Ann-Marie MacDonald - Fall on Your Knees

Frances rattles, “The-sheet-is-slit-who-slit-the-sheet-whoever-slit-the-sheet-is-a-good-sheet-slitter. Say it fast, Lily.”

“Frances, it’s time to go to bed.” Mercedes tries to sound calm and bossy at the same time.

“Piss on you, sister.” Frances laughs.

Occasionally, if she’s feeling up to it and Frances is sufficiently intoxicated, Mercedes will seize her round the waist, carry her to the waiting tub and bathe her forcibly, uniform and all. Otherwise Frances would not be fit to live with, for she only ever washes her face and hands. And she never washes her uniform. Mercedes rifles the Guide pouch in search of soiled hankies but finds only a dirty white glove.

“Where’s your other glove, Frances?”

“I only use one.”

“Oh. Well, it may as well be clean.”

Mercedes wrings it under the hot water, asking, “Isn’t it rather small for you now?”

“It does the trick.”

Mercedes does not enquire further.

On relatively sober evenings, Frances curls up next to Lily and whispers whiskey in her ear: “Lily. We are the dead” — Lily pretends to be asleep — “except we don’t know it. We think we’re alive, but we’re not. We all died the same time as Kathleen and we’ve been haunting the house ever since.” Lily prays for everyone, in case Frances is right.

On quite sober evenings, Lily confides her fears.

“Frances, do I have to go to Lourdes?”

“No. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Lily tucks her little foot between Frances’s ankles.

“Frances. Al akbar inshallah?”

“In fallah inti itsy-bitsy spider.”

“Ya koosa gingerbread boy kibbeh?”

“Shalom bi’ salami.”

“Aladdin bi’ sesame.”

“Bezella ya aini Beirut.”

“Te’ berini.”

“Te’ berini.”

“Tipperary.”

Every night, pissed or stone sober, Frances puts her money in the secret place for Lily.

Mercedes graduates top of the class of 1930. Ralph Luvovitz is second. Mercedes gives the valedictory address, in which she urges her fellow young citizens to learn from the mistakes of the past, to seize the numerous challenges of the present and to put their trust in God and His only begotten Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

James sits near the back of the auditorium with Lily and the Luvovitzes. It’s inadvisable for Frances to be seen near the school premises, so she is absent this evening, although earlier in the day Mercedes entered her bedroom to find a new boxed set of Moroccan-bound The Complete Charlotte Brontë on her dresser. Oh, Frances! The expense. The dubious source of the requisite funds. The generosity. Mercedes cried and hugged Frances and told her she loved her. Frances told Mercedes not to leak all over her uniform.

After the commencement ceremonies, Mercedes, Lily and James repair to the Luvovitz house for tea. Lily wonders again, but does not ask, why all the mirrors are always covered in Mrs Luv’s house. Mercedes and Ralph play happy-sad Klesmer music on piano and clarinet while Mr Luvovitz sings and dances to the delighted embarrassment of Mrs Luvovitz.

As Mercedes’ and Ralph’s heads incline closer over the old Yiddish songbook, Mr and Mrs L exchange complicated looks across the parlour. James doesn’t notice — he simply enjoys the music, unaccustomedly relaxed. A civilized evening with old friends. We should do this more often. He savours a feeling of normalcy for the first time in years. In the increasing absence of Frances, it has become possible for James, now and then, to feel like a good man.

“Have another ruggalech , James.”

“Thank you, Ben, don’t mind if I do. They’re delicious, missus.”

Ralph escorts them home and lingers on the veranda with Mercedes. He tells her he is going away. Not for good. They can write.

“Promise me you’ll write, Mercedes.”

“Of course I will, Ralph.”

His parents have scrimped and saved to send him to McGill University in Montreal.

“I thought you were going to Saint F. X.” Mercedes keeps her voice steady. Saint Frances Xavier University is only a day away by train. It’s where she plans to go. When her family can spare her. But Montreal….

“It’s a great opportunity.”

“Of course it is, Ralph.”

He’s leaving next week, it’s all very sudden. He’s going to live with the Weintraubs, friends of his mother’s relatives who recently emigrated from Munich. They’ve lined up a job for him in a bakery. Ralph is going to be a doctor. He is a scrupulous boy and so does not make any rash proposals of which he is as yet unworthy. He will wait until he has finished his undergraduate degree, then he will ask Mercedes to be his wife.

“Mercedes….”

“Yes, Ralph?”

Mercedes heart beats so rapidly that she fears it has set the ruffles of her yellow silk blouse aflutter. Ralph leans abruptly down and brushes her lips with his own. Then he is away, leaving Mercedes breathless.

Upstairs, she cools her cheek against the scarlet leather of her brand-new edition of Jane Eyre .

Mercedes and Ralph exchange fervid newsy letters all that summer and through the fall. Their correspondence gives Mercedes strength to endure; to postpone the beginning of her life. She has turned down her scholarship to Saint Frances Xavier University, for how can she think of leaving home when Lily is still a child? Mercedes is so accustomed to doing everything for Daddy’s sake that it seems natural to assign this sacrifice to him as well. But deep down another purpose has been emerging: Frances needs looking after. More than Daddy. More than Lily. What if I were far away at school in Antigonish and Frances didn’t come home one night?

In the meantime, Mercedes is not at a loss for worthwhile work. She has her project: Lily. There have not been any more overt “signs” since the night of Lily’s illness last November. Mercedes does not include — indeed tries not to notice — the reddish highlights that have since appeared in Lily’s hair. And she reminds herself that miracles alone are not sufficient to indicate that special closeness to God which is sainthood; the Life too will be taken into account. To this end, she redoubles her charitable efforts with Lily in tow.

The abundance of free time on Mercedes’ hands now that she is no longer at school dwindles to a pittance once she has scheduled the needs of her community. She learns a valuable lesson: if you think you are good, just try doing good. You’ll soon find out how inadequate your little drop of goodness is. Especially in a mining town. Especially in the Depression.

Mercedes bends with grim determination to her mission — if it were enjoyable to immerse oneself in the malodorous misery of the less fortunate, it could not be counted a sacrifice. Offer it up for the poor souls in purgatory. And remember, time is of the essence: saints who are revealed in childhood rarely live to adulthood. Lily’s life has already been painful and Mercedes expects it to be short. She prays. Lily need only survive to celebrate her fourteenth birthday. In the Lourdes tin there is almost thirty dollars.

Mercedes has observed Lily’s particular gift with the veterans. On the top floor of the pleasant west wing of New Waterford General Hospital, there live a handful of men whose injuries and lack of family have rendered them permanent residents. Some have no arms or legs. Three were gassed — they are perfectly fine and whole other than their lungs. They sit quietly near the window wearing their oxygen masks till the sun goes down and it’s time to lie perfectly still in their oxygen tents. Their eyes have enlarged and the lines have dropped away from around their mouths behind the masks. They look like big children — maybe that’s why they like to see Lily coming. They are child grown-ups and she is a grown-up child.