Of Love and Evil (The Songs of the Seraphim 2)

“One thing more,” he said warmly. His face was softened by an undeniable compassion. “Shmarya prompts me to say this,” he confided, raising his eyebrows a little as he spoke. “He says if you cannot be a saint, or a monk or a priest, then think in terms of being a hero.”

I laughed. “That’s good,” I said. “That’s extremely good. Shmarya knows what buttons to press, doesn’t he?” I laughed again. I couldn’t help it. “When I feel like it, can I talk to him?”

“You’ve been talking to him for years,” Malchiah said. “And now he’s talking to you. And who am I to stand in the way of a beautiful conversation?”

I was alone on the veranda.

Just like that. Alone.

The night was empty. I was in my bare feet and they were freezing.

The next morning, I went to their suite to have breakfast.

Toby was up and dressed, in his blue blazer and khaki pants, and announced to me that he had slept in his own room and in his own bed.

I nodded as if that was what the world expected of young men of ten years of age, even if their mothers had giant king-sized beds in lavish hotel suites.

And we all had room service together at a beautifully draped table replete with hotel silver and the appropriate covers to keep the dishes deliciously hot.

I felt I couldn’t take this parting.

I felt I just couldn’t do it, but I knew full well it was what I had to do.

I’d brought my leather bag with me, and after the breakfast things were cleared away, I took out two folders from it and I put them in her hands.

“What is this?” she asked, naturally, and when I tried to explain that she could read all the material on the plane, she insisted I explain now.

“Trust funds, among other things, one for you, one for him, and an annuity that will pay monthly, a sum that’s no problem for me, and ought to take care of all your expenses and his. And there’s more where that came from.”

“I haven’t asked you for anything,” she reminded me simply.

“You don’t have to ask me. It’s what I want for you both to have. There’s enough there for him to go away to school, if you want him to. He could go to England, to Switzerland, to wherever the best education can be gotten. He could go for the summer, perhaps, and spend his regular years at home. I don’t know about those things. I never did. But you know. And the people at Newman School know. And your father will know too.”

She sat holding these folders, not opening them, and then tears began to slide down her cheeks.

I kissed her. I held her as tenderly as I could.

“Everything I have is now set aside for you and him,” I said. “I’ll send you more information when I have it. There are always so many questions lawyers ask and it takes such time.”

I hesitated, then: “Look, a lot of things will puzzle you. My name doesn’t appear in these papers, but be assured the name that does is one I use for business all the time. It’s Justin Booth. I used it to pay for your airline tickets, and for the rooms at this hotel. And tell your lawyers the gift tax has been paid in full on everything being transferred to you and Little Toby.”

“Toby, I never expected this,” she said.

“Here’s something else. This is a prepaid cell phone. Keep it close to you. The ‘name’ and pin number are on the back. That’s all you need to renew the service. You can pay for it at any number of public places, simple as that. I’ll call you on that cell.”

She nodded gravely. There was something profoundly courteous in her accepting of these things, in not questioning why the secrecy, why the alias.

Again I kissed her, kissed her eyelids and her cheeks and then her lips. She was as tender and yielding as she’d ever been. The fragrance of her hair was the same as it had been so many years ago. I wanted to pick her up, carry her into the bedroom, take her, and bind her to me forever.

It was late. The car was already waiting downstairs. Little Toby had just come in to say that he was packed and ready for the plane. I don’t think he liked my kissing his mother. He took a stand beside her, looking at me resolutely. And when I kissed him, too, he asked suspiciously, “When will we visit you again?”

“As soon as I can arrange it,” I said. God only knows when that will be.

The walk downstairs was the longest walk I’d ever taken, though Toby was delighted to be running up and down five flights of stairs in the rotunda, and listening to his voice echo off the walls.

He lost yet a little bit of his gentleman’s polish at those moments.

All too soon, we were outside in front of the hotel, and the car was there.

It was another cool crisp blue California day, and all the flowers of the inn seemed to be at their most beautiful, and the birds were singing softly in the trees.

“I’ll call you as soon as I can call you,” I told her.

“Do something for me,” she said under her breath.

“Anything.”

“Don’t tell me you’ll call, if you won’t.”

“No, darling,” I said. “I’ll call you. I’ll call you come Hell or high water. I just don’t know when exactly that it will be.” I thought for a moment, and then I said, “Give me world enough and time. Remember those words. If I’m late say them. Give me world enough and time.”

I wrapped my arms around her and this time I kissed her, and I didn’t care who saw us, even if it was Little Toby, and when I let her go, she took a step backwards as if she was as off balance as I was myself.

I picked him up and held him up and looked at him and then I kissed him on the forehead and on both cheeks.

“I knew you’d be like this,” he said.

“If I’d told God Himself that I wanted a perfect son,” I said, “and I’d had the nerve to tell God just how to make him, well, God couldn’t have done any better, as far as I’m concerned.”

Then the car was gone and they were gone, and the great beautiful world of the Mission Inn seemed empty as it had never seemed before.

CHAPTER FOUR

I’D REACHED MY SUITE BEFORE I DISCOVERED MALCHIAH waiting for me. He was seated at the black iron table and he was crying. He had his elbows on the table and his hands over his face.

“What’s wrong with you!” I demanded. “What’s the matter?” I sat down. “Is this my fault? What did I do?”

He sat back and slowly smiled the softest, saddest smile. “You really worried about me?” he asked.