intent on killing his wife. He had just found out that she’d betrayed him. Pachysandra planted herself between them and grabbed the knife by the blade.
“Get out of the way,” he shouted, “or I’ll kill you both!”
“You’re not going to kill anyone,” Pachysandra answered.
Tom saw the blood gushing from his mother’s hand and Myrtle, his wife, lying unconscious on the floor.
“Your wife is innocent,” Pachysandra said. “I swear to you on the Holy Bible that an enemy has cooked up these false accusations to destroy you, just as your father was destroyed.”
“My father defended his honor.”
“Your father accepted a liar’s word.”
“Swear!” Tom roared.
“I swear!” she replied.
“On the open Bible?”
“On the open Bible!”
“On my father’s honor?”
“On your father’s honor.”
Pachysandra placed her bloody hand on the Holy Book and swore an oath that she knew to be false.
That night Pachysandra sat in her rocking chair enveloped in darkness. She waited, hoping her punishment would come like a lightning bolt and strike her down on the spot. She waited for the gates of hell to open up and for devils to emerge with glowing tongs to roast her flesh, or for a snake to spring out of the grass, wrap itself around her neck and strangle her. She opened her heart and laid bare her soul to receive the punishment. She was prepared to pay with her own life for saving the life of her son.
Pachysandra closed her eyes. Cool sea breezes caressed her burning face, her bony hands, her bare feet. She drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders; her head sank to her breast. She saw the oleander tree that grew beside the little house, climbing like a ladder toward the vault of heaven. High above, on a lattice of roses, the figures were descending. One, two, three, four women clad in white. They stepped down the ladder and settled on the rungs and the ramp. They were quarreling over a matter she knew well.
“She desecrated God’s word,” said one.
“She conducted herself as a mother would,” replied a second.
“She swore falsely.”
“She saved her daughter-in-law from death and her son from eternal prison.”
“She used God’s word for falsehood.”
“She acted like a mother.”
“We are all mothers.”
“Who can judge a mother’s heart when her only son is being led to the sacrificial altar?”
“My twin sons were not bound for the altar, but I followed the dictates of my heart, not my mind.”
“I bore ten sons and abandoned them all to their own fate.”
Only the fourth one, the youngest, said nothing. She allowed her attendants to smooth out the folds of her white dress. Her head was bent low, and from the trembling of her shoulders it was clear that she was weeping.
To Pachysandra it seemed as if the hot tears of that veiled figure were running down her own face. She forced her eyes open, wanting to hold onto the dream, to run after the esteemed guests and offer them refreshment, perhaps something cold to drink and an ear of roasted corn. She longed to sit at their feet and listen to them argue. She would accept their judgment, whether good or bad. Around her the night was still and empty. She bent down and kissed the steps where the honored visitors had sat.
It was just a dream! a voice whispered, but Pachysandra did not want to hear. Instead, she listened to the rustle that their fine garments left behind in the air, and to the lament of the youngest and most beautiful of them all.
Pachysandra rose as if in a trance and saw that the heavens were parting. She was not surprised. Deep in her soul she knew that this was how it was meant to be. She made no attempt to understand the miracle. From the open heavens, a fiery arm reached out, sowing the vast field of the night sky with stars.
That night, at that moment, a spring burst open and holy words began to gush forth. Entire chapters of the Bible flooded over her. Her lips began to move. Words poured out as if from an overflowing jug. A choir of angels sang along with her.
All night, Pachysandra stood under the open skies. She didn’t see a rainbow, but in the very core of her being she knew that that night she had signed a covenant with the Almighty. She would repeat the words of the Bible all the days of her life. The Bible would be the very essence of her life. Whenever the words welled up, God would protect her, both her and her son Tom.
In the early hours after midnight, the telephone sounds altogether different — or so it seemed to me when the metallic jangle pounced like a thief that night, putting a swift end to my dreams and driving me out of bed. I ran down the long, dark corridor to the dining room and reached for the receiver.
“Yes?” I croaked, half asleep.
I couldn’t catch who was on the line. “Who did you say is speaking?”
“The old age home on Howard Avenue,” the voice said.
I felt for a chair and sat down. The spiders that nest in hidden places had come out into the open, tightening the loose strands of their webs with their thin, hairy legs. I clutched the receiver with both hands.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Lempel?” The feigned politeness was infuriating. I was tempted to ask whether he’d called at two o’clock in the morning just to find out how I was. But my throat closed up.
The voice on the other side of the night spoke again. “I’m sorry to say we have some sad news for you. Your aunt — your aunt, Rokhl Halperin, is no longer among the living.”
The flush that had broken out all over my body turned to a chill, and then I was hot again. With the receiver still at my ear, I opened the window. A cold gust of wind swept over me. A car sped by. In the glow of the headlights I could see it was snowing. The grass around the house was already white.
“Mrs. Lempel?”
“Yes?”
“We’ll be arranging for the funeral first thing in the morning. We’d like you to be here then.”
I waited a moment. “When did it happen?”
“Saturday at five in the afternoon.”
His cool demeanor made me want to scream, curse, draw blood. Why, why had they waited until two o’clock in the morning to call me? Why had they allowed her to die all alone?
“Mrs. Lempel, I can tell you’re upset. I
