Godmother Night

by Rachel Pollack

  “Drawing?”

  Melissa laughed. “All over the wall. Poor Jason. Willie—my father—sent him off to get crayons. Crayons. Not art crayons, but the sort that children use at school. I think Jason had to send someone into town. And then once he had the box of Crayolas—and of course they brought him the deluxe set—Willie got out of bed and started drawing pornographic graffiti all over the wall. That long one, you know, opposite the windows.” Kate closed her eyes a moment to recall the room, and then she nodded. Melissa said, “You’ll have to come look at the new pictures. I’m not sure if Jason was more upset by my father flaunting his condition, or the defaced wall, or just the embarrassing crudity. I’m afraid Jason is quite a snob.” Before Kate could say anything, Melissa added, “Why haven’t you visited him? I would think you would want to…inspect your handiwork.”

  “I don’t know. I guess because I really don’t believe I did anything. I just suspected that he might not have to die. The tincture did the rest.”

  “But it’s your tincture.” Kate said nothing. “Tell me something. Do all your…patients experience such miraculous recoveries?”

  “No. Most of the people I see die.”

  “Ah. Of course. But you don’t treat those.”

  “No.”

  “You see, I’ve done my homework. And the ones you do treat?”

  “They’ve all recovered, but usually not as quickly as your father seems to be doing.”

  Melissa stared at Kate, who did her best not to look away. Finally Melissa said, “Why did you do that? That thing with the bed.”

  Kate thought how she knew it was coming. She said, “What I do—when I see someone—it depends on waking up intuition. So I can sense what death wants from the person. When I do odd things, I do them more for my own sake, just to help something click. Inside of me.”

  While Melissa continued to stare at her Kate thought—again—how beautiful this woman was. Not just the perfection of the face, but the changing light of the eyes. And her body—usually Kate didn’t like thin women, but Melissa made it seem almost a prerequisite for movement. And stillness. She sat very straight but with no rigidity, the straightness of a young tree. A tree with skin, Kate thought, and imagined moving her fingers along that sparkling neck and down between her breasts.

  Melissa said, “You sound a little like a lecture.”

  Kate laughed. “I guess I’ve done too many interviews.”

  “And do you often spin bodies around?”

  “First time,” Kate said. She held up a hand. “I swear it.”

  “Uh-huh. Somehow I wouldn’t have thought of you as a Girl Scout.”

  “No,” Kate said, “I’m sure they don’t give merit badges for death journeys.”

  “Or snake charming.” Melissa stood up. “Will you walk back with me? Willie does want to see you.”

  “Of course,” Kate said. She did her best to get up gracefully. Before turning toward the house, she looked out once more at the water. The sunlight on the moving sea looked like ships, a fleet of fiery boats moving gently together in some secret migration. Between the waves hitting the shore and the back-and-forth cries of the gulls, she imagined she could hear voices calling to each other across the water. She said, “Do you ever look at the ocean so long you think you can see things?”

  Melissa turned to stare silently at the water. After a few moments she said, “Candles. The bits of light look like endless candles.”

  In Kate’s mind the boats vanished, replaced by flickering flames. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

  Melissa laughed. “Come on.”

  Evans was sitting in a high-backed wooden chair when Kate and Melissa came into the room. He wore only a nightshirt and sat with his legs apart, like a child daring anyone to bend down and look. Though he appeared to sit up without difficulty, Kate noticed that he held tightly to the chair arms. He looked thinner, she saw, and paler, emptied of most of the poison his broken liver had pumped through his body. His real form had begun to emerge, as if released from a spell, and Kate noticed now the hook of his nose, the folds of his chin, the long blunt fingers.

  His eyes fixed on her as she came near him. “At last,” he said. “My miracle worker returns to the field of her triumph.”

  Kate inclined her head toward him. “I’m Kate Cohen, Mr. Evans. I’m delighted to meet you.”

  He looked startled a moment, then laughed. “Huh. I like that. Our last encounter wasn’t much of a meeting, was it? You can’t meet a dead person.”

  “You weren’t dead. You just thought you were.”

  “Why not? Everyone told me so. I must be getting old, believing what people tell me. But you didn’t believe them, did you?”

  “No.”

  Evans pointed a finger across the room to where his doctor stood by the bed, alongside Jason and the nurse. “Have you met Martin, my doctor? No?” He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “You may be delighted to meet him, but he sure as hell ain’t delighted to meet you.”

  Dr. Hovin said, “What I’m delighted about, Willie, is that you’re recovering.”

  Evans said, “Oh? You’re sure about that? I’ll tell you what, Martin. I don’t want to ruin your professional reputation, so if anyone asks I’ll tell them I died.”

  “Don’t worry,” the doctor said, “I’m sure my reputation will survive your survival.”

  Kate crossed the room to shake Hovin’s hand. “You’ve got the hard job, Doctor. I just gave him a boost. You’ve got to treat him.”

  Hovin said, “I don’t know what the hell you did, Ms. Cohen, but yes, I’m delighted you did it.” He shook his head. “Melissa’s told me what that—that medicine of yours contains. I don’t understand it, but I’m happy it happened.”

  “Tell me something,” Kate said. “Do you know why people get sick?”

  Hovin thought a moment. “I suppose I could describe the breakdown of cells or the actions of parasites. But I know that’s not what you mean. So no. Ultimately I suppose I don’t.”

  “Then why worry if you don’t know why someone gets better?”

  Hovin shrugged. “Why indeed?”

  Loudly, as if calling across a chasm, Evans said, “Hey, witch doctor.” Kate turned. “I’ve got more gratitude to shower on you. You didn’t just march in here and save my life, you even got me back to work.” He lifted a hand to wave it at the wall of drawings. “What do you think of my finger painting? See? You’ve given me a new life, so I figure I better start all over again.”

  Kate stood opposite the wall and looked from side to side. The drawings, cartoons actually, in red, yellow, and green, ranged from a few inches high to nearly two feet. Full of energy, they moved between pornography and violence, showing a man who was little more than a matchstick extension of his giant penis performing various acts with an equally skinny woman whose sharp pointed breasts and buttocks turned her body into a weapon. Kate wondered if the woman was meant to be Melissa. Mingled with the parade of sex, Evans had sketched in bulls and horses. Though they appeared simple, little more than a few curved lines, they conveyed a rush of movement, and even realism, as if Evans had spent years watching and sketching animals in motion.

  “Come on,” he prodded Kate. “What do you think?”

  “I think everyone should have a chance to see this,” Kate said.

  Evans grunted. “There. Do you see, Jason? The witch doctor knows art.” To Kate he said, “You don’t mind”—he paused, as if she would expect him to say “the obscenity”—“the chaos?”

  Kate studied the wall again. The pictures appeared in no particular order. Here and there, Evans had run them together, or superimposed one over another. And yet, the more she looked at them, the more they seemed to move together, even prod each other into life. She said, “There’s nothing chaotic about it.” Turning to face him she said, “How did you do all this? In what, a few hours?”

  Evans stared at her for a moment until suddenly he sank back, closing
his eyes. “The actual work doesn’t take all that long. Not with crayons. It’s the thinking, the planning.” He sighed. “I had a lot of time to plan. When you’re dying, people leave you alone.” He paused, then added, “And you can go places. And see things.”

  For a few seconds no one moved, and then Dr. Hovin glanced at the nurse, who went over and helped Evans get to his feet. Dr. Hovin said, “Miracle cure or not, you’ve got to rest, Willie.” The nurse moved Evans into bed.

  Melissa touched Kate’s arm. “Come on,” she said.

  In the hall Melissa said, “So. Now you’ve met the real Willie Reed. At least one version of him.”

  “Are there many?”

  “Oh yes, Kate,” she said. “I’m sorry he didn’t—show more appreciation.”

  “He doesn’t need to.”

  “He does, but he won’t. You know, I think you surprised him. About the picture. He expected to shock you, but got shocked back in return.”

  Kate said, “I’ve admired his work for years.”

  “Be careful. My father—he’s a little bit like a drug, I’m afraid. A poisonous addiction.” She sighed. Kate found herself wanting to reach out and stroke Melissa’s face. Melissa said, “I gather you haven’t left the grounds since you got here. Would you like to go have dinner with me tonight? My treat.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Kate said.

  Melissa took her to a small town up the coast where the single street contained only two businesses, a real estate agency and a restaurant. They left early so that they could enjoy the afternoon sun as they sat on a wooden deck at the edge of sand dunes and pine trees. As they sat and talked, Kate marveled at how much her mood could change in just a couple of days. Melissa in a white dress and with her hair falling free looked brighter than the sun. They drank locally brewed beer and ate salad with pieces of various creatures who lived in water, and vegetables grilled on long skewers, and chocolate cheesecake, followed by coffee that tasted of walnuts. They talked about their work, their adventures with colleagues or clients. They were both teachers, they realized. Kate described the centers where she taught and the kind of people she encountered, while Melissa told her of the traps laid for women in the land of biochemistry.

  As they drank their coffee, Melissa looked silently down at her mug. Here it comes, Kate thought, the questions, the weirdness. She thought of leaping in to change the mood but said nothing, partly because Melissa quiet looked even more wonderful than Melissa laughing. When Melissa spoke, she surprised Kate by saying nothing about Kate’s healing techniques. “It feels almost strange,” she said. “To get my father back. I’d worked so hard to accept his death.” She looked up at Kate. “Does that sound heartless?”

  “You know it doesn’t.”

  “Yes. It’s funny, though. I think the time I had him most was when he was sick. At least until the sickness took over completely. Now I’m sure he’ll go back to being Willie Reed.”

  “I think I got a taste of that today.”

  “A taste, yes. Can you imagine growing up with it? Such a huge presence. And never really there. Did you know that the name ‘Melissa’ means bee?”

  “Yes,” Kate said. “The Greeks worshipped bees. They thought that bees carried the souls of dead people.”

  “When I was a child I used to wish I could turn into a bee. I wanted to buzz all around my father, and when he would try to swat me I would sting him, smack, right on that big nose of his.” She paused, and Kate reached out a hand to stroke, lightly, the side of Melissa’s hair. Melissa smiled and held Kate’s hand for a moment. She said, “The funny thing is, I can’t remember if I wanted to punish him or just get his attention.”

  “He must have been middle-aged when you were born.”

  “Forty-eight. My mother was twenty-four. His second wife. Willie always liked them young.”

  “Where was your mother when you were growing up?”

  “My father bought her out.”

  “Bought her?”

  “When she couldn’t stand his screwing around anymore, he simply made it clear to her that she could divorce him, with a superb settlement, so long as I stayed behind.”

  “And you didn’t see her? What about visitation?”

  Melissa shrugged. “Oh, she tried. She really did. Once a month for a while. Then holidays. But she’d moved away, you see. I used to believe he’d bribed her for that too. But now I suspect it was just…easier for her. She’d remarried, of course. I have two half brothers whom I see, oh, once a year.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kate said. “What about your father? Didn’t he remarry?”

  Melissa laughed. “Did he ever. Four times. I had a whole line of stepmothers, like one of those sad little girls in the stories. Except that my stepmothers weren’t wicked. I still get cards from one of them. It’s just that they didn’t last long. They couldn’t, you see. Willie would just steamroller over them.”

  “So you’re an only child? I mean, your father’s only child?”

  “Yes.”

  “Me too. Funny,” Kate said, “I guess in a way I also was raised by a stepmother. My mother died just a few months after I was born. Her girlfriend raised me. She adopted me when I was two. That’s kind of like a stepmother. Though if anyone ever says something about my ‘real’ mother I always tell them that Jaqe may have given birth to me, but my real mother is Laurie.”

  “And your father?”

  “Anonymous. A donation in a cup. When I was little I used to make up stories about him. Not all the time, just now and then. He was a cowboy, or an astronaut, or a prince, off on some great adventure. But to tell you the truth, I’m not sure I ever wanted him to return.” Of course not, she thought to herself. However grand her fantasy father might have been, how could he have competed with her godmother? She wished she could tell Melissa some of the things she’d done, and seen, with Mother Night.

  “Maybe sometimes the story is better.”

  There was still an hour of sun remaining when they left the restaurant, and Melissa suggested they drive up a mountain whose winding road began just past the village. The ride took half an hour to the top, with the sea and the sun continuously on their left, and tangled bushes and trees on the right. Kate loved the sea, especially high up like this and at sunset, when the light already had begun to turn the sky orange. Now, however, if she looked toward the water she did so primarily as an excuse to watch Melissa. She watched the slight tilt of her head, the different parts of her face lit by the sun as the car moved around the curves, the way her fingers rested on the gear stick just before shifting. She imagined those fingers against her cheek, moving on her breast, her hip…She imagined kissing that bare shoulder, that bend of the elbow.

  Kate felt like a child, confused about what to do and what was going to happen. She had grown so used to knowing how to make it start, when and where to touch the other person, how to lure that person to touch her. She wanted to kiss Melissa’s cheek, the back of her neck. If she closed her own eyes, she knew, she could conjure exactly the sensation of Melissa’s body pressed against hers. But was that what she wanted? Why not? she told herself. And yet, like a twelve-year-old, she wanted perfection and feared that everything she did, or failed to do, might scratch it.

  At the top, Melissa parked in a small pullover protected from the cliff’s edge by a log fence. One other car sat there, a purple van, with no owner in sight. Kate guessed that the van owner probably had followed a dirt trail that headed steeply down the slope into a thick woods. “Shall we step out?” Melissa said. “There are some benches a little way down where we can say goodbye to the sun.”

  “You won’t be cold?” Kate could feel the wind against the car.

  “If we get cold we’ll scurry back.”

  “Or warm each other,” Kate said.

  “Or warm each other.”

  The wind hit them as soon as they stepped outside, roaring into their faces and whipping their hair back. Their clothes pressed into the front of their bod
ies and billowed out behind them. Melissa said loudly, over the noise, “It’s a lot gentler by the benches. Come on.” She started down the path.

  About fifty yards along, the path forked, with a smaller trail leading to a wooden bench where a natural hollow in the rock gave shelter from the wind. “Wow,” Kate said when they’d sat down and could breathe again. “You forget how strong air can be.”

  “I love it,” Melissa said. “It’s so free.”

  The bench faced the water, where the red sun hung seemingly a few inches above the sea. The disk, and the tendrils trailing out around it, reminded Kate of her godmother. Pushing the thought away, she smiled at Melissa. “Is my hair as tangled as yours?”

  “It looks wonderful. It goes with the sunset.”

  Kate reached out spread fingers toward the side of Melissa’s head. “Let me untangle you,” she said. She moved her hands gently back and down, shaking the fingers to work loose the knots.

  Melissa closed her eyes. “I love that. My nanny used to do that for me when I was little.” She opened her eyes to look at Kate. “I think I like this version even more.”

  Kate settled the hair onto Melissa’s shoulders, stroking outwards, then she returned her fingertips to the face, beginning just at the side of the mouth and stroking upward, across the cheeks to just over the ears. Twice she did this, marveling at the depths in such smooth skin.

  It was Melissa who first kissed Kate. She opened her eyes and looked at Kate for several seconds, until Kate became frightened she’d offended her. And then Melissa moved her hands up to press against Kate’s cheeks. A moment later her mouth followed, touching Kate’s lips softly at first, then fully.

  Kate’s body turned liquid, and only a secret miracle kept her upright. They kissed without tongues, holding the sensation of melting lips. When they separated they looked at each other, then pressed their bodies tightly together. Apart once more, Kate saw that Melissa was crying. Kate brushed the wetness with the tips of her fingers, then moved her fingers down the cheeks, the sides of the neck, the shoulders—those wonderful shoulders, chilled by the evening—and around the outside of the breasts and under them, tracing their form. When Kate pressed her palms against the nipples, Melissa gasped so loudly they both laughed and hugged each other again. Another kiss, more forceful, and at the end of it, Melissa’s fingers slid down Kate’s back to press sharply on either side of the spine, a couple of inches above the waist. Kate’s back arched, shot through with electricity. Melissa said, “Why don’t we go back to the car?”