Victor LaValle - Ecstatic

Nabisase took a pot, boiled water in it then added the tea grounds. Not in a kettle, but a small open topped pot which is the way Grandma and Mom taught us. Next she poured in the milk. After that Nabisase added wedges of ginger. She cut the flame out as the tea bubbled to the rim then it settled to a flat formula. Steam rose as the drink breathed. She poured the tea through a strainer to collect the grains.

They were from her church, but who knew. Neither spoke of their Lord for half an hour. Eventually the conversation came around to Nabisase’s television appearance. They took so long to bring it up that they must have planned exactly how to talk about it.

— And when we realized that was you we almost fell over.

Merril, the bigger of the two said, — That’s right. She’s not lying. Mrs. Hubbard told us. She had you on tape! You looked so nice.

— I want to get a copy, my sister said.

— We could do that for you.

Devona said, — So many people at the church wanted to meet you after we told them.

My sister asked, — Really?

— I’m talking about the kids your age. They wanted to listen to you. I mean, you’ve been on television. You could reach so many people.

Of the pair Merril was more serious-minded. Devona kept getting up to look at framed family photos on the entertainment unit. She’d ask who each person was. When those explanations were exhausted she couldn’t remain polite any longer. — What is that? she finally asked.

— Devona!

— I’m sorry, but I want to know.

— My mother made it, Nabisase said. It was a statue of Sidney Poitier that got broken.

— I wish we could have met her, Devona said.

Nabisase rubbed her solar plexus. — I don’t know. You might still.

I stopped crouching, stood, behind the door. Like that I could see that Nabisase had collected all those pieces she’d smashed when I opened Mom’s bedroom.

They were in a small orange flowerpot. Enough fragments to reach the rim. The only piece that had stayed recognizably facial was Mr. Poitier’s flat round nose. She’d set the nostrils on top of the pebbles and then put it out on the living room table. She must have done it today, after the movie. From where I was it looked like she was growing a person.

Devona touched the pot at the bottom. — I can see the nose looks nice.

— It was so good-looking before it fell, my sister said.

Nice! As in well done. This almost made me flop backward down the stairs. I thought she was lying, joking, deranged, but my sister’s wistful whisper suggested that she now remembered it that way. I imagined her telling Ledric: My mother was such a great artist. And believing.

After an hour of somber conversation Devona would have jumped through the big front window if she could have. As Merril and my sister were becoming even closer, Devona lost interest. She pushed her seat farther and farther from the table.

Merril said, — Let’s be straight now, Nabisase. What made you call us tonight?

My sister cried into her chest. Tears brought Devona back.

— I don’t want to hate anyone, my sister whispered. But I feel like I do.

Merril finished her tea, only a sip or two.

It gave Nabisase some time to shake before Merril went down the girl’s throat with compassion. Grandma could be heard in her bedroom, but her actions sounded like small ones. I doubt she wanted to hop out here and talk.

Nabisase said, — I remember when the church helped Ms. Petit find a place to live when she wanted to take her kids and leave her husband.

Devona nodded.

Merril tapped the tabletop firmly. — People know who you are now. I bet it’s them who would feel lucky to have a TV star staying in their places. They’d tell all their friends!

Nabisase laughed along as well.

— We want to help, Merril said.

Merril put on her glasses when they were reading Scripture; even Devona clowned less. I crouched on the other side of the door. Nabisase said, — I know a lot of people say this, but if I only ever got to ask Selwyn one question I would want to know why he made some of the people in my family get so sick.

— Is that the only question you’ve got for Him? Merril asked. If that’s true then, baby-girl, you’re lucky.

It was the only time I saw Merril get angry; it revealed her to me if not my sister. A woman in her fifties coming to aid a pretty teenage girl who, by some luck, had been featured on a national television show. A little wackiness in one’s family probably didn’t seem like much pain.

Merril said, — We learn to read the whole Bible, not just the parts that make us feel good.

— Selwyn had brothers, Nabisase said.

— Mark tells us so, Merril agreed.

— I was scared when I read that because I never thought of it before.

Merril said, — Maybe you heard of the Bible, but never really learned it.

— It’s easier that way, my sister said.

— That’s why so many people only come in on holidays.

— I don’t want to be one of those. Nabisase had both hands open, faced down on the table. I want Jesus’ protection.

Even now Devona was impatient and turned from their Bible to ask what is this? — A map of Uganda as a dinner mat, my sister explained.

And this?

— Look at it, Nabisase said.

Devona opened my book and read:

— Gather.

Wishing to return a long dead mystic to life Jimmy Larson begins raiding the local morgue because he’s learned of a scientific process by which a fresh cerebral cortex can be siphoned of its vitality, which becomes a purple paste. Enough of it, when injected into a corpse, can bring back the dead.

Devona said, — What the fuck?

— Devona!

— I’m sorry Merril, but that’s just odd.

Devona looked at a few other pages. — Killing Is My Business? I watch scary movies with both my boys and I never heard of these.

Merril slammed the book’s cover closed so hard that I winced. — Can we get back to the important business? There’s only one thing on this table that matters to me.

Devona said, — Okay Merril, don’t act high post. You almost broke my finger.

Merril said, — There’s a lot to learn, Nabisase. You should read the Word for moral guidance. It’s the power of Jesus. But you’ll see that when we read about Abraham of Ur. How he traveled to Canaan and in Egypt. You’ll find out that this isn’t just about one man, it’s the development of a whole people. Their arms eventually stretched so wide that they found you and I. Today. Right here. They hold us close to their bosom. The book becomes a record of ourselves.

Wish that Ishkabibble had been my best friend when he quoted me the cost of publishing two hundred and ninety-nine more copies of my encyclopedia. Or that he’d named this price before sitting me down that day in Brookville Park with the formalized pages in my hands. Before my Thermite gladness. Previous to letting me walk around owning it for two days. In advance of my loving it.

— Five thousand dollars is the sweetheart price, he insisted on the phone.

It was November 26th and Nabisase had gone with Merril and Devona. Not permanently, just for Sunday morning service. They left the night before and came back at 8:00 AM. Then left again, together, at noon.

Have you ever held your own book? I’d like to pretend it’s nothing, but I’m not in a self-deprecating mood.

— You’ve printed all three hundred copies already? As I asked I poured Grandma’s tea, then brought it to the living room couch.

— And trust you to repay a bill that big? You pay, Anthony, and I print.

— How do I know you won’t just make a few thousand copies of it first and get rich off of my work? Maybe you could sign an affidavit that you won’t cheat me.