A Severed Wasp

by Madeleine L'engle

  “What about her gifts of knowing? Please, Madame, please, I don’t want to be hurt again.”

  “I don’t want you to be hurt, Emily, and I don’t think you will be. Have you never told anyone about this?”

  Emily’s eyes flared with terror. “No—no—”

  “Not even Bishop Bodeway?” Katherine asked implacably.

  “But—but—he can’t tell, because I told him in confession.”

  So. Felix could never have forgotten what Emily had told him, no matter what his training. “And?”

  “He said what you said. That she wouldn’t.”

  “And he was quite right. She wouldn’t.” But she had not succeeded in reassuring the child. “Go get dressed, my dear, and then go to the practice piano. Run through a few scales, and then start composing something of your own. Six-eight time, F major. I won’t be long.”

  “You’re sure?” Emily asked anxiously.

  “I’m just going to wash and dress.”

  From the bathroom Katherine heard Emily practicing. Scales. Then she began tentatively picking out a melody, first in the right hand, then in the left. The child was composing a gigue. Katherine listened for a moment, then finished dressing.

  5

  Emily and John made sandwiches for lunch. Jos had Saturday classes, and Tory was off with Fatima. John was happy to eat early because he had spent the morning mopping floors at the music school.

  After they had eaten, Katherine and Emily got into the sleigh bed. Emily took off her leg, then pressed against Katherine, saying, “If you could promise me everything would be all right, I could go to sleep.”

  “Emily, darling child, I don’t make promises unless I’m positive I can keep them. And you’re asking for a promise nobody can make. There are no guarantees that there will be no accidents or no evil or no pain. I can promise one thing only, and that is, your music will always see you through anything that happens, and that is no small promise.”

  “But, Madame, I told you everything she said not to tell, and I’m afraid.”

  Katherine’s arms tightened around the child. “I hope that before the day is over, I will be able to wake you up from the nightmare in which you’ve been living. It is nightmare, darling. The reality of the loss of your leg, of having to stop dancing, of turning to composing, this you will be able to live with, not bitterly, but with fortitude and verve. What you have not been able to live with, what is frightening you now, is not reality, but nightmare.”

  Emily moaned almost inaudibly.

  Katherine continued, “What Mrs. Undercroft wanted of you girls was ugly, and I’m not surprised that she was ashamed of it, nor that she did threaten you. You can see that she would be afraid to have it known. But it is pathetic as well as ugly.”

  Emily made a noise which was neither denial nor affirmation.

  “Mrs. Undercroft was demanding shows of love with the same single-mindedness as a small child, hungrily seeking the kind of love she did not have when she should have had it. You have always known that your parents love you, no matter how busy they are.” Katherine waited until Emily made a muffled murmur of agreement. “Mrs. Undercroft had none of that taken-for-granted love. You see, if you’re not touched and cuddled when you’re an infant, the need for it grows, monstrously. And what can be a normal need in a two-year-old is definitely abnormal in an adult.”

  At last Emily rolled over and leaned on one elbow so that she could look at Katherine. “Was she really a child priestess in Peru?”

  “What do you think?”

  Emily shook her head.

  “And that’s pathetic, isn’t it? Whatever her childhood was, it wasn’t glamorous. It was unhappy and abused.”

  “The scars—she showed us the scars—”

  “They are real. But the scars on her mind are as real as the scars on her back.”

  “If she didn’t get them in Peru—”

  “It could have been anywhere. She lived in a brutal world.”

  “She did say, oh, Madame, she did, that if I told anyone I’d be sorry.”

  “You didn’t tell anyone except Felix.”

  “But that was in confession …”

  “And no one else knew, Emily, dear child. What happened was an accident, a horrible accident. But perhaps it is what has awakened in you the real gift which God has given you, your gift for making music.”

  “But do I really have the gift?”

  “That is something I can promise you. Yes. You have the gift. Now close your eyes. We both need some sleep.”

  With the affirmation of a firm promise, Emily slumped almost immediately into sleep and nestled against Katherine, breathing softly. It was less easy for Katherine. She disciplined herself to breathe slowly, deeply. Scales. F, modulate to C. C, modulate to G. G, modulate to D.

  The minor scales. During Bb minor she slid into sleep.

  She woke up, as she had planned to do, a little before three. Emily was still asleep. It was a shame to wake the child, but this was no time for her to move into consciousness and find Katherine gone. She shook her gently. Emily moved closer, flinging one arm across Katherine.

  “Emily. Wake up. I have to go to the Bösendorfer. Wake up.”

  Slowly the long bronze eyelashes fluttered and Emily looked at Katherine. “Is it morning?”

  “Three o’clock in the afternoon. Time to wake up.”

  “I am wide awake.” Emily jumped out of bed and fell. From the floor she looked disconcertedly at Katherine. “I forgot my leg. Sometimes I still do. Not often, but sometimes.” She pulled herself up, got the leg from the dressing-table chair, and hopped to the bathroom.

  Katherine had taken off her dress and put her robe on for the nap. Now she dressed again. As she and Emily started down the stairs, she remarked, “I could wish that what goes down doesn’t also have to go back up.”

  “You’d get used to the stairs if you lived with us,” Emily assured her. “They really aren’t all that bad.”

  When they reached the choir of the Cathedral, Katherine was absurdly grateful to see Topaze sitting in the front row, as though waiting for a concert to begin.

  “Topaze,” she said without greeting, “please stay with Emily till I return. I have a small errand to run. Emily, for your delectation, you may play the Bösendorfer till I get back.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she walked away from them, not looking behind her. As she neared the bronze doors she heard the first notes of the six-eight melody, F major, full of joie de vivre. Even in the midst of irrational fear, Emily could listen to the music within her, and let it flow through her fingers.

  Katherine descended the steps, carefully, walked around a tour bus, and saw someone, one of the canons, she thought, getting out of a taxi. He recognized her, bade her good afternoon, helped her into the taxi, and she directed the driver to the convent.

  She rang the convent bell. Waited. Rang again. Waited. She heard the bell ring inside. She was in the right place. A brightly polished brass plaque bore not only the street number but the name of the Community. She rang again. No one came. Surely someone had to be there. She pressed her finger against the bell and held it.

  Finally the door was opened by one of the younger Sisters, who smiled as she recognized Katherine, beckoned her in, and led her into a pleasant, small sitting room. “Mother will be right with you.”

  The room was simple, but comfortably furnished. There was a medieval triptych over the mantel. She turned as she heard a swish of skirts, and the Superior came in, shutting the door behind her.

  “Madame Vigneras.” She held out her hands. “We’re having a Quiet Day, and we let the bell ring when we’re in chapel, but you are certainly persistent, so I sent one of the novices to see who wanted us that badly.”

  “Persistent I am,” Katherine agreed. “I’m sorry to interrupt your Quiet Day, and I won’t keep you long. I wouldn’t have come without reason.”

  “I know that,” the nun replied, and waited.

 
; “Do you by any chance remember that Emily spoke to you before her piano lesson on the day of her accident, and seemed worried about something?”

  “I do,” Mother Catherine replied. “She did indeed seem worried. She asked me some vaguely religious questions which were all out of proportion to her anxiety, and I felt strongly that she wanted to tell or ask me something important. And then we got interrupted, and I was deeply concerned. But that evening we heard that she had been struck by a car on the way home.”

  “While she was in the hospital, did Mrs. Undercroft come to see her often?” She had to know.

  The nun looked surprised. “I doubt if at all. Visitors were forbidden. At first, Emily was in deep shock, and then she ran a high fever. Oh.” She stopped. Katherine waited. The nun said, “Emily’s fever was so high that she was delirious and thrashing around, and they were afraid of convulsions if she couldn’t be calmed. Sister Isobel was her homeroom teacher that year, and Emily was very fond of her, so they sent for her, hoping that she might have a quietening effect.”

  “Did she?”

  “Anything but. Emily screamed in terror when she saw her, and kept saying, ‘I didn’t tell, I didn’t tell!’ And she called Sister Isobel Mrs. Undercroft.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “That’s what Sister Isobel told me. It was a most distressing reaction. Sister was Mrs. Undercroft for a few years, and though most of the children at school are unaware of this, it’s quite possible the Davidson children may have picked it up.”

  “Did Emily think Sister Isobel was the present Mrs. Undercroft?”

  “That never occurred to us. We put the whole thing down to the delirium of deep shock.”

  “Thank you,” Katherine said. “I’ll explain everything when I get it all sorted out.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  Katherine knew that she did not. Mother Catherine of Siena would never refer to this conversation. “I think I’ll quite likely want to explain. But thanks. I must go. I left Emily and Topaze waiting for me at the Bösendorfer.”

  “How are you going to get back?”

  “I was lucky enough to get a taxi right outside the Cathedral on my way here. If I don’t find one, I’ll walk.”

  The nun gazed at her speculatively. “You don’t want to leave Emily and Topaze alone too long. I’ll drive you. The car’s just outside.”

  Katherine did not protest. “Thank you. I would appreciate that.”

  When they reached the Cathedral, Mother Cat asked, “Would you like me to come in?”

  “Please don’t bother. Get back to your Quiet Day. It would be pleasant to hope all the problems were ended with the storm and I could have a quiet afternoon at the piano.”

  But that, she thought, was unlikely. There were still some unanswered questions.

  When she was finally seated at the Bösendorfer, with Emily and Topaze listening from the choir stalls, she ran a few scales, limbering her fingers before working on the program. Getting the feel of the nave had meant a complete aural and technical reorientation.

  When she had played the program through in its entirety, she felt that it was at last beginning to cohere—notes of music, light, space, all in counterpoint. She rested her hands on the keyboard, and looked up to see Yolande Undercroft walking toward her.

  From the choir stalls Emily and Topaze rose, and she turned to see them slipping out of the choir into the ambulatory.

  “Superb, superb.” Yolande beat her hands together in applause. “How privileged we are to have you!”

  Katherine remained seated at the piano, her fingers still touching the keys as though for confidence. She did not know why Yolande had come to the Cathedral, or even if it was on purpose to see Katherine. But there was no more time for waiting for the unanswered questions to work themselves out. She said, “Yolande. I want to speak to you about your gift of prescience—of knowing.”

  “Oh, that. Well, yes, of course.” Yolande appeared to dismiss it. “I came to tell you that I’ve finally been able to get hold of the elusive Grace Farwater, of the Times, and I’ve arranged—”

  “She’s already spoken to me,” Katherine interrupted. “Prescience can work two ways, you see. I think we are all born with considerable powers which we lose as we move into a world that has settled more and more for technocracy. Perhaps we artists are lucky, because we never lose these gifts entirely. You might be interested to hear that there are some things I know about you.”

  “About me? But I am an open book to you. I have revealed myself to you as to few people.”

  “I am grateful for your confidence,” Katherine said dryly. “Now let’s get a few minor facts straight. You didn’t call Grace Farwater at all. She found out I was having a concert and called me.”

  “No, no, I did—”

  “It doesn’t really matter, Yolande. Your jealousy is more pitiable than anything else.”

  Yolande drew back. “I don’t want your pity.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry about that, but like your jealousy it is a fact and not very important. What I really need to talk to you about is Emily.”

  Katherine had kept her voice level; there was no hidden threat in it, but Yolande caught her breath. Then her face closed in. “Emily. Oh, we are all so grateful that you are teaching Emily, giving her a real chance. I, personally, am grateful.”

  “Yes,” Katherine said. “I believe you are.”

  Yolande looked around as though for something she could not find. “Let’s go into one of the chapels where, you know, we won’t be disturbed. I have keys.”

  Yes. Like Topaze, Yolande would need to have what Felix called the keys to the kingdom.

  “We’ll go into St. Saviour’s,” Yolande urged, “behind the high altar. It’s the Orthodox chapel and has some beautiful icons. I think you’ll enjoy seeing them.”

  Katherine followed her. Yolande took her keys from her handbag and opened the grilled gates. St. Saviour’s was a spacious chapel. Light came from four standing alabaster lamps. There was a rug on the floor, a few straight chairs along the sides. A large candle lamp swung over the altar, swaying slightly. Yolande turned to Katherine. “We were all so horrified at Emily’s terrible, terrible accident. She had so much talent as a dancer, and it was all taken away in one horrible moment. But now you are helping her to find her life again, and we are all so grateful.”

  Katherine let her finish. She sat in one of the side chairs and indicated that Yolande was to sit beside her. She waited till the bishop’s wife did so. Katherine kept her voice quiet, conversational. “When Emily was in the hospital after her accident, did you go to see her?”

  Yolande started, put her hand to her heart. “Why do you ask?”

  “I would like to know.”

  Yolande looked away from Katherine, at the Orthodox cross on the altar. “Of course I went to see her. I felt—oh, I can’t tell you how terrible I felt. I’ve had no children of my own, so … I went with Allie; we could go after visiting hours, which was more convenient for Allie.” Now Yolande turned to look at Katherine. “Jesus, it was shocking. The poor child was delirious. She looked at me and she screamed and screamed. So Allie took me by the arm and led me away. I never had a chance to say anything, to help. In all that I have been through, it was the most ghastly …”

  The words had the ring of truth, but the equation had to be completed. “Was the accident in fact an accident?” Katherine was astounded to hear her own words—unaccusing, unemotional.

  “Oh God, yes, oh Jesus, yes.”

  It was all falling into place. “You wanted to frighten Emily, so that she wouldn’t tell about the … the little services you were holding in your chapel.”

  Yolande leapt to her feet as though a steel spring had been released. “No!” The sound rose shrilly up into the shadows.

  Katherine remained seated, but she forced herself to continue. “You threatened Emily.”

  “No!” Yolande’s voice soared, up, up, to the vaulted roof. �
�Everybody makes up things about me because I’m not good enough to be the bishop’s wife. She wanted to get me in trouble—”

  Katherine continued steadily. “You threatened Emily. You told her that something terrible would happen to her if she ever said anything to anybody about your … your odd chapel services.”

  “She swore she’d never say anything. There wasn’t anything to tell! She swore she’d never—”

  “She didn’t tell. I had to drag it out of her last night during the blackout. But you frightened her enough so that she believes you caused the accident that cost her the loss of her leg. She believes you did this to punish her.”

  “She couldn’t believe that! She couldn’t!”

  “Emily believes you did. I don’t, but Emily does. She is terrified of you. You had better tell me what really happened.”

  Yolande dropped back into the hard chapel chair. “She knows I would never physically—She knows I would never hurt—She knows I could never, after all that was done to me—Physical cruelty is abominable to me—Jesus, you must know …”

  “Tell me what the truth of the matter is. Then perhaps we can keep anything else from happening.”

  Yolande dropped her hands from her eyes. Her face was streaming with tears. “Only to frighten—that’s all—so she’d—you know—so she’d keep quiet.”

  “You were ashamed?”

  “Nobody would have understood. Everybody misinterprets …”

  “So who was it you asked to frighten her? Was it Mrs. Gomez?”

  “No, no. Him. The fool, the—”

  Katherine did not understand much Spanish, but enough to guess at the stream of invective Yolande was hurling at Gomez. The veneer of civilization vanished. Then, slowly, vestiges returned.

  “He swore the accelerator stuck, that the car went out of control. I was glad when he went to jail. He’s ruined every—”

  “But you believe it was an accident, the accelerator did stick?”

  “Oh, Jesus, yes. He’s a fool, but he’s not a murderer, and he had no reason, he hardly knew the child. And then, a few months later, you know, he went to jail for drugs.”