Miriam's Well (9 page)

“Very nice,” Mama said. Then after a few seconds, “But you musn't lose sight of the lovely verse in the
Book in Gold Leaf
.”

“I never will, Mama,” I swore, but for one panicky second, I couldn't recall a single line. Then I blurted out, like a baby's wail in church: “‘Love your enemies, bless them that curse you.' Matthew 5:44.”

Mama was astonished at my enthusiasm for this passage. “Well, I declare! You haven't forgotten Scripture.”

“Mama,” I whispered, “Adam Bergen may come over. Remember him?”

“Oh … my …,” Mama hesitated just a second and leaned over to hug me. “I'm so happy to have you home. I expect he'll just stay a short while.”

Later that afternoon, Mama let him in and directed him to the rocking chair, and she and Uncle Benjamin and Uncle Vernon all hovered around. Poor Adam! He looked like a guppy in a tank full of barracudas, and the more anxious he got, the faster he rocked, until I thought he might catapult right out our front window. He ate about a pound of peanuts, tossing them way back in his mouth. I'm not sure he took time to chew them. I kept catching his eye, telegraphing him reassuring smiles. Twenty minutes was all he could tolerate, and also just about all the time I could keep from bursting out laughing. I gave him a nod that it was okay to leave, and we were all relieved when he bolted for the door.

“High-strung boy,” Uncle Vernon said.

“Nervous as a cat—”

“I know, I know, Benjamin—as a cat on a hot tin roof,” Uncle Vernon added.

I don't think they knew that this line came from a playwright they'd not approve of one little bit.

CHAPTER NINE

Told by Adam

While Miriam was gone, everyone talked about her situation, but now that she was back, they treated her as if what she had, either the cancer or the religion, could spread and infect them all. Before she got sick, everyone just ignored her. Now they kept her at a safe distance. I was the closest thing to a friend she had, and the only one, as far as I know, who visited her in the hospital, except for Diana who would have visited Freddy or Orca. But what could I do? I had friends of my own.

Sitting in English, I caught Miriam out of the corner of my eye, looking pale but determined, with her elbow propped up on her desk to support her head. It honestly hurt me to look at her. I looked behind me at Diana's empty seat. Her cold had run to bronchitis, and she missed Miriam's first days back at school. I missed her, and kept looking for her, listening for her undercurrent of commentary.

“Adam, is your head on a swivel this morning?” Mrs. Loomis asked.

“He's like the girl in
The Exorcist
,” Brent said. “Did you see the thing on
60 Minutes
about the exorcisms?”

“Irrelevant, Brent.” Mrs. Loomis had spoken, and the bush was not consumed.

By Thursday Diana wasn't contagious anymore, and she invited me over, with all the homework assignments. She had a real set-up in the library of her modest little villa. She lay back on three pink pillows fluffed up on the arm of the circular couch. A fire sizzled in front of her and blew warm air out into the room through some black tube thing they had rigged up. The stereo played softly—Chopin, she said it was; you could have fooled me.

“Oh, Adam,” Diana said, from the depths of her pillows, “I'm so glad you came. It's been incredibly boring around here.” She wore a bright pink robe, the kind that doesn't button, but folds over itself, and the only thing holding it together was a tie at the waist. I considered infinite possibilities as she stretched her arms out to welcome me.

I sat on the floor beside her pillows, in the perfect spot for her to smooth my hair and trace my ears and make the hair on my neck stand straight up. In fact, everything came to attention. I was in love.

My mother had a famous saying: “Don't confuse love with lust, and if you do, keep your pants on.” Diana rolled toward me, and, what luck, her robe fell open just enough to show me a hint of a brown tip I'd always suspected was there. Here at last was living proof.

I climbed on the couch. Diana scooted back to make room for me. It was a narrow, curved couch. We had no choice but to be pressed together like a grilled cheese sandwich. I was in love, I was in lust; big difference.

The door of the library opened. Diana shoved me to the floor. Her mother, a huge woman even eye-to-eye, stood over me with one of the pokers from the fireplace in her hand. For a crazy second, I thought she might run it through my gut.

“Lucky I stopped by,” Mrs. Cameron said. “The fire was a bit too intense. I'll give those logs a stir.” She turned toward the fireplace and viciously jabbed at the crusty logs. “I'll be back,” she threatened, this time leaving the library door open behind her.

As soon as Mrs. Cameron was gone, Diana burst out laughing. She slid to the floor beside me, tightening the sash on her robe. “A sense of humor is everything, Adam. My mother cracks me up.”

“Oh, yeah? I thought buns were everything,” I muttered.

“Buns, and a sense of humor. Two of the most important attributes in the human animal.” She reached back for a tray of snacks, sprayed a mound of creamy jalapeño cheese on a Triscuit cracker, and stuffed it in my mouth. “‘Lucky I stopped by,'” she said, imitating her mother down to the mealy Boston accent. “‘The fire was a bit too intense.'” I chewed and laughed and sprayed crumbs all over the place. Diana brushed them under the couch and pinched my lips shut until I'd swallowed.

“You want to look at the homework?” I asked, hoping she didn't.

“Not really. They'll give me the weekend to catch up. I'd rather tell you about something revolutionary I found out this week.” She sat on her knees in front of me, all seriousness now. “My mother's bridge club met here on Tuesday, and all they talked about the whole time was Miriam Pelham.”

“Why her?”

“It's all anyone talks about anymore. The whole city is divided over it. One of the bridge ladies thought they should leave Miriam alone and let her family decide what to do. That's what a lot of people think, but of course they're wrong.”

I felt a knot growing in my stomach. Maybe it was the crackers.

“Another lady thought the judge should get a panel of doctors to decide what's the best treatment—surgery or chemotherapy or radiation or whatever—and then the judge should order it, no matter what. That's basically my position, with subtle variations.”

I was getting more and more uncomfortable with the conversation. First, I didn't really want to discuss Miriam with Diana. She'd be shocked to know I'd been spending a little time with Miriam. And second, it wasn't clear to me how the case should be handled, and I was mad that Diana was so sure of herself. Finally, I said, “My father's representing her.”

“Oh, Adam, I heard that. I was just sick. I mean, how can I respect the son of a man who defends a primitive religious group that lets innocent children die?”

“Hey, listen, I'm not responsible for my father's weirdo ideas, and who's talking about dying, anyway? It's just a case of abridgment of First Amendment rights.” How often had I heard that in my kitchen?

“What about ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness'?” Diana asked.

I had no answer.

“I just can't believe your father would do such a thing.”

“Why do I have to defend my father?” I felt this big gully grow between us, a canyon people could fall into. We didn't talk. Diana played with the fringe on her sash, and I clicked the top on and off the cheese can. I wanted to leave, but I was too stubborn to get up. I'd make Diana give in, for a change. But then I knew I'd have a white beard down to my ankles before that would happen. I thought, I'm surrounded by steel-willed Amazons. My mother's infallible like Pope John or Igor or whoever's pope this year. And Diana never compromises on anything. She's always right, right or wrong. When she was born, she probably popped out saying, “You weren't expecting me until next week, but I thought this would be a better time, so here I am.”

And Miriam, wimpy and plain as vanilla in a Baskin Robbins world, was ironclad, too. She was determined as hell to believe that God would heal her, when any sane, rational person could tell it would never happen that way. Diana and my mother and Miriam were boulders; even my father was a rock. Me, I was the only one like dust in the wind.

I was startled by Diana's voice. “There was another lady at the bridge table. She's into metaphysical healing.”

“Pardon me?” So polite, so formal, just like this ugly room.

“It's basically mind over matter. She says you can heal yourself by energizing your mind and applying that mental energy to the disease or pain. My mother got me the book she recommended. It's by some lady named Manice O'Rourke, who cured her own diabetes nerve damage.”

“You believe this stuff?”

“Well, no,” Diana admitted. “But Miriam might. As religious as she is, she's really suggestible. I was thinking that while nothing's being done for her now—”

“Something's being done. That Brother James guy we met is praying for her and so's her whole family, and she's praying, too.” Okay, it sounded dumb, but Miriam believed in it, and that had to count for something.

Diana gave me the look she used on debate opponents, the one that said, “Pure bunk.” “As I said, while nothing's being done for her now, maybe we can teach her some of the exercises in this book.” She pulled the book out from under a pile of art books on the coffee table. “It might at least help her with the pain. What have we got to lose?”

I reluctantly agreed, which is how, on Saturday afternoon, Miriam came over to Diana's house, and we began our Twilight Zone adventure into metaphysical healing.

We settled Miriam into the center of a wicker couch on the sun porch, with her feet propped up on an ottoman and fluffy pillows all around her.

“Now, just turn yourself over to this,” Diana said, thumbing through the book. In another minute, she'd be an expert. “Take a deep breath … exhale. Deep breath … exhale. The first thing to remember is that you have to relax your body, from the top of your hair to your toenails.”

I remembered the toes from that night in the hospital, crossed so hopefully.

“I don't know about this. I never should have come.”

I reassured Miriam: “What have you got to lose?”

“Repeat after me,” Diana commanded. “My body is in harmony. I am in perfect peace.”

“I can't say that because it isn't true.”

“Say it, and it will become true,” Diana said. “Are you self-conscious because Adam's here?”

“No,” Miriam said. “He can stay.” She looked like she was near tears again.

Diana flopped down beside her and took her hand. “We're doing this for your own good, Miriam. Brother James wouldn't mind.”

Miriam pulled her hand away.

“Just listen. It doesn't involve any medicines, and it doesn't violate your religion, but it's guaranteed to make you feel better. Forty thousand people swear by it. It's the perfect solution. Now, say after me, ‘My body is in perfect harmony.'”

“I think I'd better go home. I can't believe I came here in the first place.”

“I'll take you home.” I pulled out my mom's car keys.

Glaring at me, Diana said, “Wait, wait. At least check it out first. Pray about it, or whatever.”

Miriam nodded. Then I watched her sort of crawl into herself, contract into a small ball, her eyes shut, her nose wrinkled up. She bit the corner of her lip and twiddled with a strand of hair.

Diana rolled her eyes and mouthed, “Oh, God!”

Finally, Miriam's eyes fluttered open. “I'll try.”

“Okay, ‘My body's in perfect harmony.'”

“My body's in perfect harmony,” Miriam said.

“I command all stress to leave my muscles.”

“I command all stress to leave my muscles.”

“Good. Now say”—she read from the book—“‘I am a magnificent creature. I am capable of anything.'”

“I am a magnificent—can't I just think it instead of saying it out loud?”

“If you promise you'll think it and not something else.”

“I promise.” I was relieved. Diana could get by with saying “I am a magnificent creature,” but it would sound so ridiculously hollow coming from Miriam.

“Now, the next part is tricky. Close your eyes.”

I noticed that Miriam had very long eyelashes, although she didn't wear any make-up.

“You're going to imagine a total picture of yourself healthy and strong. You took biology, didn't you? Don't talk, just nod.”

Miriam nodded.

“Okay, start by picturing your circulatory system. Imagine your blood flowing all through you, carrying all that poison out of your body. Get a picture of your heart, beating in perfect rhythm like a symphony drum.”

Miriam was deep in concentration, nearly hypnotized. I whispered to Diana, “I don't know if this is such a good idea.”

“I'm fine,” Miriam said. “Go ahead.”

Diana took her through most of the major body systems, until she got Miriam to focus on her bones, and especially the one where the tumor was, and to imagine the tumor breaking into minute fragments and disappearing, like in a Nintendo game.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“Well.” She got out of the chair and walked around the porch. “Right now there's no pain.”

“Of course not,” Diana said, “because you are experiencing metaphysical healing. It's foolproof,” she boasted, as if she had invented it or plucked it out of the cosmos.

“But that's enough for today,” Miriam said. “I have to think about it.”

On Monday, Miriam looked much better. I walked with her from English to physics, since Diana had to stay and get an assignment from Mrs. Loomis. Miriam's cheeks had a little more life in them, but not like the stuff girls brushed on between classes: it was real color. She clutched her books to her chest and almost bounced as we walked down the hall. She asked me, “Did you finish your physics problem set?”