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Show Moon-227 to keep from screaming. She tried to calm herself by rehearsing what she would say to her mother. "I'm a dancer after all, you see?" And, "Sorry I haven't been a very good daughter." She'd brought along some of her drawings and would say, "Look at what you gave me. I'm becoming a real artist." And she'd want to say, "Please don't go. I need you." But she wouldn't say that, because it would distract her mother from the hard labor of dying. She'd hug her mother-the kind of hug where you hang on, press close and savor the heartbeat, the blessed rise and fall of the chest, take in the smell, the wings of breath on your neck. But no, her mother probably wouldn't be strong enough. Of course, she'd say "I love you, Mom." It seemed like not enough. The train car was crowded. A man in a shiny black suit stood up in the front of the car and lifted up a Bible, brandished it like a flag. The riders were used to this sort of thing, and they bent their heads to precisely folded newspapers. This did not deter the man, and he began to shout, "Heal your brothers! Lay on hands to your beloved ones and cry Arise! Arise!" His yellowed gray hair hung to his shoulders. His eyes rolled upward as if to bring down to them a piece of heaven. Joy folded her hands and settled back to listen. It was too momentous a time for this to be happening by mistake. Shepherd show me how to go. Guide my little feet up to thee. Heal the sick, raise the dead. A river gone underground was rising to the surface. It was rushing through this poor sad man, saying, "Why have you forgotten God? Heal your mother!" |
