Magic Street

by Orson Scott Card

  Only here he was, praying, reading the Bible, all those things that were supposed to make devils uncomfortable, and nothing was happening. At the same time, didn't he still feel it down his spine? A

  kind of thickness at the back of his head? An extra little hitch in his shoulders when he moved his arms? Or was that all his imagination?

  Does the Spirit of God feel like a passenger? Does it ride you like a pony?

  A pony. Word thought back to when he was a little kid and somebody had a pony ride at their birthday party. For some reason the pony decided Word was a pushover. Or maybe the pony was just done for the day. Whatever the reason, it took off out of the front yard and started off down Cloverdale, right at the steepest part. Went right past the Williamses' house and the pony's owner was yelling for him to stop, but Word had no idea how to control the pony. He kept kicking it and telling it to stop, but it just went faster, and it was scary because the road was so steep. Finally the horse scraped him off on a street sign, knocking him to the street.

  Or was that what his rider wanted him to think? Had that memory been inserted in his mind like those things he said yesterday?

  How could he explain to people that it wasn't him, and it might not even have been God?

  The New Testament had those stories about Jesus' enemies saying, "He casts out devils by the power of the prince of devils." But the whole point of the stories is that it was stupid to think that good works could come from evil sources.

  But common sense said that if you were evil and wanted to insinuate yourself into a community, you'd come on as really nice and helpful. What community wouldn't welcome a healer?

  He shook his head. Why am I resisting this? Isn't it what I dreamed of? There's a congregation that will look to me now to show them the will of God. To bring them his healing blessing. How can I disappoint them?

  But if this is some kind of poison, some trick, then how can I continue to deceive them?

  Another knock on the door.

  "Please," said Word. "I'm not done."

  To Word's surprise, it wasn't Rev Theo. "Word, it's me, Mack Street."

  Mack Street—the one who had known about dreams. Why didn't Word think of him before?

  He might have the answers Word needed.

  When he got up and let Mack in, though, Mack wasn't alone. He had a woman with him. And when Mack said her name, Yolanda White, Word remembered. The motorcycle-riding bimbo who was getting all the old farts in the neighborhood so upset because she didn't have the right dignity. And here she was with Mack showing her off as proudly as if he had just invented her.

  He had all the earmarks of young love. Trouble was, she didn't. She just regarded him calmly and steadily as he invited them to sit down.

  Mack came to the point pretty quickly. "We want to get married."

  "I'm not licensed yet," said Word. "You got to talk to Rev Theo."

  "That's the point," said Mack. "We don't have a lot of time. And even though I'm underage on the books, I'm not really. I've spent at least a whole year wandering in Fairyland while only a few hours passed here in this world."

  "Maybe as much as two years."

  Word tried to make sense of that one. And failed. "So you're saying that somehow you're really over eighteen but not in a way you could prove to the authorities."

  "And she'd have trouble coming up with a birth certificate," said Mack. "So what we want is a kind of unofficial marriage. As far as the government is concerned, no marriage at all. But in the eyes of God, a real one. That's as much as I need."

  "That would be great," said Word. "I'm a minister for so short a time I only gave my first sermon last night, and already I'm being asked to break the law."

  "But we're not asking for a legally binding marriage. More like those ceremonies they do for gay couples. No legal force, but all the same words as a church marriage."

  "Still, this is for Rev Theo."

  "No," said Mack. "It's you. Only you. Can't be anybody else."

  "Why is that?"

  "Because of... because you were with me. Three years ago. When you saw how that old man got healed."

  There it was. The very miracle that had gotten Word started on his quest for religious enlightenment.

  "Why would that matter, when it comes to marriage?" asked Word.

  "Because I'm... she's..."

  "Mack," said Yolanda White, "we don't need to do this. I can see Brother Word here doesn't want to do it."

  "I want to do whatever will please God," said Word. "Tell me."

  "The thing is," said Mack, "she's already married."

  "That would probably stop Rev Theo from doing it," said Word. "Thing is, it would stop me, too."

  "But the person she's married to is me."

  Word wondered if he was crazy. All those years wandering around the neighborhood in a daze.

  The invisible hand that had been inserted down Word's spine shifted and shivered and Word wriggled in his seat.

  "Got hemorrhoids?" asked Yolanda. She grinned at him.

  What an appalling woman. "No," said Word.

  "I was joking," said Yolanda. "Don't any of you people have a sense of humor?"

  "You people?" echoed Word, incredulous at such a racist remark coming from a black woman.

  "Word," said Mack, "by 'you people' she means 'mortals.' She's... uh... she's a fairy."

  Word felt a trembling in his spine. "Lady, I salute thee," said Word. He had no idea why he had said it. His mouth no longer belonged to him.

  She looked at him steadily. Warily. "I also wish thee good health, sir."

  "So you've found somebody you love better than me?" Word said.

  He covered his mouth. Why would he have said such a thing?

  "Baby," said Yolanda, "I love everybody better than you."

  The invisible hand let go of his spine. "I'll perform your wedding," said Word. This time the words were his own. "As long as you don't try to assert it in court."

  "Well, I wouldn't dream of asserting my wedding. All right if I attend it?"

  "Wouldn't have it any other way," said Word. And then more words came unbidden to his lips:

  "O Titania, dosvidanya."

  "Cute," said Yolanda. "Now we're Russian?"

  "What are you doing, Word?" asked Mack. "You two know each other?"

  "Only as I know the soul of every wanton woman," said Word's mouth.

  "I'm the one wantin' to get married," said Mack. "She's just... willing."

  Word swallowed hard, trying to resist saying any words that came to him from his possessor.

  But his mouth belonged to him again. "I'll do it," he said. "When?"

  "Right now?" asked Mack.

  "Want witnesses?" asked Word.

  "Yes," said Mack.

  "No," said Yolanda.

  "How about a compromise?" said Word. "Let's bring in Rev Theo."

  "Won't he try to stop us?" asked Mack.

  "Not today," said Word. "Today I have carte blanche."

  "Oooh," said Yolanda. "Another language."

  Word stepped to the door and called out to Rev Theo.

  "Thanks for letting me back into my office today," said Theo with a wink. "Glad to see you being so respectful to your mother," he said to Mack.

  Mack looked around. "This isn't my mother, sir. This is the woman I'm going to marry."

  Rev Theo looked back and forth between them. "I think there's an age disparity, my children.

  Plus you look too young, son."

  "That's why we want Word to marry us," said Mack. "Because he doesn't have any authority.

  So it's not really a marriage."

  "So why bother doing it."

  "Because she needs to sleep with me," said Mack.

  "More than they need to know," murmured Yolanda.

  Word didn't think it was funny, and yet a laugh came unbidden to his throat. A deep, hearty laugh, and it went on and on.

  "There's more than one way to possess a changeling, my love," s
aid Yolanda. This really confused Rev Theo, since she said it to Word.

  "Word," said Rev Theo, "have you and this woman been carrying on?"

  "Just met for the first time," said Word. "We only wanted you as a witness to this extralegal wedding. You need to be a witness that I didn't promise them it would be binding."

  So the wedding proceeded, with Word twisting around the words of the standard ceremony to reflect their real situation. He specifically denied having any authority. And when he said the part about does anybody know any reason these two should not get married, he added, "I mean, besides me."

  Rev Theo raised his hand. "Well, there you go," said Word. "It's a tie. Two of us think this is a

  "Man and wife," said Mack. "Say 'man and wife.' "

  It sounded like Mack was quoting. "Is that from something?" asked Word.

  "Princess Bride," said Mack. Then he felt stupid for having made a joke during his wedding.

  But then, they were treating the wedding as a joke. Everybody but him.

  "I thought I recognized it," said Word. And, obediently, he cut to the chase, asking them whether, and they answered that they did, and then he pronounced them man and wife in the eyes of God but definitely not the eyes of the law. "Which means it's still having sex with a minor," he pointed out to Yolanda.

  "Planning to tell on me?" she asked him. "Let's tell everybody."

  "I'm just asking that you not do it right here in front of me."

  "You have my word," she said. Then winked. A punster. How swell. "Of course, you'll have to cooperate by leaving the room."

  She turned to Rev Theo, who still looked more than a little appalled at what had just happened inside his office. "Don't you two have work to do now?" she asked. Then she touched his shoulder.

  "Yes—my associate pastor here, Word Williams, needs to prepare another sermon for tonight."

  "So you don't mind if we stay and consummate our marriage vows here in your office?"

  "What?" said Mack.

  "We don't have a lot of time, and there isn't a decent motel within easy walking distance," she explained.

  "Why, that's no problem," said Rev Theo. "Just don't spill anything on my couch." And with that, Rev Theo smiled, winked at Mack, and left the room.

  Word couldn't understand why Rev Theo would act like that. These people had just asked him if they could have sex in his office and he didn't bat an eye. "Who are you?" he asked Yolanda.

  She smiled at him. "The part of you that knows, doesn't need to be told, and the part of you that needs to be told, doesn't need to know."

  Mack walked to the window and looked out onto the shabby street, where people were already lined up for the evening's service. "I don't think we'll need this room, so don't worry, Word."

  "What do you mean?" Yolanda asked him.

  Mack turned around with tears in his eyes. "This is nothing to you," he said to her. "But it's everything to me."

  "It is very important, but I'm not."

  "You're the only man I've ever married. Partly."

  "I don't remember you ever loving me," said Mack. "And you sure as hell don't love me now."

  "But I do," said Yolanda. "I love you with all my heart."

  "Why don't I believe you?"

  "Because you have a very limited view of things," said Yolanda. "And, at this particular moment, so do I. What I'm wondering is, are you planning to let your limited view make my limited view permanent?"

  "What's going on here?" asked Word.

  Yolanda turned to him and shook her head. "Word, the part of you that doesn't understand doesn't need to know, and—"

  "Oh, shut up," said Word, and he left the room. Whatever they were doing in there was none of his business. If it didn't bother Rev Theo, it didn't bother him.

  There was magic in this. And Yolanda seemed to know all about the change in him. Talking about a part of him this and a part of him that.

  Whatever possessed him was not God. It was more like Bag Man. It was about babies being born after a one-hour pregnancy. It was about an old man reaching out to be healed by a fourteen-year-old boy who had no idea what he was doing. It was about his father finding all his poems spread all over the internet and getting reviewed scornfully—the old man was almost catatonic, refusing to go to the office, and Mother was staying with him all day because she was afraid he might kill himself.

  It was about magic and evil and not Jesus' healing power.

  Yet the people who were blessed last night were truly blessed. There was no trick in it. Not like what happened in Baldwin Hills.

  The rumors were flying all over the neighborhood about Ophelia McCallister in her husband's grave and Sherita Banks being transported to a gang bang. And Sabrina Chum had a hideous fast-growing cancer removed from her nose. The doctors said that if it hadn't been discovered till morning, it would have spread so far through her nose that the whole thing would have had to be removed. And Madeline Tucker was spreading around what Ceese told her—that Mack Street saw these people's dreams and knew that something bad was happening and saved them.

  Look at it one way, and it was a blessing, a miracle. Mack knew their dreams and he saved them.

  So was Mack saving them? Or profiting from their terror and gratitude? Ophelia McCallister was in her living room telling every visitor how beautiful it felt to have that coffin lid open and Mack Street and Grand Harrison lift her up out of the grave. "It was a rehearsal for the judgment day. For the rapture!" she told anybody who came by.

  And then Word came back down to the church and spent the day thinking and praying and reading the scriptures. All day he'd been telling himself that the stuff that happened in Baldwin Hills had nothing to do with the Christian miracles here in this church last night. But now he knew it wasn't true. Now he knew that it was all part of the same thing. Whatever had crept inside him, this woman knew what it was, or who it was. She claimed that Mack Street was somehow already her husband.

  So by preaching to the people, was he advancing the cause of that vile man who took Mack Street out of his parents' bedroom in a grocery bag? Or opposing it? Whose side was he on? What was good?

  Good was that baby being saved last night.

  Good was the way Rev Theo greeted him with a hug when he came in this morning, and told him, "The blessing of God is on my house again, thanks to you."

  "Thanks be to Jesus alone," said Word to him, and meant it. But now... now he just didn't know.

  Was it Jesus? Or was Jesus just... something like Mack? Or something like Word? Possessed. Or some divided-off part of his "father" who wasn't in heaven at all?

  He went back to the office door and knocked on it. Hard. He didn't care what they were doing.

  He needed answers more than they needed to consummate their marriage in the pastor's office.

  He opened the door. Neither of them was inside. The windows were still closed. The door had been locked. Word had never been out of sight of the door.

  But all their clothes were lying on the couch as if they had simply disappeared while embracing each other.

  Frustrated, angry, afraid, Word went to the window and opened it and looked down at the hundreds of people gathering in the street. No way would they all fit inside the church.

  How could he come down and say, What happened last night, that was evil. Because it wasn't evil. It was good. It was healing, and blessing, and it had to come from God.

  If I preach to them tonight, just so they won't be disappointed, there'll be an even bigger crowd tomorrow. And bigger, and bigger, because these blessings work. Everybody can see it. Not some vague or phony miracles like a medicine show. He didn't have somebody out working the line, learning facts about these people in order to fake up a mind-reading act. Whatever possessed him was going to change their lives. Some of them, anyway.

  How could he say no to that?

  "But I don't love you," he said. "I don't even know you."

  "Never knew a man to be bothered by that," said Yo
Yo. "Men always find out they love me, as soon as I do this." She kissed him.

  "I'm not a man," said Mack. "You said so yourself."

  "That's right," she said. "You don't have to love me."

  "I didn't know I'd feel this way. I just thought it would be... like the guys at school talk about.

  Getting laid."

  "Not with me."

  "I don't want it to be nothing," he said. "I want it to be real. I want it to last."

  She giggled. "Well, if it just went on and on, you'd never get anything else done."

  "Yo Yo," he said. "I want to love you forever."

  "What do you think I want?" She pulled him down to sit by her on the couch. "Think I imprisoned you in the underworld because I hated you? No, I loved you. I loved this part of you. The Mack Street part. Sure, the other part was fun, the contest between us was... entertaining. But you never let this part of you out. This is the part you hid away, and now you threw it away, but you're wrong, Oberon, this Mack Street part of you is pure love and light."

  "No I'm not," said Mack. "I'm not part of something else, I'm me."

  "I know it, Mack," she said. "You don't know how important it is that I know you, and you know me."

  "It's just spying to you."

  "No, Mack. It's discovering. It's making something. It's the love of my life."

  "I don't want you to be the love of my life," said Mack. "I want to love someone who thinks I'm complete by myself."

  "Then that someone would believe in a lie. Because you aren't complete. You're the best part of someone great, marvelous, powerful, and addicted to cruelty. You don't know that side of you, but I do. What I never got to know was this part of you. Oh, Mack Street, don't hide yourself from me any longer."

  They weren't sitting on the couch anymore. They were sitting on a moss-covered stone, cool but not cold, and the sun was shining through the canopy of leaves and warming their naked skin. He did love her, just as she had told him he would. In fact, he discovered that he already knew her body in ways that he had not imagined. They were not strangers. They were husband and wife.

  He wondered if he actually looked like Oberon, or if things like that didn't matter. What was she seeing when she kissed him and held him?