When We Were Saints (25 page)

Archie was startled. How did he know Irving? When did Clare tell this nutcase about the old man? He felt confused. He didn't know what was going on.

He closed the door on Clare's side of the truck, then moved around to the other door still glaring at the man, and said, "I'm handling things, so just leave us alone." He climbed into the truck and pulled away looking back at the man in the rearview mirror The man stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head the way Archie's grandmother used to do whenever she found that he had gotten himself into more trouble than he could handle.

W
HEN
A
RCHIE HAD TURNED
out of the Cloisters parking lot, he said to Clare, "We need to find a hospital. You're not well. We need help."

He saw panic flash in Clare's eyes when he said the word
hospital,
but then she smiled at Archie, her face beaming, and said, "I'm fine. I don't need a hospital. God is all I need."

"I don't know what to do," Archie said. "I don't know where to drive. Clare, I'm scared. I think we should get you help and then go home. I need to go home. We haven't eaten in so long. You haven't eaten. Maybe if you ate. Maybe that's what you need. No sleep and no food—that's why you were hallucinating back there."

Archie had driven in a circle and was coming up on the Cloisters again.

Clare lifted a palm to Archie. The wound was still there, but he saw no fresh blood. "Is your faith so small, dear Francis, even now?"

Archie felt the pressure in his stomach. He wanted to cry. He was too young to deal with the situation. Was his faith "so small"?
Yes!
he wanted to shout.
I'm not you. I'm not Francis.
But he kept silent, clenching his jaws. He turned onto Fort Washington Avenue and headed toward Irving's house. "I'm taking us to Irving's," he said. "He'll know what to do."

Clare didn't say anything. She closed her eyes and hummed. A pained expression crossed her face, just for an instant, and Archie saw her jerk her hand up toward her chest. Then she stopped and let it fall back in her lap, and her expression was blissful again.

Archie had a hard time finding a place to park when they arrived in Irving's neighborhood. At last he found a space seven blocks away. "I hate the city," he said, trying to fit into the tight parking space and getting no help from Clare. When he had maneuvered the truck well enough to keep it from getting hit by passing cars, he turned off the ignition and let out his breath. He rested his head a moment on the steering wheel and said, more to himself than to Clare, "When I get home I'm never driving again." Then he lifted his head, and turning to Clare he said, "Come on; we're here. Let's see if Irving can help us."

"Francis, you go. I'm very tired. I'll stay here and wait."

"But you're the one who needs help. You need food and a shower and sleep. Clare, you need to get yourself cleaned up."

Clare shook her head. "I'll never wash the blood of Jesus from my body. You go on. And find out how to get to the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine. We're supposed to go there."

"We are?"

"Jesus has told me that we must go."

"But you need..."

Clare closed her eyes and hummed.

Archie sighed. "Okay then. I won't be long."

Clare nodded. Her face glowed; her expression was still one of rapture, but Archie could see that her face was too pale. He knew she needed food and water. She had gone too long without both. He was afraid she might die if he didn't get her to eat. She had felt so thin when he had put his arms around her earlier and helped her out of the chapel. He had felt her ribs through the two layers of clothing she wore.

Archie took one last look at Clare and repeated, "I won't be long." Then he ran down the sidewalk toward Irving's house. He arrived at the apartment out of breath, and he leaned against the wall of the building a minute to rest before pressing the buzzer. He had felt so weak running, he couldn't imagine how Clare was even sitting up. He had eaten much more than she had over the past few days. She hadn't eaten enough to make up even a single meal. He hoped he could get her to eat something; otherwise, he decided, he would take her to a hospital. He didn't want her dying on him.

Irving answered the buzzer and Archie told him who he was. Irving sounded happy to hear from him, and when Archie arrived at his apartment door the old man was waiting. He smiled at Archie, taking in his robe but saying nothing, and then looked beyond him for Clare. Not finding her he drew his brows together and said, "Where is Clare? What's happened?"

"Can I come in?" Archie asked, stepping inside.

Irving backed up. "Yes, yes, certainly, come in." He closed the door behind Archie and led the way to the living room. "Is everything all right? Where is Clare?"

Archie sat down on the sofa, and Irving sat across from him. "Clare is waiting in the truck. I parked it about seven blocks from here. She won't come in. She's praying. We—we went to the Cloisters early this morning, and we went to pray in the chapel with the Virgin—there's this Virgin Mary with Jesus, only Jesus' head is missing, and we were praying and then Clare said she saw angels, but there weren't any and then she started bleeding."

"Oy," Irving said, moving forward in his seat and frowning. "Where did this blood come from?"

Archie shrugged. "I don't know. From her. I mean, I didn't see her get cut, but she's bleeding from both of her hands and somewhere, like her ribs, and her feet—both her feet were bleeding. This guy—this guy we met called it something like—like
stigma.
"

"The stigmata?"

"Yeah. I mean, that's the same word this guy used. This guy saw us and he said that word—
stigmata.
What is that?"

Irving shook his head. "I don't know too much about it, but I do know it's nothing dangerous, just very rare. She's not gushing blood, is she?"

"No, just some oozing, like a few trickles. I can't tell about the wound in her ribs. I guess it's not too bad."

"They're the wounds of Christ, right? You've got the hands and feet and the ribs. Holy people get the stigmata."

"You mean, like saints?"

"I believe so." Irving stood up and shuffled over to a bookshelf. He ran his finger along a row of encyclopedias and pulled one out.

Archie, feeling calmed by the slow, gentle way the man moved and spoke, joined him and waited while Irving flipped through the pages.

"Here we go," Irving said, pressing his index finger on a page and reading the paragraph. Archie leaned forward and read over his shoulder.

"Says here ecstatics bear the marks of the Passion of Christ," Irving said, running his index finger beneath the words as he read. "That's Clare, an ecstatic."

"What's that?" Archie asked.

Irving twisted toward Archie. "You know, has fits of ecstasy."

Archie nodded, recalling his own feelings of ecstasy. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Says the stigmatic feels the suffering of Christ and suffers with him for the sins of the world."

"But what do we do about it?" Archie asked, leaning closer to the book.

"Nothing. Nothing to be done. Look here." Irving pointed to a paragraph. Archie leaned even closer so that their heads were touching, and followed Irving's finger as it ran along the page. "Says physicians cannot heal the wounds. But it's not blood. See, they don't think it's blood but an oozing from the pores. Don't seem to know what it is, do they?" Irving looked up at Archie, and Archie pulled his head back.

"No, but look at this," Archie said, pointing to another paragraph. " 'The divine malady of the stigmata ends only in death.' What do they mean? Will she die?"

"I think it means it never leaves her—the stigmata. She'll have it always, until she dies."

Archie nodded, feeling only slightly better and returned to the book. It cited examples of stigmatics, Saint Francis of Assisi and Saint Catherine of Siena and others. It told of one girl, Louise Lateau of Belgium, who lived in the nineteenth century and who ate no food for twelve years, except her weekly communion at church, and who drank only four glasses of water a week. She never slept but kneeled at the foot of her bed and prayed.

Archie read about the girl and pointed the paragraph out to Irving. "Here, this is Clare. This is just like her. She's like this Louise Lateau."

Irving read the paragraph, then raised his head. "It doesn't seem possible," he said.

"But that's just how she is."

Irving eyed Archie. "And you? What about you?"

Archie took a step back. "Me? No, I'm not like this. I don't know what I am. I just want—I don't know what I want."

Irving nodded and closed the book. He set it back on the shelf and turned to Archie. "So, you must pull the truck up to my door and drop Clare off. Then you can park it again. We need to take care of her."

"She won't come. She says we have to go to that Cathedral of Saint John the Divine. She says Jesus told her Maybe afterward I could get her to come here. Really, I just want to go back home." Archie said the word
home
and felt his throat constrict. He could tell he was about to cry. "I'm hungry and tired, and I don't belong here the way Clare does."

Irving nodded and ran his hand through the white wisps of hair on his head. "What do we do?" he asked, speaking more to himself than to Archie. He looked at Archie. "You must get her to come here; that's all there is to it."

"I will. We're staying at the Cloisters, in the tower: That's where we were last night."

Irving shook his head. "No, no, no, no, no. You come here. No more of that."

"We will, I promise; but first we have to go to that cathedral. I know her. She's stubborn. Maybe if you gave me some food—she just needs something to eat. Then she'll be all right until we get back here."

Irving hesitated, then nodded. "Come on. Let's see what I've got in the kitchen."

Archie followed him to the kitchen and sat down at the table. Irving pulled out a waxed-paper sack and opened it. "IVe got three bagels—could you use those?"

Archie nodded, hoping he'd get some cream cheese with them. "Thank you. We would love them."

"And some fruit and cheese. You need protein. Let's see if I've got any more liverwurst." Irving opened the refrigerator door: "My two young friends cleaned me out the other day, but they left my liverwurst alone."

"Thanks, Irving," Archie said. "I'm sorry I'm cleaning you out, too."

"Shush!" Irving grabbed the liverwurst, a block of hard cheese, the cream cheese, and some mustard, and then closed the refrigerator door: Archie jumped up to help him carry it all to the counter,

"You don't have to worry about me. I've got Lizzie shopping with me now." He set the food down and hunted for a knife. "Here we go."

"So the tutoring is going well with the kids then?" Archie asked, unwrapping the block of cheese and eyeing it, wanting to take a huge bite.

"Yes, very well, and I've made some more friends at the synagogue, young and old. I'm going to my first poker game next week. We don't play for money."

Archie nodded.

"And I'm hooked up to the Internet. Don't know what to do with it yet, but I'm connected. The boys are going to show me more tonight. Maybe you'll join us. Tell Clare to join us."

Archie remembered Clare and thought he should hurry. He didn't know what she might be doing back in the truck. "Irving, can I use your bathroom and clean up a little?" he said.

Irving pointed the knife in the direction of the bathroom. "Sure, sure."

Archie left Irving with the food and hurried to the bathroom. He studied himself in the mirror and wondered how Irving had dared to let him in. He looked terrible. His hair was down to the middle of his neck, greasy and stringy and straight. His face was smudged with dirt and blood, and his freckles covered his face in big brown spots, having come out more from all the time he'd spent in the sunny garden at the Cloisters. His eyes were watery and his lids puffy. He looked down at his fingernails and found that they were black. He turned on the faucet, grabbed the bar of soap off the sink, and scrubbed his hands and face well. Then he scooped the running water in his hands and took several swallows of it, scooping the water up over and over again. He thought he could spend all day drinking, but he was worried about Clare, so he dried his hands and face, grabbed as much tissue as he could stuff into the pockets of his jeans beneath his robe, hoping to clean up Clare with it, and returned to the kitchen.

Irving was just putting the food into a grocery bag. Archie saw that he had added two large bottles of water and some cookies to the pile. He felt like crying, he was so grateful. He came up behind Irving and without hesitating gave him a hug. "Thank you, Irving," he said. "You're saving my life."

Irving turned around. "You saved mine."

"No, Clare saved yours. I just came along for the ride."

Irving handed Archie the bag. "You take care of her now."

"Yes. Yes, I'll take very good care of her. And I'll bring her back here after we visit the cathedral."

"Make sure you do." Irving nodded.

Irving gave Archie directions to the cathedral and walked with him to the front door of the apartment building. He opened it and looked down the street, as though hoping to see Clare.

Archie stepped out onto the stoop and turned with his hand extended. Irving shook it, and Archie gave the man another hug.

"Yeah, yeah," Irving said, patting Archie's back and then withdrawing. "You'll come back here tonight."

Archie nodded and smiled. Just being in Irving's presence had made him feel so much better about things. He turned and trotted down the steps. He waved one more time to Irving, and then ran back down the sidewalk to Clare.

W
HEN
A
RCHIE RETURNED
to the truck, he saw that Clare looked the same as when he had left her. She sat with her eyes closed and her head lifted toward the roof. She was still humming. He looked down at the palms of her hands, which rested in her lap facing up. The blood had begun oozing again. He set the grocery bag down in the space behind the seat and struggled to take off his robe. Then he pulled out the tissue he had stuffed into his pockets and dabbed at Clare's palms with some of it.