Pilgrimage

"That's what I thought." Lea drew a quavering breath.
"Right now it's all gone away, as though it had never been, but I'm still nowhere and going nowhere. Just waiting. And if I wait long enough it'll come back again, that I know. Karen, what can I do to-not to be where I am now when it comes back?"
"You're beginning to work at it now," Karen said. "And if it does come back we're here to help. It will never be so impenetrable again."
"How could it be?" Lea murmured. "How could I have gone through anything as black as that and survived-or ever do it again?"
Lea lay back with a sigh. Then, sleepily, "Karen?"
"Yes?"
"Who was that down at the pool?"
"Don't you know?" Karen's voice smiled. "Have you looked around at all?"
"What good would it do? I can't remember what he looked like. It's been so long since I've noticed anything-and then the blackness-But he brought me back to the house, didn't he? You must have seen him-"
"Must I?" Karen teased. "Maybe we could arrange to have him carry you again. "Arms remember when eyes forget.' "
"'There's something wrong with that quotation," Lea said drowsily, "'But I'll skip it for now."
It seemed to Lea that she had just slipped under the edge of sleep when she heard Karen.
"What!" Karen cried. "Right now? Not tomorrow?"
"Karen!" Lea called, groping in the darkness for the light switch. "What's the matter?"
"The matter!" Karen laughed and shot through the window, turning and tumbling ecstatically in midair.
"Nothing's the matter! Oh, Lea, come and be joyful!" She grabbed Lea's hands and pulled her up from the bed.
"Not Karen! No!" Lea cried as her bare feet curled themselves away from the empty air that seemed to lick at them.
"Put me down!" Terror sharpened her voice.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Karen said, releasing her to plump gently down on her bed. She herself flashed again across the room and back in a froth of nightgowny ruffles. "Oh, be joyful! Be joyful unto the Lord!"
"What is it!" Lea cried, suddenly afraid, afraid of anything that might change things as they were. The vast emptiness began to cave away inside her. The blackness was a cloud the size of a man's hand on the far horizon.
"It's Valancy!" Karen cried, shooting away back through the window. "I have to get dressed! The baby's here!"
"The baby!" Lea was bewildered. "What baby?"
"Is there any other baby?" Karen's voice floated back, muffled. "'Valancy and Jemmy's. It's here! I'm an aunt! Oh, dear, now I'm well on the way to becoming an ancestress. I thought they would never get around to it. It's a girl! At least Jemmy says he thinks it's a girl. He's so excited that it could be both, or even triplets! Well, as soon as Valancy gets back-" She walked back through the door, brushing her hair briskly.
"What hospital did she go to?" Lea asked. "Isn't this pretty isolated-"
"Hospital? Oh, none, of course. She's at home."
"But you said when she gets back-"
"Yes. It's a far solemn journey to bring back a new life from the Presence. It takes a while."
"But I didn't even notice!" Lea cried. "Valancy was there tonight and I don't remember-"
"But then you haven't been noticing much of anything for a long time," Karen said gently.
"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."