This is it, she thought. God has given me one more chance. One more try. Please, God, if you’ve thought anything of my work down here, if I’ve helped you in any way by easing some of the suffering, grant this old lady one last wish. I’ll go in peace, God, if you’ll just let me unlock Martha’s mind and let her be normal. Please. Don’t let her wander around the rest of her life like this, deformed and retarded.
Fern put her left hand on the top of Martha’s head. It was cold. It was always the coldest spot on Martha, where it was the warmest on everyone else. Something was blocking that channel of energy. Fern could blast through it if she had the strength, but that might do further damage. Better to loosen it with gentle prodding.
It was an awkward feeling, using her left hand, but she just couldn’t manage the shift in position. The life-force energy generally ran through her from left to right. She received information from her left, transmitted it to her right. The healing power came in through her left and out through her right. With her left hand on Martha’s head, she was likely to get a good picture of whatever it was Martha had, rather than passing something on to it.
Martha began to fidget. Fern smoothed her hair, talked to her in a low, hoarse voice, trying to settle her down. They’d done this lots of times, with little cuts and scratches, colds, stuffy noses, fevers, and other ailments. Eventually, Martha quieted, lying still and tense, as if she knew something tremendous was about to happen.
Fern was also tense. Afraid. She had never forgotten her last try at this, but now she was old, worn out, dying, and this was her last chance. God could have snuffed her out with a flick of his fingernail last night in the barn, but instead, he had given her one more opportunity to heal. Her most important session was now at hand.
She took a deep breath and began. Her consciousness slipped inside.
She was sinking, falling, spinning around wildly, out of control, diving down, down, down. Fern told herself there was nothing to be afraid of—slow down, my heart. The descent was so swift it brought her stomach to her throat; the blackness was absolute, just the swirling, turning, dizzying fall down a tunnel, a well, a bottomless pit.
Then it opened up, and though she still felt she was falling, now she was falling through a huge black cavern, monstrous in size; she could wave her arms about, her breath wasn’t echoed right back to her.
Her descent slowed, much to her wonderment, and she landed lightly on her feet on a roughhewn floor. She paused, slowing her heart, catching her breath, taking a look around. There was nothing to see. Was this the inside of her daughter’s mind? It seemed to be more a dream, a fantasy, a movie.
She raised her hands above her head and prayed. A light began to glow. She discovered herself in a tunnel, that same tunnel as before. She walked toward the glow, everything so familiar, so horribly familiar.
She passed the doors, heavy, like oak, and solid. She tried each one as she passed; they didn’t budge. Eventually she came to one that hadn’t been sealed shut. It was ajar, and Fern pushed gently, and the huge door swung wide open. Fern took a step within and was immediately overcome. It seemed that all the birds in the world were singing cheerful songs. Stained-glass windows shed crystal beauty everywhere she looked. Joy and pleasure coursed through her body in wave after wave. Snatches of melody, little children’s songs flashed through her memory; she remembered all of the beauty of life, the happiness, the free, delightful laughter she had once known.
There was something for every sense. The scent of fresh baked bread was there, the smell of rain, bubble bath, perfume, roses. Smiling, open-mouthed, she turned around and around. Every time she shifted her eyes, something new and beautiful appeared before her. Flowers, baby kittens, a fuzzy, tattered red sweater, fresh crayons, and . . . a picture. A picture of Fern, a long time ago, her face fresh and clear, no wrinkles, dark, glossy hair. The face hung there, suspended, completely at home with these other delights, in this room of pleasure. Fern’s face. She smiled lovingly at her own face and remembered her mission. She remembered when this door opened, when Martha saw the bubbles in the bath for the first time. She pushed the door wide open to let the merriment course through the hallways of Martha’s mind, and left.
The overpowering reality of this room of pleasure stayed with Fern as she continued down the corridor. She tried even harder to open the other doors, pulling, tugging, grunting with the effort. Surely trapped behind each one was Martha’s true experience of something—pain maybe, fear, love, understanding, normalcy. Where is the key? Why won’t they open?
Gradually she noticed the vibration, the low rumbling. Had it been here all along, or had it just started? She knew the sound, the growl. I must deny the monster, she thought. I must get through to the door of the light. The key must be there. This is my mission. I must unlock these doors! She pushed the fear behind her: I have nothing to fear, I am used up and dead anyway, I must be fearless, yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . . She began to run. The rumbling grew louder; she heard it take breaths, growling more loudly, more fiercely, threatening. I must get around it.
She saw the door. Translucent, with a soft yellow light emanating from it, lighting up the corridor. The door was closed, and in front of it, standing guard in a protective, attack stance, was the monster.
I must not let it bother me, she thought, intent on her mission. I will not let it distract me. If I look upon it with love in my heart, it cannot hurt me.
Their eyes met, Fern continuing, more slowly now, but steadily. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies . . . No quick movements, just fill myself with love, and surround it with peace and easiness, happiness and joy. I’m not here to hurt you; I am here to set my daughter free. The beast snarled, grinned, it seemed, and Fern stopped dead in her tracks. It looks so familiar. Where have I seen that before? She shook her head, rubbing her eyes. Where have I seen that before?
Suddenly she was afraid. As she fought for control, fought to overpower the fear with love, with the knowledge of God’s protection, the beast lunged. It struck directly at her chest, sharp teeth biting deep into her heart.
Time slowed. She felt the sharp teeth rip the flesh from her breast, felt the raw stones breaking bones in her back as she fell, the great weight atop her. She saw her outstretched hand claw for the door—short, inches, just inches short—she was not there yet, it was too far away, the beast was chewing on her, God, it was eating her alive, the pain, oh, Martha, the pain, its teeth ripping out her heart, oh, God, so close, so close, oh, God. She looked down, right into the eyes of her attacker, the pain so complete, not the physical pain but the desperation of failure clouding her vision, now it was a man, now it was a dog, now a giant rat, what was it, where oh where did you come from to live within my daughter and at last she knew where she’d seen the beast before.
It was Harry.
CHAPTER 25
“Leon, what’s a five-letter word for solo? There’s an l in it.” Martha looked up from her crossword.
“Alone.” Leon stood up and clicked off the television. “Like me. I’m going to bed.”
“Good idea.” Martha wrote the other letters carefully in the squares with her pencil, then closed the book and took off her glasses. He passed behind her, stopping to put his hands on her shoulders as she rubbed her eyes, then he kissed the top of her head.
“C’mon.”
“You go ahead. I’ll just clean up a bit and be right in.”
“Okay.”
She heard him brushing his teeth in the bathroom, then the toilet flushed, then the bedsprings creaked as he got in. She picked up crushed beer cans from the new coffee table and wiped it with a towel. What will this house be like without him? She sat for a moment on the new sofa. It was comfortable, and very pretty, in muted colors of browns and golds. There was a new chair to match, and a new rocker, and new draperies. The house looked nice. And it felt nice, with Leon to share it.