most convenient ways, but they suit us. We leave people to live their lives the way they want and we want to live ours the same.” He shrugged. “Hell, Ned, I’m supposed to be the Harvest Lord, and I’m not sure I understand it all myself. All I know is it’s what I’ve been taught. And it’s been fine for me. I’m a lucky fellow. I told them after you went home-you acted the way you did because you don’t understand yet.”
“Understand what?”
He regarded me quizzically for a moment, then glanced over at the cornfield, to the spot where I had discovered the doll. “Well-now don’t get me wrong-but a fellow oughtn’t to go around snaffling pieces out of a friend’s cornfield. Some things are meant for a purpose, y’know.”
I felt the flush of embarrassment at my theft of the corn doll being thus revealed. Who had known besides Worthy? Who had seen me? “I’m sorry, Justin, I didn’t realize-”
“That’s what I mean. I know you didn’t. Don’t worry, the crops are safe in. See-it’s the way we’re born. We can’t help ourselves. It’s all of our ancestors, all the way back.”
“What was it-that little doll?”
“A man has to eat,” he said in a penetrating tone. “His food comes from the earth. And the earth must be thanked.”
“How?”
“It must be reverenced.”
“With corn gods?”
His eyes held mine in a level gaze for a moment; then they took on a puckish gleam. “Did you figure out who it was- that night?”
“In the field? No-”
“We must learn to discover what is possible.”
I heard him, yet I was miles away; not miles, but as far as Soakes’s Lonesome, on the Widow’s mushroom hunt.
“Did you like the little ‘experience’?”
—
“The music? The little cask? Your friends?”
—
Justin’s eyes now held a smile. “Is it such an enigma? Such a sphinx? Come on, Ned, a fellow as smart as you-”
I was trying to put it together. “It was you, then?”
He laughed again, a deep, rumbling laugh. “Not me. I’m no actor. I told you, we went to the movies. And I didn’t mean him, I meant the lady.”
I was mentally stumbling, trying to make the connection, to grasp on to the reality forming in my mind. The doll in Justin’s field-the veiled figure below our meadow. “You mean they’re the same?”
“There is only one.”
“Who?”
His expression sobered. “She’s been a riddle for a long time. We thought sure you’d get it.”
“Not the Corn Maiden.”
“No.”
“Then-”
“She is very old.”
…
Suddenly I saw. Saw clearly. I knew now who she was: the sphinx unveiled. “I-” Fumbling for words.
“-didn’t know. ‘Course you didn’t. Now you do.” He nodded, his amusement gone. “Now you do,” he repeated. “She’s our Mother. The Mother Worthy Pettinger cursed.”
“You worship something called the Mother? Mother-” He was waiting for the last word; I supplied it: “Earth.”
He made an equivocal gesture with one hand. “She is- paid homage.” If I had watched closely, he went on, I had seen it all in the Corn Play. This was not merely a play, but the enactment of a belief-namely, that the renewal of life is the natural counterpart of the sexual union of the Harvest Lord with a spirit of growth, a goddess of fertility. No, the Corn Maiden was not the Mother, but one acting in her place.
“Fertility is the important thing to us here. Death is a terrible thing. But for us barrenness is worse. If you’re a farmer, that’s about the worst thing that can happen to you. In the play, if the corn sprouts in due season, it’s because the Earth Mother has been impregnated, and was caused to bear.”
“Christ, Justin-fertility rites?”
“If you like.” Again a gentle smile. “But what is to stop people from believing? There are stranger beliefs in this world. Ours is very simple. And it keeps us from-” He paused, gravely looked off at the annihilated cornfield.
“From what?”
“From being afraid. We fear only one thing, that something should interfere or change the cycle.”
“Which cycle?”
“Of life. Of living things, of the seasons. Of the natural order of things. The Eternal Return.” He spoke simply but earnestly, with a depth of conviction I found it difficult to fault.
“But they go to church on Sunday and sing hymns, like everyone else in the land.”
“Is everyone like everyone else in the land? I don’t think a Cornishman would agree with that. Being different’s part of our heritage. Personally, I’m proud of it.” It was not arrogance I read in his face, but a realization of himself, of what he stood for in the eyes of the villagers, and his responsibility to them. They had honored him; he would not fail them. “If you have questions, take them to the Widow Fortune,” he said kindly. “And,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “as you hope for tolerance from the villagers, so they must hope for tolerance from you.”
“What about tolerance for Worthy?”
“What d’you mean?”
“Simply that it doesn’t seem to me that anyone’s taking into account what he wants for himself.”
“I don’t know if Mr. Deming will want to take that into account. Worthy understands.”
“Understands what?”
“What he’s supposed to do. Mr. Deming does not consider that the honor’s to be taken lightly. Nor do the rest of the villagers.”
I started to pretest; he moved toward me, putting his hand on my shoulder. Even in his casualness, he gave me the feeling he was exercising all his influence, cautioning me not to behave rashly, trying to protect me from my own ignorance. That in some unspoken way he was to be trusted, that he of himself could control the situation.
“I understand. It’s natural to doubt. Not to believe. But give it time.”
Who was I to try to solve mysteries that had been insoluble for the ages. Napoleon, trying to solve the riddle of the sphinx. I would give it time-for now.
When Justin went back to work, I stowed my painting gear in the car, then drove over to the Pettinger farm. No one answered my knock at the back door; the barn was closed, the place deserted. As I left, I glimpsed Worthy’s mother at an upstairs window; she made no sign.
Beth passed me going in the opposite direction, toward the bridge. She waved, then sped on without stopping, and I wondered where she was hurrying to. Returning to Penrose Lane, I stopped next door to speak with Maggie. I rang the bell; she answered, kissing me warmly and pressing my hand.
“Hi,
“She said she had an appointment somewhere, then she wanted to look at wallpapers for the new nursery.
