Read Online Leaning, Leaning Over Water by Frances Itani - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Frances Itani
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as if they knew in advance exactly what they were going to pray.
I looked straight ahead and then up at the ceiling, where a ribboned banner had been painted onto the arch of the church. I read silently: I was glad when they said unto me. Let us go into the house of the Lord. I thought about being glad. The bells were ringing in the tower and the vibrations shivered through the seat and behind me and above. Before I said a prayer I pictured the street outside, the tiny portion of themain street of Hull. People unknown to me would be pausing and looking up. They would have no way of knowing that I was here inside, listening to the call of the bells. Surrounded by and pulled into the heaviness of oak and deep stone.
Every night I said, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” and prayed for my entire family. “God bless Mother, Father, Lyd, Eddie, Granny Tracks, Uncle Weylin, Aunt Arra and Georgie-Porgie, Grampa King and everyone at the King farm, also the orphans and the poor and my best friend, Mimi.” In church I decided to use the same prayer but this time I left out the Now I lay me part.
After the choir sailed by I cast my attention to the stainedglass window on my right. Jesus was there, the same likeness that was on my Bible cards. The milky glass made Him look as if He were already dead. He was meant to be alive though, because He was beckoning to a circle of little children dressed in cream-coloured tunics. Two of the disciples were trying to turn the children away but this did not please Him. The words in the window read: Suffer the little children to come unto me. Not one of the children with cropped black hair looked anything like any child Yd ever seen, in St. Pierre or in Hull.
Mimi had brought licorice pipes to the boat and we sucked on these while we pushed each other back and forth. I knew that nothing I could conjure would ever compete with Mimi’s Catholic underworld—peopled with sinners and confessors and the constant threat of terror. Her sisters, she told me, had always made things up when they went to confession so they’d have something to tell the priest. Except for the time they’d put on new brassieres and walked to the corner busstop and paraded past the driver when he had to turn the empty bus around and head back to Hull. “The driver’s face was beet red,” they told Mimi. That time, they’d all confessed the truth to the priest.
In my church, the Anglicans I’d watched that morning—except for a girl who had one brown eye and one blue—were insipid by comparison. I had stared into the face of the girl with the mismatched eyes so I could tell Mimi about her, later.
“In my family, everyone has hazel eyes,” Mimi said now. “Every single one. They aren’t green and they aren’t blue. They’re somewhere in between. Except Bee-Bee,” she said. “But he’s not part of our real family. Anyway, he’s gone again.”
Bee-Bee had disappeared for weeks and then turned up and moved back into her mother’s bedroom. Pierrette had been furious that their mother had taken him back. I had not visited when Bee-Bee was there; Mimi had come to my house, or we’d waited until the coast was clear. Mother didn’t seem to notice that we were hanging around our place more. Now Bee-Bee was gone again.
“I know a song about the Sisters,” Mimi said. “I can teach you in English and French. We call it ‘Back of My Auntie’s House.’”
If you become a nun,
Nun in a convent ground,
I’ll turn to preacher then
And preaching will you hound.
Si tu te mets prêcheur
Pour m’avoir en prêchant,
Je me donn’rai à toi
Puisque tu m’aimes tant!
I spotted a flash in the water and dug in the oar to steady the boat. I handed the oar to Mimi. “Hold it there,” I said. “I see something.” I shoved a rock aside and lifted my prize from the river.
I shook the water from a string of brown and bloated chunky beads from which a tiny cross hung straight down. It was the first rosary I’d ever
I looked straight ahead and then up at the ceiling, where a ribboned banner had been painted onto the arch of the church. I read silently: I was glad when they said unto me. Let us go into the house of the Lord. I thought about being glad. The bells were ringing in the tower and the vibrations shivered through the seat and behind me and above. Before I said a prayer I pictured the street outside, the tiny portion of themain street of Hull. People unknown to me would be pausing and looking up. They would have no way of knowing that I was here inside, listening to the call of the bells. Surrounded by and pulled into the heaviness of oak and deep stone.
Every night I said, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” and prayed for my entire family. “God bless Mother, Father, Lyd, Eddie, Granny Tracks, Uncle Weylin, Aunt Arra and Georgie-Porgie, Grampa King and everyone at the King farm, also the orphans and the poor and my best friend, Mimi.” In church I decided to use the same prayer but this time I left out the Now I lay me part.
After the choir sailed by I cast my attention to the stainedglass window on my right. Jesus was there, the same likeness that was on my Bible cards. The milky glass made Him look as if He were already dead. He was meant to be alive though, because He was beckoning to a circle of little children dressed in cream-coloured tunics. Two of the disciples were trying to turn the children away but this did not please Him. The words in the window read: Suffer the little children to come unto me. Not one of the children with cropped black hair looked anything like any child Yd ever seen, in St. Pierre or in Hull.
Mimi had brought licorice pipes to the boat and we sucked on these while we pushed each other back and forth. I knew that nothing I could conjure would ever compete with Mimi’s Catholic underworld—peopled with sinners and confessors and the constant threat of terror. Her sisters, she told me, had always made things up when they went to confession so they’d have something to tell the priest. Except for the time they’d put on new brassieres and walked to the corner busstop and paraded past the driver when he had to turn the empty bus around and head back to Hull. “The driver’s face was beet red,” they told Mimi. That time, they’d all confessed the truth to the priest.
In my church, the Anglicans I’d watched that morning—except for a girl who had one brown eye and one blue—were insipid by comparison. I had stared into the face of the girl with the mismatched eyes so I could tell Mimi about her, later.
“In my family, everyone has hazel eyes,” Mimi said now. “Every single one. They aren’t green and they aren’t blue. They’re somewhere in between. Except Bee-Bee,” she said. “But he’s not part of our real family. Anyway, he’s gone again.”
Bee-Bee had disappeared for weeks and then turned up and moved back into her mother’s bedroom. Pierrette had been furious that their mother had taken him back. I had not visited when Bee-Bee was there; Mimi had come to my house, or we’d waited until the coast was clear. Mother didn’t seem to notice that we were hanging around our place more. Now Bee-Bee was gone again.
“I know a song about the Sisters,” Mimi said. “I can teach you in English and French. We call it ‘Back of My Auntie’s House.’”
If you become a nun,
Nun in a convent ground,
I’ll turn to preacher then
And preaching will you hound.
Si tu te mets prêcheur
Pour m’avoir en prêchant,
Je me donn’rai à toi
Puisque tu m’aimes tant!
I spotted a flash in the water and dug in the oar to steady the boat. I handed the oar to Mimi. “Hold it there,” I said. “I see something.” I shoved a rock aside and lifted my prize from the river.
I shook the water from a string of brown and bloated chunky beads from which a tiny cross hung straight down. It was the first rosary I’d ever
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