This One and Magic Life

by Anne C. George

  “They’re considered costumes, Artie.”

  “So are my clothes. Don’t you think so, Dolly?”

  “Absolutely.” Dolly loved this ritual. She recognized some theme being played out. The artist and the businessman. The brother and sister. This is my role; that is yours.

  But eventually things would be settled and they would sit in the kitchen and eat Baskin-Robbins Pralines and Cream ice cream. It was Artie’s favorite. “Enjoy,” she would say. “After today I won’t be able to buy any more.” And they would enjoy, the three of them, sitting around the kitchen table. Mariel never came with them to do the taxes. She wouldn’t have eaten the ice cream anyway, Dolly thinks. She was always on a diet. Not for the first time, it occurs to Dolly how unfair the competition had been between Artie and Mariel. She feels her mother’s hands holding the cool cloth against her forehead this afternoon. She suddenly wants to see her, tell her it’s all right that she won’t eat Pralines and Cream. She probably would think that she, Dolly, had lost her mind. On the other hand, she just might understand. Mariel has surprised Dolly several times these last two days. Even her determination and subterfuge about the funeral have been surprising.

  In the next drawer are some bundles of letters with rubber bands around them. The first packet Dolly picks up are from Carl to Artie. She opens the top one. My darling, it begins. Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. She closes it and puts the rubber band back. Maybe later. How young they had been. Artie had been a widow six years when she was Dolly’s age.

  Suddenly Dolly realizes that surely Artie had had other loves. Carl was a small-town boy who never had a chance to grow up, to live. You can’t have experienced the only love of your life by the time you are twenty-two. Especially if you’re someone as passionate as Artie. Somewhere there must have been a mature love. Not just an affair—a love. Dolly is surprised she hasn’t understood this before. But if it were true, why had no one ever mentioned it? Strange.

  Another packet of letters turns out to be from Thomas Sullivan to Sarah. My darling, the first one begins, just as Carl’s had. Dolly reads this one. Her grandparents, dead before she was born, have always fascinated her.

  I received a letter from your mother today. She says you are improving every day. I am so happy to hear this and hope you will be back with us soon. The children are fine and send their love. Hektor has started a salamander farm in the garage. He says he will sell them and get rich. I can’t imagine much market for them. I have determined, however, that the little creatures aren’t suffering, so will let him continue.

  Artie says to tell you she has been elected a junior cheerleader. She seems inordinately pleased about this in spite of her brothers’ teasing. She has to have an outfit, but Mrs. Tibbet is making all of them so it is no problem.

  We are not whole without you. Come back soon.

  I love you,

  Tom

  We are not whole without you. Dolly sees her grandfather trying to keep his family together, trying to deal with her grandmother’s illness. How hard it must have been to see the dynamic, beautiful Sarah spiraling into her own hell. How much of them she must have taken with her again and again. Dolly folds the letter and puts it back. She will read these later, too.

  Dolly still feels that somewhere in the house there is a message for her, a magic potion, maybe, that says, “Dolly, drink me.” And she will drink and understand the people who have lived in this house. Her family. Her place in the family. She wanders to the window in Artie’s room. One strip of orange still glows at the horizon; the other side of the world where Carl Jenkins died is lightening. Across the bay in Mobile, lights are on. People are eating dinner, arguing, making love. And like Artie, Carl, Thomas, and Sarah, they are creating stories that no one will ever be able to tell correctly, not even the ones making them.

  She picks up the pictures from the bed. She picks up the telephone book to put it back in the nightstand and a scrap of blue paper falls out. On it is written in unfamiliar handwriting, I scarce know which part may greater be / what I keep of you or you rob from me.

  Dolly sits back on the bed and studies the words. I keep of you; you rob from me. On the back of the paper, in Artie’s handwriting, is Fruit-Gathering, Tagore. The purifying process of fire. Transformation. (Donnie)

  Her head is too fuzzy from the antihistamines to try and think it out now. She slips the piece of paper and the two pictures into her pocket. Then she goes to the kitchen and looks in the freezer. It’s there, Pralines and Cream. She doesn’t bother to get a bowl. She eats it right out of the carton.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Perseus

  “A SHOOTING STAR!” MAY EXCLAIMS AS THEY WALK ACROSS THE parking lot. She, Hektor, and Father Audubon watch the bright green meteor streak across the sky. “Maybe it’s Aunt Artie telling us goodbye.”

  Both men are thinking the same thing.

  “Tonight is the Perseid shower,” Father Audubon says. “Around midnight the sky will be full of falling stars. It happens every year.”

  “What’s a Perseid?”

  “Well, Perseus is a constellation, a group of stars named for one of Zeus’s sons. The meteors seem to come from that direction, so they call them the Perseid meteors. You know what meteors are, don’t you?”

  “Star junk,” May says.

  “Good answer,” Father Audubon declares.

  “Know who Zeus was?” Hektor asks.

  “Oh, Papa!”

  “Do you know who Perseus was, Hektor?”

  “Zeus’s son.”

  “He was the one who killed Medusa.”

  “Who was Medusa, Papa?”

  “A Greek lady.”

  “Why did he kill her?”

  “Because he didn’t like her.” Hektor slams the door. “Okay, Del, you started it, you finish it.”

  Father Audubon laughs. “It’s all mythology, May. Just stories. Tell you what, when we get back to the house, we’ll walk out on the bluff and see some more meteors. Okay?”

  “Great. But why didn’t he like her?”

  “Go on, Audubon. Tell her,” Hektor grins.

  “She was so ugly that anyone who looked at her would turn to stone.”

  May thinks about this a moment. “That’s pretty ugly.”

  “And she had poisonous snakes for hair.”

  May is delighted with this information. “You’re kidding! Rattlesnakes?”

  “Coral snakes.”

  “How come they didn’t bite her?”

  “Because she was so ugly.”

  Everyone is satisfied with this answer, and they ride in silence for a few minutes. “It was a nice service,” Father Audubon says.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what I think I miss most about the Church? The incense. You’d think it would be the music or the Communion or the prayers. But tonight, I realized it’s the incense.”

  “You can buy all the incense you want at Pier One,” May says. “The sticks smell real strong, don’t they, Papa?”

  “I love you, May,” Hektor says.

  “I love you, too.” She pats Father Audubon’s hand. “Go to Pier One.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks, May.”

  “You’re welcome.” May turns toward Hektor. “Kelly can’t marry you, Papa.”

  “Why not? I’m only twice her age, and I have most of my teeth and hair. What’s wrong with that girl?”

  “I told her you had money, too. She said that was interesting, but it was too late.”

  “We’ll just have to keep looking.”

  “She’s already getting married.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear there’s some legitimate excuse for her to turn us down.”

  “I have a sister who’s not married,” Father Audubon says.

  “Wash your mouth out with soap, Del.”

  “Nothing ventured.”

  “Nothing gained.” Hektor takes May’s hand. “Honey, I promise you, when we get back home, I’ll seriously think about it. Okay?�
��

  “You’ve never been married, Hektor?” Father Audubon asks.

  “Once. Didn’t last long. I was gone so much we never had a chance to get settled. Ever since, I’ve kept thinking I’d get around to it later.” Hektor pauses. “Guess it’s later, isn’t it?”

  “Kelly says it’s too late,” May adds.

  “Well, what does she know? We’ll find us the perfect wife and mama in New Orleans.”

  “I’ll help you,” May sighs. “I think I need a mama.”

  For the first time, Hektor realizes how serious May is. He wants to pull the truck over and hug her, tell her everything will be okay. “We’ll get you one, baby,” he promises. “Soon.”

  “A good Catholic widow would be nice,” Father Audubon says.

  Hektor relents. “Okay, Del. Tell me about your sister.”

  Donnie, Mariel, and Naomi Cates also see the falling star.

  “Would you look at that!” Naomi exclaims. “Bright green. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one like that before.”

  They stand looking up at the sky for a moment, but nothing else happens. Donnie opens the car door for his mother-in-law. He is so tired, he feels the weight of the door.

  “Why don’t you spend the night with me tonight?” Naomi asks. “I hate for you to drive back to Mobile and have to drive right back in the morning.”

  “We don’t have any clothes with us, Mama.”

  “You can borrow one of my nightgowns, and what you have on is fine for the funeral.”

  “Thanks, but we’d better not.”

  “Okay. Just be careful. I know how exhausted both of you must be.”

  “I’m fine,” Donnie lies. His eyes feel like they have grit in them. All of the lights are haloed.

  “It went well,” Naomi says.

  “It was fine.” It really was, Donnie thinks. He was surprised at how at ease he had felt, how comforting the familiar words had been.

  They let Naomi out at her house. Mariel sees her in and turns on the lights for her.

  “Quit babying me, honey. I’m fine,” Naomi protests. But when Mariel hugs her, Naomi leans into her for a moment.

  Donnie’s eyes are closed when Mariel gets back to the car. “You want me to drive?” she asks.

  “Please.”

  Mariel is astonished. Never, in all the years they’ve been married, has Donnie ever relinquished the driving to her. It scares her. “You want me to drive?” has always been a rhetorical question. But now he moves over, and she gets behind the wheel, adjusting the seat.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “Tired.”

  Mariel turns the car around. Having Donnie as a passenger makes her nervous.

  “Nothing hurts you?”

  “I’m okay. Just tired.”

  Don’t let him have a heart attack, God. Please. Don’t pay any attention to my bitching about him. I can’t live without Donnie. Please, God. Don’t let him have a stroke, or cancer. Please, God.

  “You’re sure nothing hurts you? You’re not short of breath or anything?”

  “Mariel, for God’s sake. I’m tired. My eyes hurt. Okay?”

  “You’re not just saying that? You know how you are.”

  Donnie laughs. “Thought you were going to quit me.”

  “I want you well for the divorce proceedings.”

  “Then just let me close my eyes while you drive us safely home.”

  “We can spend the night with Mama.”

  “Mariel!”

  “Okay.” She hesitates. “You will tell me if anything’s wrong, though, won’t you, Donnie?”

  “I promise.” She’s really frightened, he realizes. “And you do the same for me. Don’t hide anything from me.”

  Tears flood Mariel’s eyes. She brushes them away with her arm. “I promise.” We will grow old together. We will have grandchildren we will both adore. We’ll die together peacefully in our sleep. The furnace will mess up and carbon monoxide will get us. That’s supposed to be a very peaceful death. We’ll both see a great light at the end of a tunnel and we’ll be holding hands. And everybody we ever loved will be there, glad to see us, welcoming us.

  Mariel brushes her tears away again. The shell road makes a swishing sound that is hypnotic. By the time she turns onto the main highway, Donnie is asleep.

  They cross Jubilee Parkway. Traffic is light. She’s grateful it’s not night before last when word of the jubilee was spreading. Everyone in Mobile would have been trying to get to the bay to fill their freezers. She wonders if it’s true that this is the only place in the world where jubilees happen. Sounds like something the Chamber of Commerce would put out. She wonders if the fish see a great light and head toward it. We should have spent the night with Mama, she thinks, hearing Donnie’s light snoring. Keep breathing, my love. I’ll get you home.

  At the house in Harlow, the phone rings, startling Dolly who is drifting toward sleep.

  “Dolly? How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” she tells Dave Horton. She pushes herself up on the pillows and realizes it’s true. “You won’t believe this, Dave. I just ate about a half gallon of Pralines and Cream ice cream.”

  “Good. Did you take your medicine?”

  “Yes, Dr. Horton,” she lies. Wandering over the house, reading the old letters, she had forgotten it.

  “Well, I just wanted to check on you.”

  “Thanks, Dave. I appreciate your calling.”

  “You’re welcome.” For a moment there is silence and then he says, “You wouldn’t believe how the stars are falling tonight, Dolly.”

  “The Perseid shower.”

  “Do you remember Alisha Goodwin? Her folks had a swimming pool? A meteor actually fell in that pool. Scared them to death.”

  “I remember that.” Dolly lies back and lets Dave’s words flow over her.

  Stories.

  THIRTY-SIX

  A Cut-Glass Pickle Dish

  THE RESIDENTS OF MOBILE ARE INTO AIR-CONDITIONING. THEY consider it the greatest invention of the twentieth century with television a close second. Consequently, ninety-five percent of them will miss the Perseid meteor shower. They also missed, in April, the red glow laced with white streaks that was the aurora borealis making a rare appearance in South Alabama. They won’t see the first star of Orion lift from the water or know the exact moment when the sun and moon face each other across the bay. But they are cool, comfortable, and entertained. No small accomplishment.

  In the more affluent neighborhoods, Chem-lawn keeps the yards green, the flowers blooming. Some people say this is one reason for the increase in jubilees, but their voices are muted by the lushness of vegetation. It’s difficult to be strident in Mobile. Crimes of passion erupt, startling everyone with their violence, but there is little organized crime. “Mobile” and “organization” have never been synonymous. Even Mardi Gras parades occasionally end up going down the wrong streets. The spectators simply determine the new route and move. Or stay where they are if they’re having a good time. There’ll be more parades along later, more gold coins, beads, and Moon Pies to catch.

  Outsiders often mistake this joie de vivre for laziness. Mariel Sullivan is thinking about this as she drives down the deserted streets. Well, let them freeze in North Dakota, or fall into the ocean in California. She wouldn’t want to live anywhere but right here. Especially since air-conditioning.

  On the beach in Harlow, Hektor is thinking the same thing. He, May, and Father Audubon have come to watch the shooting stars and have found Reese sitting on the bluff.

  “Watching the falling stars,” Reese says.

  “I saw one I thought was Aunt Artie,” May says. “It was a great big one. Bright green. I think it was her going to heaven.”

  “I saw that one. Probably was,” Reese agrees.

  Hektor leans back and looks at the sky. “Father,” he asks, “could we have the mass now?”

  “Sure. It’ll take me about five minutes to get ready. I think it’s a g
reat idea with the stars and all. Mythical.” Audubon gets up and starts toward the house. “Hey, listen,” he says, turning back. “I know your brother is going to scatter the ashes on the bay, but I really need something to pray over. Something to bury.” In the light from the porch, Father Audubon looks embarrassed.

  “Would part of them do?” Hektor asks.

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. Go get ready.”

  “What are you gonna do, Hektor?” Reese asks.

  “Just get part of Artie off the mantel. Donnie won’t care.”

  “Lord. Lord.”

  “It’ll be okay, Reese. We’re blessing her.”

  “You just blessing part of her.”

  “It’s all symbolic anyway. Just wait on us here.”

  “Just none of it makes sense, May,” Reese says as Hektor leaves. “None of it. I feel like I’m whirling around like those stars.”

  The child reaches for his hand.

  But Hektor, in the living room, is beginning to feel like Reese. He hasn’t looked in the package. Now he does and sees a plastic container. How is he going to get part of the ashes out? This is Artie, his sister, his flesh and blood. Or was. He can’t just stick his hand in and get some ashes. He feels goose bumps just holding the package. He could go in the kitchen and get a bowl and pour a few ashes in it. But you can’t scoop your sister’s ashes out like cereal or soup. He tries to remember where he can find a fancy bowl or cup. Something he could call a chalice. Something dignified. What pops into his mind is a small cut-glass bowl his mother used for watermelon rind pickles every holiday. He goes into the dining room and looks in the china cabinet. There is so much of his life here, he realizes. The dishes with the green and gold border, the turkey platter, the pink Christmas dish shaped like a poinsettia. And the pickle dish. He takes it and goes back to the den.

  There he faces the problem of opening the plastic container and pouring some of the ashes into the bowl. He doesn’t think he can do it; his hands are shaking.

  “You need some help, Hektor?” Father Audubon asks. He stands at the door in purple vestments. Hektor is amazed at the change in his appearance. Delmore Ricketts is every inch a priest.