MY MOTHER AND THE VIRGIN MARY

                                                           Barbara Ponse

Pamela picked up the box of chocolates from the seat, stepped out of the rental car, locked the door and walked to the glass entryway. She stopped, peered through the window; sucked in her breath, her hand at her throat. Her mother, standing at the other side of the glass, made the same gesture. Pamela stepped back. "Mother!" Mouthing the word "mother", the figure in the glass retreated, hand at her throat. Pamela was looking at her own reflection.

She pushed the red release button. The doors swung open. She tiptoed through the room, avoiding the eyes of the old women. Like withered doves, they perched in their wheelchairs. One time a woman had called out to her. "Are you coming to take me home?" Pamela had run this gauntlet before.

She came to the hallway that led to her mother's ward. She held her breath, trying not to breathe the urine smell. A blond woman, younger looking than the other residents, blocked the way with her wheelchair. Her eyes shone bright with terror as she whistled and flapped her hands as though they were on fire. Pamela slid past her, threaded her way through the crones lining the hallway, heard someone moan from an open doorway.

The pink-faced woman at the reception desk smiled at her when Pamela asked for her mother. "I’m here to see Gertrude Rose. I'm her daughter, Pamela, from California."

"Just a sec, Hon, I'll see if we can find her for ya!" She craned her neck over the counter and called down the hall to an Asian woman. "Betsy! Is Gert in the Sunshine Room? Her daughter's here, from Californya!" The woman’s flat nasal speech just like her family, except for herself and her mother. She suppressed a smile. California was still exotic in the small town where her mother's nursing home sat squat and brown near the Connecticut River.

Betsy came to the front desk. "She's sitting in there." Betsy touched Pamela's arm then pointed down the hall. "Come, I'll take you to her." Standing side by side, Betsy barely reached Pamela's shoulder. "Have you been here before?" They started to walk down the long yellow corridor.

" Yes. But I live so far away, it’s hard to get here as much as I'd like. How is my mother doing?"

"Her feet bother her. The podiatrist took off some of the bigger calluses. But it's hard to get her to soak her feet. You know, Gert won't do anything she doesn't want to!" She leaned toward Pamela and lowered her voice. "She's so stubborn! She treats everyone like they’re her children, you know, patients, staff, everybody! We've taken to feeding her last. Otherwise, she’ll give away her food, always worried that somebody's hungry!"

Pamela stopped short, Betsy stopped too.

"My mother's feet were run over by a trolley when she was a little girl." The words rushed out. Pamela looked down at the box of chocolates. Her hands trembled. "Oh my! Run over! How terrible!" Betsy looked up at Pamela. "Oh I'm so sorry. The poor thing!"

Pamela continued looking down. Years ago, her mother had told her about the trolley running over her feet. Pamela remembered her shock at learning that Gertrude had never told her own mother, Pamela’s grandmother, about the accident.

"Why? Why didn't you tell Grandma?"

"It would have made her angry. She would have blamed me."

"But why? It wasn't your fault! Why wouldn't you tell Grandma what happened? Why would she blame you?"

"Oh, she would have, she would have! That's all."

Betsy and Pamela slowly walked towards the Sunshine Room.

Ever since she could remember Pamela had worried about her mother. As a child, she was her mother’s shadow. She’d follow her around the house as she walked with her head thrust forward, her back inclined. She’d worry when she’d see her mother wince as she took a step. She saw the pain in her mother’s face. She’d watch her mother’s lips move, muttering something in a whispery voice.

"Mama, what are you saying?"

" Oh I'm...I'm praying, dear."

"Are you praying for me?"

"For everybody, dear. I'm praying for everybody."

Betsy interrupted Pamela's reverie. Looking up into her face, she tried to reassure her. "You know, dear, her feet...nothing stops your mother from getting around. In fact, she’s always walking, up and back up and back patrolling the halls! We even have to make sure she eats enough so she doesn't lose too much weight! She has her own little route, checking laundry bins, rewashing dishes, making beds! Sometimes, she’ll remake them even when we try to put somebody to bed! But her favorite thing is pushing the other patients in their wheelchairs! She’ll give them a ride, whether they like it or not." Betsy laughed gently and putting her hand on Pamela’s arm, began moving forward.

Light poured from the doorway to the Sunshine Room. Pamela stopped, turned to face Betsy, her back to the open doorway. She looked into Betsy’s kind, brown face and attempted a smile. She forced her voice to be cheerful. "Oh, I know! The last time I was here, my mother commandeered a woman's wheelchair! The woman was wheeling down the corridor on her own when my mother took charge. She grabbed the chair. The poor woman began to howl, but my mother was determined. She seized the handle on one side of the chair; the woman tried to get away. She sped up. But my mother swung her body and the chair like a wrangler. She captured the other handle and rode that chair like a bronco till she hit the wall, her captive wailing all the way! By the way, did she get the baby carriage and the dolls I sent her?"

Betsy neared the entrance to the room, Pamela a step behind her. "Oh, was that you that sent that beautiful carriage?" She glanced over her shoulder at Pamela.

"Yeah, she’s always looking for her babies, I thought she might enjoy it."

"It's in her room, by her bed. She likes the dolls sometimes. But she likes the live ones best! " Betsy stopped and gazed at Pamela, her head cocked slightly to the side as if she were waiting for something. They were standing together in the doorway. Pamela’s mother sat across the room. Pamela felt frozen to the spot. Then Betsy made a move toward Gertrude, Pamela following close behind her. "Gert! There's someone here to see you! From California! Now Gert, you be a good girl! She's come a long way to see you!" Betsy spoke to Pamela's mother as if she were a naughty child. She pushed Pamela forward, murmured reassuringly, "Have a nice visit!", and left the room.

Pamela gazed at her mother slumped in the faded tapestry armchair and sadly shook her head. Her mother’s eyes looked dark and empty; her glasses were gone. The last time Pamela had come to visit, her mother had called her an impostor, someone pretending to be her daughter.

"You must have a mother somewhere," Gertrude had said, "But it's not me!" Now she seemed not to notice that anyone was there at all.

As Pamela faced her mother she could see that Gertrude’s white hair stuck out in tufts on one side of her head; she could see the eczema crusted at her hairline. She closed her eyes and bent down to kiss her mother on the cheek. Her mother’s breath assailed her, and the stains on the bodice of the flowered housedress, and her mother’s feet, purple with veins, swelling over the tops of her slippers.

"If this happens to me, I hope someone shoots me!" Pamela said to herself. She held her breath, kissed her mother cheek again, making little smacking sounds with her lips. Sometimes, this could make her mother laugh. Now, Gertrude just gave a small sigh.

"Mother, it's me, Pamela! " She gazed into her mother’s eyes. They appeared bottomless, like the forbidden quarry hole where Pamela secretly swam as a child. She realized that she'd dreamed about the quarry hole the night before. In her dream, she stood on a boulder and dove into the green black water. The water grew icy as she descended. She could hear her mother's warning in her ears. "Don't you go swimming in that quarry hole! It has no bottom!" In the dream, Pamela felt a pull on her body. Something sucked her deeper; something was sucking her down to China! She flailed to the surface and cried out to the receding shore. She awoke with a start.

Pamela put her hand on her mother’s arm and began to caress her. The flesh on her mother's jowls trembled as she opened her wrinkled mouth to speak.

"Tik, tik, tik, tik, tik!" She sputtered. "Tik, tik, tik, tik!"

Gertrude’s use of language had once been beautiful and precise. As her mind lost its bearings, she’d slipped from repeated questions to fractured phrases, then to disjointed words and now to sounds. The ticking was new.

Pamela turned away, swallowing hard. She recalled the first time she had come here to visit her mother. Her niece, Marie, and Marie's baby daughter, Alicia, had come with her. They'd found Gertrude sitting in a geri chair in the rec room, staring into space. A dozen or so old women in wheelchairs or geri chairs were lined up against the walls.

"Mother! Look who’s here to see you! Marie and her new baby girl, Alicia! Your great-grand daughter! You're a great grandma!" Pamela greeted her mother with a kiss.

"Thank you, sweetheart, thank you!" Gertrude shivered and kissed Pamela's hands.

"Here, Grandma! Hold the baby, Grandma! Hold, Alicia!" Marie put her baby in Gertrude's arms.

Though Gertrude recognized Pamela, she had no idea who Marie was. Despite repeated explanations, she continually mistook Alicia for a little boy. Marie, who had not seen Gertrude for many months was devastated to see how deteriorated she’d become. She signaled Pamela that she would wait for her in the car.

Gertrude, indifferent to Marie’s departure, continued to coo at the baby in her arms. "You little dickens, be a good boy now!"

"The Duke of Earl" began its falsetto whine from the loudspeakers overhead. An energetic woman in a blue sweat suit appeared. Her spiked red hair, like a corona on her head, bobbled in rhythm to the music while she worked her arms and exhorted the old women. Pamela took the baby from her mother and started to dance. Gertrude plucked at the corner of her chair while the wizened souls began to wave their arms to the music.

"Come on girls! One-Two! One-two! Move those arms girls! Feel the beat! One-two! One-two!" cried the red head.

"Duke, duke, Duke, Duke of Earl, Duke, Duke, Duke of Earl, Duke, Duke." The music thudded on. Pamela danced, her tears falling on the baby she held in her arms.

An attendant approached her mother and started to push her geri chair toward the door.

"Wait! Wait! I’m her daughter." Pamela called out. But the attendant would not be deterred. "Your mother needs to take her meds now."

"Mom!"

Her mother turned her head and looked at her.

"I love you, Mom!"

"I love you too, sweetheart." The attendant wheeled her out of the room.

It was the last time her mother knew who she was. Now, Pamela listening to her mother tick, remembered the chocolates she’d brought. "Mother! Chocolates! Your favorite!" Pamela almost shouted. Gertrude stopped ticking. Pamela opened the chocolates, spread the paper cover and proffered the candy. "C'mon sweetheart! Look, Mom, mmm! Chocolates! Try one! They're good!"

Her hand trembling, Gertrude reached for the chocolate. Her blunt fingers slipped over the smooth surfaces. She grabbed a piece, with its paper cup, and put both in her mouth. "No, Mama! No, no! We don't eat paper!"

Gertrude, chocolate and paper protruding from her lips, began to laugh. Pamela grinned at her and retrieved the paper.

"S,good! S,good!"

"Take another one! Would you like another one? Just chocolate, no paper!" She crouched in front of her mother. Gertrude took another piece and popped it into her mouth. She sat absorbed, chewing. Pamela rose up to her feet and began pacing back and forth; images and memories jumbled in her mind. She watched herself moving, seemingly without her will, toward the door. She was aware of her mother's voice, her urgent tone. She turned and moved back to her.

My father, my father, is he home yet?" Her mother's eyes widened with fear. "No, mother, not yet. He won't be here for a while."

Pamela tried to follow her mother’s lead. She knew only fragments of her mother’s history. She knew that her mother was four years old when her father fell off a train and was killed, knew her grandmother then married a drunkard. "House-devil street-angel, he was!", her mother used to say. This was the "father" her mother meant: her stepfather. He’d been long dead but lived on still in her fractured memory.

"PamDickSal...," her mother began, merging her children's names together, as indeed she’d done most of their lives.

"They're fine, mother. They’re not home from school yet. It's early."

Gertrude seemed reassured, but only for a moment. She began ticking again, louder than before. "Tik, tik, tik, tik, tik, tik!" she sputtered like an engine trying to start. "Tik, tik, tik, tik, tik!" She sounded furious now, determined.

Pamela tried to soothe her mother, to break through her chanting. She spoke softly to her, caressed her worn arms, but to no avail. The ticking speeded up and became louder. Her mother, the mother she knew, was lost in her own world.

Pamela waited, helpless, for the ticking storm to pass. The thought pressed in on her that death would be better than this fear-filled, mindless life. She recalled that her mother used to say that, when she died, she hoped she would be worthy of a beatific vision. A holy preview of the life-to-come at the moment of death, would give meaning and purpose to her life on earth. At the time, Pamela had recoiled at the idea of a life lived for a vision at the moment of death. Now, she found herself praying that her mother could have her wish fulfilled.

"Tik, tik, tik!" Gertrude’s accelerated ticking broke into Pamela’s thoughts. Suddenly, she had an wild image of what her mother was attempting to do. She was revving her motor! She was trying to fly! "Go! Mother! Go!" She cheered as Gertrude gunned the engine faster and faster. The chair beneath her shook and creaked with the strain. Faster! faster! "Tik,tik,tik!" The blades whined and crashed like cymbals as they spun. She was ready for take-off!

"Mother!" Pamela cried, moved and proud. Her mother left the chair and headed skyward. Up she went, her housedress flapping against her legs as she rose into the air. "Mother! Watch your head!" Pamela warned, fearing her mother would hit the ceiling. But the ceiling evaporated, as if in anticipation of her ascent.

Light suffused the air. From the corner of heaven, Pamela saw the Virgin Mary waft down to meet her mother as she sailed upward. The Virgin's blue gown furled and unfurled as she drifted; her veil, like incandescent wings spread across the violet sky. Her mother and the Virgin stood together in the air above her head.

"Gert," said Mary warmly, her hands outstretched. "You finally made it! I've been watching over you!" The Virgin touched the silvery down on Gertrude's face. Her holy laughter tinkled through the air.

Pamela saw that her mother’s humble housedress had been transformed into a flowing white satin robe; the stains on her bodice, bursts of roses. She saw her mother smile shyly at the Virgin Mother. She’d stopped ticking. Earthly trouble had no hold on her now. Faith and grace kept her aloft. The Virgin's eyes shone like two crescent moons as she waited for Gertrude to speak.

"I ...I tried to be good. I really did try!" Gertrude spoke with the soft brogue of her own mother. "Sometimes it wasn't easy!"

The Virgin's laugh burbled through the sky. "Of course! Of course you did! But that's all over now!"

"What can she mean? What is all over now?" Pamela wondered. "Is my mother dying? Are you her Beatific Vision?" She called out to the Virgin, "Heavenly Mother! My mother was very good! She suffered all her life for the Life Hereafter! All her life!"

The Blessed Virgin turned her holy face toward Pamela. Her eyes were stern. "Aren't you the one who caused all the trouble? Aren't you the one who forsook my BELOVED SON? MY ONLY BEGOTTEN SON WHO DIED ON THE CROSS FOR YOUR SINS? THE DEVIL TAKE YOU!" Her curse blasted through the ether.

All her young life, Pamela's father had admonished her: "Model yourself after the Virgin Mary and your mother!" Pamela knew even then that she couldn't be like either of them; worse, she didn't want to be. Her failure was now enunciated throughout the universe.

"I tried to tell her," her mother pled with the angry Virgin. "But she was always too much for me! Smart, too smart for her own good!"

Pamela fell to her knees. "Please!" she cried out to the Virgin. "My mother did try! She said I was marked by Christ! She said I'd do penance for the sins of the world. She taught me all my prayers! The Confiteor, The Apostles' Creed, I can still say The Lord's Prayer in Latin!" As if her pitiful recital would mean anything now! "But I could not believe! I had to follow my conscience! I don't believe in the Devil!" She beseeched the Virgin, "It's not my mother's fault!"

The Virgin glowered at her, "WHAT YOU BELIEVE AND DON'T BELIEVE MATTERS NOT! BLESSED IS SHE WHO DOES NOT UNDERSTAND AND YET BELIEVES. YOU AND YOUR PRIDE! YOUR INTELLIGENCE!" she spat out the words. "SO YOU DON'T BELIEVE IN THE DEVIL? WELL, THE DEVIL BELIEVES IN YOU!"

Her voice pierced the blackened sky. Clouds guttered like flames over the horizon. The Virgin's eyes, no longer like moons, glittered, the gleam of blood shone on her black lips.

Lucifer! Masquerading as the Virgin! The Devil takes a thousand shapes, her mother had warned. The Brightest Angel can possess you even against your will! The Devil/Virgin's mouth twisted in a terrible grimace. Infernal cries filled the air.

"Don't, don't, please don't hurt my mother!" Pamela sprang to her feet, spread out her arms, clenched her muscles till the veins stood out on her arms. She stood on Golgotha while the Devil rained hatred on her head.

When she was a child, her mother told her the only way to ward off the Devil was to say the Sacred Name of Jesus a thousand times. Now in a fever, she repeated His Holy Name; her head bobbed up and down with each pious ejaculation. Taut and drenched, blood from her brow reddened her tears.

Suddenly, the sound of beating wings filled the air. Pamela looked heavenward, saw her mother fly at the Virgin and clutch her fast. Together they soared higher and higher until they became a single spark at the apex of the world. Then they disappeared.

Pamela shivered and fell forward, her face in her mother's lap. She heard her mother whisper: "If you save one life, you save the whole world!"

"Oh I tried to save you, Momma. I couldn't! I couldn't save the one life I wanted to save!" Pamela mourned.

Like music, like a blessing her mother's words poured over her. "You don’t understand. The life you save must be your own!"

Pamela looked up into her mother’s bottomless eyes. The light she’d thought she’d seen was extinguished, but the words she’d heard stayed with her. She took her mother’s hands in her own and kissed them, then rose to her feet. She gazed at her mother, her heart heavy with love, and bent down to kiss her cheek once more before she left.