The Fall of Alice K. (47 page)

“It's not over,” she said. “Where can we go and talk?”

“We could go to the barn again, if you feel comfortable there.”

“Perfect,” said Mai. “That is one magical place. It made me feel very comfortable the last time.”

In the great expanse of the haymow the two sat down. Mai folded her legs under her in a Buddha position and took a deep breath. Then a terrible seriousness swept over her face. “Sit down with me,” she said. “I have an awful lot to tell you.”

Alice sat down. That's when she told Alice that Nickson was essentially in the custody of one of their uncles.

“But,” she went on, “the uncle he is staying with is very respected in Saint Paul. He's a very successful public accountant. That uncle also has a very stiff head. He's bossy, big-time patriarchal bossy. When I talked to him on the phone this morning, he said that your miscarriage was a message from our ancestors and that Nickson should stay in Saint Paul to be close to the strong men of our clan.”

“You're not saying that Nickson's not coming back, are you?”

“I'm sure he loves you,” said Mai, “but he's not coming back right now.”

“When can I see Nickson?” Alice interrupted. “I have to see him.”

“My uncle wants Nickson to stay in Saint Paul and finish high school there. You probably know that Nickson wants to become a lawyer. He already has one uncle who graduated from William Mitchell College of Law and one who was admitted to University of Minnesota Law School. Law and accounting seem to be the direction of the men in our family. And then there's the fact that all the men in the clan believe Nickson needs a strong man in his life right now.”

“Mai, what do you think?”

“I think so too,” she said. “You could always go see him.”

“I couldn't afford to do that.”

“What happened to all that money you said you had?” she asked.

Alice did not like the way the conversation ended, but Mai had not said anything that would end their friendship.

46

When Alice saw Lydia in the hallway at school, the anger she might have had about the dangers of the acne medication simply was not there. Her anger had been so intense just yesterday, and now it was like a car that wouldn't start. Her anger had a dead battery.

She circled around her heart with her mind. It had submitted to realities that were larger than her scrambled emotions, and now it was sealed in a container that was no longer vulnerable. It had spent itself. Her heart was bankrupt and had nothing left with which to pay or repay anyone or anything. Her heart had achieved a hard-edged but comfortable neutrality.

When Alice looked at Lydia dressed in another red holiday dress, she looked like a stranger for whom Alice held neither good nor bad feelings. She looked like somebody from a life that she no longer lived.

“There are some things you need to know,” she said to Lydia. “Let's go for a ride during noon hour and talk.”

“Important ?”

“What do you think?”

At noon they left school together and rode around town in the 150.

“I had a miscarriage,” she told Lydia.

“Miscarriage or abortion?” asked Lydia.

“Miscarriage. Dr. Jungeweerd as much as told me the acne medication caused it.” The words came out of her mouth easily, with no indication of malice.

“Oh, God.” Lydia was not one to gasp, but she came close to it. Alice looked over at her briefly and kept driving.

“It's all right,” said Alice. “It's all right. I'm sure everything is working out for the best. It wasn't your fault, Lydia. There's something big out
there that allows things to happen that are not in our control. I don't ever want to blame anybody for anything ever again. Maybe myself, but even that seems kind of stupid to me right now. Things happen, and we just need to accept them.”

“You don't sound like yourself. Are you sure you're all right?”

“I'm all right. We're having a farm sale first thing in the new year. The millennium is here, Lydia. The world as I once knew it has ended.”

“You're depressed. I don't blame you, after everything you've gone through.”

“Just taking what comes.”

“What are you doing for New Year's ?”

“Getting ready for the farm sale. We're selling everything.”

The Sunday after Christmas Alice called Rev. Prunesma in his church office where she knew he would be before the service. He needed to call off the public confession of transgression of the Seventh Commandment. That sin had been washed away by the blood of a miscarriage. She wouldn't put it to him like that, but she did want to get a few things straight in her life. This was no longer a public sin. It was private! Already she regretted telling anyone. If she hadn't told Nickson, he would still have been right there in Dutch Center and in her life.

“Rev. Prunesma,” she said, “sorry to interrupt you but I have something important to tell you.”

“Yes, Alice, of course.”

“The Lord decided to take my child away.”

“So you are going to give the baby up for adoption? That may be a good decision, Alice. There are many Christian agencies that place babies with Christian families.”

“No no,” she said. “I aborted.”

“No, Alice, please don't tell me that. There was no reason to do that. Why didn't you call me sooner?”

“I didn't abort on purpose. I had a miscarriage.”

“I already told the consistory, Alice.”

“But it's not a public sin anymore, right?”

“Are you ready to change your ways? Do you feel that you've been forgiven?”

“Pretty much,” said Alice. “I'm pretty clear about most things.”

“Are you willing to come in for spiritual counseling for several months ?”

“You name the time, Reverend, and I'll be there Johnny-on-the-spot. Just don't announce it in church, all right?”

“Very well, then,” he said. “Your sin will be private. I'll talk to you next week, but stop by right after church today. I was going to call you if you hadn't called me. I have something I need to give you.”

Mai and Lia were not in church that morning. It seemed strange, but Alice assumed they needed a break from everything too.

Her mother knew better, and chose to tell Alice when they had settled in their pew. “All the Vangs left yesterday,” she whispered. “They've all gone back to Saint Paul. They are out of your life. Do you have collection money?”

Alice held out her hand for the dollar her mother gave her. She went into hibernation through the sermon and walked calmly to Rev. Prunesma's office after the service.

The Rev handed her an envelope.

“This is about the Vangs, isn't it? They've all left, haven't they?”

“Yes,” he said. “We all prayed together yesterday and decided it was best for everyone. Mai will be coming back next semester. I convinced her of that. Goodness. We have invested so much money in her, she'd better honor the bargain. But the mother and Nickson, yes, they will be staying in Saint Paul.”

The envelope had a printed note from Mai:

“Alice, I know you may find all of us strange, but we are doing what we have to do. I admire you so much. I know Nickson loves you, but we feel we really don't have a choice. Nickson needs to stay here. He needs a dad. I'll be back at Redemption in January, but all the dorms are full, so I'll be staying with Lydia's family. I hope that is all right with you. You are a wonderful person and somebody I will always admire. With much love, Mai.”

When Alice finished reading, the Rev waved her to the large leather chair that she remembered all too well.

Alice sat in the chair, and the Rev sat behind his desk.

“I don't pretend to know everything,” he said. “Sometimes I feel quite unqualified in my role as a spiritual leader. I am weak. I am a sinner too.”

He wasn't looking at Alice as he spoke. He had relinquished the power of direct eye contact by looking down at his desk. He moved his hand across it as if he were smoothing an already smooth and shiny surface.

“I admire you,” he said. He turned his head and looked at Alice. “I've watched you through these last difficult months. I can only pray that God will give me your courage.”

“I don't understand,” said Alice. “Courage ? I don't think so.”

“I understand how difficult your family is,” he said. “And then all the rest. You've held up amazingly well.”

“I don't think so,” said Alice.

“I'm not the only one who thinks so,” said the Rev. “You have many admirers. I realize your life has brought you pain. Shame. Remorse. But you have come through bravely. You are an inspiration to others.”

“Me? Who? Name one.”

“I'm not free to name names. Well, maybe one. Miss Den Harmsel.”

“She doesn't even go to our church.”

“We talk,” said the Rev. “I believe the Lord has blessed you with strength.”

Alice didn't say anything.

“You don't have to say anything ,” said the Rev. “Let's offer some thanks together and then you'd better go take care of your mother.”

The Rev gave a simple prayer of thanksgiving, and Alice left the church.

When she was free of the Rev's presence, free from his judgment, and free from his assurances, she waited for her chest to explode with rage. In her mind she watched her own anger. She saw herself shaking her fist at God! Shaking her fist at her parents! Shaking her fist at Nickson and the whole stupid Hmong patriarchal nonsense that pulled him away from her! That code was even worse than the hellfire and brimstone code of her own tradition! She watched her anger in her mind, but it was only an act of her imagination. She didn't feel real anger, but she did feel a deep and sad relief. It was over. The horror show of her own life and foolishness was over. And in that relief she did not feel thankful; she felt guilty.
I am a worthless piece of crap, and I have gotten what I deserve.

Nickson was gone. Like her mother said, everything was coming together—or falling apart. But they probably meant the same thing.

After the farm sale, the Krayenbraaks would be able to continue
living in the old family house—renting it—and caring for the animals. Alice's father would be the manager—the current nice word for displaced farmers who had become farmhands. Appearances would remain the same. Anyone driving by would think the Krayenbraaks still owned everything and that dear Agnes and Albert no longer had to work away from home. They were not alone in this gradual fade-out. Other farmers around Dutch Center had met the same fate. Staying on the farm they once owned was one way to save face because the surface of things remained the same. It had almost become a standard procedure, a way of whitewashing failure. The big guys were just absorbing the little guys, allowing them to look as if they still were independent when, in fact, they were anything but. The steers would be sold, and they'd have only the hogs to look out for. No strenuous work for Albert: his heart, after all. Who ever said corporate owners didn't have any compassion: they would go easy on him.

Alice thought her father would be like a pheasant mounted to the landscape, with its beautiful surface—a lifelike plastic eye and the wings set to imitate real flight—but beneath the feathers there was nothing but stuffing.

The weather had been blusteringly cold, but Alice helped her father get everything ready for the January 2 sale. Her father's habit of keeping everything in order made the task of getting ready for the farm sale easy: he had the farm equipment lined up in the grove and had painted a little sign for the 4020—“As Is.” Her father would not try to deceive anyone about the condition of anything.

“Let me lift that,” said Alice as they stacked old pipe and electrical fixtures, some of the wrenches and hammers, the grease guns and screws and nuts and bolts, into separate boxes and set them on wagons where buyers could examine them. Everything was ready before New Year's Eve Day, a Friday, which they both knew would be a busy day.

Friday, December 31, Alice's mother served Spam and pork and beans for lunch but she was dressed up in her Sunday clothes.

“I want to look good today,” she said. “This is it, then. We've reached the millennium.”

“It's already started, Mother. It's already the year 2000 in China.”

“I know,” she said. “I have been preparing for this for a long time.”

“And airplanes are still flying and computers are still working.”

“I know.”

“So you were wrong about those things.”

“Not really.”

“Not really? Mother, I know it's been an awful year, but the world is not coming to an end.”

“Do you study metaphors in school?”

“Of course. ‘All the world's a stage.'”

“For me, accepting the end of things, metaphorically—do you know that word?”

“Are you trying to insult me ?”

“Metaphorically, the old world has ended. It has collapsed. I accept the death of things, even if it's just a number, a year we record in history. We need to die to live, don't you understand that?”

“You mean you've been teasing, just pretending, with all your doomsday talk?”

“Not at all. Not at all. Unless we live the doom, truly accept it, we cannot be ready for the new light. I once hoped you would be a harbinger of the new light, but I've come to realize the light didn't need you—or me, or anyone else.”

“I have been living the doom,” said Alice.