“Now?”
“It’s important. My mother wants to be baptized, and they had a fight about it.”
“I’ll go with you,” he said immediately.
“I think I should talk to him alone.”
“At least let me drive.”
I hugged him, touched that he wanted to be with me. “Thanks. I think I’m tired of being alone.”
“Alone?”
My eyes watered. “I’ve missed you.”
“But I’m right here,” he said, pulling me close with a smile.
He didn’t understand my reference to the many evenings I had already spent alone. I smiled wistfully and turned to grab my white sweater.
We drove the few minutes to my parents’ home in comfortable silence. He walked me up the cement steps to the outside door, where I rang the black buzzer. The night was quiet and tranquil, not another person in sight. Stars overhead shone brightly, hovering in their constant vigil.
“Yes?” My father responded quickly, as if he had been waiting.
“It’s me, Ariana. May I come up?” The buzzer sounded, and Jean-Marc pulled open the heavy door.
“I’ll wait down here,” he said, jabbing a finger at the elevator button.
“I won’t be long.” At least I hoped I wouldn’t.
As I rode in the elevator, I wondered what I was doing. It had been a long time since I had been a fearless missionary, accustomed to rejection. “But he’s your father,” I said aloud. “He can’t reject you.” But he had once before, when Antoine died.
My father opened the door before I rang the bell. He had his keys in his hand and was pulling on a sweater. For the first time, I noticed the wrinkles around his eyes.
“Going somewhere?”
“To find your mother,” he said curtly. “She left. Since you are here, I suppose she’s not at your house.”
“You suppose wrong.”
“Is she okay?” His tone reprimanded my frivolity.
I sighed. “May I come in? She’s the reason I’m here.”
He stood aside and ushered me into their spacious entryway. I led the way down the short corridor past the kitchen and into their oversized sitting room. I knew each step well, as I had grown up in this apartment; even the faint smell of spice my mother used to freshen the air was familiar. As always when coming to my parents’ house, pleasant memories of Antoine filtered through my mind.
Mother had changed the sitting room since I had been here last, as she occasionally did. A new picture of Christ in Gethsemane had a dominant place over the hearth, and another of the Swiss temple was positioned in the corner by the window where my mother usually sat reading. The couches had been arranged to one side to allow space for a new easy chair, and on the coffee table in front of this chair, a statue of Christ with two children on his lap sat next to a copy of the Liahona and my mother’s scriptures. I observed all this with some portion of my brain; there had been a time when my mother hadn’t dared bring any of her new beliefs into the house.
“She’s not okay,” I said, settling myself in the easy chair.
My father didn’t sit. “What do you mean?”
“She’s torn between her love for you and her beliefs. What does it matter if she’s baptized? I am, and it has only changed me for the better. Has it ruined our relationship?”
“You are not my wife.”
“But I am your daughter. The gospel makes Mother happy; it doesn’t take away from your love.”
“She’ll want me to change—eventually. It’ll tear us apart.”
I felt my face flush with anger. “Has it torn us apart, Father? No. It was what brought us back together!”
“You’re not my wife,” he repeated stubbornly.
I stood up. “This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t have come. You don’t want to listen!” Then I saw it clearly. “You’re afraid, aren’t you? Afraid that if you let Mother be baptized, you will have to find the truth for yourself. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re afraid!” The idea seemed ludicrous, but there it was. My father was frightened of the truth. For over seven years since I had made up with my parents, I had hoped for their conversion. Now my mother was ready, but fear stood in her way.
I suddenly felt very tired. “I can’t do this! You and Mother will just have to work it out. I can’t be caught between you. Paulette’s dying, and I don’t understand why. And all you can think of is your fear of change. You won’t even try to learn the truth.” I shut my eyes, feeling dizzy. When was the last time I had actually eaten? I had fed the children, but I hadn’t been hungry when we began our new fast. “I have to leave.”
“Wait!” My father put his hand on my shoulder. “What’s wrong, Ari? There’s something more, isn’t there?”
The anger left me as quickly as it had come, leaving me weak. I sagged, and my father caught me.
“Tell me.” He held me close, as he had when I was a child.
“It’s Paulette,” I said through my tears. “She’s looking to me for the answer, but I don’t know why this is happening to her, especially after she’s worked so hard for forgiveness. I can understand trials, but death? And Pierre too? And possibly the baby? She was forgiven for her sins, but now they’ve come back to torment her. She feels her sins are being visited upon her innocent family. What kind of forgiveness is that?”
I felt guilty even as I spoke. My father was an unbeliever and certainly not the one I should speak to about my doubts. I should be talking with Jean-Marc. We might have our troubles, but he was a priesthood holder and well versed in the scriptures. Of course, he hadn’t been around much lately. When could we have talked? The thought was caustic, but I didn’t fight it. It was the truth. Maybe Jean-Marc was trying to escape the situation with Paulette altogether; I certainly wished I could. And now here I was talking with my father, the biggest church critic I had ever known besides my former self. He would surely point out the fruitlessness of my faith.
His next words filled me with astonishment. “It’s more complex than that, Ari. I’m surprised you don’t know.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
“Your church teaches that when a person repents, forgiveness is complete. But repentance doesn’t negate the consequences of previous actions. If it did, people could simply repent at the last moment and be cured of anything. For instance, a person who has committed adultery could immediately have the consequences removed. Like a resulting pregnancy could disappear, or the spouse would never leave and sue for divorce. Or perhaps a man caught embezzling would retain his job. Doesn’t that sound preposterous? Of course it does. No, the consequences have to be in place; they are unchangeable, and they actually serve as an example to others. Meanwhile, the trial itself refines the person even more. What use is faith if there are no tests? God sent us here to be tested, and what better way for a person to be tested than this? It doesn’t mean Paulette was never forgiven or that God is at fault and has abandoned her. There are rules in the universe, and He follows them. Yes, He has the power to change things, but how much more will we learn if we go through it? And those around us?”
My father’s speech sounded strangely Mormonized, and I wondered if he had been reading Mother’s Liahonas. I smiled inwardly at the thought. “But the baby—”
“She is an innocent, to be sure, but any religion in the world will tell you that her innocence makes it a much more potent test. Some of the innocent are sacrificed to stand as witnesses against those who wrong them, but others simply stand as complications to whatever trials are sent to the faithful. It is much easier to suffer yourself than to see someone else suffer for your mistakes—especially in a case like Paulette’s, where such a drastic repentance has occurred.”
My father’s words were difficult to understand. “Are you saying God didn’t change the consequences of Paulette’s drug use because He wants to test her?”
“Like He tested you.” My father’s words were gentle. “Your Nette died through no fault of yours, yet had you ch
osen another path, she wouldn’t have died. But does it mean you are to blame? Or that any forgiveness you obtained was tainted? I think not.”
I was beginning to understand. “Regardless, Nette still died.”
“And Paulette still has AIDS, as she would have had she not repented,” my father continued. “We always have a choice in life, but we can’t choose the consequences. Those won’t change simply because we repent.”
I nodded and stepped away from him. “I don’t understand it,” I said. “You talk like a bishop or something. I never knew you understood the scriptures so well.”
He laughed. “It isn’t just the members of your church who read scriptures.”
“When did you start reading them?”
He appeared startled at my question. “About a year ago.”
I smiled. That was about the time my mother had begun attending church regularly. “So Mother’s church activity has influenced you.” I picked up my mother’s scriptures from the table and thumbed through them until I found what I wanted: “And whatsoever thing persuadeth men to do good is of me; for good cometh of none save it be of me.” As I quoted the scripture in Ether, my father’s eyebrows drew together tightly.
“That has nothing to do with it.” His voice was clipped.
“Yes, it does. Father, I really appreciate what you said to me tonight. It really helped. But I have to point something out. You are at a crisis point in your life. You have a decision to make, and like Paulette, you can’t choose the consequences. Mother loves you more than anything. She also loves the Lord. Please work this out with her.” I kissed his cheek and ruffled the top of his hair, as I had as a child when he tucked me into my bed each night. “I love you.”
He didn’t walk me to the door but stared after me as I left. My own heart was much lighter. I knew my parents still had a long way to go, but whether my father knew it or not, he was on the right path. And, strangely, the Lord had helped me by sending me to him. My father had given me at least part of the answer to Paulette’s dilemma. Now I would follow up on my earlier feelings and talk to Jean-Marc.
When I stepped off the elevator, Jean-Marc stood up from his seat on the cool marble stair. “How’d it go?”
“All right, I think.” I settled on the stair and patted the place beside me. He sat again, looking at me questioningly.
“My father helped me understand something,” I said. I noticed my mother’s scriptures then. I had forgotten to return them to the table in her sitting room. I let them slide to my lap.
Jean-Marc’s face appeared bemused. “And I thought you went to teach him.”
I laughed. “Well, we’ve heard time and time again how the Lord works in mysterious ways. I think my father has been studying religion. Not ours in particular, perhaps, but in general.”
He smiled. “So what happened?”
I bit my lower lip. “Well, I couldn’t seem to understand why Paulette has AIDS. I mean, I know she did drugs, but she has repented, and it doesn’t seem fair for the Lord to let her die like this. She doesn’t understand it, either.”
He shook his head. “The same question has been plaguing me. Pierre has never done anything wrong in his life, and now he’s got it, and eventually he’s going to die.” His voice was low as he added, “Like my dad.”
“My father said these things happen because of consequences, and we can choose our course but not the results.” I explained by using the examples my father had given. “But when it comes right down to it, the whole thing is a test, to refine not only Paulette but the rest of us.”
Jean-Marc put his arm around me. “I hope we all pass it.”
“We won’t have to do it alone. We have each other and the Lord.” I stared at the swirling patterns in the marble floor. “But I doubted His wisdom,” I whispered.
Jean-Marc’s hand gently touched my chin and brought my face around to meet his gaze. “We all do it. It’s a part of learning. And if we don’t keep on learning, we forget.”
I knew what he was saying. At the time it had happened, Nette’s tragic death had crushed me; but after becoming a member, I had never questioned the Lord about it or anything else He had sent my way. Until now.
“Yet Paulette believes her family is being punished for her sins,” I said. “She even quoted scripture to me.”
Jean-Marc fingered the scriptures I had taken from my mother’s table. “I know where that scripture is—we just had a lesson on it last week in elders quorum. It’s in Exodus and again in Numbers. But she has misunderstood it. It is only if a person doesn’t repent that the punishments will fall upon their children. Look, here in the Doctrine and Covenants it explains it better.”
I read the scripture eagerly. “This is it!”
“What?”
I kissed his lips. “The rest of the answer!” I stuffed the scriptures in my sweater pocket and stood up. Grabbing his hands, I pulled him to his feet. “Come on.”
His green-brown eyes sparkled. “You’re up to something. Where are we going?”
“To the hospital.” My voice was determined.
He grinned. “Right now? What if they don’t let us in?”
“They will.”
Twenty minutes later, we walked into the hospital and rode up the elevator to the third floor in the wing where the AIDS patients were. Jean-Marc kept trying to duck into deserted corridors when people passed, but I strode ahead without looking around. “You’ve seen too many American films,” I said to him. “The trick is to look like you belong.” If my white dress was a bit fuller in the skirt and more gauzy than the nurses’ uniforms, such a thing went unnoticed this late at night, especially because of my white nurse-like sweater. For his part, Jean-Marc stood out in his dark suit.
We made it to Paulette’s door without being challenged and slipped inside. The room was dark. “You keep watch,” I said to Jean-Marc, “and I’ll talk with her.”
The only light came from blinking machines and through a crack in the heavy curtains. Labored breathing came from the bed. In the dim light I could see the chair next to the bed. It was empty. Where was Pierre?
“It’s Ariana,” I whispered, touching Paulette’s shoulder. “Are you awake?”
“Yes.” The voice was low and unrecognizable. “I’ve just been lying here waiting for you.”
“How did you know I was coming?”
The thin figure shifted slightly. “If not today, then tomorrow.”
I took her hand. It seemed so incredibly fragile, the skin paper-thin and dry like old parchment. “I came to tell you I’ve found the answer. God has forgiven you and loves you! But you see, the consequences can’t be changed simply because you repent.” Again I explained about the adulterous man and the one who had embezzled, silently thanking my father for his clear examples. “So you see, the Lord didn’t let you have AIDS because He didn’t forgive you but because He can’t go against His own rules and change the outcome. When Nette died, a missionary told me God loves those He tests. He loves you so much!”
“You really think so?” The rasping voice had a touch of wonder.
I nodded, though Paulette could not see me in the dark. “He knew you would stay faithful, no matter what. And when you stand before Him, you can know for a surety the Savior has made your robes white before Him through His sacrifice and through your own faithful endurance. Remember, this life is but a blink in the eternity of things.”
I wasn’t sure if I was explaining it correctly, but her frail grasp tightened on my hand.
“Thank you! Oh, thank you. And to Him who sent you.”
This was my first inkling that I wasn’t talking to Paulette. I held the hand for a long time, wondering what to do. Finally, I reached out to the curtain with my free hand and parted it further. Rays from the outside lights surrounding the hospital shone down on the figure in the bed—an old woman, impossibly thin and wrinkled-looking. She was sound asleep, a slight smile on her pale lips.
This wasn’t Paulette! I let the cur
tain drop and crept to the door.
“Finished already?” Jean-Marc asked.
“It’s not Paulette!”
“In that case, what took you so long?”
He grabbed me with one hand, the other opening the door. I stared at the number outside the room: 301. Paulette was in 307, three doors down. In my hurry, and with the muted light in the hospital corridor, I had made a mistake.
We glanced up and down the hall. Several nurses passed, but none looked our way. Jean-Marc sprinted down the hall, pulling me with him. He opened Paulette’s door.
“Who’s there?” Pierre’s voice came from the dark.
“It’s me, Jean-Marc, and Ariana.”
“What are you doing here?” We heard a click, and a soft glow appeared on the headboard of Paulette’s bed. Pierre blinked at his watch. “It’s nearly midnight.”
“I needed to talk to Paulette,” I said, feeling suddenly absurd. It could have waited until tomorrow.
“How is she?” Jean-Marc asked.
Pierre frowned. “Not well. I mean, her body is responding to the drugs, but she’s not getting better. It’s like she’s given up.” His voice hardened. “Tomorrow, I’m telling the doctor to take the baby, regardless. Either way it will die.”
She! my mind shouted.
“But the blessing,” Jean-Marc said. “I felt it. I don’t understand.”
“I do,” I said. I crossed to the bed, and despite Pierre’s objections, I shook Paulette’s shoulder.
“Huh? What?” she said. Her eyes fluttered open and tried to focus on me. “An angel?” she asked. “Oh, it’s you, Ariana.”
I sat on Pierre’s vacated chair. “Having AIDS doesn’t mean you aren’t forgiven for the past,” I began for the third time that evening.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. “My grandfather forced my mother to have an abortion when she was young, and she never recovered. She raised me with drugs, and because of that I am passing this disease to my family. It is the sins of the parents being passed to the third and fourth generations, just as I thought.” Her face was glum, her voice hopeless.
The Ariana Trilogy Page 31
