Compass Rose

by John Casey

  Elsie hung up. Mary waited while Elsie banged around the room. Mary was amazed at Elsie, at how fast she’d turned into an angry little ball. For a day or two she’d been a cloud, her comings and goings so soft Mary had to look to see if Elsie was in or out. Now Mary was wary of Elsie’s filling the room. Mary said, “It’s more his tone than anything else, isn’t it? I mean, I’m happy to do whatever has to be done in the way of cooking. There is going to be a crowd when you come to think of it. If you want to put your hand to things, it wouldn’t be a bad idea. For one thing, it’d be better if you picked the pallbearers.”

  Elsie sat down. “Pallbearers. I guess that’s right. How many does it take?”

  “Six, I think.”

  “All men? Do they have to be men?”

  “I don’t know as there’s a rule. I’ve only ever seen men. The casket weighs enough so they have to put some muscle into it.”

  “I’m not sure Captain Teixeira’s up to it.”

  “It depends on who else.”

  “I suppose Dick and Charlie and Tom.”

  “They’d make up for Captain Teixeira.”

  “I suppose I should ask Jack. He’s a cousin of some kind. How many is that?”

  “Five.”

  “I could do it myself.” Elsie lifted her head. “But then there I’d be in front of half of South County alongside Dick.”

  Mary said, “I don’t know as how people would make much of that. But you may be right that now’s not the time to be trying something different. Why not one of the Tran boys? Or old Mr. Tran himself? Miss Perry took more of an interest in the girls, but Mr. Tran could stand for all of them.”

  Elsie nodded. Then she cried a bit, not hard. She sniffed and dabbed her cheeks with her cuff. She said, “You’re right. I should get busy. You’re right. You are …” She made fists with her hands and pressed them hard against each other. “A wonderful friend.”

  Mary almost laughed at the effort it took Elsie to get that out. Then she thought, How am I going to tell her I’m leaving?

  chapter forty

  May had just got off the phone with Elsie when it rang again. May was thinking of how to get in touch with Charlie on the R.V. Trident, of whether he could get back for the funeral, so at first she was pleased to hear a woman’s voice say that she was going to give Charlie a ride home. A ride was a help, since May’s car was in the shop. May wondered if Elsie could have radioed the ship to tell Charlie about Miss Perry, but then the woman said, “Charlie’s all right, I’m sure he’s going to be fine.”

  May said, “What? What happened? Where is he?”

  “Oh. I thought the captain … This is the first you’ve heard? Charlie’s in Boston. They’re running one more test right now, just to make sure. He’s got a broken collarbone and maybe a mild concussion. They’re pretty sure everything’s fine, but you know how they are. They took X-rays and now another MRI or maybe a CAT scan, and they’re waiting for a specialist. She’s on her way. But that’s just an extra precaution. It may sound like … I thought you knew and were waiting to hear that it’s pretty much okay, which it pretty much is. He’s complaining about having to stay on that flat board they strap you on.”

  May hadn’t pictured anything clearly until the word strap. “Oh my God.”

  “No, no, that’s good. It’s good that that’s what he’s complaining about. If it was worse he wouldn’t be complaining. They’re just keeping him immobilized as a precaution. I’m sure he’s going to be fine. I’ll call again as soon as—”

  “Wait. Don’t go. I don’t know what happened.”

  “Charlie took us to an island, me and one of the other researchers, and he, the researcher, was climbing a little way up a cliff to look at a bird’s nest and he got stuck. So Charlie started up to help him. I told Charlie I’d go—I’m a mountain climber—but he went. The researcher somehow broke off a piece of rock and it knocked Charlie into the water. There was a little bit of a sea running and he got swept out, but I dove in and got him to shore, and I got the other guy down and set off a flare and they sent another boat from the Trident. After a while a helicopter came and took Charlie and me to Portland and then Boston. We’re at Mass General now.”

  May was pressing the phone to her ear so hard it began to hurt. She sat down. She said, “Can I talk to a doctor?”

  The woman said, “I’ll try to get one, but it might take a while, so I’ll call you back. Okay? So bye for now.”

  May felt her body wrapped with what this woman said: Boston, going to be fine, precaution, pretty much okay. Who was this woman? What did she know? May made an effort to block the pictures. Nothing would be true until she touched Charlie. She swept the kitchen floor, concentrating on her hands on the broom handle. She blocked the board and straps, the boat, the sea, but she couldn’t block what it was like to fall. The weightless falling came up from her chest into her head.

  She should call the boatyard; someone there could call out to Dick, he’d row in from the mooring. She pictured that, his stamping his boots outside the office before he went in to pick up the phone.

  Wait. What if the doctor called while she was calling Dick? She swept the little pile of dirt into the dustpan. She’d got used to waiting for Dick; waiting for Dick wasn’t like this. She put clean sheets on Charlie’s bed.

  Nobody called—not a doctor, not the woman.

  When Dick came home for supper, May told him. He stood still. He asked her a question she couldn’t answer. He asked another. When she said, “All I know is what that woman told me. She said she’d get a doctor to call.”

  Dick nodded, said, “I’m going,” and was out the door. May heard the motor and then the tires crunching on the gravel.

  She was stunned. She was so stunned her deepest feeling didn’t rise to the surface. She thought that maybe it was her job to stay by the phone.

  May put away the food without eating. She trusted the woman less and less. She was sure she wouldn’t be able to sleep. When she went to get a book she saw the books Miss Perry had given the boys and she turned away. She put her hand on the phone three or four times and finally called Phoebe Fitzgerald. Phoebe began to talk about how sad she was about Miss Perry and how sorry she was for May, for May and Dick and the boys, for so many people. May said, “I can’t stay on the phone long. I’m waiting for a doctor to call.” And then she had to say Charlie had had an accident.

  Phoebe said, “Does Dick know?”

  “Yes. He’s gone to Boston.”

  “I’m coming over,” Phoebe said. “I’ll be right there.”

  So Phoebe was there when the woman finally called. The woman said, “Things may take a little longer. They’re not explaining exactly why. I told one doctor I’m an EMT, but he didn’t seem to … And I haven’t seen the specialist, but they did say she’s here, so maybe I’ll get to talk to her.”

  “Who are you?” May said.

  “Deirdre O’Malley.”

  May repeated the name out loud, then said, “Are you one of the scientists or one of the crew?”

  “Sort of a researcher.”

  May wrote the name down, had to ask how to spell Deirdre. She didn’t want to talk to Deirdre, but she didn’t want to hang up. She said, “Charlie’s father is on his way. He’ll get there in another hour or so. He’ll likely be the only person wearing big rubber boots. Could you ask him to call home? I forgot to remind him he’s supposed to be a pallbearer tomorrow.”

  The woman either coughed or laughed. May was about to hang up when Phoebe took the phone. Phoebe said, “Deirdre O’Malley? Did you used to be an instructor for Women in the Wilderness? We called you Didi? I can’t believe it! Oh—you may not remember me—I’m Phoebe Fitzgerald. It was a long time ago, I’d just got divorced … No, she was the other one, sort of plump. I remember, I remember every minute.”

  After Phoebe hung up, she said, “Well, that is just surreal.”

  May wished Phoebe could stop being Phoebe, just for a while. She put the kettle on
and asked Phoebe if she’d like a cup of tea. Then she thought that if she couldn’t sleep and couldn’t read she might as well let Phoebe talk. It would be like waiting in a doctor’s office, turning the pages of a glossy magazine, watching your fingertips turn page after page of things that didn’t matter.

  “Well, that is just amazing,” Phoebe said, and May watched Phoebe’s pretty mouth and hands. “I remember Didi O’Malley; I remember her because she was so young but we had to listen to her every word or we wouldn’t survive. It was actually called that: Women in the Wilderness, a survival program. We made tea from pine needles; we made fire by the bow-drill method. Didi would disappear at night—just leave us, ten women alone in the dark. No blankets, just a pile of leaves you made a nest with. Didi told us later it was a metaphor for how to deal with anything—you just start taking care of little things and pretty soon you’re feeling better about everything. I don’t mean to say that we weren’t glad to get out of the woods. And glad to see the last of Deirdre O’Malley. The first night someone said, ‘So where do we sleep?’ and she said, ‘Remember that squirrel’s nest we saw? Think about it.’ And the woman said, ‘You mean we should climb a tree?’ And Didi just raised one eyebrow in this totally exasperating way.”

  May let Phoebe go on. Sometimes May took in the details—Phoebe picked up a wooden spoon to illustrate the bow-drill method of making a fire. But mostly she let Phoebe’s voice drift over her, a haze that soothed her, but then her neck twitched or her knee jumped and she snapped into wide-awake waiting again.

  Dick called. He said, “They don’t know.” May waited. Dick said, “I talked to two of them. I asked when they would know. The woman doctor said she needs a better picture.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “No.”

  “Did they say if he’s in pain?”

  There was a pause. May was afraid Dick hadn’t asked. Dick finally said, “They said they’re holding off on the painkillers until they know more. If it was just his broken collarbone they could give him some, but with a head injury they want to hold off.”

  May held on to the phone with both hands. She said, “Did you ask …?” and then started over. “Did they say he—”

  Dick said, “He’s not going to die.”

  He said this fiercely, and May felt all of Dick at once, his years of doing things pressing through him. No use. No use for her. She set him aside and hoped her own hope for Charlie.

  She said, “I don’t expect you’ll be back for Miss Perry’s funeral. I’d better call Elsie and let her know.” And then in the same tone, as if it was another practical detail, she said, “You should have taken me with you. Call when they know something more. I’ll be awake.”

  She hung up the phone. She felt so dragged down she didn’t hear what Phoebe was saying to her. Phoebe took her hand to get her attention. Phoebe said, “May, listen. I’ll drive you.” May stared at her, trying to attach her to what was going on. Then, as if to prove she was the real Phoebe, Phoebe said, “I have an old beau who’s a doctor at Mass General. He’s been there for ages, so if we need any help …” May nodded. Phoebe said, “I’ll just call Eddie while you change.” May was ready to be bustled along but was puzzled. She stood still. Phoebe said, “Oh, you know—something cheerful for Charlie but serious for the doctors. I know—that dress you wear when we go to Sawtooth for lunch.”

  Never mind if she’s putting a ribbon on it, she’s taking me to Boston.

  chapter forty-one

  Tom called Elsie early in the morning to say Dick and Charlie couldn’t be pallbearers. “Charlie’s in the hospital. Mom’s sorry she didn’t call last night, but she was—”

  “What is it?” Elsie said. “Is he going to be all right?”

  “They seem to think so. He’s got a hematoma, which is a clot, and it’s in his head, but it’s small, and the neurologist says she thinks it’ll just go away, so they’re not going to start cutting. I was set to go there, but Mom says to go to the funeral first, so I guess she’s not so worried as she was. Anyways, that’s where Charlie and Dad are.”

  “Where? At South County?”

  “No. Boston. Mass General. The Trident’s been down east. Charlie fell off a cliff trying to help some damn bird-watcher. So that’s where Charlie and Dad are, but I’ll be on hand for you. Have you thought of asking Eddie? Eddie and Walt both, you want strong backs. Hold on—I just remembered about Miss Perry and Eddie—”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll think of someone.”

  “You want me to tell Rose about Charlie? No, I’d better wait till after the funeral in case she’s nervous about her singing. Say, have you ever wondered where she got that voice? Dad can’t carry a tune in a bucket. And Rose tells me you’re not much of a songbird.”

  “Have you ever wondered where you got your talking so much? Not from your Mom and Dad.”

  Tom laughed. “Okay, you got me. But I got to say one more thing. One time Dad said to Charlie and me that we wouldn’t have turned out so good if it wasn’t for Miss Perry. And there’s you and Miss Perry. I’m thinking about you and her. You’re both good people around here.”

  She said, “Thank you, Tom.”

  She called Johnny Bienvenue and asked him to be a pallbearer. She decided she’d be the sixth pallbearer. If people thought that was funny, to hell with them.

  What she hadn’t counted on was that she’d be undone, so undone she was afraid that she’d be too weak.

  Jack had wanted to give a eulogy. She’d said that Miss Perry didn’t need one. He could be the second lay reader, after Tory Hazard. It was Tory Hazard’s reading that undid Elsie. Tory didn’t break down, but she was on the verge. It wasn’t only that—Elsie had a spell of dizziness that made her grab the edge of the pew. It was a vertigo of time rather than space. Tory Hazard had been Miss Perry’s pet before Elsie; she brought old time and new time into one perspective, a perspective that was both long and horribly foreshortened. Elsie looked at Tory’s fingers curled around the sides of the lectern, felt her own fingers straining to hold herself in place. Elsie knew Tory only by name and an old story or two. Tory was now much older than in her story, her thin, pretty face beginning to loosen. But it wasn’t Tory’s name or story or face—it was her hands on the lectern, more immediately intelligible to Elsie than the words of the reading, that reminded Elsie of Miss Perry’s dream in which death was the loss of grammar, the last sinew of her consciousness that had held her back from nothingness.

  Tory finished reading. There was a rustling—people shifting in their pews, picking up their programs, breathing, clearing their throats—a stir of wind across dry reeds.

  It was Jack who brought Elsie back to the world with his handsome gray suit and black armband. Elsie considered that armband an affectation—too European, too mourning-chic. Jack adjusted his reading glasses and scanned the congregation over the rims. What? Was he checking the guest list? The seating arrangements? After a prickle of resentment, which, she had to admit, steadied her, she gave way by degrees. Jack read very well; the cadences of the King James Bible were right up his alley. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.” His voice, which could be annoyingly enveloping at close range, carried easily, was suited to this dignified, well-decorated church. She thought he might have gone too far when, at the end of his reading, he stared heavenward. What was this? Was he lifting his eyes unto the hills? It turned out he was cuing Mary and Rose in the choir loft.

  Elsie could hear that they were in time, an octave apart but perfectly linked, and she could understand the words. “Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi …” At first it was just Rose and Mary, then the choir, then Rose and Mary lifting above the choir. When they finished, Sally, seated on her right, breathed into her ear, “Oh my God, I had no idea. I mean, that was as good as a record.” Elsie touched her hand and pointed her chin at the minister, who was starting again. When he turned, stood at one end of the casket, and looked at Elsie, she hesitated. He held out h
is hand. Jack and Captain Teixeira stood. Captain Teixeira took charge, nodding to Tom and Mr. Tran. Johnny Bienvenue was standing in front of her, taking her hand. She didn’t get up. She was sure something was wrong. For a second she was afraid she was wearing her red dress. She looked at Johnny’s hand, saw his navy blue sleeve, her hand, her navy blue sleeve.

  Captain Teixeira arranged the six of them sensibly—Tom and Jack at the front end, Elsie and Johnny at the back end, and Mr. Tran and himself in the middle. Tom and Johnny, the two strongest, were at opposite corners. At Captain Teixeira’s nod they picked up the casket. It weighed more than she’d expected, but the effort concentrated her attention. She saw nothing but Captain Teixeira’s broad back, felt nothing but the weight. A burn flared in her arm and shoulder, and then fixed itself a notch below pain after she moved closer and put more of her back into it. The weight wasn’t Miss Perry, it was a mass of oak and bronze that had less to do with Miss Perry than did Captain Teixeira’s back. He was very old, but his back and shoulders filled the black broadcloth of his suit coat, and Elsie felt less scattered as she fitted her steps to his.

  After they slid the casket into the hearse, Elsie floated toward him as if she were a ghost floating through a wall. She pressed against his back, and when he turned she clung to him. He put his arms around her and held her until she was still. He said, “Lydia.” It took her a second to recognize Miss Perry’s name. She’d seen it on envelopes, on documents, on the stern of Captain Teixeira’s second boat, the Lydia P. “Lydia loved you so much, you did so much, you are as good as the best daughter.” His voice croaked in her ear, rattling into her brain, for the moment blessedly empty of any modest denial or polite answer or, for that matter, any sense that anyone was watching.

  She let go of him when she thought she was about to kiss him. She stood up straight and put her hands on his chest. “You. You’re Miss Perry’s best friend.” They were standing between the back of the hearse and the front of the church, the people flowing around them. Had she been about to kiss him? On his mouth?