The Ariana Trilogy

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  I shook away the yearning for what couldn’t be and walked steadily toward them. “Didn’t buy me one, huh?”

  They turned. Pierre’s smile subsided. “You left her alone?”

  “She’s asleep. But I made sure the nurse would check in on her. Giselle was coming on shift, and she assured me that Paulette is well monitored.”

  Pierre’s face relaxed, but nevertheless he began walking toward the hospital. I stretched my legs to catch up to him, and Marie-Thérèse skipped on ahead. “She’s a good one, Giselle is,” he reflected. “We couldn’t have asked for a better nurse. She really cares, and she can get Paulette to do things I can’t.”

  “Like have an abortion?”

  His face fell, and his lips twisted downward until I wondered if they would fall from his face completely. “She told you I wanted her to abort it, didn’t she?”

  “Her,” I emphasized mildly. “The ultrasound says the baby’s a girl. And, yes, Paulette told me you wanted to abort her.”

  He stopped walking and faced me. Again, I was struck with the similarity between him and Jean-Marc. The eyes were brown, yes, and his voice deeper, but beneath the growing whiskers, he had the same curve of the face and similar expressions. “It’s only to save her life. Or to extend it, at least. I don’t want to be without her. And it’s not fair to deprive the child we do have for one not yet born.”

  “What about the baby?”

  “It’s not real to me. Paulette is,” he said brusquely.

  “But she is real to Paulette. She’s been hoping for this child for three years, and she already loves her. She feels her kicking and knows she trusts in her. You’re asking Paulette to kill her baby. Don’t you see, Pierre? This isn’t about me, or you, or even Marie-Thérèse. This is about Paulette and the baby. And if you force her to do what she feels is wrong, then she will have no reason to fight for life, especially when she feels she’s already killed you.”

  His jaw worked convulsively, and his eyes glistened with tears. “She said that?”

  I nodded. “Yes. She needs you. And you’ve got to be there for her.”

  “How?” he croaked. “I can’t let her die.”

  “It isn’t in our hands, is it?”

  His gaze was desolate, but I thought I saw a glimmer of acceptance. “And if the baby is born sick, too?”

  “Then we’ll deal with it when the time comes. We’re all here for you—your family, that is. But for now, let’s concentrate on getting Paulette home and the baby here safely.”

  His eyes seemed to lose their wild look. I had done the best I knew how; I could only pray it was the right thing.

  We began walking again, catching up to Marie-Thérèse, who waited at the hospital doors, finishing her ice cream. Pierre threw the rest of his cone away and faced me again. “I’d like to keep Marie-Thérèse here with me for a while. Do you think you could come pick her up before dinner?”

  “Of course. Either I or your mother will come.”

  He nodded. “Thank you. The doctor said in the next twenty-four hours we should know what’s going to happen, one way or the other. She’ll either start getting better or she’ll get worse. I—I wanted Marie-Thérèse to spend some time with her in case—” He broke off.

  “I understand. And plan on going home to shower or something when we come tonight. We’ll sit with Paulette. You need a break.”

  He rubbed at his face. “I showered last night when Mom came, but I guess I could use a shave.”

  “Can’t have you scaring the nurses now, can we?”

  He smiled bleakly. “I guess not. Come on, Marie-Thérèse. Let’s go see Mommy.” He held out his hand, and she grabbed it trustingly. He took a few steps and then stopped and faced me again.

  “Thanks, Ariana.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “You know, I think women must have a special way of seeing things. Giselle believes Paulette should fight for the baby as well, though she didn’t say as much aloud. I felt it without her saying anything.” He cocked his head back as if pondering something of great importance. When he spoke, his voice was rich and admiring, yet it also held a trace of stark torment. “What is it about women that they can risk their lives to have children? Even in a regular pregnancy, they spend so much time sick and uncomfortable and then have to go through labor. What is it about women that makes them this special? What is it about my Paulette? She’s closer to the Savior than I’ll ever be. She’s willing to die for this baby, as He died for us. I know it’s not the same thing, but surely it’s as close as a mortal could come.” His voice cracked, and the glistening in his eyes became large tears, dropping onto his cheeks. “She is one of the purest people I know, yet she is sure she deserves this disease because of her past. To her, it’s the only explanation.”

  He looked at me, eyes beseeching. “You’re good at helping me understand things; perhaps you can help Paulette understand the reason for the AIDS. Please.”

  I wanted to reassure him, but I couldn’t understand it myself. It wasn’t as if Paulette was someone who had refused the gospel and who continued joyfully in a contemptible lifestyle. While such people also didn’t deserve an agonizing death, it was at least understandable. But she had repented, been married in the temple, and been faithful to all her covenants. Why her? The Lord had the power to save her; why didn’t He?

  “I’ll try,” I said woodenly. “I’ll think of some way to explain.”

  Maybe then I would understand it myself.

  Chapter Ten

  I took a detour on the way home, stopping at the café to tell Marguerite and Jules about Paulette. I didn’t admit to myself that the reason I was going was to find comfort and perhaps an answer to my question about why Paulette had contracted AIDS.

  “I know about the AIDS,” Marguerite said. “Your mother called me last Sunday. I haven’t told anyone else. I don’t really know what to say. It’s just like what happened to Michelle.”

  “Michelle had AIDS?” It seemed that each time we talked about her daughter, I learned something new, something she had held back from me.

  Marguerite nodded grimly and leaned over the counter closer to me. “Her body was unable to fight the pneumonia, and she died. It’s the most common killer of AIDS patients.”

  It wasn’t what I had come to hear.

  Marguerite sighed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Ariana. You didn’t want to know that, did you? I’m sorry. It’s just such a shock.” She came from behind the counter and hugged me. I laid my head on her ample shoulder, fighting tears.

  “I want to know why,” I murmured. “Why?”

  She shook her head, and a few more wisps of gray hair strayed from her bun. “I wonder if we will ever fully understand until we are resurrected.”

  The bell hanging over the door tinkled, and a group of young people entered. I recognized most of them as youth from our ward. School must have let out, and Marguerite’s place was their hangout.

  “Hi, Sister Perrault!” they called out as they crowded around the counter, gazing hungrily down at the array of breads and confections. I had been the Young Women’s president for more than four years before being released after having André, so I knew most of them by name.

  As I greeted them, I couldn’t help thinking how different Paulette’s life would have been if she had been raised in the Church. They appeared so clean, happy, radiant. They knew why they were on earth and where they were going. Maybe faithful parents could have taught Paulette the dangers of drugs. Maybe she wouldn’t have AIDS now. She was every bit as worthy as these young people; why didn’t she have a chance?

  “I’ve got to get back to the children,” I said abruptly.

  Marguerite nodded. “Let me know if I can do anything.”

  “I will.” I turned to go, but her voice stopped me.

  “Uh, Ariana?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think she’d like a visit? We didn’t know with Michelle until it was too late. I’d like to be there for Paulette.”

&nbs
p; I smiled. There had been a time, long before either Marguerite or Paulette had been baptized, that Marguerite hadn’t approved of Paulette. Yet in the last year or so, they had become good friends. “Of course. She’d love to have you. I think it would mean something to her for you to visit.”

  There was a flurry of queries from the group surrounding the counter, but I escaped and left Marguerite to deal with it. I had told enough people about Paulette’s AIDS already, and each time brought the painful questions.

  Next I drove to the cemetery. It was the fourth Wednesday of the month and around my usual time of visiting, but my father was nowhere in sight.

  “Paulette’s dying,” I whispered into the air. The sun shone through the leaves of the large trees lining the cobblestone pathway, leaving a dappled design on the tombstones. The pattern changed as a light wind rippled through the leaves, making it seem to dance across the stones and the short-cropped grass.

  Today the cemetery held no answers for me, standing only as a bitter reminder that Paulette’s body would soon be resting here. As usual, I knelt down and traced Antoinette’s name with a light finger.

  “I love you, Nette,” I said softly. With a quick wave at my brother’s stone, I abandoned the suddenly oppressive silence, leaving the dead to their rest.

  Still I didn’t go home. The Seine seemed to call to me, and I drove near the Quai de Montebello and the booksellers’ stalls. Leaving the car, I crossed the quay and walked through the crowd. I paused, looking over some of the wares: magazines, old prints, engravings, maps, and, of course, books. They sold a variety of other items, some simply junk. The tourists ate it up, but I could also spot a serious collector or two among the crowd, scrutinizing each box for the treasures they might occasionally contain.

  Turning my back on the stalls, I stood staring down at the water from the stone wall rising far above the bank. The waves crashed against the sides as a huge boat passed by.

  “The water is us,” said a voice beside me.

  I jerked my head up to see Paulette’s mother. On her thin figure she wore a sleeveless summer dress of fluorescent yellow, and her face was painted with more makeup than necessary. Her dark blonde hair wasn’t greasy today; in fact, it looked as if it had just been washed. But her eyes still had the unfocused stare I knew to be related to drugs. Anger bubbled inside my heart. This woman should have taught Paulette better. It was her fault Paulette was dying.

  “How’s that?” My voice was clipped, my face stony.

  “The water is us,” she repeated. “We’re helpless against the trials that come. We can’t push them away; we can only go where we’re pushed. What good is life when we can’t control anythin’?” The desperation in her voice softened my anger, but then she fumbled in a worn brown bag she had slung over her shoulder and grasped a few thin cigarettes. She shoved one into her mouth and drew a great breath, holding it inside for a while before expelling the smoke through her nose. It was an appalling sight, and my heart hardened once again.

  “Paulette has AIDS,” I said without preamble.

  I saw the pain etched on her face and immediately felt sorry, but her response surprised me. “I know.” She gazed at the water, and tears trickled down her worn cheeks.

  “How?”

  “I went to see her. She was sleepin’, but a man was there. Her husband, I guess. I didn’t go in, but I talked to a nurse—Giselle, I think. Nice girl. When I said who I was, she told me about Paulette.”

  Now I understood the remark Simone had made about the water. We were all helpless to change Paulette’s condition. My estimation of Simone changed; she did care about Paulette, despite the apathy she had shown when I first went to visit.

  “When did you go?”

  “Tuesday. Yesterday.” She flicked ashes from the cigarette. A few wafted below to the walkway next to the river, and some landed on the stone wall. She brushed them off nervously.

  “She’s become worse,” I said. “They want her to abort the baby.”

  Simone became more agitated. “Is she goin’ to do it?”

  “No. But Pierre is afraid she may die sooner because of it.”

  She closed her eyes. “Some things are worth dyin’ fer.”

  I believed that, but it seemed odd coming from this woman whose lifestyle was so utterly different from mine.

  “Are you going to see her again?” I asked to cover my surprise.

  “What would I say?”

  In her eyes I saw guilt; she knew she was partly at fault. With this insight, my anger dissipated completely. I turned to her. “We can’t change this situation, we can only be there for her. For the time she has left.”

  A flash of gratitude sparked in her eyes. “The nurse said Pierre has it too, but my granddaughter don’t. What will happen to her?”

  “Pierre may not get sick for a while, but when he does, she’ll have a home with me, if that’s what Paulette and Pierre want.”

  “Good. Yer the best one fer the job. You was always good to Paulette, Ariana. Even when ya had a right not to be. I thank ya fer that.”

  I felt uncomfortable with her thanks. Besides, I wasn’t the best one for the job of Marie-Thérèse’s mother; Paulette was.

  “What about the baby?” Simone said.

  “What about her?”

  “Will ya take her, too?”

  I wanted to say yes, but in reality my decision would depend on if the baby was sick or not. How could I risk an HIV-positive baby constantly around my other children? A simple cut could pass on the virus. It was too much risk. Besides, how could I take care of a sick child without neglecting the others? Jean-Marc certainly was not around to help, and even when he was, I took care of them during the times they were sick or cranky. With four small children to care for, I couldn’t do any more. I couldn’t.

  “It depends on a lot of things,” I said ambiguously. “Louise, Pierre’s mother, might be able to help take care of her, especially if she has the virus.”

  “Maybe I can help too, if ya want,” Simone said almost eagerly. “I have two days off from waitin’ at the bar. Each week, I mean.”

  Could she be trying to atone for her mistakes? “It’s all really up to Paulette,” I said. “And she could have years left to decide. We need to pray for her to get well. Regardless, you need to go see her.”

  “Maybe.” Simone turned her face away and leaned over the stone wall. I followed suit. We stood in silence as a fresh breeze drifted up from the water and whispered through our hair. My white dress swirled around my knees.

  “How do ya watch yer daughter die?” Simone said, her voice so soft I barely heard the words.

  I understood too well what she was saying. Every time I saw Paulette, I wanted to run away and hide. But another experience kept me returning to visit her. I hadn’t been there when Nette died, and the guilt I felt at not being with her had been overwhelming. At least I would be there for Paulette, as I hadn’t been for Nette.

  “Better to be there than not,” I replied. “How do you forgive yourself for not holding her during her last moments and saying how much you love her? You have the chance to help your daughter into the next world, as I didn’t. Don’t miss it, Simone.”

  Her light eyes met mine, watery but decided. “Yer right, Ariana.”

  She left me then, and I wandered back to my car. I had already been gone much longer than I had planned, but I didn’t hurry. For me everything seemed to slow down, though logically I knew it was probably my own wish to stop Paulette from dying that made each moment stand alone. If only I could stop time!

  When I returned to the house, Louise went to visit Paulette and pick up Marie-Thérèse. I began dinner early, with the twins dancing around my feet. Even the normally self-sufficient André played with his toys in front of the stove, wanting to be near me, and I tripped on them each time I passed. Finally, I’d had enough. “Go to your room!” I shouted. “I’m trying to make dinner.”

  Marc stared at me, and tears welled up in Josette
’s eyes. André ignored me completely.

  “Mommy, are you mad at us? Don’t you love us anymore?” my daughter asked.

  “Are you going to the hospital again? Can we go next time?” Marc added.

  I sighed and sank to the floor to put my arms around them. How did they always know how to get my attention?

  “The hospital is not really a place for children,” I explained.

  Josette sniffed. “But Marie-Thérèse goes every day.”

  “She has to visit her mother.”

  “What do you do there?” Marc asked.

  “Well, what do you think I’m doing?”

  “Getting more tests like when the nurse took our blood. Are you sick?” he asked.

  I thought I was getting to the bottom of the twins’ concern. “Are you afraid Mommy’s going into the hospital to stay like Aunt Paulette?” Both nodded, and I hugged them tightly. “Well, I’m not. I promise.” I had thought the twins were too young and too removed from the situation to really understand it. I believed their innocence would protect them, but it seemed I was wrong. They could feel pain and worry. It wasn’t only Marie-Thérèse we had to safeguard but the twins as well.

  I let the dinner sit and went with them to their room, where we played prince and princess. Only occasionally did I find myself losing concentration and wondering how Paulette was doing. I wished Jean-Marc was home to talk things out with me. I almost went to the phone to call, but it wouldn’t do any good. They never seemed to know where he was these days.

  Louise came home with Marie-Thérèse barely an hour after we had eaten dinner. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face drawn with anxiety. She waited until Marie-Thérèse was playing with the twins before motioning to me. I scooped up André and the pajamas I was putting on him and followed. Louise’s steps dragged in the hall, her shoulders hunched as if a massive weight pressed down on her. Paulette’s sickness was taking its toll on everyone.