Lacemakers

The Incorruptibles

42 The฀Incorruptibles * Who would do that, paint a pigeon and let it go? The dance halls getting racier, says Aunt Lil—same thing the cab driver said when you named your destination. Lacemakers work overtime so the Christmas markets stay well stocked. What kind of world is this, where you can’t find an open pub on Christmas Eve or Easter? Miserable wet, is what he said. Everything’s dripping, even the corner evangelist in his stylized suit. He shouts for hours, but later, on the tube, you wouldn’t know he’s behind you. * Walking the dog, you ask philosophical questions; gives you something to chew on. I want something to chew on, I’ll ask for gum. Love how you make a point of saying his name with all the vowels accounted for: Édouard. Ape-ricot you call the fruit— I like the A softer, as in “apple.” It’s your orchard. 43 * When I was a child, we’d hear lions roar across our orchard. Father says they would shake the floorboards. A kind of wonder. My friend in Siena has seen the incorruptibles enshrined. A reasonable person might ask how they knew not to bury the bodies. The answer is always don’t quibble with miracles— But the question remains: who would paint a pigeon? Better than a Japanese fan when the wings go open. * Pigeon feed this morning resting on a muff of ice— plaza behind the convent. The nuns make crumpets and tea cookies folded as moons. They’ll swing them through the revolving hatch so you never see a face, or even their hands. They could be space creatures in there. God bless this meal, God bless the hands that prepared it. Amen. This was Sunday school, this was women with snack trays and crackers. You wore your Easter dress with the pink tiered skirts—a cake with legs— but never joined the hunt, as some of the eggs lay by tombstones. Somewhere below them, the dead. 44 * The dance halls are far away in a land with hospitals and soldiers, wars. Did you know this château, Chenonceau, was a hospital during the war? The floor lay black tile, white tile over the river, the beds all curtained under the long windows. They say Uncle Lou malingered for weeks until Aunt Lil came to raise him from bed like Lazarus. When you asked why Jesus wasn’t a woman, Lil couldn’t hide her dismay. Why don’t you wear your tiara, why don’t you play in the yard? * Your well-meaning friends taught you to pray: spectacles, testicles, wallet, then watch. Don’t park your convertible under billboards at night, or you might find your car filled with moths. Birds won’t molt in the cold. Don’t pick your teeth. Don’t sit on your hands. Pinch the quarter between your knees. 45 * When I heard the stories— the chains and crosses, sacred hearts flaming all along the mountain valleys, oil drums set alight—until I saw it, unreal. I can’t describe how large those fires are in the dark. In those days, we did it to spite Mussolini, she tells me. Your lady friend, the dancer, sang an aria. Wasn’t that your sister’s name? The one whose heart stopped on the basketball court? We don’t care to tell that story. * Speeding down the autoroute you come across a truck stop. The sun is out so why not stop? Your opera ticket pocketed. You could only afford the balcony— the best seats if you want to know: nearest the ceiling with swirls and chickens and a goat by Chagall. Who knew when we hired you your French would be so beneficial? Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t cycle at night. Pousse avec ton pain. 46 * Bears and lions at the drive-through zoo. I don’t recall those car rides or the lion’s cries at night. Chickens shivered in the cherry trees. Keep clear of Italian forests, vipers that spiral the branches— their young airborne, undulant. The Aurora Bridge is a magnet for jumpers. The magazine moved when employees complained— their wide windows opening to bridge and river. As the papers had it: Flock of Pelicans Lands on Desert Freeway. (Mirage they mistook for water). That was the...