Jack (Gilead #4)(23)
“That spirit would not always be impressed, depending on cases.”
She shook her head. “I just think there has to be a Jesus, to say ‘beautiful’ about things no one else would ever see. The precious things should be looked to, whatever becomes of the rest of it. I hope that doesn’t sound harsh.”
Who could object? But she was very serious. How to put an end to this without offending her in a way he would have to regret? “Not harsh at all,” he said. Something worse, something he lacked a word for.
Quiet. The black of the sky was dimming with light, so the black shapes of trees and the black of the water were beginning to stand out against it, beneath it. Morning birds had begun to stir. The figure beside him seemed veiled now, neither quite hidden nor quite visible. He could not bring himself to look at her directly, and she did not look at him, both of them as still as if the kindly dark were not receding from them. What would be the one sufficient thing to say, before the flood of light swept over them, now that their world was ending? Amen, he thought. He was undisgraced and she was unoffended, a devout hope more or less fulfilled.
They walked back up the hill to the tomb. Their shoes were there by the door in a neat domestic row, her handbag propped against them. The two of them sat down together, he to pull on his miserable socks, she to smooth hair that would not be smoothed, to reset hairpins and resettle her hat. She found a lipstick in her bag. Their attempts at repairing their dishevelments were embarrassed. We have waked up together, he thought. Like Adam and Eve. Daylight will make everything worse. He knew the stubble of beard made him look haggard, worse with his hat on, even though when he took it off his hair looked thin. He stood up, his back to her, as if that solved anything. He heard her walk past him and saw her go down to the deepest grass and bend to wet her hands in the dew. She washed her face with it and looked up at him, laughing, her face shining. She said, “I saw that in a book. They were getting ready to enter Purgatory.”
He said, “Then I guess I’d better do it, too. I know for a fact that Purgatory has standards.”
He went down to where she was, but then, standing there, scarred and stubbled, he felt that flinch of nerves, a tightening of the neck and shoulder, that made him tilt his head back and to the side, just a little, but enough to make him look supercilious, his sisters said, or as if he was about to take a punch, his brothers said. Daylight was Purgatory. It was terrible, being a thing to be looked at. He had always thought so, even before he had his history written all over him. She looked very young, with the sun sparkling in that furze of hair that had escaped all her smoothing and pinning. No one could say a word against her, think a harsh thought, surely, considering the mildness of her eyes, her gentle face. What could he ever have had to do with her? The question offended even him a little. What would her father think, or anyone who cared about her? He had to get her out of here, back to the right kind of life, in which he would of course have no place at all. So they should be quiet. “No more laughing,” he said. “Someone will hear.”
She said, “Yes, that was stupid of me,” and nodded.
Not stupid, actually very pleasing. Her laughter meant, Look at me, Jack! Look at my face all splashed with light!
But he said, “We have a problem we have to deal with now. We really can’t be seen together. We have to leave separately, when they open the gates. You first. If you need me, I’ll be close enough to hear you call,” and he walked away, more abruptly than he meant to. He didn’t even look back. He put himself behind a big monument he had forgotten to show her, a stone pelican on it, weather-pitted, but with a beautifully, painfully arched neck, and he waited, looking out from its wings once or twice to see where she was. Still at the tomb. She’d taken something from her bag, a little notebook and a pencil. He thought he should walk back there to tell her he was sorry if he had seemed rude just then, leaving her like that, which would have been very foolish. He did want to say some sort of goodbye. That would have been unwise and might have seemed familiar. His palms dampened at the thought of how close he had come to risking it.
Then the guard came along on a lower path, not close enough to have to see her, shouting, “Morning, folks! Time to start the day! Better git while the gittin’s good! Don’t wanna hafta get the cops in here!” She stayed where she was. Men seemed to come out of nowhere, resurrected from their sleep, shambling, rumpled, rubbing their eyes. He thought, This must look very strange to her, though, on reflection, the remarkable thing was that it didn’t look strange to him. She was waiting for them to pass. Then she put her notebook away and adjusted her hat again and brushed at her coat, nerving herself. She glanced around, gave no sign that she had seen him, tottered down the grassy slope in her high-heeled shoes, and took her place on the path of feckless humankind. When she was at a good distance, he followed along behind her.
She would walk out first, alone, and when she had had time enough to be gone, then he would leave. That was the plan. He loitered among the graves as convincingly as he could, as if he had dropped something and was looking for it, and then he heard her voice and the guard’s voice. He had to see what was happening. Whatever it was, it was going on too long. He stepped into the road, and he saw. The naked man that lived inside his clothes began covering himself with sweat, sticking his shirt to his back. It wasn’t only shame. Yes, it was. She held her head to the side, looking at the ground, waiting for the guard to stop talking to her, nodding now and then. Oh, sweet Jesus, the guard actually put his hand on her. He took hold of her arm. He shook it a little so that she would look up at him, look at that face under the billed cap, all intent with his little claim to public authority, and she would listen to him and say whatever he wanted her to say, “Yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir, I won’t ever again.” It was too soon, but Jack decided to saunter, he, that naked man, down to the gate and put himself a little behind the guard so that he would look away from her, so that she could walk away. He tried to whistle and failed, but he put his hands in his pockets and strolled pretty convincingly down to where they were, giving no sign that he knew her, of course.