Ever After (13 page)

“Then, Rosemary, I woke this morning, refreshed. I didn't want to move, do anything but stay in this nirvana of peace. I still didn't know why I was so content, soothed; there are a hundred different things to do today and they'll all be waiting for us downstairs. I eased myself out of bed and stood up. This is where it starts being hard to believe. Don't interrupt, just listen, please. I want to get it all straight and right.”

I'm trying to sound calm, but inside I'm shaking.

“When I stood, it was as if had been knocked down by some powerful force from behind. I found myself scarcely able to breathe, as I was when you found me when you woke up. But, more than that, I knew, all in a flash, what had happened to me in the night, what had calmed me, made me feel deeply comforted despite everything.”

I take another deep breath, trying to convert something in my mind that wasn't words, into something Rosemary can understand as words, even though I know she'll never know or believe this. Still, I must tell her. It is part of the experience, telling her.

“I'm sitting in one of our low beach chairs in Ocean Grove with my back to the land, the sun setting over the town behind me. You know how much I like that, the purple shadows, the shadows from the ridges in the sand, the changing color of the water, of the sky, matching the colors of the sunset. There are the sounds of water, at its calmest, rising and falling back on the pebbles of the beach. It is the most relaxing thing I know of, a natural meditation without effort. It has always been magic to me.

“Then I see the long shadows of people coming up behind me. I'm disappointed. This is, for me, a quiet time, not a social event. But it's Kate and Dayiel going past me to the edge of the water.

“Kate doesn't look back at me, neither does Dayiel. I'm surprised, because she's supposed to be helping you make dinner, but I'm even more surprised to see her on the beach. You know how she is about sand. She never could bear having sand between her toes. So, what's she doing at the beach, walking barefoot? At first, I think it's because she's mad at Bert, and it turns out this is part of it.

“Next, Bert comes up on my left side. Kate and Dayiel have passed on my right. Bert's wearing bathing trunks and one of his loud Hawaiian shirts. He's carrying Mia, the way he does, as if she's a football, in the crook of his huge arm, her little arms hanging over his forearm. He settles in the sand beside me, putting one leg out, his football knee, and he drapes Mia over it.

“She's wearing a diaper, also some kind of lightweight, white shirt and a sunbonnet with ruffles around her face. She's watching my eyes in a way she never has, not as if she's just curious about my eyes, but about me. Bert has started making marks in the sand in front of her, the sand collapsing completely, totally, without trace, each time. He looks up at me to see if I'm noticing. He has a quizzical smile on his face. He, too, stares into my eyes a long time, in a way he never has. I'm beginning to have an uncanny feeling in the pit of my stomach that something horrible, frightening, has happened. It has, but I have no idea, then. Bert starts that slow shaking of his head which is a sign with him, as it is with me, he can't comprehend or believe something.

“‘You know, Will, you're not going to believe this, but you're not here and I'm not either. You're in my bed in Falls City, Oregon, in my bedroom, the bedroom I grew up in, and I'm still not sure just where we are. We're not scared or anything, we just don't know. It seems right now we can be almost anywhere we want, just by wishing it. We're hoping to find out more fairly soon. It's only a feeling. I'll tell you, it's weird.'

“He stops. I don't know what he's talking about. It's so far from what I'm seeing, or think I'm seeing, feeling, or think I'm feeling, know, or think I'm knowing, that it's total nonsense, like some kind of crazy party game and I'm ‘it.' I stare at him, waiting.

“‘Will, being dead is a hell of a lot different from what you might think. I'm still not sure what's going on, and I know I'm not supposed to be talking with you; nobody's actually said I shouldn't, but we just know. I only want you to know before it's too late. You deserve it.

“‘Kate's mad at me for telling you things like this, in what may seem like your dream, but everything was perfect: the place, the time, the way it happened to us. It all came together and I couldn't resist. We don't have much of what we've always called time, so I'll hurry.

“‘You see, the best way to explain it is this: we didn't leave you, you left us. It's as if we were all on a giant train or something like that and we just stepped off while you and everybody else kept going. That's not quite right either, but it's close as I can come. I've always been better at numbers than words.

“‘But I want you to know that we're fine, that we're still together. There's no way to know what's next, but we're not worried about it. That's the important thing. So don't you worry either.'

“He looks over, taking his eyes from mine. Kate's coming up the beach with Dayiel dancing around her. She's not coming toward us. She's going to pass right by us again without looking.

“‘Kate says I don't know how to let go. But would you do me this one favor? Would you get hold of those bodies that used to be us, and take some good pictures of them? It's important. It might help stop this damned field burning. It's the field burning more than anything else that killed us. You'll learn more about it in the next months. Talk to Steve, tell him about this, he'll help you, I know.'

“He pushes himself up. Mia is still watching my eyes. He then joins Kate. I can watch their shadows, long and violet-colored in the sand. I don't turn around. Just as the last shadow is gone, I hear Kate's voice.

“‘Goodbye, Dad. We're sorry, but we're happy.'

“Then I turn around and they're gone. The beach is empty. I turn and watch the sea some more.

“At this point, I must have wakened. That would have been the first time, when I was so calm. I didn't know it then. Now I know it and I'll know it the rest of my life.”

I stop. Rosemary is crying. She looks me deeply in the eyes.

“That's the most beautiful dream I've ever heard, Will. Even I, who didn't dream it, feel much more calmly accepting. I know I can live with it, now, too. I won't say I believe this really happened because I'm not that way. But I believe you believe it happened, and that's what's important. I think that's why Bert could come to you, because you'd believe. You know I never believe this kind of thing. What are you going to do now?”

“I think that's why I've been crying so hard. A dream like that should never make anyone cry. But I dread taking those photographs. I can't bear the idea of seeing them torn apart, burned. I want to remember them the way they were with us that week, or the way they all were in the ‘dream.' I don't think I can hire anyone to take those pictures, even if I could find somebody who would. It might even be illegal, I don't know. I'll need to find someone to give me a hand. Bert suggested Steve. I think I'll try him first. Bert ought to know if anyone would.”

I help Rosemary up off the floor and we make the bed together. I feel so close to her. I wonder what people are going to think when I go downstairs and seem so happy, so full of life instead of death.

A
FTER ROSEMARY
washes up, I go in and shower. When I come downstairs, there's all sorts of breakfast fixings and it's serve-yourself. I have my blood-sugar automatic test-kit with me and I need to take a test before I eat. I go out on the front porch. Steve comes out behind me. He has his kit, too. It's a remarkable coincidence. We're pricking, making the blood blob, counting, wiping, waiting, while we talk.

“Steve, I don't know how to bring this up, but last night I had an amazing experience.”

Then I tell it all as I told it to Rosemary. Steve looks at me in the strong, morning light.

“That's Bert, all right. He fought field burning tooth and nail. He could never let go, even if he was dead. You should have seen him play football or basketball. Never-say-die Woodman we called him.”

“The main thing is, can you help me, Steve? Bert said you would. I need to see those bodies and take pictures of them. I dread the whole business, but I feel it's some kind of a mandate from Bert.”

“Well, I can call John the mortician in Dallas and take you there. I have a camera, too. But let's eat first.”

“I'd like to try keeping this to ourselves, Steve. It sounds so crazy, I don't want to try explaining to anybody else.”

“I'll call from the upstairs phone.”

We have a great breakfast, with pan after pan of good scrambled eggs. Rosemary tells me that Danny has decided to take Wills directly back down to LA with him. They left about an hour ago. I'm sorry. I wanted to talk with Wills, let him know how I feel. But, we agree it's best. He doesn't need all this funeral business any more than we do.

About then, people start arriving from everywhere. These are Kate's friends from the American School in Paris, teachers and students, friends from Germany, people I don't know. There are telephone calls keeping the line busy. Friends of Bert and Kate are coming from different parts of America—Minneapolis, Connecticut, Florida, New York. Each time the phone rings, I listen to hear who it is. It's never the people I hope it will be.

Then, there are telegrams. I go through all of them. Most are addressed to us, all shocked, beautifully sympathetic and compassionate. But again, the ones I'm looking for aren't there.

The Woodman friends are generally within a few miles and are still hauling over cooked chickens, hams, cakes—the whole thing. It all has the quality of a giant picnic, except that everyone is talking in hushed tones. Everybody seems to be hitting it off as if they've known each other all their lives. I guess a real tragedy like this can do that, like after tough combat in a war. Death is on everybody's shoulder.

Each of us washes out his or her dishes in a huge kitchen sink. I've just finished mine when I catch Steve at the front door signaling me. I go over.

“John says the bodies are at the coroner's but he'll get them to the mortuary if we want. He says they're really awful and he doesn't recommend our looking at them.”

“What'd you tell him?”

“I didn't tell him anything, but I made arrangements for us to be there at one o'clock. Is that OK?”

“Thanks, Steve. I'll work on the model for the monument while we're waiting.”

“Dad had all the tools you'll ever need. They're out in the back shed. But you don't need to do this right now. It can wait.”

“I want to. I'll be better off out there working with your dad's tools than inside with everybody talking about the accident. I need time to be alone. This will be my excuse.”

Steve takes me out to a great workshop, all in wood, with nails driven into the walls for hanging tools and each tool marked in outline against the wall so anybody can see where each tool goes and his dad could see when a tool was missing. With three boys, I'm sure he had to keep track.

Steve brings out the wax mold from the number ten can and some knives. He clears the work table, putting tools back in place.

“This should be just the kind of place for you. I can't tell you how much we all appreciate your doing this.”

He goes right out. I wonder if he believes I'd be doing this if we hadn't lost so many members of our family. I'm sure he's as upset as I am. A trauma like this can be very hard on a diabetic. I hope Bert knew what he was doing when he asked me to contact Steve for help.

I spend the morning carving away until the monument in my mind begins to appear. Around the sides I carve in the words of the poem. I find an old fourpenny nail and use it for the gnomon. I set it at an angle equal to the angle of the sundial face. For the cardinal points, I carve in Bert at north or twelve o'clock; Kate at south or six o'clock; Mia on one side, at nine o'clock, that is, west; and Dayiel at three o'clock, or east. I find some gold paint in the closet, and with a small brush fill in the indentations of the carving. I design it more as a yearly calendar than as a sundial for telling time.

It doesn't look funereal at all but it certainly makes me feel much better—as if, at least, I've done something. It helps me express, even if approximately, what Bert must have been suggesting when he talked about time. It's something we humans just thought up.

Throughout the whole job, I can feel Bert hovering nearby but I hear and see nothing. It's just my imagination. Sometimes one person or another drifts in but I don't look up. It doesn't happen too often, so I imagine Steve has given the word.

Rosemary comes briefly to sit by and watch quietly. I look up at her and we smile, but we don't say anything. I think it's as hard for her to speak as it is for me. She puts her hand on my shoulder as she leaves. I continue working, turning the model in different directions to see how it reacts to various lighting until it feels right. Just then, Steve comes in.

“We should eat first, then take off for Dallas. John phoned and said he managed to shift the bodies from the coroner's office but they aren't happy about it.”

“Well, I assure you, Steve, it's something that must be done. I don't think any of us are exactly happy about it. It won't be much of a pleasure, but sometimes things just need to be. We don't have a choice. I have my camera with me, but I don't have much film. Is there a place in Dallas where we can buy film?”

“Sure, and I'll bring my camera too. We can buy any film we'll need. The same place does really good work on developing and printing. They're fast if we make it a rush order. We can take it right there after we have the pictures.”