patteren:
041509;836
series: magnificat;177
| patteren:
041509;836 |
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Between the wall of books and the edge of the futon, Rachel was leaning up against the window sill with one leg in front of the other. Boldly staring at Mrs. Chu with precision, her big sleepy-looking eyes belied her alertness. Her lips, closed and puckered, gave her squarish handsome face a pensive attitude. Her left hand firmly braced the sill as her right hand seemed ambivalent whether it should point to someone or something or whether it should remain simply a gesture with no imminent significance. Her chest was full of breath and her shoulders erect and assured. The canyons formed by the strained muscles in her neck bore witness to a storehouse of immense strength, restrained and held in check. The two mid-wives stood over Sappho mesmerized by the forces within the bedroom. They had witnessed birth after birth after birth, the calamities and upheavals of life’s offerings no longer brought great panic to them. Their eyes attested to a confidence that life gives what it gives, holds what it holds, and takes what it takes. Just like that. They gleamed like angels; they could absorb death and transmit hope. Their stance was yielding, even meek, but they shone of wonder and awe. They had the gift of understanding that people are destined to live, not simply survive, and this gift they gave freely. The shorter one of the two had her hands on Sappho’s toes. She had been massaging and applying pressure to all the vulnerable points of the foot and washing and rubbing Sappho down with warm water and ancient oils. These two were healers; bridges to the divine. The second ring of the telephone shattered this still-life. Kathryn answered the phone. Instinctively she signaled to Sappho by way of raising and lowering her chin and eyebrows and pointing with her eyes that it was Homer’s father on the line. Just then, someone rang the buzzer to the door. George relaxed and went to answer the door. Homer blindly followed George. |
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