The Demolition of a Mother, Part 1

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An excerpt

“Odd,” she said to herself aloud. “It’s February. Why is Willie outside riding his bicycle?” She looked out the window again. “Oh no,” she said. Her heart had corrected her mistake before her mind had allowed. “Oh dear God, no.” She dropped her potato into the sink and jerked her head toward the living room, where, above the mantlepiece hung her crucifix, given to her at her Confirmation when she was thirteen years old. Seven years later she had given birth to Willie, delivering him to a proud William who had only eleven months earlier promised before God and man to care for her, to give himself up for her, and provide everything she needed to make him a house and a home till death did them part, and she delivered. He sang a doxology while he cried, holding up the boy, even as Zechariah sang when his tongue was loosed at the birth of John. “Ah, praise God,” William sang. “He has remembered us, Maude. Even us, a poor farm family doing the best we can to tear something up out of Adam’s cursed earth, he has remembered.”

Maude fell happily asleep with her baby in arms. “William, Jr.” she whispered as she forgot the pain.

Dust was not rising, but snow. It was not Willie riding his bicycle on the road, but a United States Army sedan, riding through drifts of snow, which rose up into the wind, whence they were whipped along the surface of the plains until the wind grew tired and rose up to regather its strength, releasing its present quarry to form another drift somewhere else along the road. The sun, hanging low in the southern horizon, never blinked, guiding the sedan without remorse.

“Ernest!” she cried. “Ernest, come here!” William was in one of the out buildings tending the animals. She slumped to the floor beneath the mantlepiece, clutching the ottoman, and she remembered the day the draft notice arrived. She held it in her hand, shaking with rage. “Why not class II-C?” she demanded of her husband. “Why not class II-C?”

“Our farm isn’t big enough, I suppose,” said William. “I suppose. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“What is it, Mama?” Ernest said to his mother. “Why are you on the floor crying? What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Bless your heart, yes,” said Maude. “Run outside and fetch your father. It is terrible. Terrible!”

Ernest heard the wrath in her heart pouring into her voice, so he ran, pulling on his boots in mid-stride, and without pulling on an overcoat, to fetch his father. By the time William and Ernest returned, Maude had composed herself and was listening.

 

The Demolition of a Mother, Part 1

The Primal Flower, Chapter 8

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Eventually…

An excerpt:

I waited for Lily’s father to return home. “Rescue must die soon,” I blurted out, “but I do not know how to put him to his end.”

“Mercy will dictate,” said Lily’s father. “Mercy always dictates. How do you know your dog is sick to death?”

“Your brother says so,” I accused.

Lily’s father went over to Rescue. Rescue was suspicious of Lily’s father, but was not afraid of him. He did not wag his tail, but he did allow him to pet him, lifting up his head to receive a fine scratch on the chin.

“Yes,” said Lily’s father. “It is so.”

Pain came into my body at his word. “Is it because we let him outside in the rain?” I asked.

“No. Probably not.”

“Then why?” I was fighting tears, but these tears were not for my damn dog; they were for a host of spirits and immaterial effects and clouds and fogs that floated in me according to an unseen will, a will that was intent on pressing against my will, with an ability to touch nerves deep in my insides so that my mouth opened with nonsense, nonsense that was perfectly sensible when my dog was now dying and would die for a long time. I wanted my dog to come with me, to chase after butterflies and squirrels, to alert me to comers and goers, to be beside me at night, and to be a general companion, even if Shur-qa-hil was the guide. The trip north was for me and my dog. Me and my dog! My dog and me, who had no home, together, homeless, free, and far away.

Who loved Shur-qa-hil? That horrible, fat, corrupt, know-it-all, pompous, hairy monster!

“Rescue has lived his life a happy dog,” said Lily’s father. “As we all live our lives happy dogs.”

“Happy dogs!” I shouted.

“Our Father in heaven teaches us mercy by giving us dogs to care for. Did you ever make a slave of your dog?” he asked, being patient with me.

“No.”

“Did you let him do what dogs do?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Did you clean him, feed him, tend to his hurts, pet him, tell him he was good, and otherwise take care of him?” he asked.

“Yes. For the most part,” I said. “I liked to just let him run around.”

“What more are you hoping for your own life?” asked Arret. “Do you desire mercy when the end of your time comes?”

More pain came into my body. Couldn’t the end of my time come very soon? Lily came into the room. She had been napping. Her face was flush with the awakening of recent sleep. I did not answer.

“Show mercy to your dog,” said Lily’s father, “and your Father in heaven will show mercy to you.”

The Primal Flower, Chapter 8

A Life in The Day

A Life in The Day

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An Homage to Ingmar Bergman

“Bertram?” the vicar peeked around the door, scanning each hospital bed for his quarry. “Bertram?” Three beds were empty; the fourth held a sleeping figure. Bertram was laid out on his back, angled by the cruelty of hospital beds, and propped into that unnatural sleep by a drip of some sort and hot pillows. A third time the vicar called, venturing nearer the bed, “Betram?”

Bertram’s eyes came open, looking upward into the white of the ceiling. He scanned. The vicar drew near to him and sat down. The rustle of the vicar’s jacket pulled Bertram’s eyes away from the ceiling and toward the vicar. “Vicar!” he tried to exclaim, but phlegm blocked the greeting so that the vicar was greeted by an exuberant, thick cough.

“Lois told me you broke your hip.”

“Darnedest thing, Vicar,” laughed Bertram. “I was walking to turn off the lamp—you know where the lamp is—we run the cord for the lamp under the carpet there. Well, I tripped over the cord, fell down, and I heard my hip go ‘snap.’”

The vicar nodded. The nurse came tumbling in, saying, “His hip broke, then he fell.” The vicar nodded again.

Continue reading “A Life in The Day”

A Life in The Day