249 18 The airPlane began dropping and terror arose in Lyson. He could feel a ball of fear, heavy in his stomach, growing, sucking at the vitality of his body so that his limbs became weak and his mouth dry. No more would they be high above the world, a pie in the sky, remote from the affairs of man upon the ground. Very soon they would be discharged from the rarified atmosphere of the airplane into the tumult of the street, the travail of life. It had been a good trip, he thought regretfully. But now Mary was certain to have questions. He was not certain he knew how to answer them. He did not know how he should call that which he encountered in Palms Galore, in the Dowies’ house, on the divan just the night before. He knew the name for it but was ashamed to name it, because to name it would make it true. He never even got to see it. The only thing he could say about it was that it was nice and soft and smooth. The ball of fear robbed his body of its heat, and he shivered. Gotta confess, he cried to himself, and get rid of that ball. Then he could be comfortable about that Something Nice and Soft and Smooth. He even could be smug about it. The Reverend was right beside him, happy in a nap. Lyson tugged him awake. Want confess! Confess? The Reverend blinked around to reorient himself and stretched. Yes, must confess. Excuse, sleepy, Reverend Dowie rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and noted the seat belt light. Finally, landing. Excited me see Mary and new Church. 250 Douglas Bullard Yes! Church! Lyson nodded, anxious to get started on necessary business. Want confess now, before landing. Confess? Reverend Dowie was at first puzzled, but then a light came to his eyes. You mean confessional, similar church? he said at last. Lyson nodded impatiently. Ready now, me. Hurry! Landing! With troubled regret the Reverend demurred, Can’t! Very sorry, but can’t. He squeezed Lyson by the hand. Not my job, that God up-there His job. Lyson was so crestfallen, so much that Reverend Dowie felt bad and suggested, Why not we pray silently, secret to God up-there. You can give him your heart, confess, and He up-there will clean-it, give-back. His head dropped, his eyes shut, lips quivering. God, don’t anglophiles realize the power, the beauty of the confessional ? Lyson wailed to himself deep inside the ball of fear, anxious to be rid, free of it. Mary met the airplane at Fremont, and Lyson hoped she did not notice the huge ball of fear in his stomach. But the Reverend got to her first, and they hugged and kissed and exchanged greetings and news while Lyson stood aside, the ball of fear inside him heavy as a rock. Surely gossip about that Something Nice and Soft and Smooth must have already hit Islay, or else why would Mary ignore him? Squeezing the ball ever tighter was another thought—that maybe now people were whispering, Imagine Lyson climb tree! There Obeke with Woman! Behind Mary were the Quayles, who seemed so glad to see him that he felt a sense of relief. Here were some people he knew would never hold that Something Nice and Soft and Smooth against him, not even the tree in Obeke. “Welcome home, Lyson! Good to have you back with us.” “Yes.” “How was the trip?” “Wonderful.” “You must be glad to be back home.” “Yes.” “Lyson! You’re bashful!” laughed Beatrice. [44.200.196.114] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 23:22 GMT) islay 251 “Embarrassed,” he tried to giggle it away. “Forgot many things— my toothbrush, the TTY, the car—” “Not the car!” Beatrice teased and rolled her eyes. “Lyson, you’d never believe it. You’d never recognize Islay now.” “Thousands here already,” the Captain added. “Andy is going crazy, can’t keep up. Barrels of money, haven’t the time to count it yet.” A kiss was warm and moist on his cheek. It was Mary. He leaned to return the kiss, but she recoiled. Your breath! Sorry. Forgot toothbrush. His face reddened, and the ball of fear manifested itself again. The Something Nice and Soft and Smooth hadn’t yet been washed from his face this morning; he thought he could still taste it. Maybe Mary can smell it...