family, had won beauty competitions and skated in regional challenges.

  And there were Fair Hills women who envied Betsey Rampike her attractive, gregarious, frankly sexy husband, murmuring behind her back What can that man possibly see in her and, yet more ominously, There’s a marriage that can’t last.

  Politely Mummy explained to Trix Chaplin: “I will do whatever my daughter wishes. And whatever is best for my daughter’s career.”

  A DREAM OF SUCH INTENSITY! THREE NIGHTS BEFORE VALENTINE’S DAY.

  It was as if my eyes were open, there was blinding light in the room, at first I was terrified it must be the Angel Gabriel who comes in blinding light but more wondrous yet it was my own daughter who came to me transfigured in light in the guise of a blond angel touching my face with both her gentle hands saying Mummy I am not Edna Louise, you must not call me by that wrongful name I am BLISS, I am your daughter BLISS bearing a vision from God that you are blessed as I am blessed, with God’s blessing we will realize our destiny on the ice in the face of all our enemies, we will not be defeated.

  * Wonder how I know this? How Skyler Rampike, who wasn’t even at the Halcyon rink that afternoon, could be privy to his mother’s innermost thoughts at this moment? The explanation is simple: Betsey Rampike spoke of this “moment of revelation” numerous times in her numerous interviews. Possessed by the certitude of her Christian faith, Betsey never wavered, or doubted that God had designated her, as well as her daughter, for a special destiny.

  * See the ABC documentary The Making and Unmaking of a Child Prodigy: The Bliss Rampike Story, February 1999. These cryptic/prophetic remarks were made by skating instructor Ivana Zuev, the Olympic bronze medalist who’d been my sister’s first teacher, at the Halcyon Hills rink. I’m quoting Ivana Zuev here though elsewhere in her interview the spiteful woman said cruel things about Betsey Rampike, of doubtful veracity.

  * Hey sorry: I haven’t described Mrs. Chaplin—“Trix” to her friends—for the benefit of (female) readers with an unhealthy interest in affluent American suburban lifestyles. In fact, Skyler only glimpsed Mrs. Chaplin a few times and like most young kids he scarcely registered adults. Let’s just say that Trix Chaplin was one of those ageless blondes celebrated in the society pages of suburban newspapers everywhere: rich, stylish, smiling, svelte and perennially size two. Beside Trix Chaplin, poor Betsey Rampike (size ten) looked and felt short, dumpy, fat-faced, unstylish and, as Daddy would say with a grim downturn of his lips, goosh.

  THE BIRTH OF BLISS RAMPIKE II

  BIX WAS ASTOUNDED. CHANGE THEIR DAUGHTER’S NAME?

  From Edna Louise to—Bliss?

  “Sweetie, my mother won’t understand. She’ll be damned hurt.”

  Betsey murmured she would try to explain. She would write a letter to her mother-in-law. She would argue that the vision had come to her with such clarity, and such power, it could not have been an ordinary dream but a divine message from God.

  From God? Divine message? Bix smiled uncertainly. He was one who believed unquestioningly in God—the Christian/biblical/Caucasian God—but he was not one who wished to discuss God for such subjects embarrassed him. As uttering such clinical terms as sexual intercourse, masturbation, would have terribly embarrassed him, who spoke without hesitation among male companions such words as fuck, screw, jack off. A hot sullen blush came into his face. Only just returned home from Newark Airport, his flight delayed three and a half hours from Frankfurt where he’d been sent on urgent business by his supervisor at Scor Chemicals, Inc., a new job for Bix Rampike and a very well-paying job it was, except it did involve travel, and would involve travel, and a fiercely competitive young assistant-manager of project development requires from his wife and family one primary thing: that they not surprise him.

  Surprises in the Rampike household would be Daddy’s, exclusively. That was the bottom line.

  Yet Bix was smiling. Though the pupils of his eyes had narrowed to ice pick points.

  Yet Bix was caressing his wife’s arm, above the elbow. Though his big thumb and forefinger were squeezing the fleshy-soft muscle.

  “You know my mother, Betsey. If her pride is wounded, we’ll be the ones to pay.”

  Unspoken between husband and wife was the prospect of the elder Mrs. Rampike punishing them by cutting Bix out of her will. Or, nearly as cruelly, leaving her favorite son Bix only a fraction of what she left Bix’s endlessly conniving/loser siblings.

  “Mother doesn’t seem to especially like her little granddaughter as it is, even named ‘Edna Louise.’ D’you think she’s going to like her better, named ‘Bliss’ like some sexpot pop star or some Indian-mystic asshole-charlatan?”

  Betsey winced. “Bliss” was a beautiful name!

  “Bix, it was ‘Bliss’ herself—our daughter—who appeared to me, in my dream. The room was flooded with light and there came Bliss like an angel to explain to me that we’d wrongly named her, it was her destiny to be named—”

  “What’s that damn drug you’re on—‘Elixil’—‘Nixil’? Is that what precipitated your ‘vision’?”

  Betsey wrenched away from Bix. In her upper arm there were reddened imprints of a man’s fingers. Her face, like Bix’s, was flushed and warm and there was an excited quaver in her voice. “My vision came from God. You are not going to deprive me of my vision. Always we do things your way, ‘the bottom line’ is Bix’s way, but in this, I know that I am right, and that history will prove me right. Since I’ve started taking Edna Louise—that is, Bliss—to the skating rink, the scales have fallen from my eyes. Our daughter is a born skater, no one else at the rink remotely resembles her, and so young! The instructor Ivana Zuev—an Olympic bronze medal winner—says that our daughter has an ‘old soul’—she has ‘lived many lives before this life’—and has come to ice-skating in this new life with a memory of the old. Don’t look so skeptical, Bix: I am convinced that Ivana is right. Our daughter is fated for—something grand! I am not imagining any of this. In fact, I am taking fewer capsules of Elixil than Dr. Tyde has prescribed. In my dream Bliss came to me to tell me how urgent it was, we rectify our mistake in naming her. Our daughter is ‘Bliss’—not ‘Edna Louise.’”

  “Betsey, hey—for Christ’s sake—”

  “It is for Christ’s sake, and for ours. Bliss Rampike will be skating under her true name tomorrow evening at the Meadowlands, and ‘Edna Louise’ is no more.”

  How fiercely Betsey spoke! Her eyes appeared dilated, glazed. When Bix made a gesture to calm her, or to restrain her, Betsey airily threw off his hand as she’d never dared do in the past and Bix stared at her in astonishment. Was this Bix Rampike’s big-bus
ty gorgeous gal, who stammered when she was excited, and became stricken with shyness at social occasions? Was this Mummy? In the shadowy corridor outside the bedroom little Skyler had limped near attracted by his parents’ urgent voices, he’d seen that the door to the room wasn’t completely shut and so he might listen unnoticed, it was the most innocent of childish maneuvers, poor Skyler had taken to listening to his parents’ exchanges when they had no idea anyone else was listening. Will they talk about me? is the child’s hope. What will they say about me? For Daddy had just returned home from a business trip and had not seen his son in several days and yet: would you have guessed that the Rampikes had any other child, apart from the new, mysterious “Bliss”?

  (JESUS! THAT WAS AWKWARD. THESE PRECEDING PAGES. WHAT I OVERHEARD in my parents’ bedroom was more or less what I’ve recorded here but somehow it doesn’t sound right. (Does it?) I don’t think that I did a very good job of imagining what Bix Rampike was thinking, and feeling; and what Betsey was thinking, and feeling. Not easy! There is something forbidden about such imaginings, where our parents are involved; a taboo, maybe. In deciding to call my parents Bix and Betsey, not Daddy and Mummy, my logic was that much of the time our parents aren’t thinking of themselves as parents per se, not Daddy/Mummy but the distinct individuals they are, apart from us. Yet the paradox is: I can know them only as Daddy, Mummy. I can know them only as my parents.)

  “’BLISS’! THIS IS YOUR NEW NAME NOW, HONEY. ’EDNA LOUISE’ HAS BEEN changed to ‘Bliss’—isn’t that wonderful?”

  The puzzled little girl smiled at Mummy. Was this good news? Was this a nice surprise? From Mummy’s expression, you would definitely think so. “Your new name ‘Bliss’—how do you pronounce it?”