Galilee (91 page)

Galilee, here? Lord in heaven,
Galilee here!
I didn't know whether to start yelling at the top of my voice, or to go hide my head. I looked up to the top of the stairs, half-expecting to see Cesaria there, demanding I go fetch him, bring him to her. But the landing was deserted, the house as still as it had been in the moment before Zelim had spoken his last. Did she not know he was here? Impossible. Of course she knew. This house was hers, from dome to foundations; the moment he'd stepped into it she'd been listening to his breath and to his heartbeat; to the din of his digestion.

She knew that he'd have to come to her sooner or later, and she was simply waiting for him to do so. She could afford to be patient, after all these long, lonely years.

I didn't linger in the hallway, now that Zelim was gone. I headed for my study, and was a few yards from my study door when I caught the alluring whiff of a burning havana. I pushed open the door, and there, sitting in the chair behind my desk, was the great voyager himself, leafing through my book, while he puffed on one of my cigars.

He looked up when I entered, and gave me an apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” he said. “I couldn't help myself.”

“The cigar or the book?' I replied.

“Oh the book,” he said. “It's quite a story. Is any of it true?”

I didn't ask him how much he'd read, or what he thought of my stylish eccentricities. Nor did I reply to his perverse question, about the veracity of what I'd written. Nobody knew the truth of it better than he.

We embraced, he offered me one of my own cigars, which I declined, and then he asked me why there were so many women in the house.

“We went from room to room,” he explained, “looking for somewhere to lay our heads, and—”

“Who's
we?”

He smiled. “Oh, come on, brother . . .”

“Rachel?” I replied. He nodded. “She's here?”

“Of course she's here. You think I'd ever let that woman out of my sight again after what we've been through?”

“Where is she?”

His eyes went to the door of my bedroom. “She's sleeping,” he explained.

“In my bed?”

“You don't mind?”

I couldn't keep the grin off my face. “No, of course I don't mind.”

“Well I'm glad I've pleased somebody in this damn house,” Galilee said.

“Can I . . . take a peek at her?”

“What the hell for?”

“Because I've been writing about her for the last nine months. I want to see—” What did I want to see? Her face? Her hair? The curve of her back? I suddenly felt a kind of
desire
for her, I suppose. Something I'd probably been feeling all along, I just hadn't realized it. “I just want to see her,” I said.

I didn't wait for him to give me permission. I got up and went to the bedroom door. A wash of moonlight lit the bed, and there, sprawled on the antiquated quilt, was the woman of my waking dreams. I couldn't quite believe it. There she was: Rachel Pallenberg-Geary-Barbarossa, her liquid hair spread on the same pillow where I'd laid my own buzzing head so many nights, and thought about how to shape the story of her life. Rachel in Boston, Rachel in New York, Rachel convalescing in Caleb's Creek, and walking the beach at Anahola. Rachel in despair, Rachel
in extremis,
Rachel in love—

“Rachel in Love,
” I murmured.

“What's that?”

I glanced back at Galilee. “I should have called the book
Rachel in Love.”

“Is that what it's really about?” he said.

“I don't know what the hell it's about,” I replied, quite truthfully. “I thought I knew, about halfway through, but . . .” I returned my gaze to the sleeping woman “ . . . maybe I can't know until it's finished.”

“You're not done?”

“Not now you're here,” I replied.

“I hope you're not expecting some big drama,” Galilee said, “because that's not what I had in mind.”

“It'll be what it'll be,” I said. “I'm strictly an observer.”

“Oh no you're not,” he said, getting up from behind the desk. “I need your help.” I looked at him blankly. “With her.” He cast his eyes up toward the ceiling.

“She's
your
mother not mine.”

“But you know her better than I do. You've been here with her all these years, while I've been away.”

“And you think I've been sitting with her drinking mint juleps? Talking about the magnolias? I've barely seen her. She's stayed up there brooding.”

“A hundred and forty years of brooding?”

“She's had a lot to brood about. You. Nicodemus. Jefferson.”

“Jefferson? She doesn't still think about that loser.”

“Oh yes she does. She told me, at great length—”

“See? You do talk to her. Don't try and squirm out of it. You talk to her.”

“All right, I talk to her. Once in awhile. But I'm not going to be your apologist.”

Galilee contemplated this for a moment; then he shrugged. “Then you won't have an ending to your book, will you?' he said. “It's as simple as that. You'll be sitting down here wondering what the hell's going on up there, and you'll never know. You'll have to make it up.”

“Jesus . . .” I muttered.

“I've got a point, right?”

He read me well. What was worse than the prospect of going up with Galilee in tow to face Cesaria? Why, the prospect of staying here below, and not knowing what passed between them. Whatever happened between mother and son when they came face to face, I had to be there to witness it. If I failed to do so then I failed in my duty as a writer. I couldn't bear to do that. I've failed at too much else.

“All right,” I said. “I'm persuaded.”

“Good man,” he said, and embraced me, pressing my body hard against his. It made me feel meager, to be sure. I realized as he wrapped his arms around me that I'd hardly expressed with a quarter the passion it deserved what the Geary women must have felt in his embrace. I envied them.

“I'm going to wake Rachel,” he said, breaking his hold on me and going to the door of my bedroom. I followed him, as far as the door, and watched him crouch beside the bed and reach out to gently shake her out of sleep.

She was obviously deep in dreams, because it took her a little time to surface. But when her eyes finally opened, and she saw Galilee, a luminous smile came onto her face. Oh, there was such love in it! Such unalloyed pleasure that he was there, at her side.

“It's time to get up, honey,” Galilee said.

Her eyes came in my direction. “Hi,” she said. “Who are you?”

It felt odd, let me tell, to have this woman—whose life I had so carefully chronicled, and with whom I now felt quite familiar—look at me and not know me.

“I'm Maddox,” I said.

“And you're sleeping in his bed,” Galilee said.

She sat up. The sheet fell away from her body, and she plucked it up to cover her nakedness. “Galilee told me a lot about you,” she said to me, though I suspect this was to cover a moment of embarrassment.

“But I'm not what you imagined?”

“Not exactly.”

“You look trimmer than you did when I saw you at the swamp,” Galilee said, patting my belly.

“I've been working hard. Not eating.”

“Working on your book,” Rachel said.

I nodded, hoping that would be the end of the subject. It had never occurred to me until now that she might want to read what I'd written about her. The thought made my palms clammy. I turned to Galilee. “You know I think if we're going to go up to see Cesaria,” I said, “we should go soon. She knows you're here—”

“The longer we wait, the more she'll think I'm afraid to come?” Galilee said. I nodded.

“I'd like to at least wash my face before we go,” Rachel said.

“The bathroom's through there,” I said, pointing the way. Then I withdrew from the room, to allow her some privacy.

“She's so beautiful,” I whispered to Galilee when he'd followed me out. “You're a very lucky man.”

Galilee didn't reply. He had his eyes cast toward the ceiling, as though he were preparing himself for what lay above.

“What do you want from her?” I asked him.

“To be forgiven, I suppose. No. More than that.” He looked at me. “I want to come home, Eddie. I want to bring the love of my life back to L'Enfant, and live here happily ever after.” Now it was me who didn't reply. “You don't believe in happily ever after?” he said.

“For us?”

“For anybody.”

“But we're not anybody, are we? We're the Barbarossas. The rules are different for us.”

“Are they?' he said, his gaze opaque. “I'm not so sure. It seems to me we're driven by the same stupid things that drive everyone else. We're no better than the Gearys. We should be, but we're not. We're just as petty, we're just as confused. It's time we started to think about the future.”

“This is strange, coming from you.”

“I want to have children with Rachel.”

“I wouldn't do that,” I said. “Half-breeds are no use to anybody.”

He laid his hand on my shoulder. “That's what I used to believe. Anyway what kind of father would I make? That's what I said to myself. But it's time, Eddie.” He smiled, beautifully. “I want to fill this old house with kids. And I want them to learn about all the miraculous shit we take for granted.”

“I don't think there's much that's miraculous left in this place.” I said. “If there ever was.”

“It's still here,” he said. “It's everywhere around us. It's in our blood. It's in the ground. And it's up there, with her.”

“Maybe.”

He caught hold of my chin, and shook it. “Look at you. Be happy. I'm home.”

S
o, up we went, the three of us. Through the dark, quiet house, up the stairs, to Cesaria's chambers. She wasn't there, however. As I went from room to room, knocking lightly, then pushing the doors open, the realization slowly grew that
of course
she wasn't there. She'd gone up one more flight, to the skyroom. The circle was closing, quickly now. The place where all this had begun—where I'd been granted the first visions—was demanding our attendance.

As we turned from the empty bedroom, I heard the click of claws on the floorboard, and saw Cesaria's favorite quill-pig, Tansy, scuttling out from under the bed. I went down on my haunches and cautiously picked the creature up. She was quite happy to be in my arms—and for some reason I found her presence there reassuring.

“Where are we going now?' Galilee said as I passed he and Rachel on my way out of the bedroom.

“Up to the dome,” I said.

He looked at me anxiously. “What's she doing up there?”

“I guess we're going to find out,” I replied, and led the way, along the passage and up the narrow stairs. Tansy grew more agitated as we went; a sure sign that my instincts were correct, and that Cesaria was indeed awaiting us in the room above.

I paused at the door, and turned back to the lovers.

“Have you ever been in here?” I asked Galilee.

“No . . .”

“Well, if we get separated—” I said.

“Wait. What are you talking about: separated? It's not that big a room.”

“It's not a room, Galilee,” I said. “It may be that from the outside, but once you get in there, it's another world. It's her world.”

He looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“So what should we expect?” Rachel said.

“I'm afraid whatever I tell you, it's probably going to be something different. Just go with the flow. Let it happen. And don't be afraid of it.”

“She's not afraid of much,” Galilee said, offering Rachel a little smile.

“And as I said, if we get separated—”

“We'll go on without you,” Galilee said. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

With the quill-pig still nestling in the crook of my arm, I turned to the door, and reaching down—somewhat tentatively, I will admit—for the handle, I opened it. There was a sliver of me dared imagine being here would work another miracle upon me. If the first visit had healed my broken body, what might a second do? It was all very well for Galilee to extol the virtue of half-breeds, but I'd found no special glory in that condition; quite the contrary. Was it possible that stepping back into the heart of Cesaria's world I might be cured of my hybrid state? Might be made wholly divine?

That tantalizing possibility made me braver than I might otherwise have been. With just one backward glance, to be sure that I still had Rachel and Galilee in tow, I strode on into the room. At first glance it seemed to be quite empty, but I knew how misleading such impressions could be. Cesaria was here, I was certain of it. And if she was here, then so was the court of visions and transformations that attended upon her. It was just a question of waiting for them to appear.

“Nice room,” I heard Galilee say behind me.

There was an ironic edge to the remark, no doubt; he obviously thought I'd overestimated the miraculous nature of the place. I didn't offer any kind of defense. I just held my breath. A few seconds passed. The quill-pig had quieted in my arms. Curious, I thought I let the held breath go, albeit slowly. Still nothing.

“Are you sure—” Galilee began.

“Hush.”

It was not me who silenced him, it was Rachel. I heard her footsteps behind me, and from the corner of my eye saw her walking on past me into the room. She'd left Galilee's side. In other circumstances I might have glanced back over my shoulder and called him a coward, but the moment was too fraught for me to risk the distraction. I kept my gaze fixed on Rachel as she wandered toward the center of the room. That
hush
of hers had come because she'd heard something; but what? All I could hear was the sound of our breathing, and the padding of Rachel's soles on the bare boards. Still, she was clearly attending to some sound or other. She cocked her head slightly, as if she wasn't quite sure whether she was really hearing this sound or not. And now, as she listened, I caught what she was straining to hear. It was the softest of sounds: a sibilant murmuring, so quiet I might have assumed it was the hum of my blood, had it not also been audible to Rachel.