catches Kathleen’s eye and winks. She grins. The photographer huddles once more behind the camera, “That’s nice, Miss Piper, that’s lovely, one … two … three….”
James sneaks up behind the camera and pulls a cross-eyed face at Kathleen. She flops forward, hands on her knees, laughing into the camera, “Daddy!” — while at the same instant Materia appears in the window behind her and waves — snap . Through the lens, Materia’s hand fractures into light, framing Kathleen’s blur of hair. Materia must be holding something shiny.
“I give up!” The photographer collapses his tripod. “You don’t have to pay me, Mr Piper, except for the fillum, I got exactly nothing.”
“Print up the last one, b’y, I’ll pay you.”
Leo Taylor packs the equipment back into his buggy. He’s a bit surprised. He has never seen Mr Piper anything but stern. Leo has always sensed something about Mr Piper — the thing you sense about certain dogs. Best to avoid their eye, don’t make them nervous with sudden moves. And yet here’s Mr Piper, high-jinksing with his daughter just as though he were her brother or her beau.
James and Kathleen are still laughing as the buggy rolls off in a cloud of sepia and Materia raps on the window with the scissors.
“Supper,” says James.
“What’re we having?” Kathleen asks.
“Steak and kidney pie.”
“Yuck.”
He ruffles her head and they go inside.
Limbo
The child was not right from the start. First of all, it hardly cried. Made a sound like a little wet kitten. So maybe it was just as well. The tragic part was that neither Materia nor James nor even Mrs Luvovitz knew to baptize it in time; how could they? There was nothing out and out wrong with it, it was even a big child. Full term, born the day after Kathleen got her picture taken. Did Materia weaken it when she prostrated herself at the plaster feet of Mary a few days ago? Seems fanciful to think so. And a tad blasphemous. No, it was a big child with a good strong heartbeat and it lived three days, then died, no one knows why. Crib death. It just happens, children stop, why? It’s a mystery. As though they arrive, look around with their little blind eyes and decide not to stay.
Materia had called it Lily but it can’t be said to have been truly named; it was unbaptized and therefore no one, and therefore incinerated. James took it, wrapped in a sheet inside an orange crate — he was a little dazed — to the double company house on King Street that served as a hospital.
Burial was not an option. Mourning was not an option. This was the other Lily, before the Lily who would live to be twice baptized, as though to make up for the first. Other Lily.
What you do after a baby like this is get over it. Don’t mope, it wasn’t meant to be. Don’t pray, prayers don’t reach limbo. Have faith, God had a reason. To test you, most likely. God never sends us more than we can bear. Offer it up. Keep in mind it was another girl.
Materia gets on with it. Cleans the house in the night, bumping and scouring from pool to pool of kerosene light till the dawn reeks of lye and she begins to bake and bake and bake. Who’s going to eat all this? She takes it over to the Luvovitzes; Abe and Rudy are teenagers now, big boys with bottomless stomachs. Materia loves to watch them eat — beautiful healthy boys, winking at their mother, towering over her, devoted to her. Good sons.
Mercedes and Frances are disappointed. Bewildered. Their new sister was there and then she wasn’t. Kathleen is angry; babies shouldn’t die.
“Well, what was wrong with it?”
“We don’t know,” says James.
“That’s a stupid rotten answer.”
“Life is sometimes rotten and stupid.” James prides himself on always telling her the truth.
“Not for me it won’t be.”
“No, not for you.”
What upsets Kathleen most is the blank face on her mother. A baby factory. Insensate. My life will not be like that.
James doesn’t dwell
James sneaks up behind the camera and pulls a cross-eyed face at Kathleen. She flops forward, hands on her knees, laughing into the camera, “Daddy!” — while at the same instant Materia appears in the window behind her and waves — snap . Through the lens, Materia’s hand fractures into light, framing Kathleen’s blur of hair. Materia must be holding something shiny.
“I give up!” The photographer collapses his tripod. “You don’t have to pay me, Mr Piper, except for the fillum, I got exactly nothing.”
“Print up the last one, b’y, I’ll pay you.”
Leo Taylor packs the equipment back into his buggy. He’s a bit surprised. He has never seen Mr Piper anything but stern. Leo has always sensed something about Mr Piper — the thing you sense about certain dogs. Best to avoid their eye, don’t make them nervous with sudden moves. And yet here’s Mr Piper, high-jinksing with his daughter just as though he were her brother or her beau.
James and Kathleen are still laughing as the buggy rolls off in a cloud of sepia and Materia raps on the window with the scissors.
“Supper,” says James.
“What’re we having?” Kathleen asks.
“Steak and kidney pie.”
“Yuck.”
He ruffles her head and they go inside.
Limbo
The child was not right from the start. First of all, it hardly cried. Made a sound like a little wet kitten. So maybe it was just as well. The tragic part was that neither Materia nor James nor even Mrs Luvovitz knew to baptize it in time; how could they? There was nothing out and out wrong with it, it was even a big child. Full term, born the day after Kathleen got her picture taken. Did Materia weaken it when she prostrated herself at the plaster feet of Mary a few days ago? Seems fanciful to think so. And a tad blasphemous. No, it was a big child with a good strong heartbeat and it lived three days, then died, no one knows why. Crib death. It just happens, children stop, why? It’s a mystery. As though they arrive, look around with their little blind eyes and decide not to stay.
Materia had called it Lily but it can’t be said to have been truly named; it was unbaptized and therefore no one, and therefore incinerated. James took it, wrapped in a sheet inside an orange crate — he was a little dazed — to the double company house on King Street that served as a hospital.
Burial was not an option. Mourning was not an option. This was the other Lily, before the Lily who would live to be twice baptized, as though to make up for the first. Other Lily.
What you do after a baby like this is get over it. Don’t mope, it wasn’t meant to be. Don’t pray, prayers don’t reach limbo. Have faith, God had a reason. To test you, most likely. God never sends us more than we can bear. Offer it up. Keep in mind it was another girl.
Materia gets on with it. Cleans the house in the night, bumping and scouring from pool to pool of kerosene light till the dawn reeks of lye and she begins to bake and bake and bake. Who’s going to eat all this? She takes it over to the Luvovitzes; Abe and Rudy are teenagers now, big boys with bottomless stomachs. Materia loves to watch them eat — beautiful healthy boys, winking at their mother, towering over her, devoted to her. Good sons.
Mercedes and Frances are disappointed. Bewildered. Their new sister was there and then she wasn’t. Kathleen is angry; babies shouldn’t die.
“Well, what was wrong with it?”
“We don’t know,” says James.
“That’s a stupid rotten answer.”
“Life is sometimes rotten and stupid.” James prides himself on always telling her the truth.
“Not for me it won’t be.”
“No, not for you.”
What upsets Kathleen most is the blank face on her mother. A baby factory. Insensate. My life will not be like that.
James doesn’t dwell
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