Oh, that story ties into one of mine, she said.
Only the smile sliding over my canines had any hint of sarcasm in it; by now i know that everything anyone does in this family leads to another story. Fortunately, my sarcasm goes unnoticed.
You see, my aunt continued, dad made me late for school the day he was occupied with that… business… (the backroom dentist, see former post), and when i finally got there, everyone was looking out the window (and ergo, not doing any lessons).
As she says this, i can just see the knockknee woolen jumpers, flyaway blond pigtails, and bravely patched pants lined up at the frosty windows. Every detail is etched in white with the starkness of reflected snow, every tiny cry is smothered into mounded drifts of the stuff. Altogether they make a pretty display against the backdrop of an upcountry snowfall.
They are all heaped together in a polite single file at the glass, squinted eyes searching up, the occassional small squeak or upflung finger following what must be the news for the week, outside.
What is it? Young Linda joins the class at the back, gazing upward too… is it a German bomber? A dirigible? An eagle?
“Look, child,” says one of the school matrons. Although my aunt has not supplied me with this information, i can clearly see the teacher dressed in some sort of lumpily-knit skirt suit, with a large brass corsage of a style now found only at garage sales, attached to her ample bosom. She is also strangely calm, although every pore of her being seems to be radiating the most extraordinary excitement.
Linda looks, her blue stare narrowing to diamond points. She sees nothing.
Over there, shouts one of her classmates, jabbing the air in a flurry of pocks. Linda follows the direction of the pokes, only to see a passing cumulus. There! Can’t you see?
Her friends, the teacher, all turn towards her in a hush of conspiratorial knowledge. They all have seen; they all know the secret.
Nope, says Linda.
You must see! exclaimed the teacher, fluttering her hands wildly. Don’t you see Jesus, up there in the sky?
I saw him first, says the most popular girl in the class. She is like a smaller version of the teacher, and the teacher’s appreciation of this fact is shown daily in showers of extra attention.
I just looked up, and there he was, hovering peacefully in the sky.
Her face assumes a beatific expression.
I saw him next, squeals another little girl, her best friend. They always sit together and pass notes about the others, to keep themselves from deadly boredom.
We all saw it, frowns an older boy, looking at Linda pointedly.
Everyone is looking at her now, with various levels of annoyance; the teacher most of all.
Jesus always reveals himself to the pure of heart, she announces firmly. Linda clutches her books a bit more firmly to her stodgy little five-year old body, as if they could be a shield, a protection from the class’s unkindness.
Now i have to mention that most five-year olds, faced with a similar dilemma, would have simply given up and said, oh? You mean behind that cloud? Of course i see him! But not our Linda. She saw nothing, and she wasn’t going to lie about it, either.
No. she said. There’s nothing there. You all saw nothing.
At this point of the story, i can only see this tiny girl with the face of my older, more adult aunt; the jaw, the stare, they are all resolute, just as we all know her to be. Her practicality never allowed sentiment to pull her skin out of the fire; this was just the first instance of that.
You’re all just looking at sky.
Everyone stared at her in a guilty unbelief.
It is unnecessary, naturally, to supply details of the inevitable results of her rebelliousness, as i’m sure most of you will have guessed them already; the rest of the class sent home in celebration of the special event, the snickered insults in passing, the detention for hours with the heavy schoolmarm cajoling and lecturing the girl to look up and see her saviour…
It was right about that point that organized religion and i went our separate ways, concludes Linda the Elder, with a smile.
And she is right; i have never seen her pray.
But i have never seen her lie, either.
Relatively Speaking 