Good-bye and Amen (19 page)

She must be having a really hard summer.

 

Sylvia Faithful
I took the bus home. It's longer, but much cheaper and people are less likely to interfere with you if
you're crying or something. By the time I got to Connecticut I realized that the one I was really pissed at was my father. He was there when they decided that everyone who counted was in town. He must have known how this would feel to me. Why the hell didn't he say something?

 

Norman Faithful
Mary McCarthy once wrote, “I am driven to the conclusion that religion is only good for good people. For others, it is too great a temptation to the deadly sins of pride and anger, chiefly, but one might also add sloth.” Isn't that wonderful?

My curate is either not a simpatico person or not well suited to this parish. And of course once you've got an Iago in a church, it is all too easy for that little sliver of fallen angel to find ready disciples to do the devil's work. It simply amazes me that people think that Satan is a mythological concept. How do they explain what they see all around them? Oh, Satan is having himself a most joyous little century.

There's not much one can do in August, however. The bishop is on Martha's Vineyard and most of the vestry is gone as well. I had to stay where I was and try to keep the lid on the pot and be a healing presence. So I sat in my office and read up on the Arian Heresy. I think there's a new book in it. We don't actually have any writings from the Arians themselves, as you probably know, since all their texts were destroyed. We have to piece together what they thought from those who denounced them. History is written by the victors.

To put it simply, the Arians believed that Jesus has not always existed, but was created by God. This horrified the
Trinitarians, the One God in Three Persons boys, because it smacked of polytheism. And makes Jesus somehow subordinate to God. But it's so interesting.
Was
Jesus created? Was there a time before He existed, as there was with the rest of us? If so, and He was both divine and fully human, did He know from inception that He was God, or did his knowledge of his divinity accrue, as it certainly appears from close reading of the Gospels? His moments of feeling deeply separate from God seem to me to be exactly what makes Him so approachable to the rest of us.

And then the real question is how to define and describe the Holy Spirit. God plus Jesus alive in us all in present time, but how to make that feel real? How to see the living God, the risen Christ, looking out of the eyes of every person we meet? You could have a blessed and holy life riding the New York subways all day long, trying to live by that one thought. A monastic plan the Buddha would approve. And if you succeeded, you'd be a saint. They'd have a room all ready for you and painted your favorite color when you got to Heaven. You can't do something like that, really do it, without being profoundly changed, and that of course changes the world you move in. In the way Jesus meant us to. Maybe that's the book—
A Priest's Year in the Subway.
That sounds better than
Arian Heresy,
doesn't it?

Where was I?

Anyway, I was working when Sam called me to tell me that his mother was in the hospital. Apparently she tried to kill herself. And I thought, really, How long, oh Lord? How long is this test going to take? It's been one thing after another for months now. Just pile it on me, Lord, you want
to see how much it takes to get me on my knees? Rachel, Rachel, Rachel.

 

Monica Faithful
Sam called Leeway, looking for his sister. I had to tell him she'd gone back to New York suddenly, and I told him why and apologized to him too about the ashes, but he barely registered it. He said his aunt Lynn had called to say their mother is in the ICU. I think Aunt Lynn is the one who never married and makes hats. Sam was on a cell phone and it was hard to hear. He wasn't even in Los Angeles, he was up in the Sierra on location. He couldn't leave for a day, and when he could it was going to take him forever to get back to civilization and onto a plane to Boston. I told him to do whatever he had to do, and I'd find Sylvie. She wasn't answering her cell, which I understood when I found it on the floor of my car the next morning. She must have lost it when Marlon drove her over to Union to catch the bus. I reached her at work in the evening.

Sam had told me where Rachel was and I'd called for an update on her condition. She was still alive, but hadn't regained consciousness. She must have made a very serious attempt. Naturally, Sylvie was stunned. I could hear the hubbub of the restaurant behind her but at first she didn't say a word. I said that I assumed she'd want to go to Boston right away, and I said, “Do you want your father to go with you?” and she said, “That asshole?”

I let it pass. But she shouldn't have to do this alone. I said, “Shall I come?” and she said yes, which almost made me cry. I said, “Tonight?” And she was undone, she said no, she had to work her shift, then yes, then no again. I told her I'd be at the hospital by noon, and would wait for her in the
waiting room. Of course I couldn't go near Rachel myself, that would be too strange.

 

Sylvia Faithful
It was a terrible night at work. I kept forgetting things, I was really out of it. She is my mother. She is my
mother.
I wished she could learn to take care of herself so I didn't have to worry about her all the damn time, but she is my mother. I thought how hard I'd been on her, and what if she really was doing the best she could?

I got home about one and tried to sleep, but I couldn't. So I got back up and booked a ticket on the first Acela to Boston. I was able to sleep a little on the train, because it was in motion and because there was nothing else I could do, except be on my way. I barely had enough money for the taxi to the hospital, I'd forgotten to stop at a cash machine. My brain wasn't working right. All I could think was, she couldn't be dead. She had to be alive when I got there.

Nika was in the waiting room of the ICU. She hugged me. She said Mommy was responding a little. She had squeezed the doctor's fingers when he told her to.

I went down to Mommy's room, and they made me put on a gown and rubber gloves. Aunt Lynn was there, and my granma, who was crying. Aunt Lynn got up and kissed me, and whispered, “Finally.” The kiss that meant, What took you so long and where is your brother? Granma held Mommy's hand and sniffled. Granma is so little that perched on that plastic chair, her feet didn't touch the floor. Mommy had a tube in her nose and another stuck with a needle into the back of her hand and she looked waxy. Her hair was dirty and her fingernails were all ragged. That scared me almost the most. Mommy's hands were always beautiful. Always.

Aunt Lynn gave me her chair and left the room. I took Mommy's hand and sat there. I started talking to her. I said, “Mommy, it's Sylvie. I'm here. Sam's on the way. You're doing great. It's going to be fine.” Then I'd say it over again. I said, “Mommy, squeeze my hand,” and I think she tried to. I said, “Mommy, it's Sylvie. Say hello to me. Mommy, say ‘Sylvie,'” and I saw something, her eyelids moved, and she turned her head toward me a little. Then she slipped back and was deep under again.

Aunt Lynn came back in and I said, “Lynn, she recognized my voice! She turned toward me!” And Lynn made a gesture that I should step out into the hall with her. She shut the door behind us and then she said, “Sylvie, who the hell is that woman in the waiting room?”

 

Monica Faithful
Of course I knew it was odd for me to be there. But Sylvie would get no comfort from her aunt or her grandmother. It wasn't a happy family. Rachel and the sisters fought a great deal and the mother didn't help. They hated me for taking Norman away from Rachel, which I don't think I did, but when they weren't doing that, they were blaming Rachel for losing him. And they all were bitter about Sam and Sylvie's summers at Leeway. There was plenty of reason on their side and plenty of blame for all, but what there wasn't was comfort for Sam or Sylvie.

I remember Sylvie saying that she had learned from us to put salt on her cantaloupe. I don't know where that comes from, Mother did it, we always did it. It makes it taste sweeter. Sylvie did it without thinking at dinner at her grandmother's one time, and her grandfather stopped everything to say, “Oh, look at Miss Fancy Pants, now it's
salt on the melon?” For the rest of the dinner it was, “Pass Miss Fancy Pants the salt. She'll want it on her pie.”

I'd never met any of them. Of course, I was deeply curious to see them. Sylvie and Sam are children of my house, and these were their family. The sad thing was, Rachel and I could have had a really interesting conversation about the one thing we absolutely have in common. It might have helped both of us. But she would never allow it, and I understand. To her I had to be the one who Took Her Life from her, and nothing else, just a cardboard figure for whom a special circle in Hell is waiting.

I sat in the waiting room until early evening. Cell phones didn't work inside the hospital, so I'd go outside to pick up messages and talk to Sam. He was in L.A., and would take the red-eye, be in Boston in the morning.

 

Sylvia Faithful
Mommy's coma was lighter by evening. She was moving more. She squeezed Granma's hand, but not Aunt Lynn's. Lynn took my chair and started a campaign to make Mommy squeeze her hand too. I know Mommy could hear at least some of it, because a little furrow would come between her eyebrows for a moment. I was relieved when Granma said she had to use the little girls' room. Lynn took her away, very solicitous. I suppose to show me how a good daughter acts. I who was to blame for all Mommy's unhappiness. They must have gone down to get supper because I had almost an hour to myself with Mommy. I talked to her. I told her I loved her. I asked her to please come back, I asked her to forgive me if I'd hurt her. I cried. I tried to meditate but the door that so often opens for me was closed. I tried praying to Daddy's god, but that phone was off the hook. I felt
like a lamb with its head caught in barbed wire, and no shepherd anywhere. All the shepherds had left the building.

When Granma and Lynn came back, I went out to the waiting room. Nika was doing sudokus. She said she'd reserved a room for us at the Ritz. I said, “Whoa, now I'm really a Miss Fancy Pants.” She said, “Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.”

 

Monica Faithful
If you're having an awful day, at least have it in style. They gave us a room with two king-sized beds overlooking the Common, and we both had baths, then ordered dinner from room service and ate in our big white hotel bathrobes. Then we got into our beds and watched a movie. Sylvie called the hospital before going to sleep. Her mother was resting quietly. I called Norman to say good night, and was relieved to hear he'd been checking with the hospital too. He wanted to talk to Sylvie but she shook her head. I said she was already asleep, which she mostly was.

Norman will hit the roof when the bill comes. So be it.

 

Sylvia Faithful
I slept like the dead for about six hours, but woke up early. When I couldn't get back to sleep, I got up and dressed in the bathroom, wrote Monica a note, and got a taxi back to the hospital.

Mommy was alone. There are visiting hours in the ICU but no one pays much attention. And the doctor wanted us to talk to Mommy, to try to get her to wake up. The nurses gowned and gloved me and I went in.

Her arms were tied to the bedrails. I went back out to ask if that was necessary; they said she had pulled out her breathing tube in the night and tried to get the IV out too.
They told me that was good news. When I went back in she was stirring and looked very unhappy, tugging with her wrists. I think something itched and she couldn't scratch. It was horrible. I took her hand and sat; I started talking to her. I tried over and over to get her to open her eyes or say my name. She moved her head back and forth and scowled, but it wasn't at me, it was the restraints. I decided to sing to her. She loved the movie
High Society,
so I sang “True Love,” and “What a Swell Party This Is.” She got quieter and I think she was listening. I was on the third verse when Sam walked in.

 

Sam Faithful
“This pink champagne, so good for the brain…” I didn't know whether to cry or laugh. Mom looked really awful and she was handcuffed to the bed. After I hugged Sylvie I leaned over Mom and kissed her and said, “Mom, it's Sam. I'm here.” She turned her head to me immediately and got one eye partly open. Sylvie sat down and burst into tears.

 

Monica Faithful
That was the breakthrough moment. She was responding, coming out of it. The doctors had been worried about how long she had been out, afraid about brain damage.

I'd heard Sylvie close the door on her way out, and had gotten up and followed to the hospital as soon as I could. I saw Sam for a minute as he came in. Sylvie came to the waiting room to tell me what had happened, that she had responded to Sam.

Lynn and a man with a potbelly and a yarmulke started into the waiting room toward Sylvie; then they saw me,
and Lynn grunted and grabbed his elbow and dragged him back out. “Uncle Len,” said Sylvie. Rachel's retired brother, up from Florida. It was time for me to go.

I asked her if she would be all right. She said, yes, now that Sam was there. They would stay with their grandmother and Aunt Lynn, and if that was too hard, she had a credit card of Norman's and could go to a motel. She said they'd be all right, and she promised to call. Since she had her cell phone back, I went out and bought her a charger for it, and brought it to the hospital before I left.