Jim, without looking up from the dramatic photograph of Xavier taking a swing at Sam, said wryly,“Maybe Americans should go back to teaching reading, writing, and arithmetic instead of self-esteem, right?”
Sister, not terribly interested in education, politely listened as this conversation raged on. Her attitude was that if you wanted to learn, you would. If you didn’t, you pretty well deserved what happened. If 29 percent of Americans wanted to drop out of school, they could push brooms, dig ditches, or suck up welfare. After performing these exciting tasks, if they had a lick of sense, they might want to learn to read.
She didn’t feel it was her job to be nanny to the nation. People made their own decisions. If they made bad decisions, they had to live with them, and sometimes so did she. We all bump up against one another. But in her heart of hearts, Sister really believed that some people are born stupid. One couldn’t introduce a new idea or a provocative thought into those thick skulls even with a crowbar.
Marty, on the other hand, truly believed that with ameliorative agencies, plus her own good works, life could be made better for some. Imbued with a Protestant drive for self-improvement, and a perfect society, it was her duty to do these things. She did them well.
“Sister, what do you think?” Marty inquired.
“The photographs are wonderful.”
“No, about illiteracy.”
“Marty, you are a dynamo of organization. That group is fortunate to have you, and I would be most happy to write a check. You know how much I admire your good works.” While not wanting to lie, Sister, being a Virginian, did not feel compelled to tell Marty what she really thought about the issue. Find the positive, and, in this case, it was Marty herself.
Jim left Marty with a fat book of proofs for club members. They could order those photographs they wanted.
Sister, her checkbook fetched from her worn Bottega Veneta purse—a favorite given to her by Ray before he died—wrote a check for five hundred dollars to the Committee to Promote Literacy. Another check to Jim for the photographs she’d selected.
He’d fly back across the ocean tonight, and she already missed him. They had managed a bit of time to visit, and she had laughed herself silly. Jim was a tonic to her. His deadpan sense of humor never failed to lift her spirits.
“Marty, I know it’s working hours, but do I have your permission to have a word with Sam before I leave?”
“Of course.” Marty fretted a moment. “I feel terrible about what happened yesterday, but it wasn’t his fault.”
“Not yesterday, but there are years of bad blood—not just with Xavier, but with many people in the club.”
Jim folded his hands.“One thing to straighten yourself out, another to pay back the damage.”
“He can’t.” Sister held up her hands, palm upwards. “That’s the hardest part of life, I think.”
Marty, ever eager for a discussion of substance, sat down as she pushed more scones toward her guests.“Meaning one cannot make amends, achieve closure?”
Sister stifled a laugh.“Marty, there is no closure. That’s a made-up word. Whatever happens to you, whatever you’ve done to others, yourself, to the wide world, in general, sticks with you like chiggers.”
“Oh, Sister, you can’t mean that!”
“I do. The past doesn’t go away. It’s in your head; it’s in your heart. What’s hard is finding the balance. Recognizing that you can’t, say, in Sam’s case, pay back the money, restore the damage to the sullied marriages. All you can do is ask forgiveness. A few people truly will forgive you; most won’t. They’ll turn their backs and try to forget it and you.”
“Or strike back.” Jim drank his tea with pleasure. Marty, for an American, brewed a decent cup of tea.
“Yes.”
“But that solves nothing!” Marty exclaimed. “That just keeps the pain alive.”
“Marty, I respect that opinion, but I don’t agree. Hurting someone who has hurt you is deeply satisfying,” Sister responded. Then she thought to herself that hurting whoever killed Anthony Tolliver would satisfy her.
“Sister, that is unlike you. I’ve never seen you hurt anyone.”
“Oh, I have. I hurt my husband. In the main, I haven’t tried to hurt people. That doesn’t blind me to the fact that revenge is sweet. There’s no longer justice through the court system—perhaps there never was. Whoever has the most money and can keep the case going all the way to theSupreme Court, if need be, has the advantage. If you take justice into your own hands, it is sweet. Someone makes you bleed, you make him or her bleed. Even steven.”
“Brutal.” Marty shook her head.
“But real.” Jim had a clear idea about things like this. In his worldview, nations behaved as childishly as individuals. Airmen like he had once climbed into jets and risked their lives to try to redress the latest cycle of revenge, greed, territorial expansion.
“Can’t we improve? I have to believe we can.”
Sister inhaled the buttery scent of the scones, the tang of the hot tea in its expensive old Dresden china pot, covered with a knitted cozy.“In fits and starts. I mean, Marty, in the Western nations we no longer employ child labor from sunup to sundown six days a week. That’s improvement, but what are children doing in Asia or Latin America or parts of Africa? In Africa, they cut off women’s clitorises. Pardon me, Jim. I hope I haven’t ruined your appetite.”
“Nothing ruins my appetite, Master. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen,” he answered jovially.
“What I’m saying, Marty, is that one place moves ahead, say, with respect to child abuse, but perhaps slides back in literacy; another place works their children to death, but everyone can read. It’s a jumble of contradictions, pain, and outrageous injustice, yet there is beauty in the world. I can’t make sense of it, and I no longer try. I just live the day I’m in.”
Marty cupped her chin in her right hand as she sat at the table. While such a posture would upset anyone who had suffered the rigors of cotillion, it was her table, and it was more comfortable than always having her hands in her lap.
Jim spoke up.“In many ways I think life was better at other times than it is now. Not in terms of medicine, but people were closer to one another.”
“Give me an example.” Marty’s eyes opened wider.
“England from 1815 to 1914. I don’t think it was good for those people chewed up by industrialization, but for farmers, the middle classes and above, life was pleasant. Now you turn on the telly and see body parts.”
Sister, mindful of the time, gently said,“If there is an answer, I know you will find it, Marty. And I know that Crawford will support your efforts. He is a generous man. And I hope you do find the answer because I’d like to know it.” She smiled. “But, honey, I’ve been on earth longer than you. Maybe it’s made me a touch cynical.”
“You could never be cynical,” Jim said gallantly. “I’m the same age as you. We have seen a lot in our time, and I, for one, just look at people and governments and wonder what dumb thing they will do next. Sometimes it’s funny, most times it’s not. At least in your country, you don’t have class warfare. What do you think the Labor Party is all about? It’s class warfare. So bloody stupid.”
“You’re right, Jim, we don’t understand. I’m not sure an American can understand, but just because we don’t have class warfare doesn’t mean we can’t be as bloody stupid as the Brits.” Sister laughed.
“You two!” Marty sighed.
“Birds of a feather.” Jim laughed.
“Flock together,” Sister finished. “Marty, don’t take it all so seriously. A little levity might not add years to your life, but you’ll certainly enjoy them more. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be involved in your projects. It’s wonderful that you care so much but, well,don’t care too much.And you know why? Because none of those people you are trying to help cares about you. If one or two got to meet you, they might, but you need to take care of yourself. You know what I think about? When you’re in an airplane and the stewardess runs through her number about seat belts and exit doors, remember the part when she talks about air, about losing oxygen? Okay, the yellow umbilical cord drops out of the overhang with a plastic oxygen mask on it. The stewardess tells you to put on your mask before you put on your child’s mask, right?”