The Visitation Part 24

"Uh, I don't think we need to pursue this any further," said Brother Nelson.

But Sister Dudley pursued it further. "You did enjoy it!"

Well, she pushed me. "Yes, ma'am, I did. I enjoy everything about Marian Chiardelli, whether I'm in the same room with her or in the same donkey."

Sister Dudley gasped. She even put her hand over her heart. It looked like bad acting. "Well I never!"

I had once heard Robert Mitchum use a line in an old western, and it had to have been stored in my memory for this very moment. "No, ma'am, I don't suppose you have."

Well, I didn't have to submit to their corrective action. I could have just left West Bethel forever. But to me, that would have been handing the administration a victory, another notch to carve in their big black Bibles. I was doing well at this school. I had good relationships with most of my teachers. My grades were excellent. I'd made some wonderful friends. Ben was getting to be a pretty good guitar player. Most of all, G.o.d had called me to this school and to the ministry that would follow, and I owed it to him to see it through.

So I stayed, and went on with my studies as usual, embracing my punishment. My sentence was harsh, thanks to my temper and Sister Dudley's indignity. They put me on probation and forbade me to be near Marian for the rest of the quarter. I couldn't talk to her, call her, or write to her. They put her on probation as well, and forbade her to have any contact with me. They allowed me to keep the prayer card I'd taped to my desk as long as I was praying, but I could only keep her head. The rest of her would have to go.

Now her image only measured an eighth of an inch.

This was to be a cooling off period, they said, a time to get focused on the Lord instead of each other. That was the most maddening thing about it. Marian was Loren's girl and they were picking on me! I heard no accusations of immorality over Loren's bare Samson chest. How many of the girls had enjoyed that?

I discovered a lot about myself the first few weeks of my probation. I discovered how much anger I was capable of, and how many different ways I could vent it without breaking anything. I discovered how close I could come to swearing without really doing it, and how limber my middle finger could be when separated from the others. I allowed myself to ponder whether Sister Dudley truly ever had, and wonder how holy and spiritual I had to be before I could reduce my first two names to initials.

All of which brought to mind the wild donkey needing to be bridled. It took at least two weeks for that question to work its way through, but I finally dealt with it: Was that really me? Was G.o.d trying to show me the waywardness that still remained in my heart? Was I really that rebellious and l.u.s.tful?

My anger cooled. I adapted to the bridle. I prayed it through and repented of my rebellious att.i.tude. I read my chapters and turned in my papers, I pa.s.sed my quizzes and midterms. I plunked on my banjo, sitting alone on my bed.

I got over it. I even forgave Sister Dudley. After all, what was I losing anyway? Marian and I were just friends, just a brother and sister in the Lord making a donkey of ourselves. We would always be friends, and someday the whole incident would be funny.

A WEEK BEFORE THANKSGIVING, I heard what sounded like a mob outside my dorm window. My stomach turned. I ran to the window and looked, and sure enough, an old college ritual was underway. Some poor guy had gotten engaged and now his buddies and their buddies were carrying him up to the pond beside the chapel. I didn't even grab my coat, but ran down the hall, down the stairs, and out the door. By the time I got to the pond, they'd already thrown him in. He'd climbed out, someone had thrown a robe over him, and now he was wiping his head with a towel.

I waited as he bent and dried his scalp. Then he straightened up, laughing and waving at his well-wishing and mischievous friends.

I would live another day. It wasn't Loren Bullard.

BROTHER SMITH AND I had many conversations over that long fall quarter, and we got close. He was an honorable man and never violated the conditions of my probation. Nevertheless, he did pa.s.s information along as he acquired it.

"I heard today that Marian and the girls have named that donkey Travis. As I understand it, they feel they couldn't have won the contest without your help-inappropriate as it was."

"Yes sir."

"You appear to be doing all right."

"Oh, keeping busy."

"How did midterms go?"

"Better than I'd hoped."

"I understand Marian did well on her midterms, and it's also my understanding that she prays for you daily. What are you smiling about?"

"Oh, nothing, sir."

"But your smile does mean you're pleased at this moment."

I nodded.

"Just wanted to deepen my own understanding, of course, in case someone should ask me what I'm understanding these days." "Of course."

Such conversations didn't happen every day, and they never seemed planned, at least by me. Brother Smith and I would pa.s.s each other on campus, a perfectly normal thing to do, and sometimes he just happened to be a trifle more chatty. Once we pa.s.sed each other in the chapel foyer and he asked me my opinion of the shrubs by the front steps. "Think they ought to be pruned back?"

I looked through the window and saw shrubs, most of them bare this time of year. "Well, pruning never hurts."

"That reminds me: Loren Bullard has a friend thinking of getting a haircut. Loren thinks it would be a great idea, but the friend thought a second opinion might be helpful. Did I say something funny?"

I wiped the smile off my face, but it came right back. "They want my opinion?"

He shrugged and looked away as if totally uninterested. "The friend wants your opinion-but that's just my understanding."

I thought it over. "I think Loren should get used to his friend having longer hair."

He nodded. "I think the shrubs could be pruned back, though."

I looked at them again. "Sure. The shrubs could be."

ONE SAt.u.r.dAY NIGHT in December, I came so close. Chapel had ended, and I was sitting near the back because Marian and her friends usually sat near the front. The altars were filled that night, but as the hour grew late, the crowd dwindled to two guys and one girl praying separately, and the trio praying in their usual spot on the right side. I watched and listened as Chris and Julie just kept hammering away in tongues, their hands on Marian's shoulders. It could have been an exact repeat of so many other occasions, except that this time, sooner than I expected, Julie and Chris called it quits, gave Marian a little hug, and left her there alone.

Then it was just two guys praying, me sitting near the back, and Marian weeping at the altar. Alone.

Sister Dudley had to be watching. I looked around the chapel and saw no one else, but those grim, narrow eyes had to be somewhere. If G.o.d wasn't watching, she was.

I sat glued to the pew as Marian wiped her eyes, stood up, and started for the door. I didn't wave to her or make a sound. I even slouched a little as if trying to hide.

Obedience. The word pounded in my mind. To obey is better than sacrifice.

Rebellion. I could feel the pang of guilt turning my insides. Rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft.

Submission.

Authority.

Sister Dudley.

I sat there until Marian was gone. Now it was just one guy praying and me sitting near the back, and Sister Dudley watching even if G.o.d wasn't.

And I bawled like a baby, my forehead resting on the back of the pew in front of me.

ON DECEMBER 22, at three forty-five in the afternoon, I held my pen high above my paper, began to hum the Hallelujah Chorus, and brought the pen down in slow-motion to place a period on the last sentence of my last final exam for the fall quarter. For me, the quarter was over. I had mail to pick up and some packing to do before going home for Christmas, but somewhere, sometime in the middle of all that, I absolutely had to see Brother Smith.

I hurried to the front of the cla.s.sroom, set my exam on the prof's desk, told her Merry Christmas, and got out of there.

Brother Smith was waiting in the hall outside, still in his coat and scarf.

I hesitated. Was he really waiting there for me? I smiled, said hi, got into my coat, and just about walked on.

He wiggled his finger at me, beckoning.

My pulse quickened though I tried to act cool and collected. "Yes sir?"

He gave me a gentle shove on the shoulder, leading me toward the door. "The quarter's over, son. Now listen, things are happening quickly and we're going to be cutting it close. Did you hear about Loren and Marian?"

Oh no. I braced myself. "No sir."

We pushed our way out the door and into the cold December afternoon.

"Their relationship is a thing of the past. It was over a long time ago." He had to nudge me. "Keep walking."

"It's over? You mean they broke up?"

He sneered and rolled his eyes. "There was no enduring relationship in the first place. The appearance was there, but listen, I've watched students match up for years and I knew they were heading opposite directions." He snickered. "And him losing the contest to you and Marian didn't help."

"Well why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't burden you with it. You would have violated probation and you know it."

Suddenly I felt scared. "Oh brother. Now what do I do?"

"You listen real careful, that's what you do." We hurried down the brick walkway from the chapel, watching for ice, the bare, black branches of the maples overshadowing us. It seemed so still and deserted now. At least half the student body had finished the quarter already and evacuated the place. "Marian's out of the trio too. They asked her to quit."

"What?"

"Sister Dudley wouldn't divulge the details-"

"Sister Dudley!"

"-but it's my understanding that there's something amiss in Marian's life, something she refuses to deal with. Julie and Chris felt it best to let her go."

"You didn't tell me that either!"

"Same reason. But I've got one more item for you."

I cringed as I said, "Okay."

"She's leaving West Bethel. She won't be back."

"She won't- "

He nudged me again. "Can't you think and walk at the same time?"

"What happened?"

"I don't know, but I'm not sure she's making the right decision. She's hurt, fed up, devastated, whatever. That's why you need to talk to her, and that's why I came and got you."

"Where is she?"

"I saw her packing her car in the parking lot out in front of the women's dorm."

I was getting nervous. My hands were shaking. "Man . . . I haven't talked to her in months."

We were coming to the women's dorm at that very moment. The parking lot was just on the other side. "Well, take my advice: Skip talking about the weather."

"Brother Smith." I stopped walking again. This time he stopped instead of nudging me. "Do you think she loves me?"

He pointed toward the parking lot. "The quarter's over. Why don't you ask her?"

He remained where he was. I ran down the walkway and around the D. R. Smedley Residence Hall. There were a few cars left in the parking lot and I immediately recognized Marian's blue VW fastback. The back was open, there were suitcases and clothing inside. I planted myself by that car and waited.

When she came out, she was dressed in a blue ski jacket, a crocheted blue stocking cap . . . and a pair of jeans. She was carrying only a small, overnight case, her last item. I was hoping she would be glad to see me, but the smile she gave me was brief, and strangely guarded. As she walked to her car, her eyes seldom left the pavement.

"Hi." She tossed the small case into the back of the car and closed the rear door. Then she shook my hand. "Long time no see."

"Up close, anyway."

She looked down again. "Yeah."

"I heard you were leaving. I mean, leaving for good."

There it was again, that strange, evasive fidgeting. She looked around, looked back at the dorm, anywhere but at me, and said, "Things haven't worked out."

"I'm real sorry."

She looked at me again, probably thinking the subject had closed. "So am I. I guess I'll go home for a while, get a job, just wait and see what the Lord wants me to do."

Now I started to fidget. "Think we could take a walk?" She hesitated. "Just a short one?" She still wouldn't answer. "Hey, after this, it's good-bye, you know? We may not get another chance."

She thought for a moment, and then joined me. We headed for the lower end of the campus where the big maples formed a majestic canopy over the groomed lawn and park benches. The wooden benches were cold and deserted. Red leaves that had fallen after the caretaker's last raking lay scattered on the gra.s.s.

"So, I hear you and Loren have parted company," I said, afraid as I spoke each word.

"We're still friends."

"That's good."

Then we walked in silence. It became clear that I would have to carry this conversation. "Listen, for whatever it's worth . . ." Brother. Was there no subject I could start easily? "I know you've been having some kind of difficulty. I mean, I heard you were asked to leave the trio, and I saw the three of you praying after chapel . . ." She just looked away. "But I want you to know, that means nothing to me. I don't care. I mean, I still love you and I accept you and you're still my friend, okay?"

She sniffed a little chuckle. "Chris and Julie told me the same thing."

What was I to say to that? I groped for words. I sighed. I got frustrated. Finally I came up with, "Well I'm not them."

She didn't seem overjoyed, but at least she looked at me. "Travis, you don't know anything about it."

"I don't have to." We came to a bench. It was dry enough. "Could we just sit down a moment?"