The House in the Pines(42)

The Acts of Thomas, she read, was from the third century—but apparently the hymn was even older. It appeared within the Acts, sung by Thomas, presumably the main character, while he was doing time in prison. The hymn told a story that had been around for at least a couple hundred years before the Acts was written, a story within a story. No one knew where it came from, though it bore traces of ancient folktales.

Maya wondered where her father had come across this very old hymn, and what, if anything, it had to do with the novel he’d begun to write. She scrolled down to “Extracts from the text” and read:


When I was a little child,

and dwelling in my kingdom of my father’s house,

and in the riches and luxuries of my teachers,

I was living at ease.

[Then] from our home in the East,

after they had made preparations,

my parents sent me forth.

[. . .]

Then they made with me an agreement,

and they inscribed it in my heart so that it would not be forgotten:

“If [you would go] down into Egypt

and bring [back] the one pearl,

which is in the middle of the sea

surrounded by the hissing serpent,

then you will put on your glorious garment

and your toga which rests (is laid) over it.

And with your brother, our second in command,

you will be heir in our kingdom.”

[. . .]

I went straight to the serpent,

around its lodging I settled

until it was going to slumber and sleep,

that I might snatch my pearl from it.

Then I became single and alone,

to my fellow-lodgers I became a stranger.

[. . .]

But in some way or another,

they perceived that I was not of their country.

So they mingled their deceit with me,

and they made me eat their food.

I forgot I was a son of kings,

and I served their king.

And I forgot the pearl,

on account of which my parents had sent me.

Because of the burden of their exhortations,

I fell into a deep sleep.



Maya set down her phone. She picked up the notebook and read over the words so carefully translated into English in her own oversized handwriting from seven years ago. Her mouth hung open as she reread the story she had never really forgotten and saw the parallels: Pixán was clearly the “little child” of the hymn. And the “pearl” was the inheritance his parents had sent him to collect, while the “hissing serpent” was the difficult husband who didn’t want to give it up. And just like that, Maya understood what her father had been doing. It wasn’t so different from what Thomas, or whoever it was who wrote his Acts, had been doing when they embedded the very old hymn into their book.

But where Thomas had made it clear that a hymn was being recited, her father had chosen to hide it in the plot. He’d carried the old story on like an heirloom, bringing it into the present by slowing it down and coloring it in with moments from the life of a boy growing up in Guatemala City. He’d woven it in like a secret. Stretched the hymn out so that, had he lived to finish it, his novel would have been one long prayer. A surprised laugh rose in Maya’s chest. She clasped a hand over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. She’d solved the mystery, or at least one of them (though she sensed that were she to look closer, even this mystery would prove to be a symbol for one that ran even deeper, a truth coursing just beneath the surface). She pulled up the complete “Hymn of the Pearl” on her phone and read it beginning to end. And as she read, the contours of her father’s story revealed themselves. And she finally understood how it ended.





TWENTY-FOUR




Maya doesn’t want to talk to Aubrey but needs to know exactly what happened yesterday when Frank drove her home. A five-minute drive. Enough time for them to talk, to laugh, to flirt. Maya has never mistrusted Aubrey before, but now she’s seen Frank’s eyes traveling her body. That stupid fucking dress. It was only a glance, less than a second, but that look Frank gave Aubrey has expanded to fill hours of Maya’s life.

She has not thought of much else since. Not while having dinner last night with her mom, or watching TV, or trying to sleep. Two weeks ago, she wouldn’t have believed that she could be this upset over some guy she’d failed to notice at the library.

She wouldn’t have thought anyone could come between her and Aubrey. Who do they have if not each other? Maya at least has her mom, but Aubrey hasn’t gotten along with her mother in years and can’t stand to be in the same room as her stepdad. She has boys who would take her out, who would probably do whatever she wanted, but only one best friend. Only one person who knows her through and through. It doesn’t make sense that she would push Maya away.

And yet, the more she thinks about it—hasn’t Aubrey been building up to this for weeks now? Maya thinks back to the coolness she observed. The anger Aubrey barely suppressed after she arrived at her house three hours late. The scarf she was knitting for someone she refused to name. The fact that she knitted at all. Until now, Maya had been sure she knew everything about her best friend. But obviously she was wrong.

Aubrey hasn’t called her back, and it’s been a full day now, which could mean any number of things, every one of which Maya has considered. Aubrey could be busy, she could be mad, or she somehow hasn’t seen the call.