Madeleine L'engle - A House Like a Lotus

Polly O'Keefe will never forget the summer she met Max- no matter how hard

she

tries.

Sixteen-year-old Polly is on her way to a

conference on the island of Cyprus, where

she will work as a gofer. The trip was

arranged by Maximiliana Horne, a rich,

brilliant artist who returned a year ago

with her longtime companion, Dr. Ursula

Heschel, to her antebellum mansion on

Benne Seed Island and became the

O'Keefes' neighbor. Max and Polly

formed an instant friendship and Max

took over Polly's education, giving her

the encouragement and confidence that

her isolated upbringing had not. Polly

adored Max, even idolized her, until Max

betrayed her.

Alone during a three-day stopover in Athens, Polly tries to figure out what

went

wrong with Max, to understand how Max could hurt her so much. The arrival of

Zachary Gray, a wealthy and handsome young man determined to spend all his

time

with Polly, only complicates her thinking as she remembers events on Benne

Seed

while he shows her the sights. Leaving Athens behind, Polly still cannot

forgive

Max and yet she is torn by the knowledge that soon she may not have the

chance

to, even if she wants it.

In Cyprus, while preparing for the conference, Polly becomes friends with

(continued on back flap)

i (continued from front flap)

Virginia Porcher, a writer she has always

admired; Omio Heno, a vibrant young

man from the island of Baki; and other

remarkable delegates, from whom Polly

learns she is not the only one who has

suffered. Then Zachary shows up and,

because of his own arrogance and cowardliness,

leads her into danger. In the

healing company of her new friends,

Polly realizes that it is all right to have

contradictory feelings about someone,

and that on the other side of pain there is

still love.

madeleine L'ENGLE is the author of more

than forty books for readers of all ages,

including the 1963 Newbery Medal winner,

A Wrinkle in Time, andthe 1981

Newbery Honor Book, A Ring of Endless

Light.In 1984 Ms. L'Engle received the

Regina Medal. Her most recent novel, A

Severed Wasp,was published in 1983.

Jacket design 1984 by Muriel Nasser

Farrar Straus Giroux

19 Union Square West

New York 10003

374-33385-8

ii Also by Madeleine L'Engle

And It Was Good

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 Austins

A Winter's Love

Camilla

And Both Were Young

Ilsa

The Small Rain

iii A House Like a Lotus

iv

v

- Madeleine L'Engle -

Farrar, Straus, Giroux

NEW YORK

Library of Congress catalog card number: 84-4847'1 Published simultaneously

in

Canada by

Collins Publishers, Toronto

Printed in the United States of America

1 For Robert Lescher

2

One

3

Constitution Square. Athens. Late September.

I am sitting here with a new notebook and an old heart.

Probably I'll laugh at that sentence in a few years, but it is serious right

now. My sense of humor is at a low ebb.

I'm alone (accidentally) in Greece, and instead of enjoying being alone,

which

is a rare occurrence, since I have six younger siblings, I am feeling

idiotically forlorn. Not because I'm alone but because nothing has gone as

planned. What I would like to do is go back to my room in the hotel and curl

up

on my bed, with my knees up to my chin, like a fetus, and cry.

Do unborn babies cry?

My parents are both scientists and for a moment I am caught up in wondering

about fetuses and tears. I'll ask them when I get home.

The sun is warm in Constitution Square, not really hot, but at home, on Benne

Seed Island, there's always a sea breeze. Late September in South Carolina is

summer, as it is in Greece, but here the air is still and the

4

sun beats down on me without the salt wind to cool it

off. The heat wraps itself around my body. And my

body, like everything else, is suddenly strange to me.

What do I even look like? I'm not quite sure. Too tall, too thin, not rounded

enough for nearly seventeen, red hair. What I look like to myself in my

mind's

eye, or in the mirror, is considerably less than what I look

like in the portrait which now hangs over the piano in the living room of our

house on the beach. It's been there for maybe a couple of months.

Nevertheless, it was a thousand years ago that Max said, 'I'd like to paint

you

in a seashell, emerging from the sea, taking nothing from the ocean but

giving

some of it back to everyone who puts an ear to the shell.'

That's Max. That, as well as everything else.

I've ordered coffee, because you have to be eating or drinking something in

order to sit out here in the Square. The Greek coffee is thick and strong and

sweet, with at least a quarter of the cup filled with gritty dregs,

I noticed some kids at a table near mine, drinking beer, and I heard the girl

say that she had come to stop in at American Express to see if her parents

had

sent her check. "It keeps me out of their hair, while they're deciding who to

marry next." And the guy with her said, "Mine would like me to come home and

go

to college, but they keep sending me money, anyhow."

There was another kid at the next table who was also listening to them. He

had

black hair and pale skin and he looked up and met my eyes, raised one silky

black brow, and went back to the book he was reading. If I'd been feeling

kindly

toward the human race I'd have gone over and talked to him.

A group of kids, male, definitely unwashed, so maybe their checks were late

in

coming, looked at me but didn't

5

come over. Maybe I was too washed. And I didn't have

on jeans. Maybe I didn't even look American. But I had

this weird feeling that I'd like someone to come up to me

and say, "Hey, what's your name?" And I could then

answer, "Polly O'Keefe," because all that had been happening

to me had the effect of making me not sure who,

in fact, I was.

Polly. You're Polly, and you're going to be quite all right, because that's

how

you've been brought up. You can manage it, Polly. Just try.

I'd left Benne Seed the day before at 5 a.m., South

Carolina time, which, with the seven-hour time difference,

was something like seventeen hours ago. No wonder

I had jet lag. My parents had come with me, by

Daddy's cutter to the mainland, by car to Charleston, by

plane to New York and JFK airport. Airports get more

chaotic daily. There are fewer planes, fewer ground

personnel, more noise, longer lines, incomprehensible

loudspeakers, short tempers, frazzled nerves.

But I got my seat assignment without too much difficulty, watched my suitcase

disappear on the moving belt, and went back to my parents.

My father put his hands on my shoulders. 'This will be a maturing experience

for

you.'

Of course. Sure. I needed to mature, slow developer that I am.

Mother said, 'You'll have a wonderful time with Sandy and Rhea, and they'll

be

waiting for you at the airport, so don't worry.'

'I'm not worried.' Sandy is one of my mother's brothers, and my favorite

uncle,

and Rhea is his wife, and

6

she's pretty terrific, too. I'd be with them for a week, and

then fly to Cyprus, to be a general girl Friday and

gofer at a conference in a village called Osia Theola.

I've done more traveling than most American kids, but

this time, for the first time, I'd be alone, on my own,

nobody holding my hand, once I left Athens.

Athens, my parents kept telling me, was going to be fun, since Rhea was born

on

the isle of Crete and had friends and relatives all over mainland Greece and

most of the islands. Sandy and Rhea were both international lawyers and

traveled

a lot, and being with them was as safe as being with my parents.

Why hadn't I learned that nothing is safe?

'Write us lots of postcards,' Mother said.

'I will,' I promised. 'Lots.'

I wanted to get away from my parents, to be on my own, and yet I wanted to

reach

out and hold on, all at the same time.

'You'll be fine,' Daddy said.

'Sure.'

'Take care of yourself,' Mother said. 'Be happy.' Underneath her words I

could

almost hear her saying, 'Don't be frightened. I wish I could go with you. I

wish

you were a little girl again.'

But she didn't say it.

And I'm not. Not anymore. Maybe I'd like to be. But I'm not.

My family knew that something had gone wrong,

that something had happened, but they didn't know

what, and they respected my right not to tell them until

7

I was ready, or not to tell them at all. Only my Uncle

Sandy knew, because Max had called him to come, and

he'd flown down to Charleston from Washington. This

was nothing unusual. Sandy, with or without Rhea,

drops in whenever he gets a chance, popping over to the

island en route to or from somewhere, just to say hello

to the family.

Fortunately, I'm the oldest of our large family, including our cousin Kate,

who's fourteen, living with us and going to school with us on the mainland.

So

no one person comes in for too much attention.

Mother put her arm around me and kissed me and there were questions in her

eyes,

but she didn't ask them. Flights were being called over the blurred

loudspeaker.

Other people were hugging and saying goodbye.

'I think that's my flight number-' I said.

Daddy gave me a hug and a kiss, too, and I turned away from them and put my

shoulder bag on the moving conveyor belt that took it through the X-ray

machine.

I walked through the X-ray area, retrieved my bag, slung it over my shoulder,

and walked on.

On the plane I went quickly to my window seat and strapped myself in. The big

craft was only a little over half full, and nobody sat beside me, and that

was

fine with me. I wanted to read, to be alone, not to make small talk. I leaned

back and listened to the announcements, which were given first in Greek, then

in

English. A stewardess came by with a clipboard, checking off names.

'O'Keefe. Polly O'Keefe. P-o-double l-y.' My passport has my whole name,

Polyhymnia. My parents should have known better. I've learned that it's best

if

I spell my nickname with two l's. Poly tends to be pronounced as though it

rhymes with pole. I'm tall and

8

skinny like a pole, but even so I might get called Roly

Poly. So it's Polly, two l's.

Another stewardess passed a tray of champagne. Without thinking, I took a

glass.

Sipped. Why did I take champagne when I didn't even want it? Not because I

don't

like champagne; not because I'm legally under age; but because of Max. Max

and

champagne, too much champagne.

At first, champagne was an icon of the world of art for me, of painting and

music and poetry, with ideas fizzing even more brightly than the dry and

sparkling wine. Then it was too much champagne and a mouth tasting like

metal.

Then it was dead bubbles, and emptiness.

I drank the champagne, anyhow. If you have a large family, you learn that if

you

take a helping of something, you finish it. Not that that was intended to

apply

to champagne, it was just an inbred habit with me. When another stewardess

came

by to refill my glass I said, "No, thank you."

A plane is outside ordinary time, ordinary space. High up above the clouds, I

was flying away from everything that had happened, not trying to escape it,

or

deny it, but simply being in a place that had no connection with chronology

or

geography. AH I could see out the window was clouds. No earth. Nothing

familiar.

I ate the meal which the stewardess brought around, without tasting it. I

watched the movie, without seeing it. About halfway through, I surprised

myself

by falling asleep and sleeping till the cabin lights were turned on, and

first

orange juice and then breakfast were brought around. All through the cabin,

people yawned and headed for the Johns, and there are not enough Johns, since

most of the men use them for shaving.

9 /

Window shades were raised, so that sunlight flooded

the cabin. While I was eating breakfast I kept peering

out the window, looking down at great wild mountains.

Albania, the pilot told us: rugged, dark, stony, with

little sign of habitation or even vegetation.

A dark and bloody country, Max had said.

Then we flew over the Greek islands, darkly green against brilliant blue.

Cyprus. After Athens, I would be going to Cyprus.

I had a sense of homecoming, because this was Europe, and although we've been

on

Benne Seed Island for five years, Europe still seems like home to me.

Especially

Portugal, and a small island off the south coast called Gaea, where the

little

kids were born, and where we lived till I was thirteen.

Then we moved back to the United States, to Benne Seed Island. Daddy's a

marine

biologist, so islands are good places for his work, and Mother helps him,

doing

anything that involves higher math or equations.

Being brought up on an isolated island is not good preparation for American

public schools. Right from the beginning, I didn't fit in. The girls all wore

large quantities of makeup and talked about boys and thought I was weird, and

maybe I am. Some of the teachers liked me because I'm quick and caught up on

schoolwork without any trouble, and some of them didn't like me for the same

reason. I don't have a Southern accent-why should I?-so people thought I was

snobby.

The best thing about school is getting to it. We all pile into a largish

rowboat

with an outboard motor, and running it is my responsibility. I suppose Xan's

taking over while I'm away. Anyhow, we take the boat to the mainland, tie it

to

the dock with chain and padlock around the motor. We walk half a mile to the

school bus,

A House Like a Lotus

and then it's a half-hour bus ride. And then I get through

the day, and it's bearable because I like learning things.

When we lived in Portugal, there was no school on Gaea,

and we were much too far from the mainland to go to

school there, so our parents taught us, and learning was

fun. Exciting. At school in Cowpertown, nobody seemed

to care about learning anything, and the teachers cared

mostly about how you scored on the big tests. I knew I

had to do well on the tests, but I enjoy tests; our parents

always made them seem like games. So I did well on

them, and I knew that was important, because I will

need to get a good scholarship at a good college. Our

parents have made us understand the importance of a

good education.

Seven kids to educate! Are they crazy? Sandy and Dennys will probably help,

if

necessary. Even so ...

Charles, next in line after me, will undoubtedly get a good scholarship. He

knows more about marine biology than a lot of college graduates. He's

tall-we're

a tall family-and his red hair isn't as bright as mine.

Charles and I were the only ones to get the recessive red-hair gene. The

others

are various shades of ordinary browns.

Alexander is next, after Charles, named after Uncle Sandy, and called Xan to

avoid confusion, since Sandy and Rhea come to Benne Seed so often. Xan is

tall-of course-but last year he shot up, so that now he's taller than I am.

It's

a lot easier to boss around a little brother who's shorter than you are than

one

who looks over the top of your head, is a basketball star at school, is

handsome, and adored by girls. We got along better when he was my little

brother. He and Kate team up against the rest of us, especially me. Kate is

beautiful and brown-haired and popular.

11 /

After Xan is Den, named after Uncle Dennys. He's

twelve, and most of the time we get along just fine. But

every once in a while he tries to be as old as Xan, and

then there's trouble. At least for me.

Then come the little kids, Peggy, Johnny, and Rosy. Because I'm the oldest,

I've

always helped out a lot, playing with them, reading to them, giving them

baths.

They're still young enough to do what I tell them, and to look up to me, and

to

accept me just as I am. And I feel more like myself when I'm playing on the

beach with the little kids than I do when I'm at school, where everybody

thinks

I'm peculiar.

Under normal circumstances I would have been delighted to get away from the

family and from school for a month. Mother tries not to put too much

responsibility on me, and everybody has jobs, but if Mother's in the lab

helping

Daddy work out an equation, then I'm in charge, and believe me, all these

brethren and sistren have about decided me on celibacy.

The plane plunged through a bank of clouds and the

stewardess called over the loudspeaker that we were all

to fasten seat belts and put seats and tray tables in upright

position for the descent into Athens. I kept blowing

my nose to clear my ears as the pressure changed. With

a minimum of bumps, we rolled along the runway.

Athens.

I joined the throng leaving the plane, like animals rushing to get off the

ark.

I followed the others to baggage claim and managed to get my suitcase from

the

carousel by shouldering my way through the crowd. As I lugged the heavy bag

to-

12

ward the long counters for customs, I heard loudspeakers

calling names, and hoped I might hear mine, but nobody

called for Polly O'Keefe.

The customs woman peered into my shoulder bag; she could have taken it, as

far

as I was concerned. But I couldn't refuse the bag, which Max sent over from

Beau

Allaire, without someone in the family noticing and making a crisis over it.

It

was gorgeous, with pockets and zippers and pads and pens, and if anybody else

had given it to me I'd have been ecstatic.

The customs woman pulled out one of my notebooks and glanced at it. What I

wrote

was obviously not in the Greek alphabet, so she couldn't have got much out of

it. She handed it back to me with a scowl, put a chalk mark on my suitcase,

and

waved me on.

I went through the doors, looking at all the people milling about, looking

for

Uncle Sandy and Aunt Rhea to be visible above the crowd. I saw a tall man with

a

curly blond beard and started to run toward him, but he was with a woman with

red hair out of a bottle (why would anybody deliberately want that color

hair?),

and when I looked at his face he wasn't like Sandy at all.

Aunt Rhca has black hair, shiny as a bird's wing, long and lustrous. I have

my

hair cut short so there'll be as little of it to show as possible. Daddy says

it

will turn dark, as his has done, the warm color of an Irish setter. I hope

so.

Where were my uncle and aunt? I'd expected them to be right there, in the

forefront of the crowd. I kept looking, moving through groups of people

greeting, hugging, kissing, weeping. I even went out to the place where taxis

and buses were waiting. They weren't there, either. Back into the airport. If

I

was certain of anything

13

in an uncertain world, it was that Sandy and Rhea

would be right there, arms outstretched to welcome me.

And they weren't. I mean, I simply had to accept that they were not there. And

I

wasn't as sophisticated a traveler as I'd fooled myself into thinking I was.

Someone else had always been with me before, doing the right things about

passports, changing money, arranging transportation. I'd gone through

passport

control with no problem, but now what?

I looked at the various signs, but although I'd learned the Greek alphabet,

my

mind had gone blank. I could say thank you, epharisto, and please, parakalo.

Kalamos means pen, and mathetes means student, and I'd gone over, several

times,

the phrase book for travelers Max had given me. I'm good at languages. I

speak

Portuguese and Spanish, and a good bit of French and German. I even know some

Russian, but right now that was more of a liability than an asset, because

when

I looked at the airport signs I confused the Russian and Greek alphabets.

I walked more slowly, thought I saw Sandy and Rhea, started to run, then

slowed

down again in disappointment. It seemed the airport was full of big,

blond-bearded men, and tall, black-haired women. At last I came upon a large

board, white with pinned-up messages, and I read them slowly. Greek names,

French, German, English, Chinese, Arabic names. Finally, P. O'Keefe.

I took the message off the board and made myself put the pin back in before

opening it. My fingers were trembling.

DELAYED WILL CALL HOTEL SANDY RHEA

They had not abandoned me. Something had hap-

14

pened, but they had not forgotten me. I held the message

in my hand and looked around the airport, where

people were still milling about.

Well, I didn't need someone to hold my hand, keep the tickets, tell me what

to

do. I found a place where I could get one of my traveler's checks cashed into

Greek money, and then got a bus which would take me to the hotel.

It was the King George Hotel, and Max had told me that it was old-fashioned

and

comfortable and where she stayed. If Max stayed there, then it was expensive

as

well as pleasant, and that made me uncomfortable. I wouldn't have minded my

father paying for it, though marine biologists aren't likely to be rolling in

wealth. I wouldn't even have minded Sandy and Rhea paying for it, because I

knew

Rhea had inherited pots of money. But it was Max. This whole trip was because

of

Max.

It was in August that Max had said to me, 'Polly, I

had a letter today from a friend of mine, Kumar Krhishna

Ghose. Would you like to go to Cyprus?'

Non sequiturs were not uncommon with Max, whose thoughts ranged from subject

to

subject with lightning-like rapidity.

We were sitting on the screened verandah of her big Greek revival house, Beau

Allaire. The ceiling fan was whirring; the sound of waves rolled through all

our

words. 'Sure,' I said. 'But what's Cyprus got to do with your Indian friend?'

'Krhis is going to coordinate a conference there in late September. The

delegates will be from all the underdeveloped and developing countries except

those behind

15 /

the Iron Curtain-Zimbabwe, New Guinea, Baki, Kenya,

Brazil, Thailand, to name a few. They're highly motivated

people who want to learn everything they can

about writing, about literature, and then take what

they've learned back to their own countries.'

I looked curiously at Max, but said nothing.

'The conference is being held in Osia Theola in Cyprus. Osia, as you may

know,

is the Greek word for holy, or blessed. Theola means, I believe, Divine

Speech.

We can check it with Rhea. In any case, a woman named Theola went to Cyprus

early in the Christian era and saw a vision in a cave. The church that was

built

over the cave and the village around it are named after her, Osia Theola.'

I was evidently supposed to say something. 'That's a pretty name.'

At last Max, laughing, took pity on me. 'My friend Krhis is going to need

someone to run errands, do simple paperwork, be a general slave. I've offered

you. Would you like that?'

Would I! 'Sure, if it's all right with my parents.'

'I don't think they'd want you to miss that kind of opportunity. Your mother

can

do without you for once. I'll speak to your school principal if necessary and

tell

him what an incredible educational advantage three weeks on Osia Theola will

be.

It won't be glamorous, Polly. You'll have to do all the scut work, but you're

used to that at home, and I think it would be good experience for you. I've

already called Krhis and he'd like to have you.'

Just like that. Three weeks at Osia Theola in Cyprus.

That's how it happened. That's the kind of thing Max

16

could do. Now that I thought about it, it seemed likely

that Max had paid for my plane fare, too.

The week in Athens, before the conference, was something Max said I shouldn't

miss, and my parents agreed. I had never been to Greece, and they were happy

for

me to have the opportunity.

We were all less happy about it by the time I left Benne Seed than when the

plan

was first talked about, Max enthusiastically showing us brochures of Athens

and

Osia Theola, the museums, the Acropolis. Those last weeks before I flew to

Athens, my parents looked at each other when I came into a room as though

they'd

been talking about me, but they didn't say anything, and neither did I.

And now I was on a bus, sitting next to a family who were talking loudly in

furious syllables. The man wore a red fez, so I assumed they were Turkish,

and

Turkish is a language I've never even attempted. During the drive I began to

feel waves of loneliness, like nausea, until I was certain the hotel wouldn't

have a reservation for me, and what then? I certainly wasn't going to call

South

Carolina and ask someone to come rescue me.

But I was welcomed, personally, by the manager, and given a message which

said

the same thing as the one at the airport.

I liked the hotel, which reminded me a little of hotels in Lisbon. But I felt

very alone. I followed the bellman to my room. He opened the door, put my bag

down on the rack, flung open doors to closets, to a big bathroom, opened

floor-length windows to the balcony.

"Acropolis," he said, pointing to the high hill with its ancient, decaying

buildings, and I caught my breath at the beauty. Sounds of the present came

in,

contradicting the view: bus brakes, taxi horns, the wail of a siren.

17

I stood looking around, first at the view, then at the

room, which was comfortably European, with yellow

walls, a brass bed, a stained carpet, and an enormous

bouquet of mixed flowers on a low table in front of the

sofa.

After a moment I realized that I'd forgotten the bellman and that he was

waiting, so I dug in my purse for what I hoped was the right amount of money,

put it in his hand, saying, "Epharisto."

He checked what I'd given him, smiled at me in approval, said, "Parakalo" and

left, closing the door gently behind him.

The sunlight flooded in from the balcony, warming me. Despite the heat, I

felt

an odd kind of cold, like numbness from shock. I unpacked, spreading out

notebooks and paperbacks on the coffee table to establish my territorial

imperative. No photographs. Not of anybody.

Whenever I stepped out of the direct sunlight, the inner cold returned. And a

dull drowsiness. Although I had slept more on the plane than. I had expected,

it

was a long time since I'd actually stretched out on a bed. The

early-afternoon

sun was streaming across the balcony and into my room, but my internal time

clock told me I was tired and wanted to go to bed.

Max had suggested that I get on Greek time as soon as possible. 'Take a nap

when

you get to the hotel, but not a long one. Here.' And I was handed a small

travel

alarm. 'I won't be needing this anymore, and it weighs hardly anything. Sleep

for a couple of hours after you arrive, and then go to bed on Greek time.

It'll

be easier in the long run.'

I didn't want Max's alarm clock, and I didn't want Max's advice, no matter

how

excellent. If it hadn't been for the telephone, I'd have gone right out,

defiantly, and

18

wandered around Athens. But I couldn't do anything

Madeleine L'engle - A House Like a Lotus

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