Madeleine L'engle - A Live Coal in the Sea

by Madeleine L'Engle

Troubling a Star

Anytime Prayers

A Rock That Is Higher

Certain Women

An Acceptable Time

Many Waters

A Cry Like a Bell

Two-Part Invention

Sold into Egypt

A Stone for a Pillow

A House Like a Lotus

And It Was Good

Ladder of Angels

A Severed Wasp

The Sphinx at Dawn

A Ring of Endless Light

A Swiftly Tilting Planet

Walking on Water

The Irrational Season

The Weather of the Heart

Dragons in the Waters

The Summer of the Great-grandmother

A Wind in the Door

A Circle of Quiet

The Other Side of the Sun

Lines Scribbled on an Envelope

Dance in the Desert

The Young Unicorns

The Journey with Jonah

The Love Letters

The Arm of the Starfish The

;24 Days Before Christmas

The Moon by Night

A Wrinkle in Time

The Anti-Muffins Meet the Atestins

A Winter's Love

Camilla

And Both Were Young

Ilsa

The Small Rain

A LIVE COAL

IN THE SEA

MADELEINE

L'ENGLE

HarperSanFrancisco An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

This work was originally published in 1996 by Farrar, Straus & Giroux. It is

hereby reprinted by arrangement with Farrar, Straus & Giroux.

Excerpts from Tell the Truth but Tell It Slant reprinted by permission of the

publishers and Trustees of Amherst College from The Poems of Emily Dickinson,

edited by Thomas H. Johnson, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press,

and Fellows of Harvard College.

reserved.

Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or

reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the

case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For

information address HarperCollins Publishers, 10 East 53rd Street, New York,

NY

10022.

HarperCollins Web Site: http://www.harpereollins.com

HarperCollins°, 1h °, and HarperSanFrancisco- are trademarks of HarperCollins

Publishers Inc.

FIRST HARPERCOLLINS PAPERBACK EDITION PUBLISHED IN 1997

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

L'Engle, Madeleine.

A live coal in the sea / Madeleine L'Engle ISBN 0-06-065286-1 (pbk.)

1. Family-United States-Fiction.1. Title. P83523.E55L58 1996 813'.54-dc20

96-4909

0001RRD10987

> >To my daughter Maria with thanks for her help

ONE

THE RECEPTION was held in the president's house. Camilla was seated in a

large

wing chair by the windows which looked out to a lake, around three sides of

which the college buildings were scattered, red brick, white clapboard, grey

stone, a casual architectural mix which had an unexpectedly pleasing effect.

Champagne was uncorked. Fruit punch and ginger ale were offered.

White-aproned

college students served hors d'oeuvres. The large room was filled with

Camilla's

colleagues, friends, students. Her family. One of the young girls, offering

her

a tray of smoked salmon, whispered, "We're really proud of you, Dr.

Dickinson."

The award ceremony had been held in Hiram B. Hingham Hall, Camilla standing

on

the stage to receive the Maria Mitchell Medal for distinguished work in

astronomy. For a modest little medal, she thought, the college was treating

it

like the Nobel Prize. She was, nevertheless, pleased.

Her children were there. Taxi had driven up from New York, warning her that

he

would have to leave early. He was the star of a soap opera and would be

taping

at seven in the morning. He stood beside the president of the college,

shorter,

Madeleine L'Engle>,

4

A Live Coal in the Sea»5

Camilla said, "Taxi often does plays, too. There was one that opened early in

the season-"

"And immediately flopped," Taxi said. "It was a terrific show, really, but

the

critics simply didn't get it."

"Well, better luck next time." The professor moved off to join a group of

colleagues.

Taxi said in a low voice, "Mom, you really didn't need to mention that

disaster."

"Sorry, Tax. You were wonderful in it."

"The critics didn't give me much credit. I haven't had a hit in two years."

He

glanced around to where his daughter was standing with a group of girls.

"How's

my Raffi getting along?"

"She's doing beautifully. Several of her professors have told me how bright

she

is."

"Of course she's bright." He sounded impatient.

Camilla, too, looked at the girl, easily identified in her group of friends

by

her brilliant red hair. She wore a bulky orange sweater which both clashed

with

and showed it off. One of her teachers had told Camilla, 'Raffi's fragile.

She's

popular, and she does well, but sometimes I think some key word might break

her

in two.'

Taxi continued, "Thessaly and I have been doing considerable quarreling and

it

upsets the child. It's not important. We're nowhere near separation or

divorce.

I've had enough

divorce. Raffi simply doesn't understand that parents are human, too."

Camilla asked, "When you were Raffi's age, did you?" "Believe me, Mom, I did.

I

hope Raffi will never have to go through what I went through."

She felt cold. The windows onto the terrace were open and a breeze was

blowing

into the room. "Taxi, darling-"

"Oh, I survived it, Mom, I'm a survivor. I just hope Raffi is, too. Thessaly

and

I are very grateful she has you to fall back on."

"I'll do whatever I can."

but equally distinguished in his tux, and certainly arresting with his black

hair and fair skin and always an aura of excitement in the way he carried his

body, looked around him, as though expecting something to happen, either

marvelous or terrible, one could not be sure. Thessaly, his wife, was

obviously

happy and excited, arm in arm with Frankie-Frances-Camilla's daughter, who

had

flown in from Seattle for the occasion. Light from the crystal chandeliers

highlighted Thessaly's sleek chestnut hair, pulled back from her face and into

a

neat roll as she had worn it when she was a dancer. Frankie's hair, dark like

Taxi's, was beginning to be streaked with white, but she was a handsome

woman,

Camilla thought, taller than Taxi or Thessaly, but carrying herself well.

Raffi, Camilla's beloved granddaughter, Taxi and Thessaly's daughter, was a

freshman in the college, delighted at all the attention being paid to her

grandmother.

Camilla looked around the crowded room. It was time to stop sitting like an

elderly dowager duchess in the chair the president had led her to. She stood

up,

champagne glass in hand, so that she could talk more easily with the guests.

Taxi, moving with as much grace as his wife, though he had never done any

professional dancing, came over to his mother, along with a white-bearded man

who was chairman of

the physics department. Camilla introduced them, and the physics, professor

shook Taxi's hand, saying, "It seems that a number of the students are quite

excited by your presence." He sounded interested, but puzzled.

"Taxi is an actor," Camilla said.

Taxi shrugged gracefully. "I'm presently in a soap." "A what?"

Taxi smiled. "A soap opera-daytime television. College students manage to

watch

it, though I doubt if the eminent professors do."

The professor laughed. "No, I'm afraid we don't. My wife and I occasionally

get

in to New York to the theatre."

Madeleine L'Engle>

6

A Live Coal in the Sea,7

"She was."

"Mom, I'm driving back to New York with Thessaly and Taxi so I can fly out

first

thing in the morning. This has been a terrific occasion."

"Frankie, thank you for coming all this way. That means more to me than I can

ever tell you."

Frankie gave her mother a hug. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

Raffi joined them, taking Camilla's hand and holding it. "Grandmother, this

is

marvelous. All my friends are wildly excited. I'm so glad Dad could get away

for

it. And you, Aunt Frankie."

"I couldn't be happier," Camilla said. "Not so much about the medal, though

it's

an unexpected honor, but about having my family here."

"I bet you miss Grandfather." "Yes. He'd have been pleased." "I wish I'd

known

him."

"I wish so, too. You're both such important parts of my life it's hard for me

to

realize he died before you were born."

"Hey, Grandmother, Dr. Rowan's here, did you know?" Camilla's face lit with

pleasure. "Luisa? Wonderful! Where?"

Raffi indicated a woman detaching herself from a small group. She wore a

beautifully cut silk suit, but her hair, red with streaks of white and grey,

was

untidy and needed trimming. She hurried over to Camilla, arms wide in

greeting.

"Hi, Raffi, Frankie, Thessaly. Especial hi, Cam. I got in halfway through the

ceremony. The traffic was terrible, I should have taken the train.

Congratulations, I'm not sure what this medal is all about, but whatever it

is,

I'm sure you deserve it."

"Lu, what a wonderful surprise! I thought you were off to Zurich."

"I know you will, Mom. You always do." Even when it's abysmally not enough.

Taxi looked around the room again. Laughed. "It seems most of your professor

pals don't watch the soaps."

"Most of them teach during the day."

"I doubt if that's what deters them. Well, their loss." "The students,

however,"

Camilla said, "are ardent admirers of yours. How many autographs have you

already signed tonight?"

"On your program," Taxi said. "They'll just lose them." "Not necessarily. You

mean a lot to them." She smiled as two more girls came up to him, one with an

autograph book, one with the evening's program. He turned away, lavishing

them

with his presence.

But he had made her feel in the wrong, something he managed to do whether she

had done or said anything wrong or not. As though she deserved to be

punished.

She shook her head. Most parents probably deserve to be punished for one

reason

or another. Mostly their children don't act on it. Frankie came over, put an

:arm about her mother. "Mom, what a terrific evening. Your medal is

impressive,

but who is that guy on the other side of it?"

"The King of Denmark."

"What on earth is the King of Denmark doing on a medal for astronomy?"

Thessaly, just behind her, said, "Maria Mitchell discovered a new comet, and

the

King of Denmark gave her a medal." "Oh. How do you know so much?" Frankie

smiled

at her sister-in-law.

"Your mother told me, of course. Maria Mitchell's big thing was studying

sunspots, and moons-satellites of planets. And she was the first woman to be

admitted to the American Academy of Arts and Sciences."

"All I remember is that Mom admired her, and wasn't she born in Nantucket?"

Madeleine L'Engle

8

A Live Coal in the Sea

9

"I am. Tomorrow. I couldn't miss this."

Taxi, followed by a small retinue of adoring students, came over to them and

put

his hand on Raffi's shoulder. "Mom, I have to get on the road. Raffi, you're

coming home for the weekend?"

"Sure, Dad. I'll drive Aunt Frankie to the airport in the morning.

Grandmother,

I'm taking the early train back on Sunday. Can I come have supper with you?"

"Of course. I'll look forward to it."

Camilla said goodbye to her family, went to the door to watch them leave.

None

of the other guests seemed ready to depart. She sighed, and went back to the

crowded room.

Camilla walked rather wearily along the path from the president's house to

her

own. It was only two houses away, for which she was grateful. She had stood

overlong in dressy shoes, and her feet hurt. Her house was one of the white

clapboard ones that dotted the campus in pleasant contrast to the more

institutional brick or stone buildings. She carried the medal in its leather

and

velvet case. Minor honor or not, it still gave her a feeling of being

appreciated and recognized. The evening had been as rewarding as the award,

except for that one brief conversation with Taxi.

Guilt. He could always make her feel full of guilt. Had he been jealous that

all

the attention was on her? Taxi was used to being the center of things, the

sun,

with the planets and the moons circling about his brilliance.

She shrugged it off. Frankie had come, all the way from Seattle. Raffi had

been

like a bright flame amid her cluster of friends. Colleagues, especially in

Camilla's own department, had been genuinely delighted for her. Most of them.

But her department was amazingly free of politics.

She unlocked her door and went into her house, one of the most desirable

faculty

houses on campus. It had originally been lived in and added on to by the

college's one Nobel Prize

winning physicist. She entered the front hall with its wide floorboards, then

turned into the long living room, which was part of the addition, a gracious

room full of books along one side, French windows along the other, and

fireplaces at each end. She had left on a couple of lamps, which she now

turned

off, then went to the kitchen to warm some milk. A mug, of milk with nutmeg

was

a comfortable way to relax when she had been overstimulated. She heated the

milk

in the microwave in an old blue-and-white mug with cracked glaze. The mug was

an

icon for her, an icon of love and possibility. Mac, her husband, had given

her

bitter and muddy coffee in that mug the first evening they met. Yes, she

still

missed him, he who had shared so much joy and so much anguish and then-as

happens-betrayed her by dying.

She took the heated milk upstairs to her bedroom and put it on the round

table

beside her bed, a great old brass bed given them as a wedding present by her

parents-in-law. She kept it brightly polished, with the help of an occasional

student. Like the mug, it was continuity, the bed, the old mahogany highboy

that

had belonged to her mother, the chaise longue with its comfortable cushions.

The

room was full of old friends. She lived fully in the present, but her past

was

still part of that present. This evening just over was the first time in

several

years that Taxi and Frankie had been together. And it had been all right.

Nearly

all right.

Above the bed was a large photograph of such fine quality that many people

thought it a painting. It was of Taxi and Frankie in front of Mac's parents'

cottage on the beach in North Florida. The children were sitting together on

a

high dune laced with dark vines of beach morning-glory. Sea oats seemed to be

moving in the wind. Frankie had her hands clasped about her knees. Her hair,

straight and dark, fell to her shoulders. Taxi's hair was also dark, but

softly

curly. The two children were often taken for twins. Taxi had a handful of

sand

and was letting it dribble between his fingers. The pic-

i

Madeleine L'Engle»10

ture was full of light and movement, the best, the artist said, absolutely

the

best picture he had ever taken.

A time long gone. A time of innocence, if innocence had ever been possible in

this sorry century, or in her own lifetime. A time of loveliness caught

fleetingly by the eye of the camera.

'Mommy,' Taxi had asked her, 'why does the camera see upside downs'

'Because our eyes see upside down,' she had answered. Taxi frowned, thinking.

'Daddy?'

When had they had this conversation? Before or after? Taxi was only four when

She shook her head, trying to recall what had been said. 'Sorry, Taxi,' Mac

had

said, 'I'm no scientist.'

Frankie held up her hand, as she usually did when she wanted attention.

'Remember, in the olden days, when photographers took pictures, they got under

a

black cloth cape thing, and what they saw was upside down, and they had to

turn

it around in their minds.'

'Well, it seems very peculiar,' Taxi had said, 'that God or evolution should

make creatures that see upside down and then have to reverse everything. Is

there a reason?'

'It's just the way it is,' Mac had answered, smiling. 'Like life,' Taxi had

said. 'Upside down.'

Yes, she remembered.

On Sunday afternoon Camilla puttered around in her kitchen, preparing a

simple

meal for herself and Raffi, mushroom Stroganoff and a salad of green beans

and

tomatoes, which still, in October, were red and full of taste. She snipped

some

basil off a plant in the window. Raffi was as dear to her as her own

children,

although since Camilla had left New York to teach in this college, from which

she had graduated so many years ago, she had seen less of her than when they

were just a few blocks apart.

A Live Coal in the Sea-11

She set the table in her breakfast room, which was a glassed-in half-moon off

the end of the kitchen and was bright and seemed sunny even in the winter

when

the skies were grey and dull. Her table was round, with a marble top which

Mac

had given her for her fortieth birthday. When she saw Raffi coming up the

path,

she went into the living room and lit the fire at the far end. In the winter

both fireplaces were used regularly, but on this autumn evening she lit the

fire

more for pleasure than necessity.

Raffi rang the bell and pushed open the door, which Camilla locked only at

night. She gave her grandmother a hug, then shucked off her navy pea jacket

and

sat on the low bench in front of the fire. "Grandmother-" Her voice was tight.

"What's the matter?" Camilla asked, coming over to her and sitting beside her

on

the bench.

"What I want to know is-" She gasped, as though out of breath.

"Raffi, what is it?"

"What I want to know is, are you my grandmother? Or not?"

For a few moments Camilla stared into the fire, as motionless as though she

had

been petrified, like stone that was once living wood. Slowly, she turned to

look

at the girl. Raffi, as usual, wore blue jeans, and a heavy sweater which was

several sizes too large for her and completely concealed her young body. When

Camilla felt that her voice was under control, she said, "That is a very

strange

question, Raffi. What caused you to ask it?"

Raffi pushed her fingers through her hair, which she had had cut over the

weekend. Always short, it was now shorter than that of the most conservative

males, as though she wanted it to show as little as possible. She said, "I'm

the

only redhead in the family. Is it some recessive gene? Did either of your

parents have red hair?"

Madeleine L'Engle»12

Camilla shook her head. Neither Rose nor Rafferty Dickinson had had red hair.

"There's none in Mom's family, either. A mutation, perhaps?" Raffi's voice

was

harsh.

Camilla placed her hand gently on the girl's knee. "What's brought all this

up,

Raffi? Tell me."

"Something my dad said. Your son. Is he your son, Grandmother? I know he has

black hair, like yours before it went white, and he even sort of looks like

you."

"More than sort of," Camilla said. "Okay. He looks like you. But--2' "Isn't

that

enough for you, Raffi?"

"No." The girl lurched to her feet and began putting more wood onto the fire,

jabbing at the logs with the poker. Camilla looked around the familiar room

as

though she was a stranger, letting her gaze travel along the white

bookshelves,

the comfortable couches and chairs covered in chintz, the soft green of the

Chinese rugs on the floor.

Raffi finished her attack on the fire and sat down. "Grandmother."

"Yes?" Camilla turned from her inspection of the room, from the wall of

windows

which overlooked the lake, softly silver in the dwindling light. Leaves were

drifting down from maples and beeches, occasionally clinging to the window

screens before dropping to the ground.

"Who's Red Grange?" Camilla stiffened. "Grandmother?"

Carefully Camilla said, "He was a well-known football player a great many

years

ago. I didn't know you were interested in football."

"I'm not. My father, the soap-opera star-" There was undisguised bitterness

in

her voice. She shifted. "You know Dad's collection of those weird old

records-78s, he calls them. From 1978?"

"78 r.p.m.s." "What?"

"Revolutions per minute. I'll explain later if you're interested. Raffi,

what's

going on? What about your father's collection?"

"This weekend while I was home, after I drove Aunt Frankie to the airport,

Dad

kept playing one old record about a ghost.

With her head tucked underneath her arm She walked the bloody tower,

With her head tucked underneath her arm At the midnight hour.

Dad sang along with it. He has a pretty good voice, actually." "Go on,"

Camilla

said. Instinctively she pressed her hand against her chest.

"He kept repeating-" "What?"

"Yes ...77

"They think that it's Red Grange Instead of poor old Anne Boleyn . .

Camilla closed her eyes.

". . . with her head tucked underneath her arm."

Raffi's eyes were demanding. "Grandmother?"

"Yes, Raffi." Yes, Raffi. What else was there to say? Why does the camera see

upside down? Why do we?

Raffi continued, "I asked Dad who Red Grange was, and he said, 'A football

player,' and Mom told him to stop playing that idiotic song, and I could tell

she was furious. Arid upset. And nobody would explain why. I mean, actually,

I

thought

A Live Coal in the Sea13

"The sentries think that it's

A football that she carries in . . ."

Madeleine L Engle-14

the song was kind of funny, but it obviously had a hidden meaning for them,

and

I want to know what it's all about." Camilla folded her hands together,

whitening the knuckles. "This still doesn't explain your first question."

The green of Raffi's eyes (who else had green eyes?) was suddenly brightened

with tears. "I said something about you, Grandmother, and how glad I was

about

being accepted here

at your college, not so much because it's such a good one as that you're

here,

and Dad said"-her voice broke for a moment"he said, 'Keep your illusions that

she's your grandmother,' and Mom slapped him. I've never seen her hit him

before, but I think their marriage is lousy, and I want to know what it's all

about." Now the sobs came and she put her head in Camilla's lap and wept.

When Raffi's sobs had dwindled to an occasional hiccup, Camilla patted her

gently. "Let me get supper on the table. I have a small group of seniors

coming

over at eight for a seminar.

Raffi sat huddled on the bench, staring into the fire, while Camilla put food

on

the table, poured water into silver goblets (wedding presents), lit candles.

Raffi stood up, a little stiffly. "I'm sorry. I haven't been any help."

"There'll be other times."

"Grandmother, are you going to tell me?"

Slowly, carefully, Camilla heaped Raffi's plate. "Yes. Under the

circumstances,

I think ... But it goes back a long way. To when I was in college:" She

looked

at her watch. "It's nearly seven.

Raffi paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. "We have an hour."

"It's a long story, Raffi. It'll take more than an hour." "You can at least

start."

"You'll have to be patient with me."

How much to tell? How much of the truth was truth? Whose truth? Upside down?

Surely Taxi's truth would be rad

A Live Coal in the Sea»15

ically different from Camilla's. But the beginning of the story . went much

further back, to long before Taxi was born.

Camilla was a senior in college. It was winter, and the bare branches of the

trees were stark against a snow-heavy sky. Camilla, walking across campus,

blinded by tears, crossed Elm Street and almost ran into a young man who was

coming out of a grey stone building with a blue door.

'Hey!'

'Oops! Sorry!' They spoke simultaneously.

He held out a hand to steady her. 'What's up? Can I help?' He took her firmly

by

the elbows and steered her along the path.

'Nothing,' she replied automatically. 'I'm sorry-' She choked on a sob.

He gave her a quick, appraising glance. 'You look half frozen, if nothing

else.

There's coffee within. Come along and I'll warm you up before you go on to

wherever you're going.'

Where was she going? Almost as though she were sleepwalking she followed him

in

through the blue door, along a long hall lined with doors to offices on

either

side, many of them with half doors opened at the top. He spoke casually to

several people, said to an older man in a turned-around collar, 'I'll be down

in

the kids' room for a few minutes if you want me for anything.' Then he led

Camilla down a flight of stairs, and into a big room made comfortable by a

rug,

a chintz-covered sofa, some shabby but comfortable chairs. There was one

picture

on the wall, a silk screen of a Rouault clown. It was a picture she knew and

liked. Through another open door she saw half a dozen cribs, and some small

round tables with low children's chairs.

Not caring who the young man was or where she was, she . struggled for

control.

He went through a door, calling out to someone, and returned with a mug of

coffee which steamed in

Madeleine L'Engle

»16

A Live Coal in the Sea

»17

the chilly room but smelled strong and stale. He put it in her automatically

outstretched hand, then sat cross-legged in a sagging armchair, a slight,

dark-haired young man with bright eyes partly veiled by long lashes.

'If you don't want to say anything it's fine,' he said. 'But you're obviously

terribly upset. Do you want to talk about it?' She was outraged to the point

of

bursting: 'My mother, at this moment, is fucking my once favorite astronomy

professor.' There was no word she could use which would be vulgar enough for

what she felt. They were certainly not making love. Rose, Camilla's mother,

did

not, she thought, know what it was to love. To be loved, yes; not to love.

She hugged her' arms about herself, holding in a deep shudder. The young man

did

not reply. She looked at him as he sat quietly in the overstuffed chair with

sagging springs and rips in the red slipcover. His expression was alert and

interested, and she did not feel that she was being judged, or found wanting.

After a while he broke the silence. 'I'm really sorry. That's got to hurt a

lot.'

She got up and walked aimlessly about the shabby room, trying to pull herself

together. He waited until she returned to her chair. She said, 'Sorry. Sorry.'

'Hey, you've got plenty to be upset about. Puts my own problems into

proportion.

Where do you live? Where's home?'

'I grew up in New York.' Her voice steadied. 'Then Italy. Now we live in

Chicago.'

'But your mother's here?'

'She always comes East to buy clothes, and she likes to hop up here and be

taken

for my sister.' She added, 'She's very beautiful.'

He nodded, as though absorbing. 'I'm Mac. You?' 'Camilla.'

Suddenly the name sounded strange to her. Camilla. Camilla Dickinson. Where

was

her mother, who was making her

so incoherently angry? In some motel, she supposed, like someone in a bad

novel.

Tears welled up again; streamed down her cheeks. She knew what would happen

in

the morning. There would be promises, promises that it would never happen

again.

It was her father who was the only man in Rose Dickinson's life. Why did her

father put up with it?

She closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion and sleep. Her

mother

couldn't manage without Rafferty Dickinson. It's an illness, that's what the

shrink had said.

She opened her eyes. This was no place to fall asleep. 'Well. I've taken

enough

of your time, almost knocked you down, drowned you with my tears and my

talk-'

She stood, putting the untouched mug of coffee on the table.

He stood up, too. Shorter than she, but nicely built. 'I'll walk you back to

your dorm.'

Madeleine L'engle - A Live Coal in the Sea

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