Authors: Elizabeth Forkey
Aunty and I nod.
They are right, there's little time left. It's good news for us.
Bad news for the dying.
Ben says
emphatically, "This is it for earth. It's over. Human life means nothing.
No one believes in anything. People and babies are the last marketable
commodity. Aside from blood, a baby is the only thing a woman can make and sell
easily. And with sex being the number one source of entertainment and pleasure,
babies are made every day."
"Ahem,"
Aunty clears her throat again with a reproving look for Ben. She doesn't want
me to hear about the birds and the bees. Ha. Birds and bees
sounds
too cute for what we are talking about. More like the Vultures and the Flesh
Eating Wasps.
"Sorry,"
Ben says without feeling. "It's just the way it is. The other reason for
the big boom in the baby market is stem cells. The scientists say there are
documented cases of stem cells slowing, though not curing,
the
disease. I think it's a lie. What I do know for sure is that the people believe
whatever they're told out of sheer desperation. So now everyone in
Toccoa
is trying to get their hands on stem cells.
"What are
stem cells?" I ask embarrassed at my own naivety. Tim would know.
"Cells
found in the umbilical cord," Aunty explains. "What do they do with
them?" she asks Ben.
"They
inject them into their diseased
flesh,
eat them raw,
you name it."
I'm kind of
surprised Aunty hasn't put a stop to the whole conversation by now—insisted we
speak of saner things at the dinner table. But that tired look is all over her
face, she seems weaker than yesterday.
So I take
charge. "Can we talk about something else? Like the weather or
something?"
I feel like Aunty
and I have switched roles. I feel more like her care-giver these days. I'm
suddenly doing more of the work, while worrying about her fragile appearance
and failing health. I feel like the grown up. With these terrifying new images
that Ben has put in my head, the compounded fear of losing her threatens to
steal my sanity.
Ben nods his
head and says, "I know. I don't want to know about it. Don't want to have
seen it. But
it's
reality and it's right down the
street. We don't have the privilege of being sheltered anymore. They are
getting more and more depraved.
More violent by the hour
even.
I must make you all see this before I leave again."
"The elders
won't send you again," Aunty whispers. Then her voice gets stronger and
stronger with each word as she tries to persuade, "You must stay here now
Ben. You may stay with us at the Inn until they find you a good apartment. You
are welcome for as long as you need."
"I have to
go." He takes a deep breath and then exhales, "And so do you. You
aren't safe here anymore. Our time in the open is over." Then, tearing off
a mouthful of garlic bread, he mumbles, "God save us."
Aunty and I
don't speak. We clear our half eaten plates, emptying them into the garbage.
Ben stares off into the distance and puts a third helping on his tomato stained
plate. All I see is blood.
Passing Love Notes
It's Friday.
Homecoming is only 2 days away now and Ben is still the only missionary to have
arrived. He's been in his room all day today and hasn't eaten any meals with
us. I think he is fasting and praying for his fellow missionaries.
After a quiet
lunch together, I begin cleaning up and Aunty clears her throat and makes an
announcement.
"They are
escorting Matt out of the gates in about an hour."
"What! Why?
Has something happened?"
I had grown used
to the current situation. I knew he was safe, even if it was behind bars, just
down the street from me. I couldn't see him, but I at least knew where he was
and the future held endless possibilities. I had however prepared for this
eventuality.
"No,
nothing new has happened. Tim has spent a lot of time with him and so has
Andrew. They are fairly certain he isn't a threat to us, despite his early
promises to the contrary. So, they have asked him to leave us in peace and he
has agreed. We feel somewhat safe knowing that Thomas will be staying here with
us. Everyone agrees Matt would never do anything to hurt Thomas. If he wanted
Pravda to have his brother, he wouldn't have brought him back to us after they were
attacked. So, we are hoping he will let us be.
"Will you
please do something for me Aunty?"
"No dear.
You can't leave the house. I'm sorry, but you can't be part of this."
"No, I know
that. I just—I wrote him a letter."
Aunty's
eyebrows shoot up and I can tell she doesn't like where this is
going.
"It's just
an apology really. I felt so awful for how I treated him and I know it was such
a horrible witness and I need to tell him I'm sorry. I have an apology letter
for Andrew, too. Would you just deliver them for me before it's too late?
Please?"
I am silently
pleading with my eyes and putting all my energy into looking as innocent and
desperate as possible. If I've inherited any of the powers of "The
Force", now is the time to find out.
She is quiet for
almost a full minute—staring back at me and considering my request. Finally,
she nods in the affirmative and my heart leaps with joy and triumph.
"I had
better get ready to go then. I wasn't planning on seeing him again and they'll
be leaving shortly. Don't be disappointed if they have already taken him."
"Thank you,
Aunty. I love you so much! I'll go get the letters."
We meet at the
front door a few minutes later. Aunty has been going out the front door more
often,
now that I'm always home to lock it behind her. I
think it's because she's out of shape and the front door is twenty steps closer
to the U.R. building. I hand her my letters. One says "Captain
Markowitz" on the front and the other says "Matt". She puts them
in her coat pocket and walks slowly down the front steps of the Inn. I wish she
would hurry for me. If I didn't already know that she wasn't feeling well
lately, I'd have thought she was stalling on purpose. Hoping to miss them,
leaving my "Matt" letter undelivered.
From the front window
I watch her cross the street, pass the U.R. building, and walk down the alley
that leads to the entrance to Andrew's apartment—the old Police Station. My
stomach is full of butterflies at the thought of Matt reading my letter. It's
so personal. I think I can trust Aunty not to read it first. It wouldn't be the
end of the world, but I'd rather she didn't read it. It says:
Dear Matt,
I am sorry. I'm ashamed of how I treated you while you were
staying
with us. I think what you've done for Thomas is
incredible
. You reminded me what love looks like. I truly
admire
you. I regret deeply that it took me too long to realize
that
and you were gone before I could say it. Thank you for
drawing
it out of me.
Your friend,
Ivy
The last
sentence was kind of a code. I don't know if he'll get it, or maybe he'll just
think I'm a weirdo. Hopefully he'll figure out that I found the drawing that he
made of me and that I liked it. I sketched a few ivy leaves next to my name at
the bottom to make it as obvious as possible. I don't think anyone else reading
it would ever imagine what it alluded to. So, if Aunty reads it, I think she'll
still give it to him. To her eyes, it will simply seem a heartfelt
apology.
The letter to
Andrew reads:
Dear Captain Markowitz,
Thank you for all that you do to keep us safe. I'm sorry that
I caused you trouble and then was disrespectful.
Please forgive me.
Respectfully,
Ivy
Lusato
No ivy leaves
doodled on that one.
I'm working at
my new computer workstation just outside of my bedroom when I hear Aunty come
in the back door. It took her much longer than I thought it would and I hurry
to find her in the kitchen.
Desperate for details.
"Not much
to tell," she says. "They hadn't left yet, I gave each of them your
letter. Actually, Captain Markowitz insisted on reading Matt's letter before I
could give it to him. But then, seeing that it was simply an apology, he gave
it to Matt and that was it."
I was ok with
the thought of Aunty reading my personal apology. I hate that Andrew read it.
It's embarrassing.
"Did Matt
say anything? Did he look at all—you know, happy or anything when he read
it?"
"He didn't
read it in front of us. I'm sorry dear. He put it in his pocket and I left a
few minutes later. I'm sure he will read it though. It was good that you
apologized, Ivy. I'm proud of you."
"Maybe he
won't read it. I think he might hate me. I deserve that."
"Don't be
dramatic
Ivy,
I'm sure he doesn't hate you." She
stands to leave the kitchen and says, "I'm going to take a nap until dinner.
Ok? It's leftover night tonight. Can you fend for yourself if you get hungry
before I wake up?"
"Uh
huh."
And I'm alone again.
Angels
And
Demons
Howling wind
wakes me early Saturday morning. It sounds like hell's inhabitants have been
unleashed on the earth—here to warn any who will listen to repent lest they
share the same fate. The mournful keens give me the creeps and I reach for my
Bible before going to the kitchen for coffee. Little gusts find their way
through my bedroom window's old frame and ruffle the pages of my Bible. I
struggle to focus and find comfort in His presence. I feel like it might be
best if I climb back under my covers and just skip today. Tomorrow will be
friendlier.
I am only
halfway through my devotion when the doorbell rings. It is still very early in
the morning and dark outside. No one ever rings the bell this early. Could it
be another emergency? Has Matt brought the trouble he threatened? I thought we
could trust him. Maybe I'm foolish, but I really felt like he was a good
person. Not just a zombie. I hope it isn't another medical emergency requiring
Aunty's
help. She looked beyond exhausted yesterday and she
never did come down for dinner. I'm almost getting used to eating all my meals
alone.
Throwing my
bathrobe over my pajamas, I hurry to answer the door. I don't want the bell to
ring again and wake Aunty. Flipping lights on throughout the house as I go, I
reach the door just as the bell sounds again, bonging
it's
chimes throughout the quiet stillness of the house. Aunty will have heard it
for sure.
Oh well. I did
try.
Mr. Terrell is
standing outside stomping his feet for warmth, puffing cold vapory breaths and
wearing his usual stoic expression. Just behind him stands a bedraggled, hairy
man. Movement draws my eye to a dirty little girl, dressed in rags, peeking out
from behind the hairy man's legs. I usher them quickly inside and push the door
closed against the wind. It takes effort to be gracious because of the early
hour and my insecurities in my holey bathrobe, but I welcome them to the Inn
and wait for Mr. Terrell to give introductions. He is vigorously rubbing his
arms to warm them, dressed in only a sweatshirt. The ragged man and child seem
more tolerant to the wintery morning chill. Mr. Terrell dismisses my
greeting—with borderline rudeness—and sends me for Aunty. I reluctantly head
upstairs to see if she's up yet.
After knocking
on her door several times and getting no answer, I tiptoe into her room—my
concern growing. It takes me a full minute of gently shaking her and saying her
name to rouse her. That minute is a telling one for me. Something is wrong with
Aunty. I can't deny it anymore. It's not just her age or over activity. Her
skin is sallow and her hair looks flat and thin and I notice there is a lot of
hair on the pillows of her bed.
She's losing her
hair.
She looks so
frail and when she finally opens her eyes, I feel like she doesn't even know me
at first. She blinks a few times and her mouth hangs open as she takes a few
moist shallow breaths.
Then, finally,
she asks, "Is something wrong, Ivy?"
"I'm sorry
to wake you Aunty but Mr. Terrell is here with a man and a little girl. I don't
recognize either of them. He told me to go get you. They are waiting in the
parlor." I pause when she doesn't immediately say something and I ask,
"Would you like me to tell him you aren't feeling well?"
I know she'll
swing her legs out of bed and argue with me that she's fine. But then, she
doesn't. She just nods her head and closes her eyes again. I don't care about
Marcus Terrell waiting downstairs anymore. I don't care who the people are who
are with him. I am terrified for Aunty and for myself. Something is really
wrong.
"Aunty,"
I shake her shoulder gently again.
She slowly opens
her eyes again and whispers, "Yes, dear."
"Aunty,
something is wrong isn't it? Should I go get the Doctor? Please tell me what's
wrong. This isn't
LS,
it's something else isn't
it?" My words squeak with fear and worry and I feel tears on my cheeks.
"Take care
of—" she heaves a long breath,"—the
guests
dear." Her speech is slow and quiet. "When you have them settled,
come back to me—and we'll talk." She closes her eyes and after a long
pause she adds, "Don't bother Hale. I'm fine for now."
Fine
for now.
She's not fine. I've been watching it happen and hoping it was
nothing and now my worst fears are realized and something is very wrong. I
don't want to leave her side
now,
I just want to sit
with her. But she asked me to go take care of the guests. I don't want her to
open her eyes and worry that I'm not handling things here. So I slip out of her
room and wipe the tears from my eyes.
I try to mask my
feelings in the quick minute it takes for me to rejoin the guests downstairs.
"I'm sorry. Aunty is not feeling well this morning. She needs rest and she
asked me to care for you," I say with a confidence that I don't genuinely
feel.
Mr. Terrell
looks disappointed. But he recovers and decides to settle for me.
"This is
Mr.
Ialongo
."
"Jack,"
the man says, offering me his hand to shake.
"Hi. I'm
Ivy. I think we've met before actually."
He's one of the
missionaries and I have seen him several times over the years but I never
would've recognized him. He's lost a lot of weight, he's all skin and bones,
and his beard and long hair hide most of his face. Even his eyebrows seem to
have joined the rebellion, sprouting off in crazy directions. If I remember
right, he was a clean shaven, clean cut kind of guy. This half-starved Mountain
Man before me bears no resemblance to the young man he used to be.
"This is
Rosa," the Mountain Man Jack says sweetly, squatting down to eye level
with the tiny girl and pushing jet black straggly bangs out of her eyes.
"Hi
Rosa," I say in a sweet little kid voice.
Carmel skinned Rosa
buries her head in her tattered shirt sleeve and doesn't respond. She's wearing
a mismatched collection of stained
rags,
the jury is
out on whether they were ever clothes to begin with. Even if they were clothing
at one point, they were never her size.
"She's had
it rough," Jack says in her defense. No other explanation is forthcoming
and we all just stand there staring at her for a few awkward moments.
"Do you
have a room ready for them?" Mr. Terrell asks somewhat impatiently,
reminding me of my job and making me feel like I'm not a very good hostess.
That man can really get on my nerves.
"Yes of
course. We have a nice room with two twin beds, will that work?"
"A bed of
any kind sounds amazing," says the Mountain Man.
"Follow me,
the rooms are upstairs."
"I'll leave
you in Ivy's capable care," says Mr. Terrell, dismissing himself.
That was almost
a vote of confidence.
"We'll see
you tomorrow morning," Mr. Terrell says as he goes out the front door
mumbling something about misplacing a perfectly good coat.
I take the
Mountain Man and his little shadow upstairs to guest room number four. It's one
of our prettiest rooms. The walls are dark blue with
a blue
and white stripped wallpaper running around the top near the ceiling. A
beautiful fireplace fills one wall and I hurry over to light the logs that have
been waiting for the next guest. The kindling catches with one match and Rosa's
dark brown eyes light up with the
orangy
glow. I
light the lamps as well and the room fills with light and warmth. Considering
how bad everything is out there, beyond the gates, our little Inn is a
beautiful haven to all who stay within her walls. Days gone by come alive in
the old fixtures and plush
victorian
carpets and you can forget for awhile that the world is almost over.
"Look,
Rosa," I say as I show them their bathroom with
it's
deep porcelain claw-foot bathtub, "You can
go for a swim in there!"
She peers around
Jack's legs and takes the tub in with a quick glance.
"This is
just wonderful," Jack says appreciatively gesturing towards the room and
it's
two separate beds. "I'm not her father, I rescued
her."
He doesn't say
from what or who.
"I wouldn't
feel right giving her a bath. I hate to be a bother, I'm sure you're very busy,
but if you had time to help me bathe her—that would be more appropriate. Maybe
you know where I could find her some clothes too?"
"Of
course.
I would love to. How long have you had her?"
"About two
weeks.
Two very stressful, cold, challenging weeks.
I
took her from a butcher outside of Atlanta." He says with a piercing
stare, as though willing me to understand what he's implying so that he doesn't
have to say it out loud in front of Rosa.
My legs go weak
and I
stumble
a step backwards, both from shock and
the sudden anger clouding the Mountain Man's dark eyes. The missionary Ben just
told us about this. This sweet little innocent was to be butchered and eaten.
My eyes swim with tears and I give a small nod to show him I understand. He
nods back curtly.
Now his voice
carries the anger I saw in his eyes, "She's an innocent, not a convert.
Still too young to have the disease but not old enough to
understand Life.
We don't normally take children, but—I couldn't leave
her there! Not when I could save her." He looks out the window, the light of
dawn finally showing in the distance, and his voice turns genteel and mannerly
again,
"
So, we've been camping out and making our
way from Atlanta, trying to avoid any contact with them. I've asked Marcus to
find a good home for her, so I'm sure she won't be staying here for more than a
day or two. I'd appreciate any help you can give me. I'm not very good at
little girls."
"I'll help
anyway I can. Just let me know what you need. For now, I'll let you rest and
get settled. I'll go make us all some breakfast. After breakfast maybe we can
see if Rosa would like to try out that big tub," I say with a smile at the
girl.
"Thank
you," Mountain Man Jack says collapsing onto one of the beds, his filthy
clothes leaving indelible marks on the pretty white antique bedspread. I sigh
to myself and pull the door shut.
I hurry down the
hall to Aunty after leaving Jack and Rosa. She is still sleeping and doesn't
stir when I come in her room. It's almost 7:30 a.m. now and she is normally up
by 6:00
everyday
. Her breathing sounds strange and
thin to me. I don't know what to listen for, but everything about the way she
looks and the way she is sleeping looks to me like someone on their deathbed. I
sit next to her and cry quietly, she still doesn't wake.
I pet her face
and hair and pray for her. I beg The Lord to heal her. I know He can. I believe
with all my heart that He can. He has healed all of us from
LS,
His healing power is still at work more than ever in these last days. Healing
is a miracle that the old church saw only on occasion. But we, His last church,
see it every day when we look in the mirror. It is almost a commonplace thing
to us. God heals. End of story. I am going to believe in that healing for
Aunty. I'm not going to panic, not going to accept "no" for an
answer.
"Lord,
please do your thing," I ask with my hands laid on her. "Restore her
please? I need her." I'm crying now.
Begging Him.
"I have lost so much, please don't take her away. I'll be all
alone."
I lay my hand
against her
face,
she doesn't feel warm or fevered. I
don't think this is a bug or a virus. She looks like a shell of herself.
Old and weak and small under her covers.
She is still
sleeping and I know I have to go cook breakfast. I have to keep things going
around here.
Pretty soon she'll be
better. God will hear me.
I brush the
tears from my eyes and try to think positively. I don't want to have to explain
why none of the guests are fed and the house is falling apart. I smile at the
thought of another lecture from her. I would die if I never heard another Aunty
speech.