by Ron Savarese
“Yes, I know that house,” Mother said.
“She lives in a cabin behind it. I think she rents it from the woman who owns the white house. Occasionally, I’d see her at Mass, but I haven’t seen her in a while. The last time I spoke to my friend, I inquired about her. He told me, as far as he knew, she still lived there. But that was about three months ago.”
Mother leaned forward a little more and looked at Father Tom. “Oh?” she said.
“At one point, I understand, she was preparing to become a nun. My friend told me she made her temporary vows, but then just before it was time for her make her final vows, she decided against the religious life. Apparently, she came to realize she wasn’t one for a vocation in the church.
“My friend said he was quite impressed with her and her work with natural remedies. Do you know about homeopathy?”
“I’ve heard of it,” Mother said. “Jack has said some good things about it.”
Father Tom continued. “Apparently, those who couldn’t find help from traditional medicine have sought her help for various illnesses and she’s had some good success. I understand that the way to see her is through a recommendation.”
Father Tom gave Mother a serious look. He clasped his hands and placed them under his chin. He twitched his mouth as if he wanted to say more but stopped.
“What else do you know about her?” Mother asked.
“Well, my friend referred to her approach as holistic. He said her methods are based on balancing the mind and the body.”
Father Tom coughed several times. The phlegm rattled around in the back of his throat. It was a deep cough, the kind that came from way down in the bottom of the chest. Mother said he used to smoke cigarettes before he switched to cigars to lessen the effect on his lungs.
I watched a squirrel climb the branches on the tree outside, darting in and out among the leaves that remained, and hummed a little tune—one that I’d made up.
“If you want to see her, I can try to set up a meeting.” Father said.
Mother turned away from Father Tom and looked at me sitting in my chair. It was the same look I had seen many times before: a sad, forlorn kind of look. A “something is really wrong with you and I have no idea what to do about it,” kind of look. She adjusted her legs in the chair and sat straight up.
“Father, can I talk to you alone in your office please?”
Mother and the priest stood up. Father Tom glanced at the cigar smoldering in the ash tray, but didn’t pick it up. Instead, he ushered my mother into his office and closed the door. I tiptoed over and listened to them through the cracks. I heard them whispering.
“If you think this woman can help, I want to go see her. But you have to tell me more about her.”
There was a long silence. I got ready to tip-toe back to my chair, but I heard them whispering again.
“I don’t know much more about her, only that she’s apparently quite gifted and she’s had some good success. I knew when I first met her, she was a free spirit. There was something special about her. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on—something mystical. My priest friend told me that as she became more and more involved in the healing work she decided to leave the religious life. These things happen. She left of her own free will. That’s really all I know.”
I heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. Then Mother’s voice again. “Why do you think I should go to her?”
“Carmela, the boy’s been struggling for a few years now with these dreams. Clearly something is going on with him, and perhaps it’s beyond our abilities to help him. I’ve been praying for him. Maybe it’s the work of the Lord. Maybe it’s something else. I just don’t know. But perhaps this woman can help him.”
“What do you mean by ‘the work of the Lord,’ Father?”
“I mean that he may have special gifts and abilities. It may be that he is being called to a vocation. But I just don’t know. It could also mean that dark forces are battling for him as well.”
I heard a gasp.
“Father, are you serious? Do you really believe that— about the dark forces?”
“Carmela, there are things that happen to people that we don’t completely understand. I know you know about these kinds of things—the dark night of the soul and so on. I believe he’s young for that, but it may be something similar. That may be what’s going on with the dreams. But we must be careful about subscribing any of this to God or otherwise.
“It may be that Joey is just under some kind of emotional stress. But I don’t think it’s anything for us to get too carried away with just yet. He’s still a young boy. Why not take him to see this woman, and see what happens. Perhaps she’ll be able to tell you what’s going on. I know this much about her: She’s a person of goodness and love. That was clear to me the first time I met her. So it won’t hurt him to see her, and it might help.”
And then neither of them said anything for a while. I heard a chair squeak. I heard a sound like the shuffling of papers. I heard Father clear his throat again. I heard a long, drawn-out sigh that could only have come from my mother.
“If you want me to try to set up a meeting with her, I’ll see what I can do. But it’s up to you. It’s your decision.”
It was quiet for a little while. Then another sigh.
“Okay, okay…if she was preparing to be a nun she must be a good person. Go ahead and set it up Father.”
I heard them walking across the room. I scurried back to my chair. The door opened and Mother and the priest walked back in.
“Oh, one more thing,” Father said, as he ushered Mother toward me. “The woman’s name is Ava. Please try not to worry about Joey.” He glanced at me and smiled. “He’s going to be just fine.”
Mother knelt and touched my shoulder. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes again. “Joey, you’ve been such a good boy today,” she said. “I’m going to take you to get some ice-cream.”
Mother looked at Father Tom. “Thank you so much for your time today, Father,” she said.
Father Tom nodded and said, “Oh, not at all. Let me know how things go, okay?”
Mother reached for my hand and together we walked outside. There was still plenty of daylight left for play, and Paddy jumped and ran in circles when he saw me.
MEETING AVA
I knew her only as Ava.
It took nearly a month for the priest to set up the meeting. Mother waited impatiently, until finally, one morning, about two weeks before Thanksgiving, she got the call. The next morning we drove the winding country road that led to Ava’s house. As instructed, Mother parked the car in the vacant lot across the street from the two-storey white house with the black shutters. We knocked on the door and were greeted by a short, pleasant, middle-aged woman, with teased black hair.
“Oh no, I’m not Ava. I’m Martha,” she chuckled, after we asked. “Ava lives down by the river. Just follow the trail over there. She’s expecting you.” She pointed to an opening in the woods. “Just follow the stone trail until you come to the end. Right there, where the trail ends and makes a ‘Y’ you go left on the dirt path, and you keep on walking and before long you’ll come to another ‘Y’ and you go right. After that you’ll see her house. Be careful now, the stones can get slippery this time of year.” We headed down the trail, following a path of gray stones of close to the same size, with some differences in coloring. Some were speckled with silver, like granite; others were nearly black. But they made the trail easy to follow.
As Mother and I approached the second ‘Y,’ I noticed a circle carved into the bark of an oak tree whose roots had grown into the trail, causing the stones to jut at weird angles. Just past the tree, in the clearing, there was a cabin made of the same gray stone we had followed on the trail. Next to the cabin stood a greenhouse made of wood planks, with lots of windows on one side and on the top of one section of its roof.
The sun had just risen above the trees, casting a lemon yellow hue on the trees’ b
arren limbs. The cabin’s walnut-colored door was closed. Mother held my hand and knocked on the door. There was no answer. She knocked again. I heard something behind me and turned around. A tall woman with auburn hair pulled back loosely in a ponytail walked towards us carrying a wicker basket full of dried flowers, herbs and twigs. Some of the flowers had strayed from her basket, and clung to the front of her sky-blue turtleneck.
“Hello,” she said.
Mother turned, and let go of my hand. She walked toward the woman. “Hello. I’m Carmela, and this is my son, Joey. Are you Ava?”
The woman answered in a voice that was quiet and yet strong. “Yes, I’m Ava.”
“Nice to meet you,” Mother said. She reached toward Ava, offering a handshake, but Ava didn’t notice, or pretended not to.
“Please come inside,” Ava said. The woman shifted her gaze to me and looked deeply into my eyes.
I looked away. This woman knows all about me, I thought. She knows about my dreams. She knows about my secret. Something about the way she looked at me with her self-assured, half-smile, made me feel I knew her too. She looked a lot like the woman in my dreams. She touched my shoulder to guide me toward the door. As we walked into the cabin, Mother fumbled around with her purse. She fussed with her hair, pressing and patting at the already neatly groomed strands. “Thank you so much for seeing us,” Mother said. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I’ve heard such good things about you…”
“Please sit down,” the woman said. “I know why you’re here. Father Tom told me about Joey. I know what’s going on with him. I know about his dreams and premonitions.”
The woman pulled two chairs away from a rectangular wooden table, one for Mother and one for me. She smiled ever so slightly as she turned and pulled out a third chair. She motioned toward the chairs indicating again that we should sit down.
I looked around the room as Mother and Ava talked. Creamy-white plaster walls framed the room. The floor was made of ochre-colored tiles and was partially covered by green and red and brown braided rugs. Except for a few tables with candles on them, the room was uncluttered and neat. A simple, carved, wooden rose with five petals hung on the wall above an entry-way to another room. Sheer ivory-colored curtains draping to the floor made it difficult for me to see in.
“We have a lot to talk about,” Ava said. “Would you like something warm to drink? Tea or coffee? I could make some hot chocolate, or…
Hot chocolate! Did someone say hot chocolate? I jumped on the chance. “I’ll have some hot choc…”
“Joey!” Mother exclaimed. She turned to Ava apologetically. “Sorry, it’s his favorite treat.”
“I’ll be happy to make some for him,” Ava said. She smiled at me as if we were long lost friends. And, strangely, that’s how it felt.
“Thank you, that’s kind of you.” Mother gave me a stern look. “Yes, some tea would be nice,” she said, still eyeing me.
Ava whisked around the kitchen and placed a pot and a kettle on the stove. She turned and looked at me. “So you’re having some scary dreams,” she said. “I want to talk to you about that, but first I want to talk to your mother—okay?”
I nodded my head.
My mind wandered away from the conversation. I heard them talking in the background but my attention was drawn to the room on the other side of the curtains.
Ava returned to the table. She and Mother talked and I listened and after a while I got bored and asked if I could go look in the other room. Mother looked at Ava. Ava hesitated, and then she said, of course, and Mother told me not to touch anything, and that was that, and off I went.
I parted the curtains and walked into the room. The room was bright and airy and it seemed familiar to me, as if I belonged there, as if I had returned home from a long vacation. In one corner, a group of white candles on a wooden table flickered in the morning light. In another corner, a stream of incense smoke drifted toward the ceiling in a straight line, until it was interrupted by a draft of air. The room smelled of cedar and pine.
Peacock feathers were arranged in vases scattered about the room: iridescent green with blue and bronze colored eyes. Bright colored shawls with intricate patterns lay draped over chairs.
A deck of cards was positioned on yet another wooden table. The top card was a picture of a young man with long golden hair riding a steed and holding a spear. Behind the young man, a white sun in an amber sky formed a halo around his head. The man on the horse looked like Jesus. On the bottom of the card were the words: The Sun.
Crystals of various shapes rested on other tables and bookcases; a chiseled stone cross hung on a wall near one of the windows. I picked up a blue and white bowl with little yellow stars inside and spun it around a few times. I heard Mother and Ava talking and remembered that Mother told me not to touch anything, so I set the bowl on the table and walked towards a funny looking picture on one of the walls. As I moved away from the table, I bumped it hard with my leg. The table shook and the bowl fell to the floor, but didn’t break. Mother called, “Joey! Please be careful. I told you not to touch. Please come back in here now.”
I heard Mother speaking to Ava. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “He likes to pick things up. He knows better. I’m trying to teach him not to touch things that don’t belong to him.”
“It’s okay,” Ava said, “Let the boy explore. He’s interested in what he sees. That’s a good sign.”
“He needs to come back and sit down. Joey, come have your hot chocolate.”
I walked back and sat down. Ava had placed a cup of hot chocolate on the table for me. It smelled of cocoa, cinnamon, and vanilla. “Here you go,” Ava said, “a delicious, natural remedy. Did you know the Mayans and the Aztecs used chocolate two thousand years ago? It wasn’t sweet, though, the way we drink it today. And it didn’t contain milk—dairy animals didn’t come to the New World until the Spaniards did. But all in all, it’s good for the tummy, and many other things, if you know the secret recipe.” Ava smiled.
Mother tilted her head. “Really? I had no idea.”
Ava placed two cups of tea on the table: one for Mother and one for herself, and a plate of cookies for all of us. I reached for a cookie and looked at Mother. She nodded her head in approval. “Okay, but just one,” she said. Mother looked back at Ava. “I’m sorry. Did you ask me a question? I can’t remember what we were talking about…”
“That’s quite all right. What did Father Tom tell you about me?”
“Oh yes, he told me that you are a gifted woman,” Mother said. “He told me you’ve had some good success with natural remedies.”
“What did he say about that?” Ava asked.
Ava slid her cup around the table waiting for Mother’s response.
“Well, not much more. Only that you’ve had good success and that you might be able to help Joey with his nightmares.”
Ava tugged at her turtleneck sweater. She smiled. “I think I might be able to help him,” she said. “I’ve had some experience working with dreams. It’s just a matter of finding the right remedy to bring him back into balance. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”
Mother swallowed hard. “That would be such a blessing.”
Ava sat back and folded her arms across her chest.
“Is there anything else you want to know about me?”
Mother wrung her hands and looked around the room.
“Well, one last thing. Father Tom told me that you were preparing to be a nun but you changed your mind.”
Ava took a sip from her cup and set it down on the table. “Yes, at one time I wanted to be a nun. I spent a number of years living in a religious community. It was a meaningful time for me. But ultimately, I realized the Lord had other plans for me. I decided to dedicate my life to the study of natural healing and to serve the Lord by helping people in that way.”
Mother tilted her head slightly and smiled. “That’s very nice. I’m sure it was a hard choice.”
“Oh, not so ha
rd,” Ava said.
Mother picked up her tea cup and looked into it. She didn’t drink.
“You know, my husband Jack is a physician,” Mother said.
“I know, Father Tom told me,” Ava replied. “How does he feel about you being here?”
“He’s not as concerned about Joey as I am. I haven’t told him much about you and he hasn’t asked. He trusts me to do what I need to do. He thinks I’m being overprotective and that Joey is just going through a phase. He’s a busy man. I take care of our boys and my husband works. That’s the way we live. He’s a good father. He tries to spend time with Joey and the other boys, and when he does, it’s a good time with them. But he’s busy providing for our family and his focus is on his work.”
Ava watched me closely. But she did it in a way that Mother didn’t notice. I noticed. I saw her watching. But it didn’t bother me.
Mother reached across the table and placed her hand on Ava’s arm. Ava flinched a bit, but didn’t pull away. Mother looked at Ava. “Look, I know you’re doing us a favor. I know we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Father Tom. I’m going to trust you with my son. Please take good care of him. He’s precious to me.”
Ava nodded and said, “I know.”
Mother glanced at me. Her eyes were watery. She reached for my hand and turned toward Ava. “I hope you can help us,” Mother said.
“You can trust me,” Ava said. “I can already see that Joey’s quite perceptive. I’d like to spend some time with him and see if I can help him with his nightmares. Let’s just take this one step at a time, okay.”
Mother nodded agreement.
Ava stood and began to gather the cups from the table. “Things will get clearer in a little while. We can get started right away—next weekend if you can manage. You’ll need to have him here maybe once a month for awhile until I am able to get him in balance. Once I get him balanced we won’t need to meet as often. Can you manage that?”
“I can manage,” Mother said.
“Okay then, we’ll set it up for next weekend. Do you mind if I have a few minutes alone with Joey now?” Ava asked.
