This One and Magic Life (11 page)

Mariel looks at it carefully. She tries hard to see the way Artie painted the light that is considered so unusual. It looks like all the rest of Artie's paintings, though, rather ethereal, pretty. She knows this is a damning word, but damn it, it's pretty, the symbolic dark cloud notwithstanding. She looks around at the other works. They all look similar. What made them worth thousands of dollars?

The smell of turpentine is strong in the room. Brushes are neatly arranged on a worktable. Tubes and cans of paint line shelves under the windows. Mariel picks up one of the brushes and idly brushes it against the tabletop. “Artie,” she says, “you're really dead.”

Artie laughs and comes from behind the stacked pictures. “Yep. Guess I am. How clever you are, Mariel.”

“Don't get smart-ass with me, Artie. I always let you get away with too much of that.” Mariel walks around the studio, touching the pictures. Artie perches on a stool.

“Have you seen your mama?” Mariel can't resist the dig.

“Your child's grandmother? Watch it, Mariel.”

“You're not going to make me mad anymore. You can't. You're in Birmingham being cremated.”

“And Donnie's with me. That makes you mad, doesn't it?”

“Well, the whole thing's damn inconvenient. I
should have expected it, though. You always did like to dramatize things.”

Mariel picks up a picture of a man and woman pushing a sailboat into the water. “These things are worth a lot of money, aren't they?”

“With a little wise investing, Dolly will never have to work a day in her life.”

“Dolly will work. She's not lazy.”

“I know. She's like me.”

“You go to hell!”

“Sure you want that?”

“No,” Mariel admits. She looks at the picture on the easel, an unfinished one that Artie had been working on before she got too weak to paint. She must have felt terrible while she was doing this, but it is as light, as ethereal as the others propped against the walls. It's the usual beach scene, but there is a single figure on this one, a woman walking toward a setting sun.

Mariel shivers. The woman on the canvas seems so small, lost in a world of sky and water. And she is alone.

Mariel suddenly feels very sad. She sees Artie in her Harlow High cheerleading outfit, the head cheerleader, jumping higher than anyone else, flirting, laughing, throwing kisses from a red convertible, the Homecoming Queen, so cute, so pretty.

“Everybody thought you were wonderful, Artie.”

“No, Mariel. No, they didn't.”

“I did,” Mariel confesses. She touches two fingers to the lone figure in the painting.

Reese, coming up the steps to tell Mariel Donnie has called, could have sworn he heard Artie's voice. Downright ghosty. He opens the door and looks in cautiously, is relieved to see only Mariel standing before the easel.

“Donnie called. He said to tell you he's home and he'll be out after while.”

“Thanks.” Mariel looks around the studio. “She's gone, Reese.”

“I know.” He doesn't tell Mariel that he had seen Artie just this morning sitting under the pecan tree.

“And I'm so tired.” Mariel rubs her neck. “I'm going to go call Father Carroll and the funeral home.”

“What for?”

“She didn't want a funeral, Reese. Donnie's done what she wanted.”

“Bless her heart.”

“Yes.” Mariel turns out the lights and follows Reese down the steps.

 

When he finally answers the phone, Father Carroll is either drunk or asleep. Probably both, Mariel thinks.

“What?” he asks. “What?”

“No funeral, Father. It's Artie's request. We were going to go on and do it anyway, but I decided it just wasn't worth the trouble.”

“What?”

“It's not what Artie wanted, Father.”

“The funeral?”

“Right.”

“You're not having a funeral for Artie?”

Mariel speaks slowly. “There is not going to be a funeral, Father. Artie didn't want one.”

“But why?”

“I have no idea. But I hope you'll accept our apologies for the trouble we've put you to.

“But the rosary is tonight and the funeral in the morning.”

“It
was
, Father. No more.”

“I don't understand.”

“Neither do I, but I've decided to quit fighting it. If Artie didn't want a funeral, so be it. If Donnie doesn't want one, so be it.”

“You don't even want a prayer at the graveside?”

“No, Father. But thank you.”

“Mariel, are you all right?”

Mariel can imagine the puzzled, worried expression on Father Carroll's lined face. She feels a twinge of tenderness for the old priest.

“I'm fine, Father. And like I said, we thank you for everything.”

“I'm coming out there.”

“Please don't, Father.”

“I'll be there as soon as I can.” The phone goes dead. Mariel stands in the hall and stares at the bay for a few minutes. Then she goes to check on Dolly who is asleep with her mouth open so wide that Mariel can see the silver of fillings. The Sullivan teeth.

DELMORE RICKETTS IS SITTING BETWEEN HEKTOR AND MAY IN
Hektor's truck. His red '57 Chevy had made it almost to I-10 before it became enveloped in a cloud of smoke that looked terminal. Hektor had jumped from his pickup with a fire extinguisher thinking Father Audubon was about to be as cremated as Artie. The priest, however, had crawled out, coughing, cursing. “Points. Goddamn points.”

Given the amount of smoke, Hektor was highly suspicious of the diagnosis, but he didn't want to say anything, just stood there with the extinguisher on ready. Father Audubon opened the hood to a cloud of steam. “She's about shot,” he admitted.

Hektor thought the “about” was putting it mildly. “Junkyard shot” was more like it.

“I keep her for sentimental reasons. She was my first car.” Father Audubon shook his head sadly. “First time I got laid was in this car. In the trunk.”

“The trunk?”

“It's huge.”

“But the trunk? You couldn't have been very comfortable.”

“Mr. Sullivan, I ask you, do you remember thinking of comfort?”

“No.”

“Right.” Father Audubon put the hood back down. “First time,” he sighed, “last time.”

“Well, maybe we can get it fixed. There's a gas station at the Pascagoula exit that has wreckers. We'll send them to get it.”

Delmore Ricketts brightened. “Do you really think she can be fixed?”

“Most probably. This is a classic, you know. They may have to order some parts, but I'll bet they can get them. Cars like this are worth saving.”

“Yes, indeed.” Father Delmore Ricketts Audubon fanned smoke away with his fishing hat. “I hate to leave her here, though.”

“I'm sure nobody will bother her. Probably everybody out here knows it's your car anyway.”

“Of course they do. I hadn't thought of that.”

At the service station, Hektor explained to the kid leaning against the wrecker where the car was and that they couldn't miss it, that it was a red '57 Chevy, tow it in, and do whatever needed to be done to fix it. He also slipped a fifty into the kid's hand which elicited a promise of immediate action.

“Be gentle with her,” Father Audubon said.

“You got it.”

Hektor said they would check on it the next day. The grinning boy was already getting into the wrecker as they walked to the pickup.

“Seems like a nice young man,” Father Audubon said.

“Eager,” Hektor agreed. When they got to the truck, he explained about the two seat belts and that Father
Audubon would have to ride in the middle. “We'll grab you if we have a wreck,” he assured the priest.

Fortunately the problem doesn't come up. May goes to sleep before they reach Pascagoula, leaning awkwardly against Father Audubon's shoulder.

“Bless her heart,” he says, moving his arm so her head will be cushioned more. And then to Hektor, “Tell me about your sister.”

“She was my older sister. She and my brother Donnie were twins. She's had lymphoma for almost two years. Her name is Artie. Artemis, really. She's an artist. Pretty well-known.”

“Artemis Sullivan? She painted those beautiful beach scenes?”

“Yes. You know who she is? How about that.”

“I can't believe it. I actually met her once in San Francisco. A showing at a gallery. I really believe she was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. And that accent! My God! She called me Fahthah Ricketts. Said she was the ahhtist. You wouldn't believe what a hit she was. I hadn't heard that many Deep South accents at the time, you understand, but, even so, when she walked into the room, something happened. Something exotic and yet wholesome and sweet. You know?”

“I suppose so.” Hektor does not know. He sees Artie with scraped knees and a runny nose. He sees Artie and his mother fussing, Artie dry-eyed at Carl's memorial service.

Most of all, he sees Artie on the beach looking first at Donnie and then at him declaring, “Each of us has to do it. We have to do this together.”

“Actually, she was a very complicated woman, Father.”

“Aren't they all. And just call me Del.”

“Sure, if you'll drop the Mr. Sullivan. It's Hektor.”

“Your parents had it in for you, too, didn't they?”

“Well, it beats Adonis. That's my brother's name.”

“Adonis, Artemis, Hektor. Somebody was into Greek myths.”

“My father.” Hektor passes a truck loaded with watermelons. “Are you from San Francisco?”

“Just north of there, on the coast. There's a huge bird sanctuary up there where I grew up. They used to pay me to count the birds when I was a kid. Now I automatically look around and count them. I guess Audubon isn't a bad nickname, though. You wouldn't believe some of the birds I've seen down here and recorded.”

“How did you get here, anyway?”

“The civil rights marches. The issues looked cut and dried in San Francisco. Trouble was when I got here, I could see everybody's side. Theoretically, I guess that's what priests should do. Practically, it doesn't work that way. And in the meantime, I'd discovered the swamps and bayous. Anyway, I stayed. Everybody seems to have forgiven me. Except the Church. We sort of lost contact.”

“Don't you think some of the issues were cut and dried?”

“Of course. It was just that the issues kept getting mixed up with the people. I tended to lose track. Can you understand that?”

Hektor is not sure he can.

“We all have a lot to regret,” he says. They have crossed Jubilee Parkway and are entering Harlow's main business street.

“Christmas lights!” Father Audubon exclaims. “They leave them up all year in my hometown, too. The day after Thanksgiving, they have a parade and turn the lights on. Do they do that here?”

“Sure do.”

“Santa Claus came in on a sleigh last year with real reindeer,” says May, who has awakened. “Something scared them and they ran away and Santa Claus jumped out of the sleigh.”

“Sounds like a smart man to me.”

“We spend every Christmas here. One year Mary dropped the baby Jesus at the pageant. It was just a doll, good thing, but Joseph and the Wise Men got to laughing so hard that Mary picked up the doll and started hitting them with it. That was about the most fun one we've had.” May giggles, remembering. “She knocked one of them down. Aunt Artie said it was like Paul on the road to Damascus. She had to tell me what it meant, and the Wise Man wasn't really blinded, but he was felled.”

“Felled?” Hektor laughs.

“Like Paul. You know, Papa.”

“That sounds like a wonderful Christmas pageant,” Father Audubon says.

“They're all good. Last year one of the shepherds fainted and knocked over the stable.”

“You must go through a lot of pageant directors.”

“No. Mrs. Aleta Forehand has been doing them as long as I can remember,” Hektor says. “I was a Wise Man for several years. The only thing I remember happening unusual was one of the angels throwing up.”

“Mrs. Forehand says she's earned her place in heaven,” May says.

Delmore Ricketts takes off his fishing hat and runs his hand through his thinning red hair. “And to think I could have stayed in a church.”

“It's a fun place.” May points to a white wooden church with a red door. “That's it there.”

“It's the biggest one in town. The Greek one is next.
It's pretty, too.” May turns in her seat to wave at a woman on a bicycle. “Kelly Stuart,” she says. “She lives next door to Aunt Artie. I think Papa ought to marry her.”

“She's too young for me, sweetheart.”

“Well, Aunt Artie says you missed your chance anyway.”

They come to a stop sign; Hektor turns right toward the beach.

“But we are up high,” Father Audubon exclaims as he sees the water. “This is like the white cliffs of Dover. I thought everything around here was flat.”

“No. We have to climb down to the beach. Most people have steps. Our house does.”

“Are they just high dunes or what?”

“Mostly high dunes,” Hektor explains. “There's a lot of limestone, though, so it's not just sand and clay. It gives you one heck of a view. We had a jubilee here night before last. Have you heard about them?”

“When all the fish and crabs come up on the beach for apparently no reason?”

“I'm sure there's a reason. We just don't know what it is. But it's not like a red tide that kills the fish and makes them inedible. These suckers come dancing up healthy as can be to shake hands. And right along here is the only place in the world that it happens. Everybody grabs nets and buckets and loads up their freezers. Before freezers, you had to cook everything right away and everybody would party. Jubilees are like hitting the jackpot at Las Vegas. All for free.”

“I'd like to see one.”

“Well, I'm afraid you're just going to get the aftermath. It takes a few days for the beach to get cleaned even though we rake it and bury all the stuff that's
washed up. It's worth it, though. What do we do, May, when somebody yells ‘Jubilee'?”

“Have a fit. Go running to the beach. Aunt Artie said it's good as Christmas,” she explains to Father Audubon.

They pull into Artie's driveway and park beside Mariel's car.

“What a pretty house,” Father Audubon says. Mariel is sitting on the back steps, her face in her hands. She looks up as the truck pulls in.

“That's my sister-in-law,” Hektor says. “I'm just going to introduce you as a friend until I get a chance to explain.”

“Explain what?” May asks.

“That he's Father Audubon. We'll just say he's our friend Delmore Ricketts for the time being. Okay, honey?”

“Sure. It's the truth, isn't it?”

“Absolutely,” Delmore Ricketts says. “That's all anyone ever need know, Hektor.”

“Well, we'll see. I'm pretty sure I want the family to know. I think it would make everybody feel better. But we don't want to mess up Mariel's plans.”

“Absolutely not.” Audubon has no idea what plans Hektor is talking about.

“Hey, Aunt Mariel,” May calls, getting out of the pickup. “We got held up by an alligator on the road. We brought you some daylilies, though.”

“Fine. I was getting worried about you.” The explanation has totally missed Mariel who is wondering who Delmore Ricketts is. Probably some hitchhiker Hektor has picked up.

The two men walk to the back steps. “Mariel,” Hektor says, “this is Delmore Ricketts, a friend of mine from Pascagoula. He was a friend of Artie's, too.”

Mariel stands up. “Mr. Ricketts.” She holds out her hand.

Delmore Rickett's hand is surprisingly warm and strong. “I was so sorry, Mrs. Sullivan, to hear of your loss.”

“Thank you. Won't you come in? Would you like some tea or Coke? Beer?”

“A beer would be great,” Hektor says. “Come on, Del. I'll get us one.”

Mariel sits back down on the steps. “Who's that man, May?” she asks as the men disappear into the kitchen.

“Delmore Ricketts.”

“But who is he?”

“I don't think I'm supposed to tell. I can give you a clue, though. He likes birds.”

“What do you mean, ‘He likes birds'?”

“He just does. He grew up in California where there were a lot of them.”

Mariel decides she's too tired to pursue this. She closes her eyes and leans against the bannister.

“You should have seen that alligator,” May says. “He was so big, he was across both lanes of the road and they called him Big Ben. We had to wait forever.”

Mariel opens her eyes. “Where? Which road?”

“In Mississippi. Not far from Bouchet's store.”

“You've been to Mississippi?”

“Yes ma'am. That's where we got the daylilies. Papa said we could plant some here and you could have some and we could plant some at home.”

“Sounds like you got a lot of daylilies.” Mariel smiles fondly at the child. May's going to be beautiful, she thinks, with those dark eyes and black hair. Hektor is going to have his hands full and soon.

“We did. They were three dollars a clump.”

“Well, I'll certainly plant mine soon as I can so they'll bloom next spring. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

“You want a Coke?”

“No'm. I'm full to the gills with Dr Pepper and boiled peanuts.”

Mariel holds the child against her. “That's a good feeling, isn't it? Being full to the gills with peanuts and Dr Pepper.”

“Yes ma'am,” May agrees.

The car Mariel has been waiting for turns into the driveway.

“There's Father Carroll,” May says.

Mariel stands up. “Do me a favor, May. Run see if you can find the cat. I haven't seen him since I've been here and I need to talk to Father Carroll about Aunt Artie's funeral. Okay?”

“Sure.” May waves to the priest on her way around the house.

Father Carroll has been the priest at Harlow for as long as Mariel can remember. He had confirmed her, confessed her, married her and Donnie. For a while, when she was a child, she had been confused, thinking him God. He would loom before her in his robes with his incense and bells and body of Christ with its papery taste, and she was sure he knew every bad thing she did. For a while, she had even had him confused with Santa Claus. It's hard to reconcile that majestic presence with the frail old man who walks across the yard toward her now.

She rises and goes to meet him. He holds out his arms and she goes into them, feeling his thinness. Oh, God, she thinks, dissolving into tears, I knew I'd do this.

Father Carroll pats her on the back. “It's okay. We all loved her. It's okay.”

“No, it's not,” Mariel sobs.

“Well, let's go talk about your decision. And I think a good shot of whiskey wouldn't do you any harm.” Father Carroll hands her a handkerchief. She wipes the lapel of his coat and then holds the handkerchief against her face. “Is Mrs. Randolph still here?” he asks.