96. Plenary
When a woman sits down to a meal alone, her beloved dead arrive to share it with her, but only at the last moment, the last possible moment, in her prayer that they will.
97. Bread
Several months before her death, the French philosopher and mystic Simone Weil wrote in her notebook of someone who enters her room one day and says:
“Poor creature, you who understand nothing, who know nothing. Come with me and I will teach you things you do not suspect.”
He takes her to “a new and ugly church,” then to an empty garret. Days and nights pass. They talk and share wine and bread.
“The bread really had the taste of bread. I have never found that taste again.” She is content but puzzles: “He had promised to teach me, but he did not teach me anything.”
Then he drives her away. Her heart is broken and she wanders bereft. Still, she does not try to return. She understands that he had come for her by mistake, that her place was not in the garret.
The text ends with the words “I know well that he does not love me. How could he love me? And yet deep down within me something, a particle of myself, cannot help thinking with fear and trembling that perhaps, in spite of all, he loves me.”
Weil died at the age of thirty-four, after deliberately reducing her consumption of food for reasons that are still debated.
98. A New Arrangement
The Lord heard that people in the Southwest were adopting tortoises. He went to the Desert Museum, in Tucson, Arizona, and was told He had to fill out an application.
You have to provide an enclosure of one hundred square feet, a volunteer in charge of all the paperwork told Him. Can you do that, or have someone able assist you in doing that?
Yes, the Lord said.
You have to build a burrow.
Indeed.
Are you responsible? They need access to water.
I try to be very responsible.
That sometimes isn’t enough, she said tartly.
May I have two? the Lord inquired.
No. We don’t want them to breed. The reason they’re up for adoption is that there are too many of them now, they’re holding up building permits.
The Lord didn’t like enclosures. He was surprised He knew how to create one. The volunteer inspected it and found it adequate.
Some people put a little grass inside, she said. You can get a square of it at Home Depot.
Home Depot! the Lord cried, horrified. I will scatter some seed and have it grow.
She looked doubtful. They like mulberry leaves, we’ve found. Kale. No avocados. They’re not like chickens. You can’t toss anything and everything in there. Some people treat them like chickens.
The Lord was given his tortoise at last, a glorious young tortoise. They said very little to one another on the way back, both rather worried about this adoption business.
99. The Darkling Thrush
The Lord was in a little town in Maine, inland Maine, at the humble home of a psychic. There were dishes in the sink and unwashed clothes in the hamper. The calendar on the wall was not of that year. There were lots of small stones in little woven baskets, and dog hair, though no dog seemed to be present. The usual.
Outside it was raw and windy. The trees were broken and shorn of leaves. The ground, too, was broken and stiff. There was a faint fusty odor everywhere, and cold. All was cold. Still, some solitary bird was flinging out its frail song.
The psychic tried to see the Lord, but nothing was coming through. She thought: This can’t be that unusual.
The silence was not uncomfortable, but it was getting late.
Finally she said: You always wanted to be a poet.
This sometimes worked with her more difficult clients. Or not difficult as much as … reclusive. Brought them out a bit.
Nothing. Still nothing. She couldn’t see Him. She needed to find the anchor chain.
Then she thought: Maybe she didn’t have to see Him. Maybe she was putting the cart before the horse in this case. Maybe she should just go directly to the question most everyone had and visualize from there.
What’s going to happen after I’m dead?
About the Author
Joy Williams is the author of such classics of American fiction as Taking Care, Escapes, and Breaking and Entering. Harold Brodkey called her “the most gifted writer of her generation.” 99 Stories of God, a Byliner Original, marks the publication of her first book of fiction in nearly a decade. She has also written several widely anthologized essays on ecological matters. Williams lives in Arizona, Wyoming, and Florida.
Read more of Joy Williams’s best stories at Byliner.com
Photograph by Rollie McKenna
About Byliner
Byliner works directly with the world’s best writers to deliver great stories to readers. We publish original fiction and nonfiction by top authors, including bestsellers such as Amy Tan’s Rules for Virgins, Margaret Atwood’s Positron, Jon Krakauer’s Three Cups of Deceit, Ann Patchett’s The Getaway Car, Nick Hornby’s Everyone’s Reading Bastard, Buzz Bissinger’s After Friday Night Lights, Chuck Palahniuk’s Phoenix, Alexandra Fuller’s Falling, Richard Russo’s Nate in Venice, and Sebastian Junger’s A World Made of Blood. These quick-read stories are written to be read in two hours or less, and can be purchased individually through major digital bookstores. The entire Byliner Originals library is available online to Byliner subscribers, who also get access to premium content from our by-invitation community of writers — including thousands of rarely seen and exclusive stories by bestselling authors.
Enjoyed the story you just finished? Turn the page for our recommendations on which Byliner Original to read next. Or visit Byliner.com for the full list of Byliner titles.