A Witness to Life (Ashland, 2) (21 page)

"Thank you," she says, and squeezes my hand. The words, with her face radiant, are a gift, all that I want. Joan is my second chance and I have not failed. There will be no further losses.

I smile back, for me a rare smile, dance foolishly to the music, sway, and when it is over I surprise myself when I kiss her on the forehead, my heart thudding, and see that she is still, gloriously, smiling back at me.

I light a cigar, pull my hat low over my brow, and watch as Joan and Al leave for Niagara Falls, unable to believe my eyes. Then, in the instant between joy and regret, between loss and possibility, I turn and fancy that Jack lights a cigarette beside me, his eyes sparkling.

On Christmas Day, 1950, I board the streetcar, heading to see Margaret, to see what is left of my family.

And then it happens. The blue candle goes out and it is my turn to die.

CODA

The wind owns the fields where I walk and I own nothing and am owned by nothing and I shall never even be forgotten because no one will ever discover me. This is to me a source of immense confidence.

—Thomas Merton

The Sign of Jonas

In 1984, in the hospital room, jack, as unreal as I am, hands Margaret a rose, which seems real, which she clutches in her bent hand. Their bond is stronger than I have ever understood, born of shared experience of which I have not been a part. I have nothing to give her, nothing that can match this, but Margaret does not mind. Her hand would still hold out the nickel, give me everything. She has always asked for so little, and now is no different.

My Margaret. Dying alone, as so many others. I think of my brother, my sisters, of all our children, and wonder how someone with so much family ends up so alone.

Oh Maggie. Margaret is ours. Where are you£

And then suddenly, Jack and Margaret are gone, the hospital is gone, the instant has vanished, and I am once again spiraling upward on black wings, turning, the sky above endlessly blue and white. My destiny as a father is over. My family, I understand, is scattered on the winds.

Higher.

The voice in my head is my mother's, teaching me, pointing to objects, naming them, saying the words. Time happens to the world around me, but not inside, not to memory, because memory is beyond time, traveling forward with me, forging lives out of life, shaping the earth, the sky, the heart.

I am higher than I have ever been before, clearheaded, lungs bursting, can smell the sea, other lands, can see farther, almost to Ireland, a loy digging in green hills so far away, and Elora the bridge over the Grand the Tooth of Time the blacksmith's shop Sarah Patrick Loretta, now the Nipissing the hayloft at Boyd's farm the Queen's Hotel Brookfield Street Constance Street Pacific Avenue a Killarney razor and a shaving mug with a brush made of badger hair a silver thermos Da on the side of the road covered with canvas a Homburg hat a dancing bear a botde of Lourdes water a smoking stand and a hassock, the Scott Hotel Fire Proof Moderate Price Tub and Shower Baths the rose arbor at Gethsemani

the hawk falls on me from above finally yes talons shredding my feathers piercing my heart where all things are won and lost and I feel Maggie's fingers touch my face Gert's breath in my mouth and then I look into the hawk's eyes fiery blue and see that it is Jack and understand as I hear him sing at last it is so perfect yes understand what I have been waiting for how it was to happen why it was to happen and am grateful

am carried higher into the white clouds small heart pumping ecstasy as I join my family my sisters my brothers on the four winds vision dimming and look one last time at the hawk's beak spreading my breast crimson one last time to see that it too has changed oh changed yes and am filled with joy as I see Gramma open her mouth about to speak to me yes oh yes for the first the very first time.