Marilynne Robinson - Lila

She shrugged. “It’s just old Doll. That’s what it comes down to.”

“I see.”

She said, “You know that part where it says, ‘I saw you weltering in your blood’? Who is that talking?”

“It’s the Lord. It’s God. And the baby is Israel. Well, Jerusalem. It’s figurative, of course. Ezekiel is full of poetry. Even more than the rest of the Bible. Poetry and parables and visions.”

She knew he’d been wanting to help her with Ezekiel, so much that it made him downright restless. He’d been reading it over, just waiting for this chance to tell her it was poetry. Hardly a man is now alive who remembers that famous day and year. That was practically the only poem she’d ever heard of, so she didn’t really know what to make of the help he wanted to give her. The rude bridge that spanned the flood. “Well, it’s true what he says there. It’s something I know about.”

“Yes. You’re absolutely right. I didn’t mean that it wasn’t true in a deeper sense. Or that it wasn’t describing something real. I didn’t mean that.” He shook his head and laughed. “Oh, Lila, please tell me more.”

She looked at him. “You ask me to talk. Now you’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not! I promise!” He took her hand in both his hands. “I know you have things to tell me, maybe hundreds of things, that I would never have known. Things I would never have understood. Maybe you don’t realize how important it is to me — not to be — well, a fool, I suppose. I’ve struggled with that my whole life. I know it’s what I am and what I will be, but when I see some way to understand—”

“Is that why you married me?”

He laughed. “That might have been part of it. Would that bother you?”

“Well, I just don’t know what I’d have to tell you.”

“Neither do I. Everything you tell me surprises me. It’s always interesting.”

“Like that I been missing that knife?”

“I’ll find it for you. First thing tomorrow.”

“That was Doll’s knife.”

He nodded, and he laughed. “Sentimental value.”

She said, “I spose so.”

“Well,” he said, “before I give it back to you, promise me one thing. Promise me you know I would never laugh at you.”

She said, “You laughing at me now.”

“Only in a certain sense.”

“‘A certain sense,’ now what’s that sposed to mean? The way you talk!”

“I only meant—” He looked at her. “Lila Dahl, you’re deviling me!”

She laughed. “Yes, I am.”

“Just sitting there watching me struggle!”

“I do enjoy it.”

“Hmm. That’s good! Because you’ll see a lot of it.”

They laughed.

“But I did mean to ask you something,” she said. “There’s a baby cast out in a field, just thrown away. And it’s God that picks her up. But why would God let somebody throw her out like that in the first place?”

“Oh. That’s difficult. You see, the story is a sort of parable. You know how in the Bible the Lord is spoken of as a shepherd, or the owner of a vineyard, or a father. Here He is just some kindly man who happens to pass by and find this child. In the parable He isn’t God in the sense of having all the power of God.”

“But if God really has all that power, why does He let children get treated so bad? Because they are sometimes. That’s true.”

“I know. I’ve seen it. I’ve wondered about it myself a thousand times. People are always asking me that question. Versions of it. I usually find something to say to them. But I want to do better by you, so you’ll have to give me a little more time. A few days. I don’t really know why I think that will help, but it might.” He touched her hand. “‘Because I love you more than I can say, If I could tell you, I would let you know.’ That’s poetry, but it’s also true. It is.”

“That’s a nice poem.”

“‘The winds must come from somewhere when they blow, There must be reasons why the leaves decay.’ It’s kind of sad, really.”

“I was never one to mind that.”

“Me either, I suppose.” He said, “In my tradition we don’t pray for the dead. But I pray for that woman all the time. Doll. And now I have a name for her. Not that it matters. Except to me.”

“There was a girl named Mellie. She’s probly still alive. And Doane. I don’t know about him.”

“I’ll remember them, too.”

“But it’s Doll I mainly worry about.”

“Yes.”

“Well,” she said, “you keep on praying. It might ease my mind a little.”

And he said, “Thank you, Lila. I’ll do that.”

He sat beside her until the room was dark. She was wondering what he might want to say, and what she might say if she began talking. She was sitting there with her hands folded in the lap of her dress, the Sears dress with flowers on it. There was a little mirror on the wall across from them, bright blue with the evening sky, and there were lace curtains behind them, and the chill of the window, and beyond that trees and fields and the wind. To have a man sitting beside her still felt strange, one she liked and pretty well trusted, but a man just the same, in those plain dark man clothes he never gave a thought to and smelling a little of shaving lotion. There was warmth around him that she could feel though she didn’t touch him. His ring on her hand and his child in her belly. You never do know.

She said, “Now, why would they want to salt a baby?”

“Hmm? I looked that up in the Commentary. It said they did it to make the baby’s flesh firm. Too much salt would make it too firm. That’s Calvin. The way he talks about it, they must still have been doing it in the sixteenth century. Four hundred years ago.”

“I didn’t even know he was dead. Calvin. The way you and Boughton talk about him.”

He laughed. “Well, maybe the old preachers need to reflect on that. But Calvin can be very useful. About salting babies and so on.”

“Does he say anything about why a child would be treated so bad in the first place?”

“Well, he says, basically, that people have to suffer to really recognize grace when it comes. I don’t know quite what to think about that.”

“What about them children nobody ever finds?”

“My question exactly. In fairness to Calvin, he had only one child, and it died in infancy. A little boy. It was a terrible sorrow to him. He knew a lot about sorrow.”

“A baby like that one in the Bible, just born, it wouldn’t feel what it was to have somebody take it up. Or it wouldn’t remember well enough to know the difference. So there wouldn’t be no point in the suffering.”

“That’s true. But this is a parable. God had rescued Israel out of slavery in Egypt, so they would know the difference. Between suffering and grace. Ezekiel talks a good deal about the captivity. In fact, he was writing from the captivity in Babylon, another one. So I see Calvin’s point, if I look at it that way. I mean, the Old Testament does pretty well depend on the idea that Israel would know the meaning of grace, because they had suffered.”

“So God let them suffer in Egypt. And they go on suffering afterward.”

He shrugged. “That seems to have been the case. You know, I wouldn’t mind if you were reading Matthew, along with Ezekiel. Just a suggestion.”

She said, “I’m interested in what I been reading. He talks a lot about whoring. Maybe I’ll read Matthew next.”

He laughed. “Oh, Lila! I could explain about that.” He put his head in his hands. “Not that it’s so easy to explain. I just hope it doesn’t upset you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I got my own thoughts.” Then she said, “By the way, I don’t use that word in front of folks. I know it’s practically cussing. Worse. I tell you, I surely didn’t expect to find it in the Bible. That’s interesting. There’s a lot in there I didn’t expect.”