The Swan House (55 page)

“Of course not,” I said meekly.

“Good. 'Cause the way I see it, it's something to make you feel better. But it's not truth; it's just a bunch of sentiments.”

“But how do you know?”

“I just know. You're off on cloud nine, Swan. I'm the realistic, practical one. Remember? I'm the one who figures things out. You're the dreamer.”

“Then let me dream!”

“Dream then, nincompoop! Dream. But don't call it truth.”

“But what if it is truth? Miss Abigail says it's true. She says the truth will make you free. You've got to admit there's something special about her.”

Rachel shook her blond mane, and I could tell she was getting mad. “Mary Swan Middleton, if you're so sure this ‘faith,' as you call it, is real, if you believe God is real and that He loves the individual, then answer me this question. Where was He when Carl's mama died? Or when your mother died and a hundred other people from Atlanta died, or when all my mother's family, all of them . . .” Here she got choked up. “When they all went to the gas chambers? Where was He? Did He hear their prayers? All the faith in the world won't bring back my family or your mother or anyone else on that awful plane. All the faith in the world can't make sense out of the folly of life. It's much better to believe in nothing. Then you're not disappointed, Swan. You're even occasionally pleasantly surprised.”

I had a huge lump in my throat, and my cheeks were burning. “Rachel, you don't have to believe what I do. That's not what I'm asking. I'm just begging you to still be my friend. Even if I do something really stupid, still be my friend, okay?”

She got a great, sly grin on her face, and her blue-gray eyes became slits. “Oh, Swan. Don't worry about that. You've already done so many stupid things, and that didn't bother me a bit.”

I stuck out my tongue, and then we both laughed.

“Good. Then that's settled. Now let's get to the important stuff. What in the world is going on with Carl and Robbie?”

“You really want to know?”

“Of course I do.”

“I don't have any idea.” I glanced at my watch and jumped up. “It's four-fifteen, Rach! I've got to get home. Millie and Julie are coming to my house at four-thirty so we can finish writing the skit. You want to come along? I'll tell you about the guys on the way.”

While Julie and Millie and I hammered out the last lines of the skit, Rachel leafed through my anthology of Shakespeare, reading
The
Merchant of Venice
. And after the other girls had left she stuck the book in front of my nose and said, “Here, Swan. Read this. A speech by Shylock.”

Shylock was the main character in the play. I gave her a questioning look.

“Go on. Read it,” she urged. “Read it out loud. It's the part when Shylock is complaining to Salerio about the Christian Antonio.” She said it as if I knew exactly what she was talking about. But I'd never read
The Merchant of Venice
. All I had to do was create a skit using some idea sparked by the title. Our Mardi Gras skit had nothing to do with the real Shakespeare play.

I shrugged and began to read the speech out loud.

“If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me and hindr'd me half a million, laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why revenge! The villainy you teach me I will execute and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.”

I closed the anthology and stared at Rachel. “Is this some hint to me because I told you I'd become a real Christian? Are you mad at me?”

“No, Swan! Of course not. It's not you. It's me. It's what boils up in me sometimes, only Shakespeare put it a lot better than I ever could. And I'll bet it's what boils up in Carl lots of times too. If you just substituted the word black every time you saw the word Jew in the speech, well, there you'd have it.”

“Maybe you're right.” I shook my head in wonder. “How in the world did you find this quote anyway? We've never studied this play in class.”

“I just read it a little while ago while y'all were working.”

“You read the whole
Merchant of Venice
in an hour and a half?”

“It's not that long, Swan. Anyway, enough of all this philosophy. Tell me about Carl and Robbie.” And, relieved to leave religion and race alone for a while, we drifted comfortably onto the subject of boys.

It was six-thirty when Rachel left, satisfied that she was filled in on my latest escapades. I felt a quiver of excitement at the prospect of being with Robbie, although I wasn't at all sure what I would say to him. As I started up the stairway, Jimmy called to me from the kitchen, “Swan, Daddy wants to see you.” Jimmy's freckled face was drained of color.

“What's the matter?”

“Daddy'll tell you.”

I found Daddy sitting at his desk in a daze. “What is it?”

“Roy just called. He took Ella Mae to the hospital yesterday, and they did some tests. They found a brain tumor, Mary Swan. They need to operate immediately. And they aren't sure she's going to make it.” His face was ashen, and I was sure that I saw a tear on his cheek.

“When are they operating, Daddy?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Then we have to go see her now! We have to.”

So I never went to the Varsity with Robbie. Instead, after calling him and canceling our date, I found myself once again at Grady Hospital. Roy came out into the hall to greet Daddy and Jimmy and me, his bloodshot eyes filled with worry.

“Mighty fine of y'all ta come down heah. Ya go on in and see her 'fore the nurse says anythin.' And don't ya mind Ella Mae. She don't always make sense o' what she says these days.”

We knocked lightly on the door and opened it. Ella Mae gave a weak smile when we came into the room. Her hair had been shaved in preparation for surgery, and she had dark, dark circles under her eyes, as though she hadn't slept in weeks. I barely recognized her.

“Ella Mae, we sure will be thinking of you,” Daddy said, patting her hand softly.

“Thank ya, Mista Middleton. Mighty kind of ya ta come.”

Jimmy stood at the foot of the bed, looking miserable, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans.

I sat beside the bed and asked her, “Are you scared, Ella Mae?”

“Ain't scared a bit, chile. One way or anuther, everythin's gonna be all right. Like the apostle Paul done said, if'n I stay, I'm with the Lawd and if'n I go, I'll be with Him, so much the betta.”

“You're gonna be okay, Ella Mae, I'm sure of it.”

“Mebbe so, chile.” She closed her eyes, and her breathing became heavy. I looked up at Daddy, and he motioned with his eyes to the door. But just as I was about to stand up, she said, “I don't reckon I've ever really helped somebody jus' by the good things that done happened to me, Mary Swan. Seems like it's the hard, sad, break-yore-heart things where I thought I might not git through it, where I had ta grab on ta God, done been the most he'pful ta others, 'cuz I know'd how bad they was a'hurtin' and I also knowed that God was real. Might be one of those times now, if'n the good Lawd wants. We'll jus' have ta wait and see.”

Her monologue, so unexpected, stated so calmly, caught me off guard, speechless. It was Jimmy who managed to squeak out, “Do you feel bad, Ella Mae?”

“I'm fine, chile. Don't ya worry none about me.”

“But we do worry, Ella Mae,” I said insistently. “We don't want you to suffer.”

“I ain't afraid of sufferin', Mary Swan. Don't you be afraid either, chil'un. No sir. The Lawd don't neva' waste our pain.” I could hear Miss Abigail saying the same thing. “You know what the Good Book says—God uses the foolish things in this world to confound the wise.

I ain't afraid ta suffa', Mary Swan. Ain't one bit afraid. You read what the apostle Paul done said. He said he learned to be content, whateva' life handed him. That's what we gotta do, sweetheart. Learn to be content. I'll be okay.”

I could tell that all her talking had tired her out. “We'd best be going, Mary Swan,” Daddy cautioned.

“I'll be right there.”

Jimmy mumbled, “Good night, Ella Mae,” and Daddy said, “You get some rest now,” and they both left the room. Then I leaned in close and said, “Something happened to me yesterday, Ella Mae,” and quickly I told her the whole story.

Her lips turned up in a barely visible smile, and she looked as though she was going to cry. She whispered, “Mighty fine news, Mary Swan. That's the best thing you could tell me right now, chile. Mighty fine.”

“God won't let anything happen to you, Ella Mae. Not now. I know it.”

“Guess you'll havta talk to Him 'bout that, chile.” She closed her eyes, and I bent over and kissed her on the cheek.

“I'll be praying for you, Ella Mae.”

“You do that, Mary Swan. That'll be mighty fine.”

We didn't say a word on the way home. It was drizzling, the streets gray and slushy. Finally when we turned onto Andrews Drive, Jimmy blurted out, “Do you think she's going to die, Daddy? Is Ella Mae gonna die?”

“It's a serious operation, Jimmy. But she's got a fine surgeon who'll be operating on her. I made sure of that.”

“I don't think I could stand it if Ella Mae and Mama both died in the same year,” he whimpered.

“Let's not think about that now, children. We've got to hope for the best.”

Suddenly I had an idea. “Can you take us by church, Daddy? Just for a sec. They'll be having Evensong. I want to say a prayer for Ella Mae.”

“Yeah, that's a good idea. Me too,” Jimmy echoed.

We slipped silently into the back pews of the cathedral and waited for the service to end. Then Jimmy and I knelt down on the prayer bench as the others silently filed out the back.

I whispered to Jimmy, “Close your eyes and I'll pray.” Then I said, “Please, God, don't let Ella Mae die. Please don't. Please keep her safe. Amen.”

Jimmy and I got up off our knees, and the warm glow of the church lit up our faces, and we were both crying. So I put my arm around his shoulders, and we inched out into the aisle slowly toward Daddy, who was standing at the back of the sanctuary with his eyes closed and his head bent down to his chest.

None of us felt like eating dinner, although Daddy did fix several peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I sat with them at the round oak table and twisted a bright linen napkin in my hands. “What time are they operating?”

“Early in the morning.”

“And when will we know if . . . if it was successful?”

“I told Roy I'd meet him at the hospital after work. We'll talk to the surgeon. I'll call you here as soon as I know anything.”

I nodded numbly. Jimmy and Daddy went into the den to watch something on TV, and I was thankful for the chance to escape to the
atelier
. As soon as I had closed the door behind me, I started bawling my eyes out. My painting from that morning of the Swan House in snow sat on the easel, right where I'd placed it after having recovered it from the pool house earlier in the afternoon. Only this morning my faith had been so very pure and unspoiled.

Tonight, I wondered if it would slowly melt and disappear without a trace, like the snow from yesterday. Seeing Ella Mae in her fragile condition had scared me. Scared me down to the bone. I wondered if my own fragile faith was enough to believe her through this operation. Now that I was a real Christian, maybe I could bargain better with God. Maybe my prayers had more weight. Surely that was true. But I had a sinking feeling that God was not someone you bargained with. I wished at that moment that I could pick up my phone and call Miss Abigail.

Miss Abigail! Of course! She needed to know about Ella Mae. Had anyone told her? How did the grapevine work in Grant Park, in the whole of the inner city? Was Pastor James even now leading his people in prayer for her? Did Carl know? If only I could call Miss Abigail and ask her my questions. But I didn't even know her last name. She had always been simply Miss Abigail, like an angel who showed up when you needed her. There was no one to call.

“So I guess it's just between you and me, God.” This I said out loud, picking up the white Bible from where it sat on top of the scrapbooks from Resthaven. I opened it randomly, glanced at some verses from a book called Jeremiah, and closed it back.

“God, I don't know any better how to talk to you today than yesterday, but I'll just tell you this much. I want to do the right things and help people and love my family, and I want to understand who you are. But more than anything else, more than Robbie or Carl or paintings or Resthaven or Mardi Gras or the Raven Dare or anything else I care about, what I want right now is for you to keep Ella Mae alive. Alive. Please, God! I don't think I could bear it if Ella Mae died too. So take all of these things, please, God, and just do something.”

I saw Ella Mae lying in that hospital bed, her black hair gone with her strength. She had looked so vulnerable.

Vulnerable, yes, but also something else. Peaceful. Absolutely calm. More than that. What was it? Ah yes. Ready. Ella Mae was ready, even eager, to see her Savior. She truly believed that dying for her meant eternal life in heaven, a place that was good and safe and without pain.