“She didn’t say that. She was upset, of course. We had a long talk. You’re here, though, because I thought it would be good for Bett; it wasn’t Bett’s idea. And maybe good for you, too. This sort of thing doesn’t upset me as it does Bett. I don’t think you realize just how upset she has been these last weeks—how could you know, as confused as you were yourself?
“But maybe between us we can sort this out a bit, when you feel better. I’m a little like Reid, though, I think there has to be a logical explanation. Certainly something more than a pseudo-doctor of religion could make up to bilk money out of unsuspecting old ladies.”
“Pseudo-doctor? But how could he—?”
“He only calls himself doctor; he has no degree at all. I’ve been on the phone talking with the District Attorney in San Francisco. They have quite a long list of complaints against his organization; but it’s all so vague. When something like this is called a church, it’s released from all kinds of responsibilities regarding the law—anything goes. Those who give money in payment for healing of illnesses and unhappiness do so of their own free will. They call it donations, and there’s nothing illegal about that. Evidently Claybelle never comes right out and says he’s going to heal someone, he always talks around the subject.”
“But I—”
“But you saw something. I’m not questioning that. I’m only saying it had nothing to do with Claybelle.”
“But why there, then? In that place—?”
“I don’t know, Bethany. Maybe the heightened feeling from everyone, from Selma especially, triggered something in you. Maybe, if you’ll stay here with me for a little while, where you won’t have the pressure of trying to hide it from Bett, maybe between us we can sort it out a little—would you want to do that?”
“Yes! Oh, yes!” She looked up at Justin. “Did you ever think there could be—oh, something like—well, like a great power, a dark power, Justin?”
“You mean witchcraft?”
“No, not witchcraft. Something—well, like air, like an invisible essence, I guess you’d say.”
Justin looked interested.
“I thought— I was thinking this morning, that what I saw, seeing the figure and even myself, that wasn’t all of it. As if, behind me, all around me, there was something like a breath, like— Well I don’t know how to describe it, but that it wasn’t coming from what I saw. That what I saw was reflected from that in some way. Maybe only a shadow.”
Justin looked at her first with some curiosity, then with eagerness. “I’ve always felt,” she began slowly, “that there was something, an aura of darkness, of evil if you will, just as there is of goodness. I’ve wondered if perhaps the appearance of spirits, witchcraft and plasma and all that, is really—oh, a tapping into that dark power—not peopled with spirits at all, but an inanimate power that somehow becomes stronger when it’s drawn to people who want it. That in becoming stronger it generates a force that makes people see things, makes them imagine things in the shapes they want to see. Am I making any sense?”
“Yes. Oh yes.”
“And I’ve thought that that power has its opposite, just as everything in nature has an opposite. Positive and negative. I think there is a great opposite power for good. A force of absolute goodness.”
“You mean God?”
“I suppose you could say God, only not like an old man with a beard—definitely not with the attributes of a person that some people give Him, like anger and jealousy.” Justin grinned. “I suppose talk like this would sound like blasphemy to Bett.”
“But if a person is only trying to see what’s true—”
“Yes. How can it be wrong to seek for what is true?”
“Still, witch cults say they’re seeking truth, too. And so did Dr. Claybelle.”
“Yes, but Claybelle was lying. And I believe that in their hearts, those who practice witchcraft must admit they’re not really seeking truth at all, that they’re seeking after power, or at the very best, after a magic, painless way to solve difficult human problems, a way that really denies truth.”
Late in the afternoon, after dozing and lying cozily in bed most of the day—as if she were sick, weak as if she had had a fever—Bethany dressed and went to Aunt Bett’s for some clothes and her toothbrush. She didn’t much want to go, she didn’t want to see Aunt Bett. She really didn’t know what to say to her. But Justin insisted, “The longer you put it off, the harder it will be,” until at last she agreed. The cold fresh air felt good, brought her alive a little, though she felt disoriented, as if she had really had a long illness, and had lost touch with the world.
Aunt Bett had the vacuum out and the house torn apart so Bethany thought she could just slip in and get her clothes and leave with a minimum of talk. Aunt Bett was never very communicative on cleaning day. But she turned off the vacuum and went unhurriedly into the kitchen to cut a piece of cake and pour milk for Bethany and coffee for herself so that Bethany, coming out with her suitcase, was trapped. She sat down warily. “Where’s Colin?”
“He went to the store for me. Do you want ice cream on that?”
“No, Aunt Bett. No thanks.”
“I suppose you are as uncomfortable as I am.” Aunt Bett began to cut her cake into tiny little pieces. “Bethany, you didn’t tell me the truth about not having this ability any more.”
“I guess I didn’t, Aunt Bett. I guess I—” She wished she hadn’t come.
Aunt Bett put her hand on Bethany’s arm. “I can understand why, child. It’s something you’ve had to live with alone for too long. And I am responsible for that.”
“Oh no, Aunt Bett, it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have changed anything even if you knew.”
“There were times when you surely must have wanted someone to talk to, though. You must have felt very alone after Marjory and Tom were killed, much more alone than I could guess. Perhaps I can understand a little better, now, why you always went off by yourself, and disliked playing with other children. It must be terrible to be so sensitive to other people. Justin and I talked for a long time last night, and I spent a lot of time thinking after I got home. I didn’t sleep very well. I suppose that’s why I’m cleaning house today, to work off some of the thoughts that have been plaguing me.”
“Oh, Aunt Bett. Please don’t, you—” She dropped her fork and put her arms around Aunt Bett, and tears came. Aunt Bett held her and patted her shoulder, and Bethany thought, Why didn’t I tell her at first, and make her understand! But it would not have been possible, she knew it wouldn’t have. She sat back at last and blew her nose and tried to smile at Aunt Bett. “I’m sorry it’s the way it is, that I’m the way I am.” But she meant, sorry for the sake of their relationship, sorry for Aunt Bett’s sake, not sorry for herself, for what she had, no matter how painful it was.
When Colin banged in with the groceries, he looked at her accusingly, opened his mouth to say something, then wisely closed it again and turned away from her. But when Bethany was ready to leave, he walked with her toward the village, carrying her suitcase—a flowered overnight bag dug out of three year’s accumulation of rubbish in the attic of the garage, a child’s suitcase, and battered. “Are you going to tell me what’s been going on?” Colin said. He stopped and turned to face her, looking very left out. He pushed his hair back and began to finger a blotch on his face, staring at Bethany unhappily.
They sat down on a fallen eucalyptus tree that lay across the lot behind the grocery, and she began idly picking pieces of loose bark off the trunk. She wanted to tell him. He kept staring at her, waiting. But she couldn’t, she simply couldn’t. She didn’t want to think about it. “I will someday,” she said at last. “Now I—Well hasn’t there ever been anything it just upset you too much to talk about?”