“But anything as obvious as that!” Lea protested.
“Fact remains, the baby’s here and it’s Valancy’s-with a little co-operation from Jemmy-and she didn’t carry it around in a knitting bag!
“Okay, Jemmy, I’m coming. Hold the fort!” She flashed, feet free of the floor, out the door, her hairbrush hovering forlornly, forgotten, in midair, until it finally drifted slowly out the door to the hall.
Lea huddled on the tumbled bed. A baby. A new life. “I had forgotten,” she thought. “Birth and death have still been going on. The world is still out there, wagging along as usual. I thought it had stopped. It had stopped for me. I lost winter. I lost spring. It must be summer now. Just think! Just think! There are people who found all my black days full of joyful anticipation-bright jewels slipping off the thread of time! And I’ve been going around and around like a donkey dragging a weight around a stake, winding myself tighter and tighter-” She straightened suddenly on the bed, spread-eagling out of her tight huddle. The darkness poured like a heavy flood in through the door-down from the ceiling-up from the floor.
“Karen!” she cried, feeling herself caught up to be crammed back into the boundaryless nothingness of herself again.
“No!” she gritted through her teeth. “Not this time!” She turned face down on the bed, clutching the pillow tightly with both hands. “Give me strength! Give me strength!” With an effort, almost physical, she turned her thoughts. “The baby-a new baby-crying. Do babies of the People cry? They must, having to leave the Presence for Earth. The baby-tiny fists clenched tightly, eyes clenched tightly shut. All powder and flannel and tiny curling feet. I can hold her. Tomorrow I can hold her. And feel the continuity of life-the eternal coming of God into the world. Rockabye baby. Sleep, baby, sleep. Thy Father watches His sheep. A new baby-tiny red fingers to curl around my finger. A baby-Valancy’s baby-“
And by the time dawn arrived Lea was sleeping, her face smoothing out from the agony of the black night. There was almost triumph upon it.
That evening Karen and Lea walked through the gathering twilight to the schoolhouse. The softly crisp evening air was so clear and quiet that voices and far laughter echoed around them.
“Wait, Lea.” Karen was waving to someone. “Here comes Santhy. She’s just learning to lift. Bet her mother doesn’t know she’s still out.” She laughed softly.
Lea watched with wonder as the tiny five-year-old approached them in short abrupt little arcs, her brief skirts flattening and flaring as she lifted and landed.
“She’s using more energy lifting than if she walked,” Karen said softly, “but she’s so proud of herself. Let’s wait for her. She wants us.”
By now Lea could see the grave intent look on Santhy’s face and could almost hear the little grunts as she took off until she finally landed, staggering, against Lea. Lea steadied her, dropping down beside her, holding her gently in the circle of her alms.
“You’re Lea,” Santhy said, smiling shyly.
“Yes,” Lea said. “How did you know?”
“Oh, we all know you. You’re our new God-bless every night.”
“Oh.” Lea was taken aback.
“I brought you something,” Santhy said, her hand clenched in a bulging little pocket. “I saved it from our ‘joicing party for the new baby. I don’t care if you’re an Outsider. I saw you wading in the creek and you’re pretty.” She pulled her hand out of her pocket and deposited on Lea’s palm a softly glowing bluey-green object. “It’s a koomatka,” she whispered. “Don’t let Mama see it. I was s’posed to eat it but I had two-” She spread her arms and lifted up right past Lea’s nose.
“A koomatka,” Lea said, getting up and holding out her hand wonderingly, the glow from it deepening in the dusk.
“Yes,” Karen said. “She really shouldn’t have. It’s forbidden to show to Outsiders, you know.”
“Must I give it back?” Lea asked wistfully. “Can’t I keep it even if I don’t belong?”
Karen looked at her soberly for a moment, then she smiled.
“You can keep it, or eat it, though you probably won’t like it. It tastes like music sounds, you know. But you may have it-even if you don’t belong.”
Lea’s hand closed softly around the koomatka as the two turned toward the schoolhouse. “Speaking of belonging-” Karen said, “it’s Dita’s turn tonight. She knows plenty about belonging and not belonging.”
“I wondered about tonight. I mean not waiting for Valancy-” Lea shielded her eyes against the bright open door as they mounted the steps.
“Oh, she wouldn’t miss it,” Karen said. “She’ll listen in from home.”
They were the last to arrive. Invocation over, Dita was already in the chair behind the desk, her hands folded primly in front of her. “Valancy,” she said, “we’re all here now. Are you ready?”
“Oh, yes.” Lea could feel Valancy’s answer. “Our Baby’s asleep now,”
The group laughed at the capitals in Valancy’s voice.
“You didn’t invent babies,” Dita laughed.
“Hah!” Jemmy’s voice answered triumphantly. “This one we did!’”
Lea looked around the laughing group. “They’re happy!” she thought. “In a world like this they’re happy anyway! What do they have as a touchstone?” She studied the group as Dita began, and under the first flow of Dita’s words she thought, “Maybe this is the answer. Maybe this is the touchstone. When any one of them cries out the others hear-and listen. Not just with their ears but with their hearts. No matter who cries out-someone listens-“
“My theme,” Dita said soberly, “is very brief-but oh, the heartbreak in it. It’s “And your children shall wander in the wilderness.’ ” Her clasped hands tightened on each other.
