This One and Magic Life Read online

  “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.

  Mariel nods.

  “Well, I’m going to get you something to drink. Don’t you want to come inside where it’s cooler?”

  “I think we’d better talk out here. Hektor’s got company, and Dolly’s sick. Maybe we could sit in your car.”

  “Sure.” He climbs the three steps slowly, painfully. “Where’s Donnie?”

  “Mobile. He’ll be out after while.”

  “Well, you just sit down a minute. I’ll be right back.”

  Mariel watches him disappear into the darkness of the back hall. She realizes that this is the way he will disappear from her life one day soon. And the way her mother will disappear. And Donnie. Just step into a shadow and be gone. Just like that.

  She cries harder into the already wet handkerchief. “Artie,” she says, “I wish you had wanted to be buried in your casket in your yellow dress. We wouldn’t have let anybody see you, and you would have been at Myrtlewood.”

  “I wanted purification by fire.”

  “Whatever. Dead’s dead, Artie.” Mariel wipes her eyes. “And did you see that sweet old man? I guess we’re going to have you a funeral.”

  Father Carroll comes out with two glasses. “Let’s go see if the car is still cool,” he says. “I need you to explain about the funeral.”

  Mariel holds the handkerchief against the already sweating glass. “There’s nothing to explain, Father. I shouldn’t have called you. It’s just that Artie requested no funeral, and for a while, we considered going along with it. But we’ve decided we can’t.” God, how can she be doing this!

  “I’m glad, Mariel. Artie probably wasn’t thinking clearly when she made that request. She was so sick for so long. You and Donnie are doing the wise thing.”

  “Yes,” Mariel says. Donnie? The wise thing? She takes a large swig from the drink. It’s pure bourbon; she chokes. Snot, tears, and spit all hit Father Carroll’s handkerchief.

  He pats her on the back and opens the car door for her. “There’s something psychologically necessary about a funeral,” he says. He goes around to the other side, gets in, and continues. “It’s like putting a period at the end of a sentence.”

  “You think of life as a sentence?” Mariel takes a cautious sip of the drink.

  “In some ways, yes.”

  “Like a prison sentence?”

  “For some people I think it is. Of their own making, of course. What I meant, though, was the clean page, the writing we put upon it.”

  Mariel looks across the yard toward the bay. “How well did you know my in-laws?” she asks.

  “Very well. Their dying was one of the greatest tragedies I’ve had to deal with. They were more than parishioners; they were personal friends. I was especially close to Thomas. What a chess player he was.” Father Carroll chuckles. “Poker, too. Fortunately he put his winnings back in the pot.”

  Mariel sighs. “I remember how beautiful Sarah Sullivan always looked in church. The hats she’d wear. She could even kneel better than anyone else. You know what I mean? Delicately. Thank God, Dolly’s got some of her gracefulness.”

  “Sarah wasn’t perfect.”

  “I know that now. But at the time…” Mariel takes another drink. “I helped out here sometimes when they had parties. People from the university and even the governor once.” Mariel smiles. “He took off his shoes, the governor did. Lost them under the table. Sarah Sullivan just laughed and said, ‘Everybody feel around for the governor’s shoes.’ She was a perfectionist in some ways, though. If there was a spot on the crystal or the dessert fork wasn’t headed in the right direction, we caught it. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a dessert fork.”

  “They aren’t important,” Father Carroll says.

  “Mrs. Sullivan thought so.”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

  “Artie didn’t, though.” Mariel starts to cry again. “I don’t know what she thought was important.”

  “Love. Family. Her painting.” Father Carroll sees Artie at her first communion. The wafer from his hand. At her wedding. Shining.

  “She was one of the cleverest people I’ve ever known. Witty, irreverent, of course. I’ve been trying to pin down what to say about her tomorrow.” He pauses. “We are having a funeral tomorrow?” Mariel nods yes. “And I almost want to say she was like mercury. You know when you break a thermometer and try to hold it, how fast it is, how it’ll break apart and come back together, and you can never quite grasp it. I’m not sure everyone would understand, though, since they don’t put mercury in thermometers anymore.”

  Mariel turns up her drink and finishes it. “You think Artie was like mercury.”

  You know what I mean. I remember Thomas Sullivan telling me one time that he thought Artie was a lot like her mother. At the time I couldn’t see it, but I’ve come to think he was right. They both were like quicksilver, beautiful, strong, and fluid.” He turns to look at Mariel. “Don’t you think the metaphor would work tomorrow?”

  “Isn’t mercury poisonous?”

  “In certain compounds. I’m sure nobody would think about that aspect, though.”

  Mariel runs her finger around the top of her glass and makes the crystal hum. Whmmm, whmmm, the noise gets louder. “Think about this for a minute, Father. If it were me you were burying tomorrow, what metaphor would you use?”

  Father Carroll smiles. “I wouldn’t need any metaphors for you, Mariel. I’d simply say you were a lovely woman, mother, and wife.”

  “That’s what I thought. We’ll see you at seven, Father.” Mariel opens the door and gets out.

  The old priest is puzzled. “Did I say anything wrong?”

  “Of course not. That’s exactly what I am, Mrs. Adonis J. Sullivan, the mother of Dorothy Artemis Sullivan. And I’m fifty-seven years old, Father.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Something.”

  “Well, we all get old, Mariel, if we’re lucky.”

  “Thanks, Father. We’ll see you at seven.” She starts across the yard, turns, and calls back. “You w
ouldn’t by any chance say I’m mercurial then?”

  He doesn’t hear her.

  In the back hall, Mariel runs into Hektor. “Father Carroll is just leaving,” she says, “if you want to catch him.”

  “Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

  “I called and told him we weren’t having a funeral for Artie.”

  “You did?”

  “I changed my mind, though. Let him bury an empty coffin. Serves him right. Throw incense and holy water around.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Nothing. He said he was sure Artie requested no funeral because she wasn’t thinking right. And I said, Okay, go ahead.” She pauses. “He said funerals are psychologically necessary.”

  “I think he’s right.”

  “We’ll give you a big one, Hektor.” Mariel starts into the kitchen with the glasses. “By the way, who’s your friend?”

  “He’s a priest.”

  “I thought so. He looks like one.”

  Hektor thinks of Delmore Ricketts and his fishing hat. “He does not.”

  “Does, too. Priests always look alike.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Holier than thou. I’m beginning to think Artie was right. Don’t give me a funeral either, Hektor.”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise.”

  “Promise.”

  “Don’t cremate me, though. That’s going too far.”

  “What’s in those glasses, Mariel?”

  “Straight bourbon. And there’s going to be more. Want to join me?”

  Hektor remembers the dream he’d had the night before of Thomas and Sarah going sailing.

  “I think I’ll pass.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Four Women

  DONNIE HAS GONE HOME TO SHOWER AND SHAVE BEFORE GOING out to Harlow. He places Artie’s ashes on the kitchen table, but that bothers him. He takes them into the bedroom and puts them on the dresser. This also bothers him. He finally puts them on the mantel in the den under one of her paintings, a woman climbing the dunes to a house which is obviously the one at Harlow. The picture has hung here for years, part of the furnishings. But now he looks at it carefully. Sea oats at the top of the dunes are bent over in a strong northerly wind. February, Donnie knows. When the woman gets to the top of that dune, it will be freezing. And it’s around three o’clock because the shadows are beginning to lengthen. Behind the woman, though it’s not in the picture, the bay is shimmering, rippling.