This One and Magic Life (18 page)

“
A SHOOTING STAR!” MAY EXCLAIMS AS THEY WALK ACROSS THE
parking lot. She, Hektor, and Father Audubon watch the bright green meteor streak across the sky. “Maybe it's Aunt Artie telling us goodbye.”

Both men are thinking the same thing.

“Tonight is the Perseid shower,” Father Audubon says. “Around midnight the sky will be full of falling stars. It happens every year.”

“What's a Perseid?”

“Well, Perseus is a constellation, a group of stars named for one of Zeus's sons. The meteors seem to come from that direction, so they call them the Perseid meteors. You know what meteors are, don't you?”

“Star junk,” May says.

“Good answer,” Father Audubon declares.

“Know who Zeus was?” Hektor asks.

“Oh, Papa!”

“Do you know who Perseus was, Hektor?”

“Zeus's son.”

“He was the one who killed Medusa.”

“Who was Medusa, Papa?”

“A Greek lady.”

“Why did he kill her?”

“Because he didn't like her.” Hektor slams the door. “Okay, Del, you started it, you finish it.”

Father Audubon laughs. “It's all mythology, May. Just stories. Tell you what, when we get back to the house, we'll walk out on the bluff and see some more meteors. Okay?”

“Great. But why didn't he like her?”

“Go on, Audubon. Tell her,” Hektor grins.

“She was so ugly that anyone who looked at her would turn to stone.”

May thinks about this a moment. “That's pretty ugly.”

“And she had poisonous snakes for hair.”

May is delighted with this information. “You're kidding! Rattlesnakes?”

“Coral snakes.”

“How come they didn't bite her?”

“Because she was so ugly.”

Everyone is satisfied with this answer, and they ride in silence for a few minutes. “It was a nice service,” Father Audubon says.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what I think I miss most about the Church? The incense. You'd think it would be the music or the Communion or the prayers. But tonight, I realized it's the incense.”

“You can buy all the incense you want at Pier One,” May says. “The sticks smell real strong, don't they, Papa?”

“I love you, May,” Hektor says.

“I love you, too.” She pats Father Audubon's hand. “Go to Pier One.”

“I'll do that. Thanks, May.”

“You're welcome.” May turns toward Hektor. “Kelly can't marry you, Papa.”

“Why not? I'm only twice her age, and I have most of my teeth and hair. What's wrong with that girl?”

“I told her you had money, too. She said that was interesting, but it was too late.”

“We'll just have to keep looking.”

“She's already getting married.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear there's some legitimate excuse for her to turn us down.”

“I have a sister who's not married,” Father Audubon says.

“Wash your mouth out with soap, Del.”

“Nothing ventured.”

“Nothing gained.” Hektor takes May's hand. “Honey, I promise you, when we get back home, I'll seriously think about it. Okay?”

“You've never been married, Hektor?” Father Audubon asks.

“Once. Didn't last long. I was gone so much we never had a chance to get settled. Ever since, I've kept thinking I'd get around to it later.” Hektor pauses. “Guess it's later, isn't it?”

“Kelly says it's too late,” May adds.

“Well, what does she know? We'll find us the perfect wife and mama in New Orleans.”

“I'll help you,” May sighs. “I think I need a mama.”

For the first time, Hektor realizes how serious May is. He wants to pull the truck over and hug her, tell her everything will be okay. “We'll get you one, baby,” he promises. “Soon.”

“A good Catholic widow would be nice,” Father Audubon says.

Hektor relents. “Okay, Del. Tell me about your sister.”

 

Donnie, Mariel, and Naomi Cates also see the falling star.

“Would you look at that!” Naomi exclaims. “Bright green. I don't think I've ever seen one like that before.”

They stand looking up at the sky for a moment, but nothing else happens. Donnie opens the car door for his mother-in-law. He is so tired, he feels the weight of the door.

“Why don't you spend the night with me tonight?” Naomi asks. “I hate for you to drive back to Mobile and have to drive right back in the morning.”

“We don't have any clothes with us, Mama.”

“You can borrow one of my nightgowns, and what you have on is fine for the funeral.”

“Thanks, but we'd better not.”

“Okay. Just be careful. I know how exhausted both of you must be.”

“I'm fine,” Donnie lies. His eyes feel like they have grit in them. All of the lights are haloed.

“It went well,” Naomi says.

“It was fine.” It really was, Donnie thinks. He was surprised at how at ease he had felt, how comforting the familiar words had been.

They let Naomi out at her house. Mariel sees her in and turns on the lights for her.

“Quit babying me, honey. I'm fine,” Naomi protests. But when Mariel hugs her, Naomi leans into her for a moment.

Donnie's eyes are closed when Mariel gets back to the car. “You want me to drive?” she asks.

“Please.”

Mariel is astonished. Never, in all the years they've
been married, has Donnie ever relinquished the driving to her. It scares her. “You want me to drive?” has always been a rhetorical question. But now he moves over, and she gets behind the wheel, adjusting the seat.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Tired.”

Mariel turns the car around. Having Donnie as a passenger makes her nervous.

“Nothing hurts you?”

“I'm okay. Just tired.”

Don't let him have a heart attack, God. Please. Don't pay any attention to my bitching about him. I can't live without Donnie. Please, God. Don't let him have a stroke, or cancer. Please, God.

“You're sure nothing hurts you? You're not short of breath or anything?”

“Mariel, for God's sake. I'm tired. My eyes hurt. Okay?”

“You're not just saying that? You know how you are.”

Donnie laughs. “Thought you were going to quit me.”

“I want you well for the divorce proceedings.”

“Then just let me close my eyes while you drive us safely home.”

“We can spend the night with Mama.”

“Mariel!”

“Okay.” She hesitates. “You will tell me if anything's wrong, though, won't you, Donnie?”

“I promise.” She's really frightened, he realizes. “And you do the same for me. Don't hide anything from me.”

Tears flood Mariel's eyes. She brushes them away with her arm. “I promise.” We will grow old together. We will have grandchildren we will both adore. We'll
die together peacefully in our sleep. The furnace will mess up and carbon monoxide will get us. That's supposed to be a very peaceful death. We'll both see a great light at the end of a tunnel and we'll be holding hands. And everybody we ever loved will be there, glad to see us, welcoming us.

Mariel brushes her tears away again. The shell road makes a swishing sound that is hypnotic. By the time she turns onto the main highway, Donnie is asleep.

They cross Jubilee Parkway. Traffic is light. She's grateful it's not night before last when word of the jubilee was spreading. Everyone in Mobile would have been trying to get to the bay to fill their freezers. She wonders if it's true that this is the only place in the world where jubilees happen. Sounds like something the Chamber of Commerce would put out. She wonders if the fish see a great light and head toward it. We should have spent the night with Mama, she thinks, hearing Donnie's light snoring. Keep breathing, my love. I'll get you home.

 

At the house in Harlow, the phone rings, startling Dolly who is drifting toward sleep.

“Dolly? How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she tells Dave Horton. She pushes herself up on the pillows and realizes it's true. “You won't believe this, Dave. I just ate about a half gallon of Pralines and Cream ice cream.”

“Good. Did you take your medicine?”

“Yes, Dr. Horton,” she lies. Wandering over the house, reading the old letters, she had forgotten it.

“Well, I just wanted to check on you.”

“Thanks, Dave. I appreciate your calling.”

“You're welcome.” For a moment there is silence
and then he says, “You wouldn't believe how the stars are falling tonight, Dolly.”

“The Perseid shower.”

“Do you remember Alisha Goodwin? Her folks had a swimming pool? A meteor actually fell in that pool. Scared them to death.”

“I remember that.” Dolly lies back and lets Dave's words flow over her.

Stories.

THE RESIDENTS OF MOBILE ARE INTO AIR-CONDITIONING. THEY
consider it the greatest invention of the twentieth century with television a close second. Consequently, ninety-five percent of them will miss the Perseid meteor shower. They also missed, in April, the red glow laced with white streaks that was the aurora borealis making a rare appearance in South Alabama. They won't see the first star of Orion lift from the water or know the exact moment when the sun and moon face each other across the bay. But they are cool, comfortable, and entertained. No small accomplishment.

In the more affluent neighborhoods, Chem-lawn keeps the yards green, the flowers blooming. Some people say this is one reason for the increase in jubilees, but their voices are muted by the lushness of vegetation. It's difficult to be strident in Mobile. Crimes of passion erupt, startling everyone with their violence, but there is little organized crime. “Mobile” and “organization” have never been synonymous. Even Mardi Gras parades occasionally end up going down the
wrong streets. The spectators simply determine the new route and move. Or stay where they are if they're having a good time. There'll be more parades along later, more gold coins, beads, and Moon Pies to catch.

Outsiders often mistake this joie de vivre for laziness. Mariel Sullivan is thinking about this as she drives down the deserted streets. Well, let them freeze in North Dakota, or fall into the ocean in California. She wouldn't want to live anywhere but right here. Especially since air-conditioning.

 

On the beach in Harlow, Hektor is thinking the same thing. He, May, and Father Audubon have come to watch the shooting stars and have found Reese sitting on the bluff.

“Watching the falling stars,” Reese says.

“I saw one I thought was Aunt Artie,” May says. “It was a great big one. Bright green. I think it was her going to heaven.”

“I saw that one. Probably was,” Reese agrees.

Hektor leans back and looks at the sky. “Father,” he asks, “could we have the mass now?”

“Sure. It'll take me about five minutes to get ready. I think it's a great idea with the stars and all. Mythical.” Audubon gets up and starts toward the house. “Hey, listen,” he says, turning back. “I know your brother is going to scatter the ashes on the bay, but I really need something to pray over. Something to bury.” In the light from the porch, Father Audubon looks embarrassed.

“Would part of them do?” Hektor asks.

“Sure.”

“Okay. Go get ready.”

“What are you gonna do, Hektor?” Reese asks.

“Just get part of Artie off the mantel. Donnie won't care.”

“Lord. Lord.”

“It'll be okay, Reese. We're blessing her.”

“You just blessing part of her.”

“It's all symbolic anyway. Just wait on us here.”

“Just none of it makes sense, May,” Reese says as Hektor leaves. “None of it. I feel like I'm whirling around like those stars.”

The child reaches for his hand.

But Hektor, in the living room, is beginning to feel like Reese. He hasn't looked in the package. Now he does and sees a plastic container. How is he going to get part of the ashes out? This is Artie, his sister, his flesh and blood. Or was. He can't just stick his hand in and get some ashes. He feels goose bumps just holding the package. He could go in the kitchen and get a bowl and pour a few ashes in it. But you can't scoop your sister's ashes out like cereal or soup. He tries to remember where he can find a fancy bowl or cup. Something he could call a chalice. Something dignified. What pops into his mind is a small cut-glass bowl his mother used for watermelon rind pickles every holiday. He goes into the dining room and looks in the china cabinet. There is so much of his life here, he realizes. The dishes with the green and gold border, the turkey platter, the pink Christmas dish shaped like a poinsettia. And the pickle dish. He takes it and goes back to the den.

There he faces the problem of opening the plastic container and pouring some of the ashes into the bowl. He doesn't think he can do it; his hands are shaking.

“You need some help, Hektor?” Father Audubon asks. He stands at the door in purple vestments. Hektor is amazed at the change in his appearance. Delmore Ricketts is every inch a priest.

Hektor nods yes. Father Audubon comes over and
takes the package from the mantel. He takes the plastic bowl out, opens it, and pours a small amount of the ashes into the pickle dish. Chalice, Hektor reminds himself.

“There.” Father Audubon closes the plastic container. “We'll need some candles.”

“Any special kind?”

“No. In fact one candle will do. We'll need some light on the beach, though.”

“Okay.” Hektor goes to the table in the front hall where candles are always kept for emergencies. He gets several half-burned tapers and a fat white candle for Father Audubon. “Anything else?” he asks the priest.

“A flashlight.”

“What?”

“For light.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And a white napkin.”

Back to the dining room. This time into the linen closet. Tablecloths and napkins are stacked in neat rows that smell of detergent and starch. Later, he will be surprised to remember how beautiful Sarah's linens are, what good care Artie has taken of them. But now he simply takes a white napkin from the top of a pile.

“Okay,” Father Audubon says. “Let's go.” He unfolds the napkin and places it over the pickle dish. “You go first.”

“What in the world are y'all doing?” Dolly stands at the top of the steps, her blue and white bathrobe clutched around her.

Hektor looks at Audubon who shrugs.

“We're sort of having a requiem mass for Artie,” Hektor says.

“Right now?”

Both men nod.

Dolly turns to Father Audubon. “And you're—?”

“Delmore Ricketts.”

“He's Father Audubon, Dolly,” Hektor explains. “I went to Mississippi today to get him. May and I did.”

“Are you serious?” Dolly points to the napkin-covered dish in the priest's hand. “What's that? Don't tell me it's Artie's ashes.”

“Just some of them. I left plenty for Donnie to scatter on the bay.”

Dolly comes down the steps, sits on the bottom one, and puts her head in her hands. “This whole family has lost its mind. Papa goes and has Aunt Artie cremated and Mama's having a funeral with an empty casket. And now God knows what you're doing.”

Hektor comes over and kneels beside Dolly. “It's okay, honey. Your papa knows what I'm doing and he understands. Your Aunt Artie would understand, too.” He hesitates. “It's for me.”

Dolly leans over and puts her head on his shoulder. “What are you going to do?”

“We're just going down to the beach and Father Audubon is going to say a few words. That's all. Reese and May are already down there.”

“Can I come?”

“If you feel like it.”

“I need to go get dressed.”

“You're fine,” Father Audubon says. “If you two will go and join Reese and May, I'll be there in a moment.”

“What do you think he's doing?” Dolly whispers as they go out the front door.

“I don't know.”

“You feeling better?” Reese asks Dolly.

“I think I'm hallucinating.”

“I think we all are,” he says.

“Lord God,” May exclaims, jumping to her feet. Reese also rises. Hektor and Dolly turn and see Father Audubon coming toward them in his purple vestments. He has lighted the large white candle which casts shadows on his face. Behind him, the porch light makes him appear to be looming, large, dark.

“The grace and peace of God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ be with you.”

“And also with you,” the four people on the bluff answer automatically.

Father Audubon holds out his candle. Hektor hands May, Reese, and Dolly each a taper. He leans over and lights his from Father Audubon's. The others do the same.

“The Lord be with you,” Audubon says.

“And also with you.”

The priest starts down the steps to the beach. The others follow, their candles flickering in the slight breeze from the bay. Dolly shivers and tries not to trip over her bathrobe.

“Turn on the flashlight, Hektor,” Father Audubon says. “I can't see a thing.”

“I'm sorry.” Hektor shines the flashlight down the steps. Don't fall, Audubon, he thinks. For God's sake don't fall and drop Artie.

Father Audubon begins to chant. “I am the Bread of Life. No one can come to me unless the Father draw him. And I will raise him up on the last day.” He reaches the bottom of the steps. “Where, Hektor?”

“The edge of the water?”

“Is that Aunt Artie under that napkin?” May whispers.

“Don't ask me,” Reese mumbles. “I wish I'd gone home with Irene.”

“Yes,” Dolly says. “It's Aunt Artie.”

They follow Father Audubon across the beach. “His skirt's going to get wet,” May whispers.

“Shhh.”

But Father Audubon stops about ten feet from the water, puts down the napkin-covered bowl, and places his candle beside it.

“Let us pray.”

Dolly wonders if she is having a vivid fever dream. Stars are falling all around her, and she can hear the music from the Grand Hotel where couples are dancing on Julep Point. And all she had done was to come downstairs to take her antibiotic.

“Lord God,” the priest says. “Since our sister Artemis believed in the mystery of our own resurrection, let her share the joys and blessings of the life to come. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen.”

God, Hektor pleads, please let her in. We all messed up.

“Let us pray with confidence to God who gives life to all things, that he will raise this mortal body to the perfection and company of the saints.”

Reese begins to sob. “Artie won't get along with any of those saints two minutes.” May puts her arm around him. Audubon pauses for a moment and then continues more forcefully.

“May God give her a merciful judgment and forgive all her sins. And may she be happy forever with all the saints in the presence of the eternal King.”

Hektor recognizes the song they are playing at the Grand Hotel. It's an old one from World War II, “It's Been a Long, Long Time.” His mother used to sing it. His mother in that beautiful black dress.

“Welcome our sister to paradise and help us to
comfort each other until we all meet in Christ to be with you and with our sister forever. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen.”

“Hektor?”

Hektor is imagining paradise. He's hoping it will be better than Artie anticipated. He jumps. “What?”

“This is where we bury her.”

“Oh.” He looks at May and Dolly who look back solemnly. Reese's face is buried in his arm. “What do I do?”

“Dig a hole.”

Hektor kneels down and scoops out a small hole. Father Audubon hands him the bowl. For a moment, Hektor wonders if he is supposed to bury the whole thing, but decides not. He takes the napkin off and sprinkles the ashes into the hole.

“Tide'll get her before morning,” Reese says, wiping his nose on his shirtsleeve.

Hektor covers the tiny grave. Father Audubon kneels beside Hektor and bows his head. Dolly, May, and Reese kneel also. Their candles form a perfect circle of light. Father Audubon places the fat white candle on the sand. “We commit Artemis's body to the earth from which it was made. May the Lord receive her into his peace and raise up her body on the last day. Amen.”

“Amen.”

“Repeat after me: Give her eternal rest, O Lord.”

“Give her eternal rest, O Lord.”

“And may your light shine on her forever.”

“And may your light shine on her forever.”

The five remain kneeling in the candlelight. Above them meteors crisscross the sky. Tiny waves stir against the beach.

“Is that all?” Dolly finally asks. She is thinking how
Artie would have loved this, the falling stars, the five of them with their candles, the pickle dish which Dolly has recognized, the orchestra at the Grand Hotel which is now playing “Blue Bayou.”

“Yes.” Father Audubon picks up his candle.

“I hope it works,” Reese says. “I hope all of her gets there.”

“She will,” the priest assures him.

Follow those angels into paradise, Artie, Hektor is thinking. Give the place a chance.

Father Audubon holds out the empty pickle dish to Hektor who backs away.

“I'll take it,” Dolly says. She carries it to the edge of the water and rinses it out.

“Lord, Lord,” Reese says, tears running down his cheeks. “Just seems like everything's either shit or sugar, don't it?”