The Ariana Trilogy

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “Paulette’s getting worse,” she said when we reached the sitting room. “Pierre’s beside himself. He doesn’t look good.”

  I paused with André’s shirt half over his head. He struggled, and I finished pulling it down quickly. Before I could speak, the apartment door opened.

  “Ari?”

  “In here, Jean-Marc.”

  At least he is home in time to kiss the children good night. The cynical thought struck me by surprise. I thought I had begun to accept the situation with his work. Change yourself, I thought, remembering my father’s words. You can’t change other people.

  Jean-Marc kissed me, taking stock of our glum faces. “What’s wrong?”

  Louise explained while I pulled on André’s pajama bottoms. Jean-Marc slumped to the couch beside me. “Why didn’t you call me at work?”

  I wrinkled my face at him. “What for? They never know where you are.”

  A shadow passed over his face, and I could feel his defenses going up. “I was at my desk all day,” he said.

  Louise coughed. “What are we going to do about Paulette?”

  “What can we do?” I asked. “I’ve been praying, but—”

  “Let’s begin a family and ward fast,” Jean-Marc said. “We can’t save Paulette’s life in the long run, but she doesn’t have to die now. We’ll call the bishop and home teachers and give her a blessing. Maybe together we’ll have enough faith.”

  Is that what this was all about? Faith? If so, then my attitude needed changing. I was too busy questioning the Lord for allowing Paulette to have AIDS to have time to pray with faith.

  “But she’s had a blessing,” I said. “Pierre gave her one.”

  “Then she needs another one,” my husband said. “I remember reading that in the early days of the Church, when the elders went to preach the gospel, it was sometimes necessary for them to have blessings each hour to help them through the heavy blizzards. It’s no different with Paulette. The first blessing got her through a few days, and now she needs another one for this new ordeal.”

  Within minutes we were on the phone with the bishop and then with the home teachers and visiting teachers, who would get the message out to the ward. While Jean-Marc finished calling, I read the children a story and put them to bed. Then I called my mother to come and baby-sit while we went to the hospital. Lu-Lu, with her new fiancé tagging along, arrived in the midst of our departure.

  Jean-Marc put his arm around the taller Philippe and propelled him back to the door. “So glad you could come, Philippe. And of course we want you to come to the hospital with us. It’s about time you met the rest of our family.” Philippe started to protest, but Jean-Marc continued, “No, I insist. Don’t be shy. If you and Lu-Lu are going to be married, you might as well see how we Mormons operate. We’re going to give Paulette a blessing right now.”

  I had told him my idea of either baptizing Philippe or scaring him away, but I thought he might be overdoing it. Still, Lu-Lu was his sister; he would fight for her as he saw fit.

  As Lu-Lu watched Jean-Marc with Philippe, a smile covered her face. “See? I told you my family would try to accept this, Philippe. Let’s go with them to the hospital.” Under so much pressure, he had no choice but to agree.

  I was about to follow them out the door when I remembered Paulette’s mother. I went to the phone and called information for her number and then placed the call. I didn’t have much hope of reaching her, because her phone had been disconnected, but I prayed silently.

  The phone rang, and before it chimed a second time, Simone picked it up. “Hello?” Her voice sounded perplexed.

  “It’s me, Ariana. Paulette’s worsened again, and we’re going to the hospital to give her a blessing from the elders in our church. Please, will you meet us there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It might be the last time you see her,” I said bluntly.

  “I didn’t know my phone was workin’ again,” she said, as if talking to herself.

  “Well?” I waited impatiently. Already the others were in the hall, holding the elevator for me.

  “I’ll be there.” She sounded surprised even as she spoke.

  “Good.” I hung up the phone and ran out the door. I stepped inside the elevator, waving a farewell to my mother who stood watching. My hand paused at seeing her face, but my momentum forced me into the elevator with the others, and the door closed. What had I seen on her face? She had appeared drawn and tired, but there was something more—a haunting sadness that had nothing to do with Paulette.

  We arrived at the hospital at nearly eight-thirty. A nurse with a wide nose and chipmunk cheeks barred the entrance to Paulette’s room. “Not so many people tonight. She’s in a bad way. Besides, visiting hours are almost over.”

  “But we have to see her,” Jean-Marc said.

  “All of you?” The nurse’s eyes widened as she saw our bishop and Paulette’s home teachers come up behind us. They nodded and smiled their greetings.

  “All of us,” Jean-Marc said. “These are our ecclesiastical leaders, and we’ve come to give her a blessing.”

  “I don’t know,” the plump nurse said hesitantly. She plucked nervously at the dark hairs escaping from under her nurse’s cap. “Does the husband know you’re here?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”

  “I’m his brother!”

  “Well, maybe just you can enter.”

  “What’s the problem?” a familiar voice said behind the big nurse. She turned, revealing Giselle in the quiet light of the hall.

  “They all want to see Madame Perrault. I told them it’s too risky, that she’s weak, but they are insisting.” Her nostrils flared at our audacity.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Giselle said to the older woman.

  “But—”

  “Paulette is my patient. I’ll take care of it.” Giselle’s voice was firm and unyielding, yet somehow sensitive as well. The other nurse nodded and retreated, a relieved expression dominating her stocky features.

  “Well?” Giselle asked.

  “We’ve come to give her a blessing,” I said before Jean-Marc could respond. His normally cheerful face had darkened, and I worried about what he would say. I wanted the nurse to be on our side. “In our church, some of the men hold the priesthood. Paulette may not live through the night, or the baby either. So we wanted to let the Lord have a chance.”

  “A blessing,” she mused aloud. “Is it done by the laying on of hands?”

  I was surprised at the question. “Yes. May we, please?”

  Giselle nodded slowly. “But could I . . . Do you mind if I . . .”

  “Of course you can stay,” I said. “One only needs to have faith in God.” I thought perhaps Giselle had more than I did right then.

  Jean-Marc knocked softly on the door, and at Pierre’s call, he entered. A sad smile creased Pierre’s white cheeks as he saw the large group. Silently we filed in, barely fitting in the small room. Philippe stood closest to the door, and beside him Lu-Lu clutched at his hand.

  “We’ve come to give Paulette a blessing,” Jean-Marc said softly. “And the bishop has called a ward fast.”

  Pierre hugged his brother. “I’m so afraid. I can’t lose her.”

  Jean-Marc didn’t bother to wipe the tears springing from his eyes. I hadn’t seen him cry so earnestly since I was in labor with the twins. “It’s going to be all right,” he murmured.

  The bishop, home teachers, Pierre, and Jean-Marc crowded around the bed. Paulette had been sleeping, but her eyes flew open. Fear glared in her eyes before she recognized the people. Her gaze rested on the bishop. “Am I going to die now?” she asked. Her voice was aloof, her expression detached, as if she didn’t really care about the possible response.

  He stared a moment before replying. “Are you ready to die?”

  “No.” But again she spoke with the same lethargy she had shown before. Her despondent manner be
ckoned to me like a silent appeal. Even her smell reminded me of death.

  “Then let’s have faith.”

  She nodded and struggled to sit up. The blips and beeps on the monitors quickened, and Giselle stepped forward. “You need to stay down, Paulette.” I watched, feeling helpless, as Giselle pushed her gently back. Once more Paulette’s stomach dominated the scene, and for a moment I was angry at the baby who was causing me to lose my friend sooner than was necessary.

  Jean-Marc took out the small vial of consecrated oil he always carried with him. “Who will do the anointing?”

  Pierre gazed at the bishop. “Will you?”

  He nodded. “And you will give her the blessing.”

  Pierre shook his head almost violently. “I gave her one before. I—I think my faith is lacking in this.” I knew he was talking about the baby. He had wanted Paulette to abort her; he didn’t feel he could pray to save her now. Pierre turned to Jean-Marc. “Will you do it? You know how much I love her. And you have always had much more faith than I.”

  “I learned from you,” Jean-Marc said, clasping his brother’s shoulder. “But I will do it gladly.”

  The bishop placed a drop of oil on Paulette’s scalp. We bowed our heads. Before he could begin, Philippe catapulted forward as the door opened, pushing him further into the room. Simone stood there in the open space, looking awkward in the same bright summer dress I had seen her in that afternoon. Her hair was drawn back into a short ponytail, and her heavy, blood-red lipstick emphasized her thin face.

  “Momma!” Paulette gasped.

  “I’ll leave, if ya want.” The vulnerability in Simone was unmistakable.

  For the first time, Paulette let her indifferent facade slip, revealing a scared little girl. “I need you to stay,” Paulette said succinctly. “Please don’t leave.”

  Simone smiled. “I won’t.”

  The men placed their hands on Paulette’s head again, and we bowed our heads. All but Philippe, whose full lips were twisted into an angry frown.

  I had never heard such a blessing. The Spirit seemed to pervade the room, filling in the cracks the fear had left in our hearts. “Your sins are forgiven you,” Jean-Marc said near the end. “And I command you to become well from the pneumonia in order to deliver your baby in due time.” His voice shook as he completed the blessing in the name of Jesus Christ. I heard a strangled cry and opened my eyes. The person making the sound was Philippe, who was standing by the door. He was pale and shaky.

  “My sins are forgiven?” Paulette whispered, as if not quite believing. “What does this mean? How can he say that?”

  Her question was addressed to no one, but the bishop picked up a set of scriptures from the small bedside table where Pierre had laid them earlier. “Forgiveness with a healing blessing is not new,” he said. “In James, chapter five, verses fourteen and fifteen, it says this: ‘Is any sick among you? let him call for the elders of the church and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord: And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up; and if he have committed sins, they shall be forgiven him.’”

  Philippe snorted, opened the door, and fled, as if escaping something evil. Lu-Lu ran after him, but the rest of us ignored the interruption.

  “It wasn’t me, Paulette,” Jean-Marc said. “I didn’t choose the words.”

  Paulette looked away. “Thank you, Jean-Marc. Thank you all for coming.” She didn’t sound convinced. Her eyes closed, and she lay still. Only her rasping breath and the monitor showed she still lived.

  “It was beautiful. Thank you for letting me stay,” Giselle said. She had tears on her dark face and an unfeigned smile on her red lips. With a final glance at the monitor, she turned to the door. “Five minutes,” she said. “Then she really needs to rest.”

  The bishop and home teachers said their good-byes. Pierre thanked them again, but Paulette didn’t open her eyes.

  “Can I talk to my daughter?” Simone asked. Pierre nodded, though his expression was doubtful. We turned to leave. “Stay, Ariana,” Simone said. “I want ya to hear this.”

  Paulette opened her eyes as Simone and I approached the bed. Again she had the appearance of a small child. “Am I doing right, Momma?” she asked. “Would you abort your baby to live a little longer?”

  “I aborted a baby once,” Simone said. “I wasn’t married, and my father made me go to the clinic. We was poor, but my father somehow got the money. They said after it was over, I’d forget it and go on. But I never forgot. It ruined my life—and yers.”

  “How?”

  “I felt guilty about killin’ that baby. I left home shortly after and got into drugs. It helped me forget. When I got pregnant again, I didn’t abort ya, but I was never able to give ya a chance at a good life. Every time I tried to get away from drugs, the guilt wouldn’t let me. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault, Momma.”

  “If I hadn’t killed that baby, maybe I would have done somethin’ with my life, maybe even gotten married to yer father. He wanted to, but I wasn’t willin’ to give up the drugs, ’cause then I’d have to face my guilt.” She paused and reached out a tentative hand to her daughter. “I’m proud of ya, Paulette. Yer brave enough to stand up and do what I never could.”

  “The situation is different,” Paulette said. “You were just a child.”

  “Maybe. But it don’t make what I did right.”

  A hush fell over the room. “I thought you rejected me,” Paulette said with the emotionless voice she had used earlier.

  “Never. I just didn’t want my life to affect yer bein’ happy.”

  “You won’t leave?” The hope was clearly written on my friend’s face.

  “I’ll be here for as long as ya want me.” Mother and daughter hugged.

  I felt out of place and drifted to the door.

  “Ariana, don’t leave,” Paulette said. “I have to ask you something.” I stopped and retraced my steps.

  “Will you take care of Marie-Thérèse? Pierre will have to work and won’t be able to be with her all the time.”

  “You’re not going to die now!” I said. “Didn’t you listen to the blessing?”

  She nodded. “I heard, but I know it is based on my faithfulness. And since I was never forgiven for my sins from before, I can’t believe it now.” She stared into my eyes, entreating me. “Do you believe it? Do you believe God could forgive my sins and still let me get AIDS?”

  “Lots of worthy people die.”

  “That’s not an answer. I need to understand.” Paulette’s face collapsed into pathetic resignation.

  I backed away. “I do believe in the blessing,” I whispered fiercely. “I do.” I practically ran from the room. I didn’t know what to tell Paulette. She needed something from me, and I couldn’t give it to her.

  Chapter Eleven

  He felt something. I know he did,” Lu-Lu said jubilantly in the car. Philippe had left the hospital alone, but she had waited to ride home with us.

  “He didn’t seem impressed,” Jean-Marc commented.

  “But he felt something.” Lu-Lu sounded less sure.

  I watched the lights from the oncoming cars and said nothing, playing with the gauzy folds of my white dress, now wrinkled from the long day. Philippe had seemed more scared than anything to me. I dismissed him almost immediately; I was more worried about Paulette. I knew she was supposed to get well, at least temporarily, but somehow I didn’t feel she would. I silently berated myself for my lack of faith and for lying to Paulette by telling her I believed in the blessing.

  We arrived home well after ten. My mother was up and waiting. Louise told her about the blessing, her face full of hope, but again I said nothing. Leaving the others, I went to check on the children. All were sleeping soundly, even Marie-Thérèse. The rag doll had fallen to the side of the bed, so I picked it up and tucked it next to her small body.

  Next, I made my way into the kitchen to clean the di
shes I had left after dinner, but my mother must have washed them. I slumped to the table and laid my head on my folded arms. What’s wrong with me, Father? I prayed silently. Please help me. Please send an answer so I can help Paulette. Despite my apparent lack of faith, I did believe my Heavenly Father loved both me and Paulette.

  “What’s wrong?” my mother asked from the doorway.

  I lifted my head. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  She sighed. “It seems rather petty compared to Paulette’s problems.” She sank into a chair.

  “Well?”

  “This evening, right before you called me to baby-sit, I told your father I was going to be baptized no matter what he said. He claimed I loved the Church more than I loved him and that no true God would come between a man and his wife. Then you called, and I left. It’s the first time I’ve ever left without telling him where I was going. He was very angry, so angry he couldn’t talk. He just stared at me with his mouth working, up and down. It was awful.”

  “So what are you going to do?” I asked.

  “Can I stay here tonight?”

  “It won’t help things.”

  “I know, but I have to think about what I’m going to do. I can’t think of living my life without the gospel, and I can’t imagine leaving Géralde. I love him. Oh, why does he have to be so stubborn? I’m not asking him to be baptized, just to support my decision.” She laid her head down on her arms and sobbed.

  It seemed, of late, that people were asking me a lot of questions to which I didn’t know the answers. What should I do? I asked instinctively of my Heavenly Father, as I had learned to do through the years since I had become a member.

  “Would you talk to him?” my mother asked, wiping her face with both hands.

  “Now?”

  She nodded. “I’ll stay here with the children.”

  “But what will I say?”

  Her slender shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. “I don’t know, Ariana. But you always seem to find a way. Please try.” I didn’t under-stand what she was talking about, but because of her pleading expression, I had to agree.

  In the sitting room, I took Jean-Marc aside. “I’m going to visit my father.”