A House Like A Lotus Part 16

'I married Davin Toma.s.si in good faith,' she said. 'I wanted family life, wanted children, and I thought Davin and I could make it. He was the gentlest man I have ever known, and occasionally he could get through all my blocks and inhibitions, but not often. G.o.d knows it wasn't Davin's fault there was no miracle. He was infinitely patient. And when I got pregnant-oh, G.o.d, how we rejoiced. But the baby was born with the Allaire weak heart, and lived only a few days. After that-it was apparent things weren't going to work out for us as husband and wife. That was my worst time, after I left Davin. I fell apart in the ugliest possible way. Then I met Urs. And was able to be friends with Davin again. I will always love Davin, in my fashion, and be grateful to him.' She put her hands to her cheeks, and her fingers trembled. 'I think I want you to go home now, Polly. I'm tired.'

I left. It had been almost as hard for Max to tell me about her marriage as it had been for her to tell me about her father and M.A. I wondered when she was going to tell me that she was dying.

The next time I was at Beau Allaire, Ursula was there, and I managed a few minutes with her in the kitchen (Max didn't give us much time alone, basically because 150.

Max didn't want to be alone). 'Urs, I don't mean to pry, and I know Max doesn't want to talk about it, and n.o.body told me, I mean Renny didn't say anything, but I guessed-'

Ursula turned from the stone sink. 'Did you? I thought you might have. How much do you know?'

'That Max has Nelson's disease, and that there's no cure.'

Ursula wiped her hands carefully. 'Oh, Polly child, this is a lot for you to handle, and you're in too deep now for you to turn your back on Max and withdraw.'

Withdrawing had not occurred to me. 'Can't anything be done to help her?' I knew the answer, but Ursula was older and more experienced than Renny.

'Not much. When Bart Netson confirmed the diagnosis I don't think she realized how much she was going to have to endure. With some people it's just a slow wearing down of energy, and then quick heart failure. It's being much slower with Max; she's very strong. The pain is bad, and getting worse. I'm grateful to you, child, for all you do to help Max. You're both friend and daughter to her.

Did she tell you that she and Davin had a little girl?'

'Yes.'

'That was a devastating blow to Maxa, seeing what appeared to be a perfect infant, and then watching it wilt and die. You're Max's child, Polly, the child she couldn't have, and that's an enormous burden to put on a sixteen-year-old.

What have we done to you, Max and I?'

'You've made me alive,' I said quickly.

'I worry about you.' She turned back to the stone sink. 'I hope we're not-I hope we're not destructive to you.'

'Constructive,' I said quickly. 'Sandy brought me to Beau Allaire to meet you, just me, remember? He 151.

wouldn't have, if he hadn't known I needed you and Max.'

'Bless you.' Ursula refilled the kettle and put it back on the stove. 'Bless Sandy. Dennys, too. They're good friends.'

Mother went to Charleston with Ursula, at last, to go to the Spoleto festival in the afternoon while Urs was consulting at Mercy Hospital, and then go out to dinner, and back to the festival in the evening. She came back glowing.

The following week Max said, 'It's your turn, Pol. Urs has to go back to Charleston to see Orrnsby-there are times I could kill your Uncle Dennys for offering Urs to him-but Urs needs the stimulation, so I'm simultaneously grateful. There's an interesting play on at the Dock Street Theatre in the evening.'

'When?'

'Tomorrow. We've already cleared it with your parents. Urs will be getting her hair trimmed, so we'll kill two birds with one stone and get yours styled.'

'You're not coming?' Of course she wasn't coming. She wasn't up to it, and I knew it.

'Not this time. You go with Urs and have fun.'

Ursula and I stayed in the Ormsbys' guesthouse, which was a separate building behind the house and had been the kitchen in the old days. There was a comfortable sitting room overlooking the garden, a bedroom with twin beds, a bathroom, and a tiny kitchenette, so the guests could be self-sufficient. The furniture was antique and beautiful-Mrs. Ormsby was an interior decorator -and there was air-conditioning.

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We said h.e.l.lo to Mrs. Ormsby, who was welcoming and chatty and asked about Daddy and then Uncle Dennys, and talked about getting Mother into Charleston more often, and wouldn't Ursula be interested in serving on some committees? 'And how is Maximiliana doing?' she asked, a tentative note coming into her voice.

'As well as can be expected.' Ursula's tone was carefully noncommittal.

'I wish we could help, my dear,' Mrs. Ormsby said.

Suddenly and for the first time I realized that Ursula was bearing Max's death on her own shoulders, bearing it for Max as well as for herself. And I had a faint glimmer of what that death was going to mean to Ursula. Max had said that they had been together for over thirty years. That was longer than Mother and Daddy had been married. How would either of my parents feel if they were watching the other die? I couldn't quite conceive it. Now, as I watched and heard Ursula being courteous and contained, some of her pain became real to me.

Mrs. Ormsby, returning to her social, light voice, told us there was iced tea in the fridge, and a bottle of white wine.

We thanked her and then went to the hairdresser, chic and undoubtedly exorbitantly expensive. I felt a little odd, having my hair styled. Kate's chestnut hair is curly, and even when she nibbles at it with the nail scissors, it looks just right. If I hack at mine with the nail scissors, it looks exactly as though I've hacked at it with the nail scissors. Mother usually cuts it.

'Cut it short, please,' I said to the stylist, 'as short as possible.'

'Why so short?' he asked.

'It's an awful color, and the shorter it is, the less of it.'

'If I could make up a dye the color of your hair, half 153.

my ladies would come flocking. You have a beautiful neck. We will show off your neck to the best advantage.'

(Kate's reaction when I came home was, 'Golly, Polly!'

Xan said, 'Gosh, Pol, what'd they do? You look almost pretty!'

'She is pretty,' Mother said.

Max simply made me turn round and round, looking at me critically from every angle, nodding with satisfaction.) I could hardly believe it myself. When the stylist was through with me, my straight hair actually lay in soft curves, capping my head.

Ursula's hair looked nice, too. 'Max found Dominic for me,' she said. 'If Max didn't see to it that I go to a good stylist, she knows I wouldn't bother.

After all, a surgeon's hair is frequently concealed under a green surgical cap.'

When we left the hairdresser, Ursula went to the hospital and I went to the art gallery, where there was an interesting exhibition of women painters: Rosa Bon-heur, Berthe Morisot, Georgia O'Keeffe. O'Keeffe. Hm. Two fs. I liked the way it looked. My parents had not objected when I put the extra l in Polly, but I doubted if they'd let me get away with putting an extra f in O'Keefe.

I'd gone back to the cottage to change, and was delayed by Mrs. Ormsby, so Iwas a few minutes late and Ursula was waiting for me. She was evidently known by the people who ran the restaurant, and the waiter was smiling and respectful. 'We have the moules marinieres that you like, Dr. Heschel.'

'Splendid, Frangois. I think you'll like the way they prepare them here, Polly.'

'Fine.'

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She did not order wine. We had Vichy water. 'This place is small enough to be personal, and I've got in the habit of eating here when I'm in Charleston. Did you have a good afternoon?'

'Terrific. It's ages since I've been in an art gallery.'

'Sometime I'm going to take a real sabbatical. But it's been good for me to keep my hand in during all these months. Morris Ormsby called me in today on an interesting and tragic case, a young woman in her thirties who has had a series of brain tumors. Benign, in her case, is a mockery. After her first surgery, some nerves were cut, and her face was irrevocably distorted, her mouth twisted, one eye partly closed. A few days ago another tumor was removed, and several more smaller ones were discovered. I agreed with the decision not to do further surgery. She said that she is looking with her mind's eye at the tumors, willing them to shrink, seeing them shrink. And she quoted Benjamin Franklin to me: Those things that hurt, instruct. An extraordinary woman. A holy woman. She looks at her devastated face in the mirror and, she says, she still does not recognize herself. But there is no bitterness in her. She sails, and as soon as she gets out of the hospital she plans to sail, solo, to Bermuda. At sea, what she looks like is a matter of complete indifference. My patients teach me, Polly. Old Ben knew what he was talking about, and it's completely counter to general thinking today, where we're taught to avoid pain and seek pleasure.

Pain needs to be moved through, not avoided.'

Ursula was referring to her own pain, I thought. And Max's. And mine.

'Why is hurting part of growing up?' I demanded.

'It's part of being human. I've been watching you move through it with amazingly mature compa.s.sion.

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You've been the best medicine Max could have. Well, child, it's a good thing the play is a comedy. This is more than enough heaviness.'

We spent two hours in the theatre laughing our heads off. Then back to the guest cottage. Ursula went into the main house to have a drink with the Ormsbys, and I.

got ready for bed, and read until she came in. She took a quick shower, and then got into the other twin bed, blowing me a kiss. 'Sleep well, child. I've enjoyed our time together.'

'Me, too. It's been wonderful.'

'We'll have a bite of breakfast at seven, and then drive back to the Island before the heat of the day. Sleep well.'

'You, too. Thank you. Thanks, Urs.'

Urs wasn't Max. But she was still pretty special.

"Who?" Zachary asked as we drove toward Mount Parna.s.sus.

"Who what?" I asked stupidly.

"Who's abused alcohol, to make you so uptight about it?"

"Zachary, I go to high school, okay? Occasionally I get invited to dances.

Kids sneak in booze and drink themselves silly. You have no idea how much time I spend holding kids' heads while they whoops, or mopping them up afterwards if they don't make it to the John. It's enough to make me join the WCTU."

"What on earth is the WCTU?"

I giggled. "The Women's Christian Temperance Union."

He didn't think it was funny. "Your parents aren't teetotalers, are they?"

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"No. But they're moderate."

"Anything good can be abused. I know that from very personal experience. But I've learned that I am capable of temperance, and temperance means moderation, not abstinence."

"Okay, okay, I'm not arguing with you. Moderation in all things, as the immoderate Greeks said."

It was from Max that I'd heard about the Greeks talking about being moderate. It was, she said, because temperamentally they were totally immoderate. Starting a war over Helen of Troy is hardly moderate. The vast quant.i.ty of G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses isn't very moderate, either.

We'd talked comfortably over a cup of tea, Ursula making cuc.u.mber sandwiches for us, and then I sat at the table on the verandah, and did my homework, while Ursula sat in the white wicker swing, reading a medical journal, and Max sketched. When I was through-it wasn't a heavy-homework night-I left my books and papers on the table and went to stand by Max, looking down at her sketchbook. A sketch of me. One of Ursula. Several sketches of hands.

'Polly-'

Something in her tone of voice made me stop.

'Urs tells me that you know.'

Ursula let the magazine slip off her lap onto the floor, but did not bend down to pick it up. The swing creaked noisily from its hooks in the ceiling.

'Yes, Max, I know.'

'Because of Renny, I suppose-'

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'He never talked about you-'

'No, he wouldn't. He just talks about tropical diseases ad infinitum. And you're no fool. Dear, square Renny. I'm glad he's a.s.sisting Cousin Bart. Glad you have him for a friend. I'd hoped to spare you, Polly, at least a little longer.'

'No, no, I'd rather-' I started, and trailed off inadequately.

'Not many people have the privilege of being given time to prepare for death.

I.

can't say that I'm ready to die-I'm still in media res and I have things I'd like to paint. . . things I'd like to do-but I'm beyond the denial and the rage.

I don't like the pain.'

'Oh, Max-' I looked helplessly at Ursula.

Urs glanced at Max, rose, picked up the journal, and dropped it in the swing. 'I'm off to the kitchen. Come and join me in a few minutes, Polly.'

'Little one,' Max said. 'There are worse things than dying. Losing one's sense of compa.s.sion, for instance; being inured to suffering. Losing the wonder and the sadness of it all. That's a worse death than the death of the body.'

I was silent. Trying to push back the dark lump of tears rising in my throat.

'I don't know how long I have left,' Max said. 'Bart doesn't know. I'm strong as an ox. My heart is not going to stop beating easily. But it's been an immensely interesting journey, this life, and I've been given the child of my heart to rejoice me at the end.'

She stood, pushing up from her seat with her hands, and I was in her arms, tears streaming down my cheeks. She wiped them with her long fingers. 'Dear, loving little Pol. But it's better this way, isn't it? Out in the open?'

I nodded, pushing my fingers in my pocket to look 158.

for Kleenex. She put a handkerchief in my hand. 'Max, I don't want to go to Cyprus.'

'Nonsense.' Her voice was brusque. 'I am not going to allow my plans for the education of Polyhymnia O'Keefe to be disrupted.'