A Live Coal in the Sea Part 3

"You're Taxi, darling." "Am I?"

"Of course you are."

"Mom, I don't know who I am. For the past ten years I've been so bound up with the idiot I play on my show that I'm not sure I have any ident.i.ty of my own."

"Of course you do."

"When people recognize me wherever I go, and they do-" "Yes, Taxi, they do."

"They don't recognize me, Taxi. They recognize a character written by somebody else."

"That's how real you've become for them."

"Ironic, isn't it? My life has outsoaped any soap opera, yet here I am, depending for my living on one of these idiot shows." "It's not an idiot show, Taxi. It's pretty good."

"What would happen to me if, for some reason, I wasn't on the show anymore?"

"That's not likely to happen, is it?" She kept her voice quiet, reasonable.

"Your show has high ratings. You're a household name."

"But who am I?"

"Taxi," she repeated. "Artaxias Xanthakos."

"I'm named after someone I called Papa, who was, more or less, my grandfather."

"He was your grandfather,. Taxi."

"Oh, G.o.d, Mom, I'm glad you're there. I'm lonely."

"So is everybody, love. It's the human predicament. You know that."

"You're not lonely, are you? Always surrounded by adoring students. And your stars. All you have to do is go out at night and look at your stars and you're never alone."

"In a manner of speaking. I'm glad you have Thessaly." "Do I?"

Madeleine L'Engle30 "Yes, Taxi. Thessaly loves you and is there for you, no matter what. She's proven that."

"She's a fool to put up with me." "No, Taxi, she's very wise."

"Good night, Mom. Thanks for being there." He hung up before she had a chance to say good night.

Why had he called? Why this sudden questioning of his role? Why hadn't she called him to ask him why he had played that record in front of Raffi, why, after all these years, he had exhumed Red Grange? Why hadn't she asked him now?

Why was she afraid?

She drew some more hot water into the tub. When she felt warm enough she got out and wrapped herself in a bath sheet. She dried herself, glancing at the pictures on the wall, photos of her children, her grandchild. Raffi as a baby, a little girl, an adolescent.

Taxi as a baby, a handsome three-year-old, and as Hamlet. The production had not been a success, but the picture was of Taxi brilliant as a flame against a dark night. He himself had come off well in the reviews, some critics going so far as to say that the production was worth seeing because of Taxi's performance, which lit up an otherwise inept cast and clumsy interpretation. 'Why don't you take that down?' he would sometimes ask, but the picture was striking enough for his protestations to be fleeting.

She climbed into bed. It was apparent to her that she was too restless to sleep.

Nothing more, now, please. Nothing more. They had moved into a period of moderate peace. She did not want it disturbed, old pains reawakened, old anxieties resurfacing. There had been enough. Enough.

She pulled a book out of the small case by her bed, a battered paperback of Saint-Exupery's Wind, Sand, and Stars. The beauty of his writing would calm her. She read for half an hour, until all the taut muscles in her body had relaxed.

Before she turned out the light she looked again at the picture of Frankie and Taxi, and a wave of homesickness so violent that it shook her swept over Camilla. If Mac's parents had not had that picture taken, there would be no visible memory of that time which was shortly and violently taken away.

By Red Grange.

In Professor Grange's cla.s.s the day after Camilla had met Mac, she looked at the older man as though seeing him for the first time, a reasonably good-looking man, middle-aged, mid dle height, middle build. Reddish-gold hair. Fleetingly she wondered if the rest of his body hair was that same sunny color. Was his affair with her mother part of that famous midlife crisis? His wife was a handsome woman who taught in the history department. Could Professor Grange just forget about Rose d.i.c.kinson when he went to bed with his wife? Could he forget his wife when he went to bed with Rose?

Camilla had had her own daydreams about Grantley Grange. She knew he was married; she'd even taken a survey course with his wife. But his marriage was not a problem in fantasies which were never going to be realized. He was the best teacher she had, and their minds sparked off each other, and she knew that he liked that as much as she did. It was, in fact, a kind of intercourse. She wanted to sit across from him in a small, dark booth and drink coffee, and then have him reach out and hold her hand. That was about as erotic as her fantasies went because, to her, eros spelled nothing but trouble.

Grantley Grange had done more than hold hands with her mother. How could he?

After what he and Camilla had together? But they had nothing. Nothing.

My mother, Rose, the seductress. In the old days, didn't seductresses get stoned to death? Or was it only adulteresses? Camilla did not want to have her mother stoned, but she was still angry. Angry with her mother, with her professor.

Angry Madeleine L'Engle32 at the loss of her betrayed daydreams. There was no way she could continue to fantasize about a man who had bedded with her mother. It would be, she thought, scowling, incestuous.

Professor Grange's voice broke across her thoughts. 'All right, Camilla. Tell us what the equivalent electromagnetic radiation is to the background radiation which indicates the beginning of the universe?'

Her mind snapped into focus. 'It's called a black body,' she replied. 'Right.

And at what temperature?' '2.7 K, or minus 270Centigrade.'

'Feeble, wouldn't you say, as a manifestation of the wonders of the beginning of the universe? Nonetheless, fascinating. But even for radiation ,with energy corresponding, as Camilla pointed out, to a black body with a temperature of only' 2 K, the marvelous thing is that there, is as much energy in this feeble hiss of radio noise as-hear this, cla.s.s-the ma.s.s energy of all the bright stars in all, all, mind you, all the galaxies put together. So, in cosmic terms, what we have picked up with our radio telescopes is extraordinarily significant.'

Was it only her imagination that he kept glancing at her during the hour of the cla.s.s? He taught well, with energy and verve. He was popular. Many of the students raved over how cute he was, how dreamy his hazel eyes, his light red curls. Luisa had asked if the curls were real, or if he'd had a perm and a touch-up. Camilla had paid more attention to his mind than to his looks.

He asked her another question, which she answered. The bell rang. With the other students she gathered up her books, headed for the door.

Mac was waiting for her. She jumped. She had not really expected him to be there. She felt herself flush with delight. 'I thought you might like a cup of coffee.!

'Thanks. I would.'-Even coffee as bad as the cup he had given her the night before.

equivalent to what's A Live Coal in the Sea33 'He's a good lecturer, your astronomer prof. What's his name?'

'Grange. Grantley Grange. Yes, he's good.'

'I sat in the back of the room for most of the cla.s.s. What's this K you kept referring to?'

'K stands for Kelvin, after Lord Kelvin, who was important in our understanding of heat.'

'You really know your stuff, don't you? I couldn't make head or tail of it all, but you answered his questions as though he'd asked you two tunes two.'

'Well, it's what I'm majoring in. Today was just memory work, but it's interesting. Funny, when he came into cla.s.s it was as though he'd hit me and I.

thought I'd forget everything I'd ever known, but then when he asked me anything the answer just floated up to my conscious mind. Thank heaven. He asks me because he knows I won't let him down.'

'You care about letting him down? After-'

She shook her head, her dark hair for a moment covering her face. 'I did. Now more likely I don't want to let myself down. I certainly didn't want anybody in cla.s.s to know I was upset.'

'You succeeded. If I hadn't already known, I'd have thought you had nothing on your mind except astronomy. Come on. Let's go down the back stairs and out the side exit.' He opened the door. 'It's frigid out there. Let's run.' Ducking their heads against the biting wind, they ran down the path, brushing against other hurrying students. Slipping her hand out of his, she panted. 'I want to apologize.'

He turned toward her, surprised. 'For what?V 'Dumping myself all over you last night.'

He reached for her hand again, holding it firmly. 'You didn't dump. You were legitimately upset. I could have smacked your professor this afternoon, with half the female population swooning over him.'

-I came close to swooning myself, she thought, -until last night.

Madeleine L'Engle34 He led her past the church, the Church House, down a side street to a coffeehouse which catered to faculty and townspeople, rather than students.

He opened the door and as she stepped in she saw several groups of older women,and a table with faculty, including Dr. Grange's wife. Instinctively she pulled back.

'What's the matter?'

'Mac, I'd rather not go in here-'

'Okay.' He led her out, looked at her, raising his eyebrows. She tried to laugh, gesturing back toward the table. 'Professor Grange's wife was there-'

'And you'd rather not see her?'

She nodded. 'I know it has nothing to do with her-' 'Sure, it's understandable.

Let's go back to the Church House, then.. There'll be coffee and maybe some cookies. People may come barging in, but it shouldn't be overly busy at this time of day.'

They went into the room where they had been the night before. He settled her in a sagging chair. All the chairs sagged. The room smelled of bas.e.m.e.nt mustiness, overlaid by steam heat. 'I'll be right back with coffee. What do you have in yours?' 'Milk, if possible.'

'Is possible. We have an ancient fridge for milk and c.o.kes and stuff.' He left the room, walking with an easy lope, and returned with two blue-and-white mugs.

'I hope you like it strong.'

Strong? It tasted as though it had been boiling all night. 'Sure. Thanks.'

'Camilla.' 'Yes?' 'Camilla what?V 'd.i.c.kinson.'

'I'm Macarios Xanthakos.' He laughed. 'We didn't introduce ourselves properly last night. My grandfather was a Greek immigrant, a peddler who ended up doing moderately well for himself.' He stopped, and something dark clouded his face. 'My mother's from Charleston, South Carolina, one of those rare birds. There's nothing like a Charlestonian. How about your parents?'

'Oh, they're Easterners. Nothing special. My father's an architect. When we came back from Italy when it was time for me to start college, he joined a firm in Chicago. It still gives me a thrill when a building is going up to see a sign reading RAFFERTY d.i.c.kINSON,.

ARCHITECT.'.

'What's he like?'

'Tall.' Mac winced slightly, but her eyes were half closed and she did not see.

'Strong. I used to think he was like Atlas, holding up the world. You know that statue in Rockefeller Center?'

Mac grinned. With one foot slipping.'

'I used to worry that Father's foot would slip and the world would fall.

Every time I, went past that statue I'd beg him not to slip, not to let it go.'

Mac said, 'He's still holding on.'

'Um. My father's a good man. Thoughtful. Whenever I was home from school he'd take me to museums, talk to me as though I could understand all about art and architecture. He's-rather Anglo-Saxon, I suppose, not overtly affectionate.

Not cuddly.!

'Pa.s.sionate?''I suspect so. But with one's parents one doesn't tend to think about that part of their lives-unless one's mother's proclivities force one to do so--2 -2.

'Have you talked to anyone about this?' His voice was tentative. 'I mean a therapist, or-'

'Her psychiatrist. I think he wanted to see things from my point of view. My point of view is that my mother is a tramp, a high-cla.s.s tramp, but a tramp.

I.

could forget about it when I was away at school and remember the good things about her, about both my parents--"

Madeleine L'Engle36 'And?'

'I loved-love-them both, and I get angry with them both. My father somehow couldn't give my mother the-the little pettings that she needed. He couldn't fill some vast hole in her that needed to be stuffed with rea.s.surance.' She was surprised at her words. She had never talked to anybody about her parents in this blatant way. Not to Luisa, who stopped probing. Not to anybody.

'And you?' 'What about me?' 'Do you have a vast, unfilled hole, too?'

She paused. Then, 'I don't think so, not more than the normal holes we all have.!

'Yeah, you're right.' His voice suddenly went bleak. 'We all do, don't we?'

Before she could wonder what his hole was, she heard the clicking of high heels and two young women came in, dangling empty mugs. 'Any more famous Greek coffee left? Or did you finish it?'

'Half a pot at least,' Mac said. 'Help yourselves.'

Camilla rose. 'I've got a paper to write. I'd better get back.' Mac glanced at the two women as they went on through to the kitchen. Then he turned back to Camilla. 'Do you have a cla.s.s with Grange tomorrow?'

'Friday.'

'Okay, I'll pick you up afterwardsunless you have something else on.'

'No. Friday would be fine. Thanks for the coffee.'

He walked her back to the dorm. 'Is college being good for you?'