"Oh Mary," Andrew groaned, and hurried to her, while her mother took her head against her breast. "I'm so sorry. God, what possessed me! I must be out of my mind!" And Hannah and Joel had gotten from their chairs and stood nearby, unable to speak.
"Just-have a little mercy," she sobbed. "A little mercy."
Andrew could say only, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Mary," and then he could say nothing.
"Let her cry," Joel said quietly to his sister, and she nodded. As if anything on earth could stop her, he said to himself.
"O God, forgive me," Mary moaned. "Forgive me! Forgive me! It's just more than I can bear! Just more than I can bear! Forgive me!" And Joel, with his mouth fallen open, wheeled upon his sister and stared at her; and she avoided his eyes, saying to herself, No, No, and protect her, O God, protect Thy poor child and give her strength; and Andrew, his face locked in a murderer's grimace, continued the furious and annihilating words which were bursting within him to be spoken, groaned within himself, God, if You exist, come here and let me spit in Your face. Forgive her, indeed!
Then Hannah moved him aside and stooped before Mary, taking her wrists and talking earnestly into her streaming hands: "Mary, listen to me. Mary. There's nothing to ask forgiveness for. There's nothing to ask forgiveness for, Mary. Do you hear me? Do you hear me, Mary?" Mary nodded within her hands. "God would never ask of you not to grieve, not to cry. Do you hear? What you're doing is absolutely natural, absolutely right. Do you hear! You wouldn't be human if you did otherwise. Do you hear me, Mary? You're not human to ask His forgiveness. You're wrong. You're terribly mistaken. Do you hear me, my dear? Do you hear me?"
While she was speaking, Mary, within her hands, now nodded and now shook her head, always in contradiction of what her aunt was saying, and now she said, "It isn't what you think. I spoke to Him as if He had no mercy!"
"Andrew? Andrew was ju…"
"No: to God. As if He were trying to rub it in. Torment me. That's what I asked forgiveness for."
"There, Mary," her mother said; she could hear virtually nothing of what was said, but she could feel that the extremity of the crying had passed.
"Listen, Mary," Hannah said, and she bent so close to her that she could have whispered. "Our Lord on the Cross," she said, in a voice so low that only Mary and Andrew could hear, "do you remember?"
"My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?"
"Yes. And then did He ask forgiveness?"
"He was God. He didn't have to."
"He was human, too. And He didn't ask it. Nor was it asked of Him to ask it, no more are you. And no more should you. What was it He said, instead? The very next thing He said."
"Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit," she said, taking her hands from her face and looking meekly at her aunt.
"Into Thy hands I commend my spirit," her aunt said.
"There, dear," her mother said, and Mary sat upright and looked straight ahead.
"Please don't feel sorry, Andrew," she said. "You're right to tell me every last bit you know. I want to know-all of it. It was just-it just overwhelmed me for a minute."
"I shouldn't tell you so much all in a heap."
"No, that's better. Than to keep hearing-horrible little new things, just when you think you've heard the worst and are beginning to get used to it."
"That's right, Poll," her father said.
"Now just go straight on telling me. Everything there is to tell. And if I do break down, why don't reproach yourself. Remember I asked you. But I'll try to not. I think I'll be all right."
"All right, Mary."
"Good, Poll," her father said. They all sat down again.
"And Andrew, if you'll get it for me, I think I'd like some more whiskey."
"Of course I will." He had brought the bottle in; he took her glass to the table.
"Not quite so strong as last time, please. Pretty strong, but not so strong as that."
"This all right?"
"A little more whiskey, please."
"Certainly."
"That looks all right."
"You all right, Poll?" her father asked. "Isn't going to your head too much?"
"It isn't going anywhere so far as I can tell."
"Good enough."
"I think perhaps it would be best if we didn't-prolong the discussion any further tonight," Catherine said, in her most genteel manner; and she patted Mary's knee.
They looked at her with astonishment and suddenly Mary and then Andrew began to laugh, and then Hannah began to laugh, and Joel said, "What's up? What's all the hee-hawing about?"
"It's Mama," Andrew shouted joyfully, and he and Hannah explained how she had suggested, in her most ladylike way, that they adjourn the discussion for the evening when all they were discussing was how much whiskey Mary could stand, and it was as if she meant that Mary was much too thirsty to wait out any more of it; and Joel gave a snort of amusement and then was caught into the contagion of this somewhat hysterical laughter, and they all roared, laughing their heads off, while Catherine sat there watching them, disapproving such levity at such a time, and unhappily suspecting that for some reason they were laughing at her; but in courtesy and reproof, and an expectation of hearing the joke, smiling and lifting her trumpet. But they paid no attention to her; they scarcely seemed to know she was there. They would quiet down now and then and moan and breathe deeply, and dry their eyes; then Mary would remember, and mimic, precisely the way her mother had patted her knee with her ringed hand, or Andrew would mimic her precise intonation as she said "prolong," or any of the four of them would roll over silently upon the tongue of the mind some particularly ticklish blend of the absurdity and horror and cruelty and relief, or would merely glance at Catherine with her smile and her trumpet, and would suddenly begin to bubble and then to spout with laughter, and another would be caught into the machinery, and then they would start all over again. Some of the time they deliberately strained for more laughter, or to prolong it, or to revive it if it had died; some of the time they tried just as hard to stop laughing or, having stopped, not to laugh any more. They found that on the whole they laughed even harder if they tried hard not to, so they came to favor that technique. They laughed until they were weak and their bellies ached. Then they were able to realize a little more clearly what a poor joke they had all been laughing at, and the very feebleness of the material and outrageous disproportion of their laughter started them whooping again; but finally they quieted down, because they had no strength for any more, and into this nervous and somewhat aborted silence Catherine spoke, "Well, I have never in my life been so thoroughly shocked and astonished," and it began all over again.
But by now they were really worn out with laughter; moreover, images of the dead body beside the capsized automobile began to dart in their minds, and then to become cold, immense, and immovable; and they began fully to realize, as well, how shamefully they had treated the deaf woman.
"Oh, Mama," Andrew and Mary cried out together, and Mary embraced her and Andrew kissed her on the forehead and on the mouth. "It was awful of us," he said. "You've just got to try to forgive us. We're all just a little bit hysterical, that's all."
"Better tell her, Andrew," his father said.
"Yes, poor thing," Hannah said; and he tried as gently as he could to explain it to her, and that they weren't really laughing at her expense, or even really at the joke, such as it was, because it wasn't really very funny, he must admit, but it had simply been a Godsend to have something to laugh about.
"I see," she said ("I see, said the blindman," Andrew said), and gave her polite, tinkling, baffled little laugh. "But of course it wasn't the-question of spirits that I meant. I just felt that perhaps for poor dear Mary's sake we'd better…"