?God.? He was truly stunned. ?You care!?
?Damn right. And if
?I don?t fear his arrival. Only
?
?You!?? he exclaimed softly.
?You?re up high. Over on set seven, whatta you see??
?Fire, I think. Yes.?
?That?s the bed of charcoals, J. C.? I reached out to touch the base of the cross and call softly up along its length to that figure with its head raised. ?And the night almost over and the boat pulling in to the shore after the miracle of the fish, and Simon called Peter moving along the sand with Thomas, and Mark, and Luke and all the rest to the bed of baking fish. The??
??Supper after the Last Supper,? murmured J. C., high against the autumn constellations. I could see Orion?s shoulder over his shoulder. ?You
He stirred. I pursued quietly: ?And
?Can?t be done,? murmured J. C.
?Listen.?
And I said:
?When it is time for the Going Away, Christ touches each of his disciples and then walks up along the shore, away from the camera. Set your camera low in the sand, and it looks as if he were climbing a long slow hill. And as the sun rises, and Christ moves off toward the horizon, the sand burns with illusion. Like highways or deserts, where the air dissolves in mirages, imaginary cities rise and fall. Well, when Christ has almost reached the top of a dune of sand, the air vibrates with heat. His shape melts into the atoms. And Christ has gone. The footprints he left in the sand blow away in the wind. That?s your second Ascension following the Supper after the Last Supper. The disciples weep and move off to all the cities of the world, to preach forgiveness of sin. And as the new day begins,
I waited, listening to my own breath and heart.
J. C. waited, also, and at last said, with wonder, softly, ?I?m coming down.?
42
There was a vast glare from the waiting outdoor set ahead, where the extras, the bed of fish baking on charcoals, and Mad Fritz were waiting.
A woman stood in the mouth of the alley as J. C. and I approached. She was silhouetted against the light, only a dark shape.
Seeing us, she ran forward, then stopped when she saw J. C.
?Good gravy,? said J. C. ?It?s that Rattigan woman!?
Constance?s eyes glanced from J. C. to me and back again, almost wildly.
?What do I do now?? she said.
?What??
?It?s been such a crazy night. Crying an hour ago at a terrible photo, and now?? she stared at J. C. and her eyes flowed freely??having wanted to meet you all my life. And here you are.?
The weight of her words caused her to sink slowly to her knees. ?Bless me, Jesus,? she whispered.
J. C. reared back as if summoning the dead from their shrouds. ?Get up, woman!? he cried.
?Bless me, Jesus,? Constance said. And then, almost to herself, ?Oh, Lord, I?m seven again and in my white first communion dress and it?s Easter Sunday and the world is good just before the world got bad.?
?Get up, young woman,? said J. C. quieter.
But she did not move and closed her eyes, waiting.
Her lips pantomimed, Bless me.
And at last J. C. reached out slowly, forced to accept and gently accepting, to put his hand on the top of her head. The gentle pressure forced more tears from her eyes, and her mouth quivered. Her hands flew up to hold and keep his touch on her head a moment more.
?Child,? said J. C. quietly, ?you are blessed.?
And looking at Constance Rattigan kneeling there, I thought, Oh, the ironies of this lost world. Catholic guilt plus actor?s flamboyance.
Constance rose and, eyes still half shut, turned toward the light and moved toward the waiting bed of glowing charcoals.
We could but follow.
A crowd was gathered. All the extras who had appeared in other scenes earlier that night, plus studio executives and hangers-on. As we approached, Constance moved aside with the grace of someone who had just lost forty pounds. I wondered how long she would remain a little girl.
But now I saw, stepping into the light, across the open-air set, beyond the charcoal pit, Manny Leiber, Doc Phillips, and Groc.
