A Certain Slant of Light (27 page)

  
I knew that denying Jenny food was meant as a punishment,
but to me it was a relief. I was too anxious to eat. For the rest of
the meal, I stayed quiet, passing the bread when asked, ever
silent, drinking my water as slowly as a flower might. I had to
think. How was I to escape?

  
When Cathy and Dan had finished, I rose and carefully began
to clear the plates from the table. Dan carried two of the serving
platters but then left the kitchen without a word. Cathy busied
herself wrapping food with nervous fumblings and loud clatters.
When the table was cleared, I lingered, at a loss.

  
"Go to your room," said Cathy. "You're on fasting and Bible."

  
It seemed this was my release, and I took it. I navigated the
hall as quietly as if I were Light again and listened at the study
door, which stood ajar. The lamp was on inside and I could hear
the ominous rumble of Dan speaking on the telephone.

  
Back in my room, I felt so restless I didn't know what to do
with myself. I started pacing, back and forth, watching my own
shadow warp and dance on the carpet. I tried to sit on the bed and
read poetry, but I couldn't be still. I stood in front of the dressing
table and brushed my hair over and over again, with each stroke
thinking,
Only twelve hours more.
Finally I sat at the desk and
opened the drawer. There was the usual assortment of paper
clips, pens, and rubber bands, all neatly separated by plastic di
viders. In one compartment sat a plastic button printed with the letters "WWJD?" I had seen this arrangement of initials before
but couldn't remember the significance.

   
There was also a folder curiously labeled PROGRESS. I opened
it to find Jenny's report cards clipped together in groups. The first
stack had the report card for fall semester of the previous year on top. She had taken seven classes, received seven As. The next se
mester, spring, was the same, every grade an A. The third card
down was for summer school and, of the three classes listed, two
were A minus and one was a B. The date of that report card was
July 6. That date flared in my memory, but I couldn't place it.
I closed the folder and found myself a tablet of writing paper and
a pen.

  
With these I began to write James a love letter, though I knew
I wouldn't need to. I could tell him everything I wanted to tell
him the next morning. But I sat at the small desk and wrote:
"Dear sir: twelve hours is as twelve years to me. I imagine you in
your home, smiling, thinking of me. That I am your heart's secret
fills me with song. I wish I could sing of you here in my cage. You
are my heart's hidden poem. I reread you, memorize you, every
moment we're apart." Silly, girlish lines, but they wrapped
around my anxious thoughts and calmed me.

  
The sharp knock made my pen scratch a scar of ink on the
bottom of the page. I hid the paper in the top drawer of the desk as Dan opened the door. He looked from me to the Bible that lay
closed on the dressing table. I folded my hands as if praying.

  
"When your heart is clear, go to bed."

  
"All right." The slam of the door made the picture of Jesus
jump on the wall.

  
I undressed and put on pajamas, as I had the night before.
When I returned from the bathroom, Cathy was already sitting
on my bed with her magazine in her lap.

  
"Are you right with God?" she asked, her expression icy.

  
No,
I thought,
but he's already punishing me.
Aloud I an
swered, "Yes." I couldn't face discovering the next step if I were
to tell her no.

  
"You need to watch your tongue, young lady. I don't want an
other dinner like that one."

  
"Neither do I." I glanced at her magazine. "I thought
I'd
read
you something tonight," I said. I got under the covers and took
the library book from the bedside table.

  
Cathy frowned.

  
"It's about heaven," I reassured her.

Why do they shut me out of heaven?

Did I sing too loud?

But I can say a little minor

Timid as a bird.

Wouldn't the angels try me

Just once more,

Just see if I troubled them

But don't shut the door.

  
I glanced up, but she hadn't moved. As I read on, she watched
the floor, her lips pressed together as if she tasted something sour.
I didn't need to look at the page, as this was one of Mr. Brown's
favorites.

Oh, if I were the gentleman

In the white robe

And they were the little hand that knocked

Could I forbid?

  
I closed the book and waited.

  
"What sort of poetry is that?" she asked.

  
"It's Emily Dickinson."

  
"Watch what you pick up in the library." She smoothed the magazine on her lap. "Don't you think it would be more appro
priate to read something inspirational before bed?"

  
"You weren't inspired?" I asked her.

  
She raised her brows. "You know very well I mean stories and
poems about God." Cathy rose and clapped her copy of
In His
Time
under her arm. "Say your prayers and do not come to Him
without a contrite heart." Before leaving the room, she glanced
back as if expecting me to be sneaking a book on witchcraft out
from under my pillow.

  
As I had the night before, which seemed so long ago, I stayed
in my room until the house was very quiet and, as I looked out
into the hall, very dark. In the kitchen, instead of searching for
food, I took the telephone receiver carefully off the wall and di
aled James's number. It suddenly occurred to me that I might
wake Mitch, but the line was busy, a sound I recognized but that startled me with its irritating volume now that it was right in my
ear.

  
As I replaced the phone, I remembered Dan's threat to take me out of school. I had the horrid thought that Cathy and Dan
would decide to place me in a Christian academy for girls. A panic
shot through me and then a loneliness. I took up the phone again and dialed a number I knew from years of hearing it spoken.

  
"Hello?" The sound of his voice, even for that one simple
word, was so achingly dear.
"Hello?"
Mr. Brown repeated.

  
I thought of speaking. Just to hear him say more. Of asking
for a fictitious name so that he could tell me I had dialed the
wrong number, but I couldn't speak. My throat closed and the
tears came hot on my face.

  
"I can't hear you," he said. So polite, even to thin air.

  
"Who is it?" I heard his wife ask. She was near. They were
probably in bed reading or just undressing.

  
The gentle, low sound of a laugh from him cut into me. "If
this is a computer—"

  
"Hang up," she said.

  
I had covered the lower part of the phone with my hand, but
the sound of my weeping must have come through to him.
"Hello?" he asked again. Then in a whisper to Mrs. Brown. "I can
hear someone."

  
"If it's an obscene phone call, give it to me," she laughed, but the line went dead.

Eleven

I CLIMBED INTO THE CAR the next morning, a slight soreness be
tween my legs making me smile. Cathy seemed distracted, which
was all the better for me. She had been having a tense conversation with Dan before Prayer Corner. He lectured us that morning
on the dangers of disobeying God's will. Perhaps he was still an
gry with me for my manners at table the night before, or perhaps Cathy had told him about my penchant for Dickinson. Whatever the reason, he was determined to make the point that willfulness
leads to disaster. He chose a Scripture passage thoughtfully and
drummed his fingers on his knee as Cathy read from Isaiah.
Word by word, I listened and I wrote: "Where will you be
stricken again, as you continue in your rebellion? The whole head
is sickened and the whole heart is faint."

  
Now she turned on the car radio to KDOV. Unnaturally tran
quil voices harmonized a song called "Blessed Forgiveness." The
only time Cathy spoke to me was just as the car pulled up to
shool. As we drove, I remembered an odd dream I'd had about
standing at heaven's door like a Dickens caroler stamping my feet
to keep warm and trying to look through the tiny milked win
dows. A slit like a letterbox had finally opened, and a cross voice
called through the opening, "Go home!"

  
When we got to school, I struggled with the seat belt, which
seemed to be jammed.

  
"Don't be tricked by the devil." Cathy looked at me as if she'd just given me precise instructions on which our lives hung in the
iance.

  
"I'll try." I had the strange image of a costume ball at which
devils and angels all arrived dressed as each other.