The Exorcism

Stuffies with Tom sounded so simple, just a few stuffed quahogs on Christmas Eve at the house. What fancy has now gotten into my mind? Was it the completion of the Brass Bed story that triggered me off? The house was looking good like in the old days, so let's have a party. Stuffies with Tom on Christmas Eve was all in my head, it may be a good idea to ask him how he feels about it. We talk it over and the idea tickles his ego like the Sir Thomas Cake that was named after him. "We'll keep it simple, I said, "Some clam sauce and snail salad. The house is in pretty good shape. " As Christmas came closer, time seemed to fly, and other daily matters had to be dealt with. ''Tom, don't worry about the leak in the kitchen that's starting to make the wall peel. We can get to that after the holidays. I've found someone who can do the job." I'm sure that Tom's worrying was the least of my concern. His denial of the leak in the first place was evidence that this problem was not his top priority. Christmas Eve came. The house looked festive. Tom's stuffies were, as usual, a success. All the children were home at one time or another during the evening or on Christmas Day. Tom decided that we would have roast beef for Christmas dinner. This roast beef was all in his head. I felt that two days of entertaining might prove to be too much, but it wasn't. All went so well that I stayed two nights and slept in the brass bed where I dreamed of being safe all through the night. Not once did I feel like running out, or going home. But I did go to Mal's Christmas morning meeting which she has been hosting for a few years now. New Year's Eve came. January 1st ran quickly into January 31st and so the New Year was off and running like its only concern was to to get to 1991. I best get on it. We started first at L' Elizabeth's to paint her walls and ceiling which took four days. We then took our Benjamin Moore Navejo Pearl Semi-Gloss and Pearl Flat paint up to 51 Barstow Road where just the kitchen was to get the face lift. Craig, my painter, checked over the wall that had been damaged by the leak, then did the necessary things one does to walls in this condition. He prepared other areas in the kitchen to be painted while waiting for the results of a special kind of mask he had put on to dry over the damaged surfaces. Meanwhile Tom had his say on where he believed the leak was coming from. Craig just seemed to listen to what Tom said and indulged him by doing what he suggested. I tried very hard not to interfere with this dialogue between them, but......I'm afraid I lacked the patience as Tom wanted to wait till the temperature hit 40 degrees before the caulking was to be put on. When the mask did dry and was sanded down, Craig felt that there was still a leak. Tom's jargon had almost convinced me that there was no longer any leak, but I had to agree more with Craig than Tom and I was having a hard time concealing my opinion. So while waiting for the conclusion of how to fix a ceiling leak, Benjamin Moore Pearl Navajo Paint was being bought by the gallons. Craig and I went on working in other rooms. He painted, I cleaned. Craig, being so flexible, would move some furniture, wire a fixture, repair a broken window, and do some carpentry when needed. I started to take for granted that he could fix anything. It was in my genes to get four or five jobs goings at the same time. Craig would say softly, "ok." One day, at the paint store, I spotted this apricot paint. "Craig, do you think this might work?" Aha.......... And then he said it. "Aap...ri...cot......" He said it so softly and clear, and that was the way it went. After that I would say, "Will we have time today for the apricot?" And then he would say it, "Aap...ri...cot... Yes..... I think so." We soon forgot all about the leak. There was a harmony we were creating together. For days we worked in silence no blaring radio or foolish talk. Then Craig found a channel on the radio, Classical music, Mozart and Bach. Sometimes we would break and I would quote a few lines from Tolstoy that I had read the night before. The world of Pearl Navajo and Apricot was becoming a space of peace and tranquility for me. I found that going to the old house mornings to work with Craig reminded me of the times I had spent in the South West . Once, about ten years ago, I flew in and met Kim and Tommy in Arizona. My excitement over the Indian art and cactuses came as a surprise to me, and ever since I've wanted to do the downstairs room with a South West flavor. Unfortunately, Craig had this low grade flu which did not slow down work, but did force him to take time off. It was probably during these quiet times that I would just sit down and take in like a sponge the transformation taking place with the walls being washed, then freshly painted. This totem pole lamp of many colors has been calling me for months now. Every time I drove down the hill to work, I saw it in the window of this store called COMINA that sold Santa Fe accessories. So, one day, I went in to look again, but this time I asked the girl if I could see how it would look in this house I was fixing up. My car was parked in front and the long totem pole lamp just fit inside. And it fit even better next to the large Irish Wake table bought in Arizona that we used for dining on holidays. The colors in the pole- like lamp were soft like a squaw's necklace. I loved it, and couldn't stop looking at all the fresh new space. There was an aqua cowboy chair by David Burke that had the hots for me too. He designed furnishings with the mythic heroes of the American frontier in mind. I was starting to feel mythical myself and this old house was starting to look and feel like a new frontier to me. With this in mind, I had little trouble buying that chair to go next to the totem pole lamp. March had many warm days. The chairs outside the coffee shop were filled on these afternoons. Not wanting to feel left out one day after coming out of the hardware store not looking my best, but not caring, feeling free, out of bondage of self, I sat next to my friend in one of the seats without coffee. It may have been about four weeks now that I have not had caffeine. My friend who, like me, often sat afternoons in front of the coffee shop, was good company. When I first met him I thought he was odd. Later, after he had given me a book of short stories by Henry James who wrote, "Strike every note, then strike them harder. Render all of life." and told me that he thought he wrote a bit like me or I wrote a bit like him, our relationship grew. I told him how good I was feeling doing this work on the house I used to live in ''Maybe it's because I'm not drinking coffee,'' I said. He knew my situation--that I had been living alone now for a little over three years--and I was telling him about this leak and that I had just planned to paint the kitchen but that while waiting for the leak to go away, (that's what I thought Craig and I were doing) we started to go through the other rooms in the house. Thoughts of the expense seemed to not enter my mind at all. I felt like I just wanted to keep going till all the demons were gone. With each day we worked, I felt that we were washing the evil away, all the dysfunction that had lived in that house would find no air to breathe after Craig washed away their home and sealed the freshness in with Navojo and Aap...ri...cot Benjamin Moore Paint. My friend whose eyes were large to begin with were now even larger, looking at me with a huge smile like he had just heard the innocent confession of a child. Then he started to explain to me what he believed was going on, that this sounded to him like my new spirit heading towards the light. The brightness of the house was this light and my cleaning and painting was like an exorcism. ''That's it! My God, that's it.!'' Then I told him about the lamp and the aqua chair and the apricot mirror that was made by the same artist. I had brought it up from Sean's room to put over the fireplace. The mirror was bought for him when he came out of treatment. I wanted his room all fresh when he came home. Sean was living on Block Island now so it seems wasted down stairs although Sean loves it. The round, apricot mirror was made of aged wood. ''Old wood seems to have a history,'' quotes Burke, the artist. He selects the most weathered pieces for mirrors and trastero frames. No nails are used only the ancient mortise and tenon construction techniques characteristic of the antique furniture of both Europe and Asia. The folk-look of the mirror was created by layering paint of many different hues. Then a light sanding when dried, the final step is a simple beeswax finish that accents the work's beauty. These pieces were dedicated to the lifestyle not of the macho cowboy, but to the peaceful cowboy who is in touch with the land , the animals, who feels the peace that comes with the great spaces, and because they're truly in touch with life and the hardships of pioneer people, I felt a kinship with them, the lamp, the chair, and most of all, the mirror. It had been decided finally that Kim's baby shower was going to be and it would be at the house. The spirits would not let up on me. The next spirit to call me came from a Navaho Indian called R.C. Gorman. Every morning I'd peek at his artwork displayed at JRS Fine Art Gallery. Did he want to be part of this exorcism too? No peace pipe or hatchet to put the fear of God into these demons; no.. just this print of a serene Indian woman toiling with a wooden bowl with a fish painted on the side, entitled, "Mimbres Woman." Was my face like this woman's healing spirit to those native, Indian faces that stared up at me with the respect for a goddess the night I shared my two decades of sobriety at that halfway house in Santa Fe? Did they believe that I possessed the magic that Goman felt came from Taos? The artist is an Navajo Indian who lives in Taos, New Mexico who says, ''My women work on the land. They need to be strong to survive." When asked, "Why are the faces not detailed?" he says, "They're composites of many women I've known. Too many women think they're precious. I could never translate that into my life. I deal with the common woman who smells of the fields and maize. She lives and breathes. She's human." Gorman has seduced me with blends of coral orange and soft colors of lavender and peach. I asked my friend to come look at her. "She wants to go on the wall next to the lamp and the aqua chair," I told him. I've heard that there is the unhealthy and the healthy spending while you're under the spell of these spirits. I did not see expense and went on my spending spree free of any thought of consequence. The day of the shower arrived. All the guests were taken aback by the aura of the house. No one could have imagined that there had been an exorcism. Only I knew, not even Craig knew, for it was I who had witnessed the evil in my home that had come in on the backs of the unhealthy spirits, now replaced with the healthy spirits of new life. Tom was on vacation and came back the day after the shower. I arrived early that morning. We sat and talked about his trip. I felt very happy. For whatever reason, I can't remember exactly, I went down to his room and saw that there were cigarette ashes on the nightstand. ''Was there an exorcism or was it all in my head?'' I was enraged and stormed out of the house leaving the medicine doctor on leaks with Tom to work it out on their own without me. Where was this rage coming from? Did I fall back into thinking I could control anther person? Did I need this rage with its force of a hurricane wind to say, "That's it, I'm never coming back to this house again." ''Was I the hypocrite? Damn that leak. Damn all the maternal instincts that keep me going back.'' ''Was I afraid that all this meant the gods were calling me to come home and I was not ready yet? Or was I still trying to rationalize my living alone? I remember telling Craig of my confusion over knowing where I felt the most me, was it 51 Barstow Rd. or Benefit St. He answered, "Why can't you be you in both places?" Going back in the house was hard. And telling Tom to take charge of the final repairs of the leak, and to put it to rest once and for all with the soft tones that Craig would use, was even harder. Driving home to my nest I felt like I did when I was a child. My chores were all done, and I could go out and play. My soul belongs to no house, but for now--on this day-- it wanted only to go back to the sanctuary up on the hill. When I have been privileged to serve mankind, there is no need for me to look in mirrors, for I know I am beautiful. The spirits have forced their knowledge on me once more; I have grown again.

Copyright; Ruth Mahoney 15-Apr-90