Authors: Andre Alexis
Pastoral (21 page)
     Throughout the week, Barrow itself seemed charged with a new spirit. On its
streets, Elizabeth was warmly greeted by all those planning to attend the
wedding. John Harrington made a seven-tiered wedding cake and, the day before
the wedding, displayed it in the window of the bakery. Elizabeth herself was
said to be radiant. Radiant, radiant, radiant, until she wondered if her skin
tone had changed. Whenever she spoke to Robbie, he seemed resolute and happy,
the very things she would have liked to be.
streets, Elizabeth was warmly greeted by all those planning to attend the
wedding. John Harrington made a seven-tiered wedding cake and, the day before
the wedding, displayed it in the window of the bakery. Elizabeth herself was
said to be radiant. Radiant, radiant, radiant, until she wondered if her skin
tone had changed. Whenever she spoke to Robbie, he seemed resolute and happy,
the very things she would have liked to be.
     Then, because it was inevitable, her wedding day came. Elizabeth was awakened
at five in the morning by her aunt Anne, who could not sleep. Her wedding day
was, for her aunt and uncle, as so many Christmases had been for her. As the
rest of the house slept, the three of them ate a simple breakfast â fresh milk, bran flakes and maple syrup â and then went out to the fields, their family alone together one final time.
The sun, when it crested the horizon was so bright they turned to keep it at
their backs, walking some distance without speaking. Elizabeth had nothing to
say. Her uncle John, a quiet man anyway, could think of nothing to say. And her
aunt Anne was overcome by emotion, and so no words came to her. After a while,
John Young took his wife's arm and sang as they walked:
at five in the morning by her aunt Anne, who could not sleep. Her wedding day
was, for her aunt and uncle, as so many Christmases had been for her. As the
rest of the house slept, the three of them ate a simple breakfast â fresh milk, bran flakes and maple syrup â and then went out to the fields, their family alone together one final time.
The sun, when it crested the horizon was so bright they turned to keep it at
their backs, walking some distance without speaking. Elizabeth had nothing to
say. Her uncle John, a quiet man anyway, could think of nothing to say. And her
aunt Anne was overcome by emotion, and so no words came to her. After a while,
John Young took his wife's arm and sang as they walked:
         Â
Down the dusty road together
Down the dusty road together
          Homeward pass the hurrying sheep
          Stupid with the summer weather
          Too much grass and too much sleep
          I, their shepherd, sing to thee
                     That summer is a joy to me â¦
     It was a deeply touching moment for Elizabeth as well as for her aunt, a moment
of complete belonging, at the edge of the separation that would come if she
married Robbie. It was also to be the only moment of unselfconscious intimacy
on her wedding day. Walking, just after dawn, with her aunt and uncle, was the
beginning of what later seemed a hallucination that lasted until the sun went
down and the day ended.
of complete belonging, at the edge of the separation that would come if she
married Robbie. It was also to be the only moment of unselfconscious intimacy
on her wedding day. Walking, just after dawn, with her aunt and uncle, was the
beginning of what later seemed a hallucination that lasted until the sun went
down and the day ended.
     The wedding was set for eleven o'clock. By nine, home was like a madhouse. Loud voices were calling for things,
children cried, and there was the occasional sound of something falling or
breaking. All of this was part of a cheerful noise: the cries, the shouts, the
broken glass. One of her uncles passed by her room singing:
children cried, and there was the occasional sound of something falling or
breaking. All of this was part of a cheerful noise: the cries, the shouts, the
broken glass. One of her uncles passed by her room singing:
          Here comes the bride, with the idiot by her side
Another sang âBringing in the Sheaves':
         Â
Sowing in the sunshine, sowing in the shadows
Sowing in the sunshine, sowing in the shadows
          Fearing neither cloud nor winter's chilling breeze â¦
     Someone was trying to quell the singing until everyone had gotten dressed and
ready. Elizabeth herself was sitting in a chair in her bra and panties while
her cousin Lisa helped her put on makeup. At times, it felt as if everything
were happening
to
her or
around
 her, but, in fact, she was an excited participant, asking for this and that,
answering questions, even laughing at times. She celebrated with her cousins
and reassured her aunt Anne that everything would be all right. Somewhere
inside her she was happy, not about marrying Robbie but about the fact of her
family: her relatives as well as her best friends (her bridesmaids), who had
come early and were now telling her how beautiful she looked, how beautiful her
dress looked, how happy they were.
ready. Elizabeth herself was sitting in a chair in her bra and panties while
her cousin Lisa helped her put on makeup. At times, it felt as if everything
were happening
to
her or
around
 her, but, in fact, she was an excited participant, asking for this and that,
answering questions, even laughing at times. She celebrated with her cousins
and reassured her aunt Anne that everything would be all right. Somewhere
inside her she was happy, not about marrying Robbie but about the fact of her
family: her relatives as well as her best friends (her bridesmaids), who had
come early and were now telling her how beautiful she looked, how beautiful her
dress looked, how happy they were.
     Somewhere inside herself, Elizabeth was pleased, but she stood slightly apart
from her own happiness. At the rehearsal, the wedding had seemed an abstraction
or a distant ideal. On this day, the day it should all have felt real, the
wedding was still distant and strange and she felt like an actor, not a true
participant. She assumed this distance from herself was the result of the
doubts she had about marrying Robbie, but there was something else: most of the
significant moments in her life were really significant only long after they
had happened. Sometime from now, whether she married Robbie or not, this day
would be meaningful, she knew it.
from her own happiness. At the rehearsal, the wedding had seemed an abstraction
or a distant ideal. On this day, the day it should all have felt real, the
wedding was still distant and strange and she felt like an actor, not a true
participant. She assumed this distance from herself was the result of the
doubts she had about marrying Robbie, but there was something else: most of the
significant moments in her life were really significant only long after they
had happened. Sometime from now, whether she married Robbie or not, this day
would be meaningful, she knew it.
     The day itself was made for a wedding. The sun was a yellow disk. There were
great, fluffy white clouds that looked as though they had been hung with care
in the sky. From time to time, a breeze blew, bringing with it the smell of
dust and the feel of autumn. It was warm, but it was not so warm that one felt
uncomfortable in one's special clothes. Footsteps sounded like percussion precisely, rightly hit. And
then, as the limousine her uncle John had hired drove toward Barrow, the
countryside that Elizabeth knew intimately watched her as she went by. All was
still and bright and much as it would have been in a dream of Barrow.
great, fluffy white clouds that looked as though they had been hung with care
in the sky. From time to time, a breeze blew, bringing with it the smell of
dust and the feel of autumn. It was warm, but it was not so warm that one felt
uncomfortable in one's special clothes. Footsteps sounded like percussion precisely, rightly hit. And
then, as the limousine her uncle John had hired drove toward Barrow, the
countryside that Elizabeth knew intimately watched her as she went by. All was
still and bright and much as it would have been in a dream of Barrow.
     At eleven o'clock, Elizabeth, her bridesmaids and her uncle John, who was to give her away,
stood at the entrance to the church, waiting for their signal to enter.
Elizabeth heard the service through the thick doors as if it were mumbled. She
was aware of the tension around her. She held on to the train of her dress, the
material feeling stiff enough to shatter. She was aware of her uncle's cologne. She was aware of the grain of the wood of the door to the church. One
particular knot was oddly precise: perfect circles in perfect circles in
perfect circles.
stood at the entrance to the church, waiting for their signal to enter.
Elizabeth heard the service through the thick doors as if it were mumbled. She
was aware of the tension around her. She held on to the train of her dress, the
material feeling stiff enough to shatter. She was aware of her uncle's cologne. She was aware of the grain of the wood of the door to the church. One
particular knot was oddly precise: perfect circles in perfect circles in
perfect circles.
     And then, in an instant, time was up. The tall door opened, the beginning of
the Allegretto from Beethoven's Sixth Symphony began, and Elizabeth walked down the aisle of the church. The
church was full. There seemed not a space left on a pew. The faces of the
people before her were indistinct. That is, although she recognized everyone,
she was not always sure who was who. There were just too many for her mind to
take in. Here and there a detail stuck out: John Harrington's tie was crooked; Betsy Robertson, who had been her homeroom teacher, was
wiping her tears with a blue handkerchief; George Bigland was wearing a white
turtleneck. This mass of people leaning to get a better look at her, this was
her home. It was to these people she belonged and with whom she felt kinship.
The church, St. Mary's, though it was tall and its white painted walls went up and up, felt full to
bursting as it held her world.
the Allegretto from Beethoven's Sixth Symphony began, and Elizabeth walked down the aisle of the church. The
church was full. There seemed not a space left on a pew. The faces of the
people before her were indistinct. That is, although she recognized everyone,
she was not always sure who was who. There were just too many for her mind to
take in. Here and there a detail stuck out: John Harrington's tie was crooked; Betsy Robertson, who had been her homeroom teacher, was
wiping her tears with a blue handkerchief; George Bigland was wearing a white
turtleneck. This mass of people leaning to get a better look at her, this was
her home. It was to these people she belonged and with whom she felt kinship.
The church, St. Mary's, though it was tall and its white painted walls went up and up, felt full to
bursting as it held her world.
     To one side of the church, the stained-glass windows were especially vivid.
Elizabeth noticed them, as if for the first time. She took them in, in their
entirety, in the momentary glance she gave them. Abbo of Fleury had a hand
raised up to protect himself against a group of men who had poles and torches
raised above their heads, the angry mob with terrifying expressions on their
faces. Alexis of Rome was solitary, his hand held out for alms while, behind
him, the Coliseum stood on a hill. Elizabeth looked up toward the altar and saw
Robbie standing there, smiling, Phil Bigland, his best man, stood beside him.
And she knew, the instant she saw his face, that she did not love Robert Myers.
She
had
 loved him, perhaps as recently as moments ago, but she did not love him now and
knew it for sure. The girl she had been, the one who had loved a boy named
Robbie Myers, had finally died, somewhere in transit between home and church.
The woman she was did not feel horror or sadness or, even, indifference. She
liked Robert still. He was amusing. He was good for her, in that he sometimes
kept her from her own worst thoughts, but one was supposed to marry one's beloved and Robert Myers was not her beloved.
Elizabeth noticed them, as if for the first time. She took them in, in their
entirety, in the momentary glance she gave them. Abbo of Fleury had a hand
raised up to protect himself against a group of men who had poles and torches
raised above their heads, the angry mob with terrifying expressions on their
faces. Alexis of Rome was solitary, his hand held out for alms while, behind
him, the Coliseum stood on a hill. Elizabeth looked up toward the altar and saw
Robbie standing there, smiling, Phil Bigland, his best man, stood beside him.
And she knew, the instant she saw his face, that she did not love Robert Myers.
She
had
 loved him, perhaps as recently as moments ago, but she did not love him now and
knew it for sure. The girl she had been, the one who had loved a boy named
Robbie Myers, had finally died, somewhere in transit between home and church.
The woman she was did not feel horror or sadness or, even, indifference. She
liked Robert still. He was amusing. He was good for her, in that he sometimes
kept her from her own worst thoughts, but one was supposed to marry one's beloved and Robert Myers was not her beloved.
     As she approached, she imagined he would see her change of heart in her eyes.
They stood, as Father Pennant gave a short sermon on marriage and passages from
the Bible were read. Before she knew it, it was time for the vows.
They stood, as Father Pennant gave a short sermon on marriage and passages from
the Bible were read. Before she knew it, it was time for the vows.
     â Dearly beloved, said Father Pennant, we are gathered together here in the
presence of God and in the face of this company to join together this man and
this woman in holy matrimony, a sacrament held honourable amongst all men and
women and so not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but
reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly.
presence of God and in the face of this company to join together this man and
this woman in holy matrimony, a sacrament held honourable amongst all men and
women and so not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but
reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly.
    Â
While wondering which of these adverbs she could commit to â âdiscreetly' being the only one with a real chance â her mind drifted and she missed Father Pennant's words, missed being given away by her uncle, and only came around when Robbie
took her hand and looked her in the eyes â evidently unaware that she no longer loved him.
While wondering which of these adverbs she could commit to â âdiscreetly' being the only one with a real chance â her mind drifted and she missed Father Pennant's words, missed being given away by her uncle, and only came around when Robbie
took her hand and looked her in the eyes â evidently unaware that she no longer loved him.
     â Do you, said Father Pennant, Robert Myers, take Elizabeth Denny to be your
wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in
health, for richer, for poorer, for better or worse, forsaking all others as
long as you both shall live?
wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in
health, for richer, for poorer, for better or worse, forsaking all others as
long as you both shall live?
     â I will, said Robert.
     And then, for an instant, time stopped for Elizabeth. She looked, for what
seemed hours, into the eyes of Robert Myers. She studied him. She had a memory
of them making love for the first time, when they were fourteen. How certain
she had been that she loved him and wanted to marry no one else! There were no
such feelings now. Not a shred of confidence remained.
seemed hours, into the eyes of Robert Myers. She studied him. She had a memory
of them making love for the first time, when they were fourteen. How certain
she had been that she loved him and wanted to marry no one else! There were no
such feelings now. Not a shred of confidence remained.
     Father Pennant finished his part of her vow.
     â ⦠forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?
     Elizabeth hesitated and time stretched out. She could not find the right road
within her. But then, the thing she was waiting for came: a vision of Barrow,
Barrow seen from the air, its houses and farms interlocking. Barrow was hers,
its mind her mind. And Robert was part of it all, a part she knew, a part that
could not hurt her anymore, because she did not love him. She was immune to his
lunacy. The important thing â the
only
 thing â was that she wanted to begin her life, here, in this place. So, although she
did not love the man, Elizabeth said
within her. But then, the thing she was waiting for came: a vision of Barrow,
Barrow seen from the air, its houses and farms interlocking. Barrow was hers,
its mind her mind. And Robert was part of it all, a part she knew, a part that
could not hurt her anymore, because she did not love him. She was immune to his
lunacy. The important thing â the
only
 thing â was that she wanted to begin her life, here, in this place. So, although she
did not love the man, Elizabeth said
     â I will.
     They exchanged rings. Father Pennant spoke again, facing Robert.
     â You may now kiss the bride, he said.
     Which Robert did, his lips on hers feeling, to her, like warm, soft rubber,
behind which were his teeth. Then, the music sounded and all those in the
church rose to applaud. All approved. All were happy, though in the midst of
that happiness was Elizabeth herself: bewildered, married to someone she no
longer loved, her husband.
behind which were his teeth. Then, the music sounded and all those in the
church rose to applaud. All approved. All were happy, though in the midst of
that happiness was Elizabeth herself: bewildered, married to someone she no
longer loved, her husband.
     The bride and groom, priest and witnesses, retired to the vestry where, on a
table, there was the book they were to sign and two lit candles. Robert was
ecstatic or, simply, relieved. His grin was unreadable. Someone took a picture
as he signed his name in the registry. As Robert signed and as the picture was
taken, Elizabeth's attention was drawn by one of the candles. It was nondescript, as far as
candles go: six or seven inches tall, three inches in diameter. The flame
danced as candle flames will, but Elizabeth was mesmerized by it, by the way it
fluttered, the flame itself suggesting something solid and thick. No wonder,
she thought, the ancients compared flame to a bird.
table, there was the book they were to sign and two lit candles. Robert was
ecstatic or, simply, relieved. His grin was unreadable. Someone took a picture
as he signed his name in the registry. As Robert signed and as the picture was
taken, Elizabeth's attention was drawn by one of the candles. It was nondescript, as far as
candles go: six or seven inches tall, three inches in diameter. The flame
danced as candle flames will, but Elizabeth was mesmerized by it, by the way it
fluttered, the flame itself suggesting something solid and thick. No wonder,
she thought, the ancients compared flame to a bird.
     Gently, Father Pennant said
     â Elizabeth?
     â Yes? she answered.
     â Your turn to sign the registry.
     Robert kissed the side of her head as she signed the book. Then, as suddenly as
it had begun, the ceremony was over. Back down the aisle she went, with her arm
in Robert's while, outside the church, a crowd waited to cheer and throw rice.
it had begun, the ceremony was over. Back down the aisle she went, with her arm
in Robert's while, outside the church, a crowd waited to cheer and throw rice.
It was odd to be in a field in her wedding dress, but she had agreed to keep the
dress on so people could take pictures of the bride. As the reception was in a
field at the Biglands', however, a field normally occupied by sheep, she longed to be in something
less delicate. Also, given her ambivalence about her husband, she did not want
to be in the dress any longer than she had to. It seemed there were hundreds of
people with her, dozens who wanted pictures: friends, family, Barrownians, the
human parameters of her world.
dress on so people could take pictures of the bride. As the reception was in a
field at the Biglands', however, a field normally occupied by sheep, she longed to be in something
less delicate. Also, given her ambivalence about her husband, she did not want
to be in the dress any longer than she had to. It seemed there were hundreds of
people with her, dozens who wanted pictures: friends, family, Barrownians, the
human parameters of her world.
     Everyone seemed genuinely pleased by the wedding they'd witnessed:
her
 wedding. She was congratulated, endlessly. Her dress was admired. Her radiance
was remarked on. All the while, as if they were now indissociable, Robert stood
beside her, holding her hand, kissing her whenever people asked to take a
photo. Robert's family was as thrilled as her own. Some had come from as far away as Winnipeg.
One of his uncles, the one who had patted her behind, had come from Ocala,
Florida.
her
 wedding. She was congratulated, endlessly. Her dress was admired. Her radiance
was remarked on. All the while, as if they were now indissociable, Robert stood
beside her, holding her hand, kissing her whenever people asked to take a
photo. Robert's family was as thrilled as her own. Some had come from as far away as Winnipeg.
One of his uncles, the one who had patted her behind, had come from Ocala,
Florida.
     In all of this, it was difficult for her to figure out what Robert felt about
their wedding. Did he realize she did not love him? Did that matter? To break
the smile on his face, you would have had to hit it with a hammer. It was
possible, wasn't it, that this smile hid his indifference to her? She would have to wait until
later to hear what he said. She would know his feelings that night, their
wedding night, when they would sleep together as husband and wife for the first
time. She did not know how he felt about it, but just about the last thing she
wanted from him was sex. They would have to make love at some point, if only to
mark the occasion, but she did not know how she would react to his touch.
Before this day, she had always â mostly always â enjoyed their lovemaking. It was strange that the very idea should become a
problem on the one day when it should have been a consecration of their
feelings. But she had married him. She had said yes. She had not stood him up.
She had not told the truth about her feelings. Perhaps, now, this feeling of
alienation would be the principal one, the one fact of their marriage. For a
moment, as she looked at her husband and then at all the smiling people around
him, she felt a monumental bitterness, a bitterness so deep it could sweep the
world away or, at least, make everything in it unbearable. Her own smile felt
like a small handkerchief held up before her naked body. Almost in
self-defence, she took her husband's hand and kissed his lips. The people around them laughed. Mr. Bigland said
their wedding. Did he realize she did not love him? Did that matter? To break
the smile on his face, you would have had to hit it with a hammer. It was
possible, wasn't it, that this smile hid his indifference to her? She would have to wait until
later to hear what he said. She would know his feelings that night, their
wedding night, when they would sleep together as husband and wife for the first
time. She did not know how he felt about it, but just about the last thing she
wanted from him was sex. They would have to make love at some point, if only to
mark the occasion, but she did not know how she would react to his touch.
Before this day, she had always â mostly always â enjoyed their lovemaking. It was strange that the very idea should become a
problem on the one day when it should have been a consecration of their
feelings. But she had married him. She had said yes. She had not stood him up.
She had not told the truth about her feelings. Perhaps, now, this feeling of
alienation would be the principal one, the one fact of their marriage. For a
moment, as she looked at her husband and then at all the smiling people around
him, she felt a monumental bitterness, a bitterness so deep it could sweep the
world away or, at least, make everything in it unbearable. Her own smile felt
like a small handkerchief held up before her naked body. Almost in
self-defence, she took her husband's hand and kissed his lips. The people around them laughed. Mr. Bigland said
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