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Show in my father's house/ 36 I heard Marie calling to the ducks, beckoning. I watched her step forward until she disappeared in the folds of moss. And then, it seemed, I saw Marie float like a shining, child-shaped balloon into the light, caught in a form too bright for staring. Of course, I felt no fear or sorrow, and did not recognize, then, the meaning of the sobbing, nor of the twist of Aunt Elsa's mouth as she eyed the blanket with its tiny bulk. When my father returned from his trip, the funeral took place in the white house parlor. He held Aunt Elsa until her sobbing waned, and then held Aunt LaVona, who had wandered zombie-like about her house since the drowning. No one seemed to assign blame. If Aunt Elsa harbored resentment, it was her deep secret. She recited her predictive dreams that she would lose Marie --if not to drowning, then to an automobile accident. The matter closed along with the tiny grave, with only occasional, wistful references to Marie, such as with the muddy handprints on Aunt LaVona's window. After that, my father and the mothers retained a special horror of water. My father and the group-men built a swimming pool over the pond and the grownups never went swimming without their temple garments on, to guard against evil. Then my father reared the fence between the houses and the creek. Some of the mothers even said that evil spirits dwelt in the water, so we must take care even when we went wading or fishing. "Well, we all know who leaves that pasture gate open," |