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Lot’s Wife
...the old woman tries to rise from her chair but has to stop halfway up and take a quick gulp of air; the old man, still sitting, does not notice,
Just as well you stayed in, he tells the boy,
...the boy avoids Grandfather’s eye so he will not see into his story; but it does no good, the man continues to tell it, Mark my words. Halloween brings out the real devils. They mingle among the ones wearing the costumes, so you can’t tell them apart.
...the boy looks at the grey November day; feels a bleak wash of regret for having missed going out last night; but how could he have gone? when she’s up in bed with the stone-crippling in her limbs?
Devils, ready to jump on any child not mindful of the danger, whispers Grandfather,
Nonsense, barks Grandmother as she takes from the drainboard the black handled knife, its blade long and thin, the heavy steel razor-sharp; she wipes it with a green tea towel,
Devils, shouts the old man, And the Loup Garou! He’ll come back.
Finish your tea so I can clear the table.
Just wait. You’ll hear that some child is missing. Then you’ll believe.
...Grandmother shakes her fist at him, the one holding the black handled knife, You’re driving me to an early grave. Will you stop with your stories? Don’t we have enough real problems with drowned boys and crippled girls without you looking to make up more?
Blame me?! he shouts, It’s her own fault. She wouldn’t be crippled if she hadn’t looked into his eyes. I warned her not to! She’s brought it down on herself!
Lower your voice. You’re enough to wake the dead.
...but how are the dead awakened? is it possible to resurrect the Martin boy? or to bring life back to Monica’s limbs now that the Loup Garou has worked his stone-crippling in her?
Wake the dead? Me!? It’s you who started! I was sitting here minding my own business!
...the boy tries to remember who began the argument but can not; even the simple past can get muddled, or be turned into something different,
Hush, Grandmother says to the excited old man, Let her sleep.
She’s always up there sleeping. While the rest of us are down here working.
...but Monica does not sleep; the boy knows, has sat by the bed and watched her staring up, unblinking, as if all the answers were written on the ceiling,
Merciful Jesus, is there no relief from such a man? the woman speaks to herself, her voice low, trailing off into what seems to be the vanishing point of defeat,
...sensing victory the old man begins to rail like a prophet, It’s her own fault! I warned her back then, not to look into the beast’s eyes. But she must have. Because now he’s back.
...the boy knows that even this prophet’s voice will not defeat Grandmother, nothing can defeat her; and he is not surprised when she shouts, Get out of the kitchen. Can’t you see I’ve work to do. Get out of my sight. All of you!
...she says, All of you, as if there were more to the man than himself, as if he contained all men and they must all be banished at once; the old man realizes he’s been beaten and rises slowly, as if a sudden frailty has overcome him; a pained look creeps into his eyes and he moans as he braces himself; he looks like an invalid now as he begins to walk unsteadily, I’ll go. You’ve seen the last of me.
...as he limps from the room he mutters, You’d think a man could expect a little more kindness during his last days on this earth.
Go help your Grandfather, the old woman says in a long exasperated breath,
No. Just leave me to die in peace.
...the old woman mutters, Merciful God! Is there no mercy?
...waving the boy off, the gaunt but still muscular old man limps toward the stairs; the boy turns to the old woman with a questioning look,
Come back then and help me, she tells him,
...the boy sits on the bench at the back of the table and watches the old woman wipe the counter and take from the cupboard a metal colander; she tells him, We’ll let her rest for now but later we’ll go up, and I’ll rub her with liniment.
...is the girl resting or slipping further into the paralysis that has been creeping through her flesh since the funeral? twice a day the old woman rubs her legs and arms with a special liniment she’s been given by the Ramancheur but it does no good, nothing but a miracle will cure her,
...after they’d put the drowned boy in the ground everyone gathered at Martin’s house for a lunch, even the French priest; Monica was talking with Father Montpetite who smiled and swayed back and forth on his heels and ate a large plate of ham and potato salad; during the conversation the girl grew paler until finally her eyes rolled up and she collapsed into the priest; he tried to catch her but smeared the back of her dress with mustard because he hadn’t let go of his plate; Grandmother came swiftly limping across the room and took the girl from him; the priest said, Let me help. ...but Grandmother snapped, Don’t you think you’ve done enough!
...as the old woman lifted Monica, the girl’s scarred hand fell loose and Grandmother gathered it up and tucked it close to the girl’s body so it would not be seen; the old woman carried Monica from the parlour of the Martin house, and as she headed toward the door the men protested that she could not walk all the way home with the limp girl in her arms; they tried to help, but she shouted them away with, I’ve more strength than all of you put together.
...after Grandmother left, Danny walked the boy home from the Martin house; the boy asked Danny what had caused Monica to collapse; Danny spat a long stream of tobacco juice and told the boy, I wouldn’t give you five cents for all these priests and the way they try to play on your conscience. They’re cagy devils.
...in the weeks following the funeral, everyone speculated on what had caused the Martin boy to drown; three schools of thought formed, the first said it was cramps, the second blamed the current, and the third claimed it was nothing natural at all but the hair of the whore that ensnared the swimmer; somehow, all these versions made their way to Monica, and one night when the boy brought her a cup of tea she broke into wet paralysed sobs and dismissed all three stories with a question, Why won’t they admit who is to blame?
...was it true? was it the hand of God that held the swimmer down? punishing him for betraying his promise to the church?
...the crippling that started in Monica’s lower legs spread into her thighs, and as Thanksgiving progressed toward Halloween the paralysis moved up to her waist and into her arms; it is necessary now for Grandmother to feed the girl and to help her onto the chamber pot; these new duties in addition to washing the girl, rubbing her legs twice daily, sitting with her before turning out the lights and assuring her that the Martin boy was in the presence of the good Lord,
...but how can the Lord be said to be good if he took the Martin boy?
...Grandmother limps to the pantry and fills the colander with potatoes, she rinses them under the cold water faucet, braces herself against the sink, and clutches a hand to her chest as if to stanch the flow of blood,
...the door sweeps open and Danny appears, Sweet suffering Christ but it’s miserable out there.
Close the door, she tells him gruffly,
For the love of God, woman, let me get inside first.
...Danny moves to the wood stove and rubs his hands over the flat black top, It’s as cold as death out there. Have you ever seen things change for the worse so quickly?
...the old woman looks at him as if to say, When does it happen any differently?
There’s no life in this stove, Danny complains,
...he continues to rub his hands without making an attempt to put more wood into the stove; Grandmother drops what she is doing, walks to the woodbox, takes out a split piece of spruce and feeds the fire while Danny stands by and watches,
The girl? he asks,
Worse.
And himself?
Still dying.
...she spreads newspaper on the table and begins peeling a potato,
...Danny clicks his tongue in reply, then adds, Lord liftin’ but its cold.
...Grandmother puts down the peeler, limps to the stove, lifts the tea pot off the surface and pours a black stream into a chipped enamel mug,
...Danny waits for it, sips, and exclaims, It’s no use, my blood has turned to ice.
...the old woman sighs, lumbers to the cupboard above the sink and takes down an amber bottle; she pours some into Danny's tea, then looks at hers and after an long moment of indecision spills a bit into her own cup as well,
Guess who I've just seen?
...Grandmother drops a skinned potato into a pot of cold water; without answering Danny she tells the boy to get her some carrots from the pantry,
...the boy brings a handful of limp carrots to her, puts them on the table, sits in silence and waits for Danny to reveal the identity of the stranger,
...Grandmother pours more tea into Danny’s mug and into her own, then adds a little more whisky to each,
Well, I'll tell you who I’ve seen. The priest is who.
Callahan?
The other. The old French bugger.
Him, she mutters as the peeler strips the outer skin of a carrot,
Strutting like the Pope himself.
...Grandmother continues to peel the weathered outer layer from the limp root, revealing the virgin flesh beneath,
He stops me on the street as if I were one of the faithful and do you know what he asks me? Never mind, I’ll tell you. He asks me if I’ve been thinking about Lot’s wife. So I tell him that little more has been on me mind for the last few weeks. And that I can barely get a good night’s rest from thinking so mightily about her. And then I ask if he’s seen that good woman lately, and if he knows how’s she’s been keeping. But the old hypocritical bugger pretends he doesn’t hear a word I say. They’re all like that you know. Interested in themselves only. He tells me that the story of Lot’s wife is a wonderful lesson to us all. That the sinful are punished to help the rest of us see that God is just. I think to meself, Hogwash. And I can’t stand to hear another word so I tell the brazen old bastard that I’ve got to be off to see how Joseph is keeping.
Jesus. Tell me you didn’t say that.
...the peeler slips from its path, slides the length of her finger, lifting the wrinkled flesh,
...blood runs down her hand,
Christ almighty, exclaims Danny, You're bleeding to death.
A nick. Tell me he’s not on his way here.
...as she walks to the whisky cupboard, drops of blood trail behind her, she takes down a tin of salve and a piece of white cloth, and begins to dress her wound,
He said he was making his rounds of the sick and he might stop by to check on himself.
...she looks out the window, pours more whisky into both their cups, drinks hers off with a gulp,
Lizzy? Grandfather's voice from upstairs, Lizzy!
Yes, yes. I hear you.
Lizzy!!
I better go up before he upsets the girl.
...Grandmother limps toward the stairs with a cup of creamy, sweet tea for the old man,
Lizzy!!!
Be quite. Before you wake the dead.
...when she is gone from the room Danny winks at the boy, I'll tell you something about those cassock wearing devils. Two words of advice for you. Non Serviam. That’s the ticket.
...just then, a knocking,
C'min, c'min, Danny shouts, impatiently,
...Pere Elliphaz Montpetite stands at the threshold, smiles, slides into the room, and sits down; he cocks his podgy face at the commotion upstairs, clucks his tongue and says, Poor suffering man. Test of our faith.
You Jesuits and your tests.
Happy are those whom God reproves, says the priest, then looking at the wide-eyed boy he says sternly, Come here.
...Danny catches the boy by the arm on his way to the priest, You go up and tell your Grandmother the priest is come.
...the boy returns, following the old woman; she stops in the dining room, removes from the china cabinet her best tea cup and her Christmas serving platter, puts these on the maple table while she removes from the sideboard a tin of store-bought cookies that she arranges on the serving platter; when she enters the kitchen she greets the priest in French and places the cup and cookies in front of him,
...the boy eyes them but does not dare,
...the priest daintily sips his tea and with fat little fingers picks delicately at the sweets until they are all gone,
...the old woman eyes him and continues peeling; she gruffly says to the boy, Hand me another carrot.
... the priest reaches out for the unpeeled carrot, but instead of giving it to her he holds it in the palm of one hand while stroking it with the other; Grandmother eyes the plump little fingers impatiently, then says, I don’t suppose you’d take a wee drink.
...he smiles,
...the old woman drops the peeler, wipes her hands on her apron, rises slowly and limps to the china cabinet, returning with a small crystal glass; she fills it with the amber liquor and puts it in front of the priest; when his hand abandons the withered root and reaches for the liquid, the woman grabs the carrot,
...after drinking the whisky the priest smiles benevolently at Danny and, as if no time has elapsed since Danny’s derisive comment, Pere Montpetite says, Abraham was tested, and Job, and Lot. They came out fine.
Not Lot’s wife, mutters Grandmother,
Disobedience. Pride. Cause of the Fall. What do you expect from a woman?
...Grandmother slaps the peeler on the table, takes the carrots to the sink and runs water on them, her wet bandage turning pink; she returns to the table, leaving a trail of roseate drops behind her,
Women. The weak ones. They pull men down with then. Look at Eve. We’d all be in Paradise now if it hadn’t been for her.
...the old woman picks up the black handled boning knife and begins to chop the carrots,
. ...the priest turns his attention to the boy and says, Be careful. Girls will tempt you.
...Grandmother pours the priest more whisky; he smiles beatifically at her and delicately picks up the small glass with chubby fingers; he drinks it back at once and pushes the empty glass as if away from himself but toward the bottle,
...Grandmother refills it, and mutters, His wife punished but Lot saved. For what?
...as the priest licks the remnants of good whisky from his thin mauve lips his eyes stare into the future; when they return with a stolen image they smile at the boy, A fine altar boy. Like the Martin child. A loss to the church. Would have made a fine priest. But the good Lord called him home, in His infinite wisdom.
...the knife chops quickly, slaps hard against the cutting board while the old woman mutters, Wisdom: like saving Lot so he could interfere with a young girl?!
I was counselling him myself, says the priest,
Lot!? asks Danny in feigned astonishment,
...the priest smiles with priestly tolerance and says, The Martin boy. So he wouldn’t loose sight of his vocation. Wouldn’t fall into temptations of the flesh. And be lured by some girl.
...Grandmother bangs the table and pours herself a large measure of whisky, she drinks it down and pours another,
...she waves her arms as she speaks, Tampering with young girls.
Be careful you don't take someone's eye out, says Danny,
A fine altar boy, says the priest dreamily as his plump fingers crawl across the table toward the boy’s hand,
We need no more altar boys! I’ve work to do. Just go up and anoint himself, if that’s why you came.
....Grandmother pours herself and Danny another splash of whisky; the priest watches the ceremony from which he is excluded; he pushes his glass in her direction but she does not fill it,
...a smile of martyrdom spreads across his face as the whisky bottle is slammed back on the table, The anointing. Sacrament of the dying. Yes. I’ll get him to make an act of contrition. And the girl, too.
Just anoint him and be done with it!
I’m sure she has sins to confess.
...the knife chops decisively, more quickly now,
Sins! barks the old woman, What sins do the young have?
...his voice like the languorous movements of a lizard in the sun, Youth? It’s no guarantee. Look at Lot’s daughters. Young flesh is older than we know. Inherited from the mother. Who knows what sins the girl bears?
We need no confessions here!
...the blade of the knife flashes as it slides through the kitchen light and comes slapping down on the wooden cutting board,
The sins of the young are the darkest, says Father Montpetite as his fingers slither toward the boy’s hand,
...but they do not reach it,
...the movement is arrested,
...all time frozen for an instant, in which the scene is transformed,
...the priest’s eyes grow wide in amazement,
...Danny looks and gasps,
...all eyes stare at the fat grey worm,
...wriggling on the table, flopping in the sunlight,
...the priest’s mouth falls open but utters no words to express his wonder,
...the grey worm is surrounding now by a smear of Christmas red,
...Danny is first to find words, Jesus H Christ.
...a thin scarlet arc cuts the still air between priest and worm and lands with a splash on the table,
...his face is transfixed by awe: this is a miracle; His doing; He, who saved Lot and destroyed the cities of the plain,
...the crimson pool on the sunlit table opens it petals like a rose upon the snow,
My God, says Danny,
...the priest raises his hand to bless the occasion but now a look of doubt contorts his face; and he realizes that this is not the work of the Lord at all but something else; he stares at the hand that would bless, and sees a crimson stub where a finger should be,
Merciful Lord. Do you know what you’ve done? whispers Danny to the old woman,
...the priest’s face goes white with shock; with his afflicted hand he reaches for the wriggling worm on the table as if to make himself whole again; but the black handled knife flashes across the air and sweeps the grey worm onto the floor,
...the tip of the knife points threateningly at the priest, We need no confessions!
...the stunned priest realizes he is in the presence of evil and quickly tries to bless himself; but the scarlet stub only manages to smear the man’s forehead with red, making him look pagan,
No more confessions and no more priests!
...Danny runs to the cupboard to get the salve and rags to bind the priest’s finger, shouting at the old woman, Where are they?
...but she does not answer him; she looks at the priest as if she is about to cut his throat and tells him, No more confessions until God confesses!
...but who would God confess to?
...the priest’s face is now as grey as zinc; he tries to stand but slumps back into his chair, begins to tremble, and cries, I’m murdered.
...he drops his mutilated hand between his cassock draped thighs and blood drips onto the floor; Danny fumbles with the wounded finger and tries to bind it but the priest keeps lifting his hand to look at it; the blood soaked bandage ends up covering the whole hand, with long loose pieces of gauze dangling from it; when he is done, Danny absentmindedly mops his brow with his bloody hands but when he sees the gore he quickly wipes his hand on his shirt,
My God, I'm dying, moans the priest,
Just a nick. You’ll soon be right as rain, assures Danny; and when the priest isn’t looking he casts a sidelong glance at the old woman, as if to ask, What do we do now?
Make God confess! she shouts again,
Why have you done this to me? Father Montpetite whimpers,
Calm yourself. She's done nothing, Danny says as if to a child,
...the priest clasps his bandaged finger to his chest, looks ready to faint; Danny puts his arm around him to keep him from sliding off the chair,
...Grandfather, resurrected from his deathbed by the commotion in the kitchen, stands now at the doorway, wearing his grey one-piece underwear,
Who did this? he demands,
Her, mutters the ashen priest,
Him! she points the knife at heaven,
Was it the Loup Garou? ask Grandfather,
What? says Danny,
The Loup Garou! Has he returned for the girl?
Yes. By the Christ, exclaims Danny, It was the beast!
I knew it! Grandfather bounces on his toes like a small boy, Was there a battle?
You should have seen it! And awful contest, says Danny,
Awful, repeats the priest weakly,
You wouldn’t have wanted to be here. Awful it was. The creature appeared out of the blue. You know the way these things always happen. One moment we were sitting here, minding our own business, and the next thing we knew the beast was upon us. Merciless creature.
...the front of the Grandfathers’s underwear begins to bulge with excitement, What did he do?
The beast you mean? He saw right away that it was only the two of us that blocked his way to the girl. That’s who he came for. So the foul bugger made straight for us--to get us out of his way, you see. Jesus but I thought we were done for.
What happened?
I’ll tell you this: I’ve heard many a horror story in my day, but in the end none of them proved true. All just tall tales to frighten children. But never in my life did I think I’d find myself in the middle of the real thing. Face to face with the real beast.
You didn’t look him in the eye did you?
Jesus, I know better than that. To tell the truth, I did very little. It was him that did it all, says Danny pointing to the priest,
Did he sprinkle him with holy water? asks Grandfather, speaking of the priest as if he were someone in a story,
Holy water? He took the beast by the throat and began to throttle him with his bare hands. And look at what he got for his trouble.
...Father Montpetite raises his bloodied bandage, He ripped my hand from the wrist.
The whole thing, admits Danny, Gone!
I can see for myself, replies Grandfather impatiently, There’s nothing left of it.
And with his one good hand the good father squeezed the beast’s throat till he dropped to his knees. If I live to be as old as Methuselah I swear I’ll never again see the likes of it! The beast slouching out of the kitchen, defeated!
Damn it all! Why didn’t one of you wake me?!
It all happened in an instant. In the twinkling of an eye, as they say.
...Grandmother begins to limp across the kitchen; the men do not notice, do not see her stop at the sink, brace herself on the edge, or clutch her chest as she gasps in stark, sudden pain,
It all happened right here. In my own kitchen! While I was dying. A miracle!
A miracle, repeats Danny, Performed by the priest.
...colour returns to Father Montpetite’s fleshy cheeks; with a soft protest he proclaims, No, No. Not my doing at all. It was the work of the Lord.
-end-