The Eyes of a King (23 page)

The priest sat for a long time without speaking after he had checked Stirling’s pulse and his temperature twice or three times. Then he shook his head and finally smiled. “This is not like slow-developing silent fever—at least no case that I have ever heard of. I would almost say …” He shook his head again. “I must have made a mistake.”

S
tirling was almost completely well. Just like that. And we suddenly realized that it was the middle of July, and it would soon be the day of his First Communion. “I want to keep the date the same,” said Stirling imperiously from his bed—quite unlike him. “ We have to keep the date the same.”

“But you have missed some of the classes with Father Dunstan,” Grandmother argued. “You have missed them all the time you have been ill. And what about the invitations? And we will have to have a party, of course.” She was smiling anyway.

“I want to keep the date the same,” he said again.

“What matter is it if he doesn’t know what the seven deadly sins are, or how to decorate a pulpit?” I said.

“No, Leo. Don’t be childish. The classes are important.”

“I do know what the seven deadly sins are,” he said. “Sloth, envy—”

“There is always next year,” Grandmother said.

Stirling nodded. “I suppose so, but …”

“Very well,” said Grandmother. “I had better start writing the invitations.” She went to the cupboard and fetched the box of invitation cards she had been saving. She was humming in her old way as she began to write them, but today it did not irritate me.

“It is nearly six o’clock!” she exclaimed then, looking up.

“Why does that matter?” I asked.

“I am not ready for church.” She sighed. “I don’t want to go today, but I feel guilty when none of us is there. Oh dear—I suppose I can go tomorrow instead.”

“I am going!” I told her. I had already put on my boots. I shut the door on the atmosphere of astonishment and ran as fast as I could and cared not at all when people turned to stare as I shot down the street.

It was humid in the city. There was a humming silence, and dark clouds sat heavily among the roofs. There were voices in the air; no matter how quiet it was, they would always be just too far away to hear, but the very atmosphere was buzzing with them. That weather usually comes before a change.

The thunder began as I reached the edge of the square, and then the rain fell as if it was pouring straight out of buckets. It came down so hard and fast that the empty pool in the center of the square filled up almost immediately, and the water dashing
horizontally off the horse statue’s lower lip made it look as if the fountain was working again. I jogged across the square, toward the lighted church doorway, my clothes already soaked.

“Leo!” someone called from behind me, and I turned and saw that it was Maria. She did not have Anselm with her. She ran toward me, holding up her skirt so that it would not trail in the streaming mud, and supporting her jacket over her head with the other hand.

“Maria!” I shouted, spinning around where I stood.

“You are coming to church on a weekday?” she yelled through the rain. “Can this be true?”

“Yes!” I announced, mad from the storm and the exhilarating relief that Stirling was well. “Yes, I am coming to church!”

“And why might that be?” She laughed at my wild eyes. “What has happened to you, Leo?”

“Stirling is well! It is not silent fever after all! His sight has come back!”

The lightning slashed the sky in two and made the pool flare. She reached me and looked up, smiling. There was water on her eyelashes and shining on her cheeks, and a drop fell from her full bottom lip. On a sudden impulse I grabbed her and kissed her. Just like that.

“Leo!” she exclaimed breathlessly, pushing me away. “We are outside the church! What will people think?” She was laughing, but uneasily.

“I don’t know,” I said. “What will they think that matters?”

“They will think you’re Anselm’s father, that’s what.”

“Oh.” I stepped away. “A fair point. Sorry.”

“And if you want to kiss someone, you should ask them first.” She was smiling again now.

“Sorry. It will not happen again.”

“For your sake, Leo, it better had not.”

“No. Next time I will ask.” I turned to her, laughing. “Can I kiss you, Maria?”

She slapped me, but not hard. “Get into the church, Leo. Get into the church and repent of your sins!” We stumbled through the door, suppressing laughter. I was embarrassing myself. I didn’t care.

The church was almost full, in spite of the torrential rain outside. “I have never seen you this happy,” she whispered as we sat down in the back pew. But she was smiling too, and I realized suddenly that there were tears in her eyes. She wiped her face on her sleeve. “I can hardly believe that Stirling is well. I saw he was much better when I sat with him yesterday, but I thought it was too much to hope …” I reached out and took her hand. She let me.

But people were glancing at us then, and I slid along the pew to a respectable distance. “Maria?” I asked.

“What?” But at that moment the bell rang at the front of the church, and everyone stood up.

Church was not dull and meaningless that day. That day it was true.

I walked home with Maria. The rain had stopped and left a dripping stillness and a quiet evening sunlight. A rainbow shone in the east, over the hills, where it was raining yet and the sky was thick and gray. “I think everything makes sense now,” I said suddenly.

She laughed. “What?”

I spread my arms wide and lifted my face to the sun and yelled, “Everything!”

“Stop it, Leo. You’re scaring me.”

“Sorry. I mean, I believe in God and all.”

“Oh … good …,” she said hesitantly. “I mean … is it? Why are you telling me this? You have been going to church all your life.”

“But now I believe in God. I really do. I did not used to, but I was wrong. There is a God.”

“I always thought so,” she said mildly.

“Everything makes sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No. Nothing makes sense at all, Leo. But that does not have to stop you from believing in God.”

“How do you mean?”

“Everything doesn’t make sense. If you think that everything makes sense, you will only be disappointed when it does not.”

“How do you know everything doesn’t make sense?”

“Just look around you.” I looked around at the street. “I meant metaphorically.”

“Everything does make sense,” I insisted. “I am beginning to see it.”

“One day, Leo, you will see that is wrong. It doesn’t make sense now. It will, when we reach another dimension, but it doesn’t now. You’ll see it one day. You watch out.” She was laughing.

“I do not think so. There is an order to everything, if we could only see it.”

“All right, preacher. Are you going to become a priest now?”

“Calm down! Not too much in one day. I went to church
already.” We turned down the alleyway to the side door and both got out our keys. “It would get me out of joining the army, though,” I remarked, unlocking the door.

“Leo!”

“It was a joke. Don’t worry.”

A faint wailing ghosted down the stairwell, a mournful sound that could not help but stop our laughter. The smile slid from my face before I could catch it. “Anselm is not happy,” I said to Maria.

“That isn’t Anselm,” she said.

“Oh? That’s strange.” We started up the stairs. “It must be one of the kids from the first-floor apartment. I hope it is nothing serious.”

When I opened the door of our apartment, the crying broke into the corridor like a wave. And with a sudden jolt to the stomach, I realized for sure that it was Stirling. How had I not known? Only it sounded so unlike him. “What’s wrong?” I exclaimed in fright, running to the bedroom doorway.

There was Stirling, clutching his head and wailing. Grandmother was trying to comfort him. His whole head was red and blotchy, even through his stubbly hair. His eyes were squeezed shut and tears burst out of them and ran into the wet edge of the sheet that he clutched up to his face. He was crying so hard that spit spilled from his mouth and soaked the sheet too. I ran to him. “What happened?”

“He suddenly got a lot worse again,” Grandmother said. “He isn’t responding to a thing I say. Go and fetch Father Dunstan. Go, Leo! Run!” I tried to catch Stirling’s eyes, but all I saw reflected was pain and fear. He did not even seem to recognize me. He continued his strange wailing; it was
unself-conscious, as if he could not help but let it pour wildly from his mouth.

“What is it?” I asked her. “A headache or what?”

“Go! Quickly!” I hurried out the door. “Run!” she called after me.

We had done this before. All of this we had done before. We could not go back again. I didn’t have the strength. But I ran anyway, because I had no choice.

“S
tirling!” said Father Dunstan sharply, through the wailing. “Stirling, can you hear me?” He put his hand to the side of Stirling’s face. Stirling looked at him for a moment. Then he scrabbled backward into the pillows, hitting his head on the bedstead. He did not seem to notice.

“No!” he cried. “Do not harm me! Help! Help me!” It didn’t sound like his own voice at all. Wild screams ripped from his throat, and I felt myself flinching.

“Stirling, it’s all right. It’s me, Father Dunstan.”

Stirling went on crying and struggling backward on his pillows. “Stirling, you are safe,” Father Dunstan said clearly. “You are safe.” He put his hands on Stirling’s shoulders to hold him still. “Tell me—can you see?”

“Can I … can I …,” Stirling groaned feverishly, over and over, thrashing his head from side to side.

“Can you see me?”

“Please, take them away! They’re trying to get me!”

“Who?” said Father Dunstan.

“There—look—there!” Stirling gave a sudden harsh shriek.

“Oh God!” I exclaimed, my voice sounding like someone else’s, far, far away, and as if I was praying rather than blaspheming. “Is he possessed?” No one heeded me.

“Can you see me, Stirling?” Father Dunstan asked again. Stirling was mumbling something about ghosts, and he did not seem to hear. “He is hallucinating,” said Father Dunstan. “He does not know what he is saying. Fetch me a cold cloth; I will try to bring down the fever.”

“Look!” squealed Stirling suddenly, his breath snagging in his throat. He sat straight up and stared wildly into the corner of the room. “Oh, look! Why is she here?”

“Who?” asked Father Dunstan.

“That lady—don’t you see? She is reaching out? There!” He screamed again and twisted his bedcovers onto the floor with his snatching arms. Father Dunstan held him down, to keep him from throwing himself onto the floor too. Stirling jerked upward, trying to break free, his shallow breaths themselves almost screams.

“Stirling! Stirling, calm yourself,” Father Dunstan told him.

Maria, shaking, put a cloth into the priest’s hand. He pressed it to Stirling’s head, though Stirling tried to struggle free again. “Save me! She is reaching out at me! To get me—stop her!”

“You are safe, Stirling.”

He stared into the corner of the room without moving. “Who is the lady?” Father Dunstan asked.

Feeble wails came from his mouth as he gaped at nothing. “She says … she says … she says …”

“What does she say?”

“She says she is my mother—a ghost! Please, save me!” He screamed again. The noise shattered up into the back of my skull.

“Stirling,” said Father Dunstan. “Your mother is not a ghost, and she will come back to you one day. Stirling. Stirling.”

Stirling turned to him then, suddenly still. There was a silence, in which not one of us breathed.

“Father Dunstan?” he asked weakly after a moment, gasping as if his lungs had been pierced.

“Stirling, can you see me?”

“Yes.” Then we all breathed out together.

“Were you imagining things? Pretend things.”

“Was it a dream?” said Stirling.

“Aye, you are quite safe. But you are ill.”

“Who was the lady?” he said after a moment.

“That was a dream.”

“It was real. She was talking to me. She said she would take me with her, and I didn’t want to go.”