Roxanna Slade Part 2

At first Lark's eyes were as disbelieving as if I'd claimed that the Holy Ghost was set to light on my knee any minute, issuing general pardons to sinners, and that I'd better stay put to welcome the landing. But then he laughed a long bitter laugh, took up the picnic basket and aimed for the dry ground nearest the edge of the water. He planned to eat there. I could join him or stay. The moment when I'd been his main fascination had ebbed away or was ebbing fast.

I went on toward him then as fast as I could think my way clear of all the reluctance that had been drilled into my skull since birth. On my way downhill I managed to think Roxanna, you're crazy. This boy could be the

mad rogue of the ages. At the least he comes with a very strange family hung round his neck. Be polite but head home as soon as you can. I may have taken a minute to reach him and was nearly back to normal when I came up behind him.

But Lark looked round from where he was seated in gra.s.s that was somehow green this late in the dying season, and he said "I felt like you would never get here." He didn't look relieved exactly, but I still seemed a part of some hidden plan he'd yet to unfold. Then he turned back to watching the river.

I suspect I sound like the soul of ignorant crossroads innocence; but to this day now--me into my nineties--that sentence is still the finest I've heard, the one that spoke straight into my heart. I felt like you would never get here. I don't think I answered him. I was that full of so much unaccustomed feeling. But I know for a fact I leaned down behind Lark and, touching him only with my dry lips, I kissed his broad neck.

Lark actually thanked me. Then he said "Can you stay?"

I said "Beg your pardon?" I was truly uncertain of what he could mean. n.o.body had ever asked me for more than washing a dish or fetching cool water.

Lark said "Near me. Will you stay with me?" Strange to say I asked him "How long?"

He still hadn't turned but was facing the river. And I half wondered Is he talking to that, just a few sweet words to a broad stretch of water?

But he finally said "Roxanna Slade--how does that sound?"

I laughed. "Well at least it sounds easy to spell."

Finally Lark faced me.

He was too good to watch for more than three seconds. My eyes nearly flinched.

Lark shut his own eyes and whispered the rest. "Then add one more easy word please, lady." With his long forefinger he spelled it on the air like a slow schoolboy--"From-O-Rather-Every-Very-Every-Rather- More-O-Rather-E."

In the very little time that we had left, I'm proud to say I whispered "It's really two words. But all right. Yes."

I don't think either one of us knew what we'd

done. It was some weeks before I fully realized that he'd proposed and I'd accepted and that both of us were near voting age--legal adults --or so it might have seemed to our parents or other sane grown people. And when I finally knew that truth, I was changed for good by it, though far too late.

When the other Slades and Ferny got down to the pavilion, some time had pa.s.sed. Larkin and I had eaten a sandwich and a hardboiled egg ahead of the others, and that was as far as we ever strayed from the strait and narrow path. At the sound of the major's voice calling for food, Lark rushed to stand and say "I forgot you were still on the Earth." But he laughed anyhow. We repacked the basket in a matter of seconds. Then as naturally as any leaf opening to daylight, Lark reached for my hand and led me up toward them. By then they seemed a familiar destination but I was puzzled. Hadn't I just heard Larkin claim that the major hadn't been down here since the war ended fifty-five years ago? Surely my birthday couldn't be the occasion to break such a habit.

Major anyhow was watching me closely as if we'd never met. In a way we hadn't, so I went up to him and said I was Sim Dane's daughter from Garland. In those days women didn't just thrust out hands for their elders to shake. Still I half offered mine.

The major made no move to take it. But again his old eyes searched up and down me, not in any indecent way but as if I were ground he'd lost in a skirmish.

I was about to laugh in self-defense. But Miss Olivia said "Major, you recall Simmons Dane."

"I do not," he said. But he finally grinned and slowly leaned, not to take my hand but to touch very lightly the side of my waist. Then he said "Young lady, I've waited for you." His voice was fifty years younger than his face. The face seemed made out of patches of skin from different creatures, all colors and textures loosely st.i.tched.

You didn't exactly know where to look or where the major was, so I looked down at his one long foot. It was in an ancient tan cavalry boot.

Miss Olivia stroked her eyes again, that

peculiar way, as if clearing spider webs from her sight. Then she said "Major Slade, you calm yourself. This is just a picnic, and everybody here is just a human being--no angels of light. Anna and Larkin, Palmer and Ferny, you and I and the clear sun himself have got plenty time before night falls."

And though Miss Olivia was smiling as grandly as the day itself, I've always thought that--from that moment on--she'd half foreseen what I failed to note. It was a picnic in honor of my birthday, requested by Ferny and planned by the Slades to please mainly Fern. All the rest so far was kindly teasing except for Major. He was way past clear in his mind by then, being well over eighty and from a long line of people famous for premature confusion.

Palmer and Fern had hauled even more food down, and they sat some way off from us and ate when we did. It was not till we'd all but finished the chicken and sandwiches, ham biscuits and pickled okra, little brown-sugar pies, cold tea, lemonade and peppery cheese straws that for some reason I missed the dogs. What had happened to that pack of hounds that met us this morning at the car, not to mention the peculiar yellow dog off on his own? To have something pleasant to say to the major, I asked about his pack. Was somebody hunting them or since the day was turning out fine, were they off by themselves in the woods?

Major looked up again with those wild eyes that had seen more than his share of six hundred thousand boys die in four years. By the time he spoke, he'd managed a smile. "Not a dog on this place for twenty, thirty years."

n.o.body denied him or bothered to try. And when I looked to Miss Olivia for the truth, her eyes wouldn't meet mine--she was watching the river. In a while she said "Anybody tried the water?"

The river was as brown as the dirt all around us. I couldn't imagine anybody testing it this late in the year.

But Palmer said "I swam it last night when I couldn't sleep."

Miss Olivia said "You'll be catching your death." Her voice was firm as if there were no room for doubt.

"The river's warm as my bed," Palmer told

her. "You rest your mind."

It had been unseasonably warm here lately, but I'd have thought the river would be chilly.

Then Ferny stood up and unb.u.t.toned his cuffs. "I'll race you Slades to that sunny spot." He pointed to the circle of bright sunshine on the opposite bank. For all the time that had pa.s.sed since we got here, the sun had stayed brilliant in that one place.

For some odd reason, unlike most women I'm a good judge of distance and could find myself, blindfolded on Mars. I calculated the far bank itself was a hundred and twenty yards from me, and I was a little uphill from all three boys.

The major had barely said two words since he ate his first biscuit, but he roused up then and said "No such thing. After all this rain that current'll be running way too strong."

It hadn't rained that much, but I didn't say so. I kept my silence.

It was Miss Olivia who'd brought it all up, and she wouldn't quit now. She said "Lark and Palm, you take Ferny's dare?" Her eyes had gone surprisingly hard, and her mouth was set in a dead straight line.

Lark looked back to me and said "Ferny's too young. I'm not a fair match." He fixed on my eyes to give me a chance of calling things off.

But before I could think, Ferny said "The h.e.l.l you say." By then he was already down to his underpants.

As shy as girls had to be in those days--bound head to foot like desert wives in layers of swaddling--boys were free to strip off at will, though generally once a girl was past sixteen, boys turned their backs to her as if they'd grown monster heads in their groins and could turn her to stone with the briefest glance. In any case I'd seen everything my brothers had to show from crown to heel, a thousand or so times before I was grown. The major had seen many dead boys naked. I was uncertain about Miss Olivia. She came from an older world than this with her dark beauty and the shiny dark hair.

The unbecoming hardness was gone from her face when she said "Palm, don't let a Dane from Garland shame you."

I noticed she'd left Larkin out of her message.

But Lark stood in absolute rhythm with Palmer, and silent as thieves they stripped to their drawers to match my brother. They looked, at the same time, two completely different ways--both well made and pitiful, pale as they were and hugging their shoulders like orphans at a funeral. Not one of the three ever turned full to face me. So I never saw all of Larkin or Palmer, not that day. But both their behinds were firm as boiled chicken and sat high on them.

Lark reached out both hands left and right and took hold of Palmer and Ferny by the wrist.

Major Slade said "Do it without my blessing--"

When none of them faced him, Major said again "Oh G.o.d, stand near."

I've never known why but I thought Say please, Major. Say please to your G.o.d before it's too late. Of course I didn't speak it.

And still not looking back, the three boys trotted straight to the mighty river.

More than ever to me, it looked very G.o.dly and I said a silent prayer like Major's.

Then Larkin looked back. I've always thought he was focused on me. Before he could speak though, or even wave, Palmer and Fern were diving beside him. So he had to join them.

Miss Olivia said "Oh Major, there-- look at your sons!"

I turned and Major Slade had covered both eyes with his wounded hand, the one that lacked two fingers.

Miss Olivia was laughing and I had to smile at her, but then it dawned on me Major knows something bad. I looked toward the swimming boys to check; and they seemed fine, though hard to tell apart. They were still close together. One was thrashing the water so wildly I thought he'd soon be exhausted. I guessed that was Ferny who was never an athlete. But with all the flailing, Fern was leading the others.

The one in second place was riding high and pale in the water. You could see his long body plain as if he barely skimmed the surface and was halfway flying. I guessed that was Larkin.

The one I figured was Palmer was all but out of sight, as deep in the river as a long dark seal or some mysterious creature that lived here and nowhere

else on Earth. They all seemed to have every skill they needed. And soon I was feeling nearly at ease, though somehow I needed to turn away and watch something stiller--a sycamore tree at the edge of the river that must have been more than a hundred feet tall.

The major's hand had come down from his eyes, but his eyes were still shut.

Miss Olivia had picked up all our sc.r.a.ps and the various dishes and stowed them silently back in the basket without me hearing. As my eyes met hers, she said "Tell Palmer or Ferny to bring this back when they're dry and dressed. Lark can help lead the major. I'm going to the house."

I thanked her for staging this handsome party on my behalf.

Important as she looked with those eyes that seemed the source of all goodness, she said "No trouble at all. We do it all the time." Not a spot on her face was worried or even concerned with the boys. And then she walked off, though she paused in a second and said "Major Slade, Lark'll help you home."

The major gave no sign of hearing.

So she faced me again and said "Happy birthday, child."

n.o.body had actually said it till then. It almost shocked me and, yes, child did grate on me a little. I was never her child and could never have loved a mother as sure and splendid as she.

But she said it again, took two more steps and p.r.o.nounced the name "Anna" before she was gone, clear and deliberate as if this were school. As long as she stayed in sight, climbing slowly, she left a visible wake on the air like motes of some bright metal--maybe copper--in the merciless sun.

By the time I turned back toward the river, Ferny had landed, Lark was on all fours at the edge of the bank and Palmer was three or four strokes from landing. That was mildly shocking with all Palmer's size and the praise that Lark had heaped on his strength. The real surprise of course was Ferny beating both Slades. His terrier body had a good deal more in the way of power than I'd ever dreamed. It would be years yet before I realized that my dear brother had burnt up the

best of his strength in that one race and its aftermath--burnt it forever. He'd never be whole again.

Fern couldn't foresee that either. And as if to prove it, Fern stood in the absolute center of the bright place and gave a slow wide wave toward me. If anybody here was in danger, it had to be Fern. He was swamped in sunlight, head to toe.

I smiled broadly toward him but kept my arms down. Something new again was opening in my mind, a big quiet flower with velvet petals like a purple gardenia if there were such a thing. This second opening didn't feel new as it had on the porch when my mind reached out and folded Lark into my care and shielding. It felt old as anything buried inside me--the hope for fine days, the dread of falling--and it centered this time, not simply on Larkin but on Fern and Palmer likewise who were standing beside him.

Every way I've tried to express it through the years sounds lunatic, so I've told n.o.body but I'll try again here. What I slowly felt, sitting there long yards from three well-made boys (one of whom I firmly know I'd loved for the past two hours), was a wide sense of privilege. Wide and tall with no roof on it and no side walls. When I asked my mind to name the privilege--what was I being given?--the answer that came was something as plain as Being alive here now this moment. When that seemed common and insufficient, I asked again and then understood that Life, in the world I occupy, is an adequate blessing--whatever pain may bear down on me from the skies or elsewhere.

Fit as I'd always been to be pleased by the smallest good luck, the briefest meeting or an unblemished leaf that fell to my lap from any tree, something at the heart of my seeing those three young men at that distance, breathing the air of a perfect day seemed to show me the point of my life hereafter. I would be a person who worked at proving, to however few doubters through the hardest times or easy days, that the actual world is worth all your strength.

Never hold back a cent of all you own and bear inside you, spend it all, die empty-handed. Any trace of stinginess is worse than dying young. Every one of those three boys was worth all I had--they were that fine to see. And I

hoped to touch Larkin wherever he felt the need of comfort till I died beside him long years from now, having used him up as he said I should.

My hoping that must have reached Lark somehow. Far off as he was, he also looked straight at me. And though he didn't wave, he gave a solemn bow and then repeated it even more slowly like a genuine gentleman from centuries ago.

I waved, I'm glad to say, and beckoned him back. Nothing in the day or my mind was promising a turn for the worse. I thought of calling out, loud as I could, and urging Larkin to win this lap. Thank G.o.d I didn't. I just waved again.

With that Lark took Fern and Palmer's arms, and they came toward the river.

I looked back to see if Major had blinded himself through it all, but now he was looking.

I said "Sir, who are you pulling for?" He didn't quite face me, but he said "Never bet on a human creature."

I didn't and haven't in all the years since. I stood up though to see the race better.

All three seemed to be neck-in-neck in the water. By their slowness this time, I could see the current had strengthened a little. Or they were tireder than they'd been. They were being slowly drawn downstream, nothing serious-seeming. Then the one that I could see was Larkin speeded up and outstripped the others with very little pains.

A voice kept hollering "Whoa, whoa, boy!" It was bound to be Ferny.

But Major Slade chimed in behind me, though he was barely whispering. "Oh son, draw back. Don't tax your heart." When I faced him, the major said "His heart's been murmuring all his life."

Till then I'd never heard the term murmur applied to a heart and I actually smiled. It sounded that harmless and I wondered what it said.

The major frowned and said "Don't play the fool," to me not the boys.