Part 19 (1/2)
Patricia's only comment after the meeting was over was that Lourdes suddenly sounded more tempting.
”It says it's in the Pyrenees in the brochure,” she said in the cab on the way home.
”What of it?”
”Well, you can take me mountain climbing.” She didn't laugh this time, and neither did he.
Chapter Twelve.
JONATHAN HAD HOPED that their journey would bring them a measure of peace. Instead, it only drew them deeper into their fears.
The flight itself was extremely pleasant. Jonathan was amazed to find that SkySaver Airlines had provided a beauti-ful L-1011 for the journey. There were a number of different pilgrimages on the plane, of which the Holy Spirit group was by far the most privileged. They occupied the first-cla.s.s section, and had been pampered as if they were flying on the best of the scheduled airlines. Behind them in economy Jonathan had glimpsed seats jammed nine abreast and peo-ple eating out of bags they had brought from home, but the curtains were kept closed, so there was no need to dwell on their plight.
The Holy Spirit group was young and well dressed. Where they had come from Jonathan did not know.
Father's usual paris.h.i.+oners were old people, mostly widows. Although the rear of the plane was jammed with stretchers, and there was even a staff doctor aboard, the Holy Spirit group had no sick.
Patricia was the only one among them with any defect or disease. The two of them sat together hand in hand for all the hours across the Atlantic. Jonathan watched the limitless waves pa.s.sing below, and let himself be lulled by the sound of the plane's engines. He toyed with the rescue-instruction card, flipped through a gift catalog. They had drinks before their dinner of lobster tails, and cognac afterward.
Then he slept. Unconsciousness brought him a new and terrible dream, worse than any that had come before. Like a man struggling against a stubborn current, he fought it, and like such a man, knew his efforts were pointless.
The serpent would have its way. Jonathan must dream his dream.
He sat astride a white, undulating female body. Each s.h.i.+ver-sweet pulse of his hardness wounded her more. When he jerked his thighs she would scream, and when she screamed his whole being would explode with pleasure. He jerked harder and harder until she was shrieking through bloodied lips and he could feel her swooning beneath the power of his pa.s.sion.
Jonathan screamed. He could not bear to look into those agonized eyes.
And yet they pleased him, and he did did keep on. keep on.
Even as she screamed her voice faded into wind-noise. He grew cold. The wind mourned and wailed, and the wail became a whine. Jonathan realized he was awake. The pitch of the engines had changed.
They were nearing Tarbes-Ossun-Lourdes Airport. He flickered his eyes open and looked at Patricia.
”You were groaning,” she said. ”Was it a nightmare?”
He didn't want to think about it. He twined his hand in hers and settled back in the seat.
Father Goodwin began to make an attempt with his guitar, and that diverted Jonathan. The priest stood in the aisle, his needle-thin fingers worrying the strings of the beaten old instrument. ”Hail Queen of Heav'n, the Ocean Star, guide to the wanderer here below . . .”
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Father nodded and smiled encouragement at his fas.h.i.+on-able pilgrims as the plane swam on through the lambent French evening. He raised his eyebrows, he strove for a joining of voices.
Jonathan could almost hear him thinking: Sing. Please sing. ”O gentle, chaste, and spotless maid, we sinners make our prayers through thee.” Sing, you beautiful zombies.
Still nothing. Father Goodwin withdrew, nodding and smiling. People had barely glanced up from their cognacs.
From the economy cabin came a renewed burst of song. Father s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably in his seat. All during the trip the other pilgrims had been alternately singing and saying the rosary.
Across the aisle Mike slept heavily, his mouth slack, one ma.s.sive arm dangling into the aisle. Beside him Mary re-mained engrossed in Marnham's Lourdes: A Modern Pil-grimage. Lourdes: A Modern Pil-grimage. She was partic.i.p.ating avidly in the family absurd-ity. And why not? It was an absurdity she had created. Jonathan thought of her as far too sophisticated to suggest this ludicrous journey, but she had insisted it would be good for Patricia. She was partic.i.p.ating avidly in the family absurd-ity. And why not? It was an absurdity she had created. Jonathan thought of her as far too sophisticated to suggest this ludicrous journey, but she had insisted it would be good for Patricia.
Perhaps she was right. At least it was a change of scene.
”What was your dream, darling?” Patricia asked.
In the past few days she had grown more and more like a wife. Usually he reveled in it; to be known intimately was a wonderful new experience for him. But he wanted to spare her the savagery of his dreams.
”Jonathan, you didn't answer me.”
”I was hoping I wouldn't have to.”
”You can tell me, darling.”
”I don't remember.”
She didn't press him but he still wished she hadn't asked. Thinking about it forced him to face the fact that there was something he could not share with her, nor even explain.
”You're shaking,” She slipped an arm behind his neck. The gesture had conspiratorial quality. Her other hand she laid on his chest. She placed her lips so near his ear that they touched and tickled deliciously. ”I'm here with you, Jona-than. We're safe. We're thousands of miles from any dan-ger.”
The purr of the engines dropped a couple of octaves. They were landing. A sharp bank revealed lights glowing in wrin-kled valleys, and off to the east a splash of color that must be Lourdes. Soon they rocked and rumbled down the runway, coming to a halt near the gate. Next stop, G.o.d willing, was the Gethsemane Hotel and a night's rest.
Jonathan was still not sure how Patricia was going to react to being here. She might, despite all she said, be holding out some small hope of a miracle. If she was, then she would be disappointed. Mother had been insensitive to this aspect of the trip, and Jonathan had told her as much. Patricia was an ideal breeding place for forlorn hopes. She was not recon-ciled to that wheelchair, no matter how she acted.
”Lourdes,” Patricia said as the plane stopped at the gate. ”My first footstep on foreign soil.” Jonathan managed a weak smile into the rich and glorious beauty of his lover's face.
She looked long at him. Patricia of the green eyes; Patricia of the madonna smile. Her lovely b.r.e.a.s.t.s were elusive beneath her blouse. Her curves were suggested by the folds of her dress.
So far they had only been intimate that once. Subsequent attempts to get sufficient privacy had been squelched by a friend of Patricia's, a former Our Lady nun who had needed lodging while she found a place of her own. She had moved into Patricia's living room. G.o.d willing, old Letty Cochran (formerly Sister Saint John) would be gone by the time they got back.
To make matters worse, Mother and Mike seemed to have reached a new height of s.e.xuality. As never before Mother was seducing him. She was almost frantic. And she certainly knew how to make Mike happy. Not a night pa.s.sed that Jonathan wouldn't hear her in their bedroom crying out with delight, a sound which evoked in him the most painful combination of loneliness and excitement. He would lie just across the hall, fevered, sweating, erect in the empty air.
”Do you think it all really happened?”
”What?”
”Lourdes, of course. The cures.”
”Perhaps. I don't know. There's something to faith heal-ing, that much we know. Psychological cure, like the pla-cebo effect.”
”Something could could happen, then. That's what you're say-ing, since the doctors say my paralysis is psychological.” happen, then. That's what you're say-ing, since the doctors say my paralysis is psychological.”
Oh, boy, here it came. How dare they bring her here just to let her get hurt like this! Mother had been irresponsible. ”The odds are against it, darling.”
”But not a hundred percent.”
”I thought you were the one who considered this an insult to your intelligence.”