Chapter 27

After a bit I realized I was feeling enough better that I was in the mood for some music. I got the soundtrack from O Brother, Where Art Thou? and stuck it in the CD player. There's a lot of good music on that CD – at least if you like old time music you'll think it's good – and I'd pay for it just to get the full speed ahead version of "I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow." I like bluegrass, and that song is one of the best bits of bluegrass I've ever heard, at least in that version. It wasn't original with the Soggy Bottom Boys, but that's the only outfit I've ever heard do it. The way they did it, it's right up there with "Foggy Mountain Breakdown" and "Uncle Pen" and "Rocky Top" as one of the great bluegrass tunes of all time.

My foot tapped along as I read and listened. I was still sitting there, tapping and reading and listening, when I heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. I got to the window just in time to see nothing, which meant that Cecelia had pulled into the garage. She's got an arrest-me-red Mazda and she zips that thing around corners and up driveways like a fighter jet. She's not an Albuquerque native – they take all day to get around a corner or pull into a driveway or parking lot.

Cecelia's the only one who ever parks in the garage – I park by the curb, since I don't much care how dirty the Blazer gets, and in that I'm typical; most garages hold everything but cars, I've noticed. I opened the front door, and was standing just inside – not wishing to stand on the wet stoop in my bare feet – when Cecelia came out of the garage door, her arm out to push the closer button as she passed. She had on her black leather trench coat, open from neck to hem, and I could see that underneath it she wore one of my favorite dresses – a long white affair with a narrower skirt than she usually wears, and frills from the high collar to her waist, and long sleeves that puff out a bit around her shoulders, although of course I couldn't see the sleeves under the coat. I was gazing at her in awe when she looked up and saw me.

I must have had some sort of greedy look on my face, for she smiled in the way she has which launches ships yet unbuilt, and said, "Darvin, if I didn't know better I would swear you were a callow teenager panting over a cheerleader."

I waited till she'd reached me, and given me a quick kiss as she stepped through the door and closed it, before answering. "I don't know that I'm callow, but when I see you I get all weak and fluttery, and I want to be with you like I've never wanted anything else on earth."

She shrugged off the trench coat and hung it on the rack by the door to dry; later on she'd hang it up in our bedroom closet. Her hair glistened with drops of moisture, and her face seemed washed clean by the rain, though I knew she never uses makeup. She rested her hands on my chest and leaned forward to give me another kiss, this one long and tender. "My husband, you sometimes make me feel like I'm a teenager again, with a crush on the handsomest boy in school. For I do love you, and being with you is so much fun that I actually run out of words to describe it."

"Cecelia, the day you're wordless is the day I scrub the kitchen floor with a toothbrush."

"Be careful what you say, Darvin – I just may take a vow of silence and giggle to myself as I watch you down on your knees making my floor shine."

"For you, Cecelia, it would be worth it. I bow to no one on earth ... except you, if you wish it."

"I do not wish it, my husband, for it is I who kneel before you – if not physically, then in my heart. And if you wish it," and she grinned mischievously at me, "I shall indeed do so physically, though if you're considering making the request I remind you that from such a position I would be capable of doing you excruciating harm."

I put my right arm across her shoulders, feeling the thinness of her and the firm muscle, and led her to the sofa. "Maybe we'll just kneel to each other – or kneel with each other, before the One who made us and brought us together. I can't feature either of us being inferior or superior to the other, not in any fundamental way."

I saw the seriousness of it come across her face. We'd been joking, but her reply was not a joke. "Nor can I believe that either of us possesses any essential superiority or inferiority. Our roles are different, as we both know – if only in that you can't cook and I can; I can bear children and you can't; you are the head of the family and I am your wife. But truly you are as good a person, and as poor a person, as I am, and I stand in the same relation to you. If there is anything theological I've learned, it's that – in the words of the cliché – the ground at the foot of the cross is level."

"That it is. But when it comes to ability, you've got me beat." I wasn't joking, but my tone was lighter than hers had been. "You can cook, that's for sure – and sew, and garden, and keep me in line too. And you keep me happy, which can't be an easy job. About all I can do is detect and eat and preach."

"You are not quite so devoid of talent as you represent yourself, but it is true that I am more adept at multiple endeavors than you are. But I sometimes would give up some of the things I do so easily, if it would only enable me to follow you theologically."

I glanced at her in surprise. "I never knew it bothered you that you don't have a doctrinal mind."

"I don't say that it bothers me, Darvin. I have learned not to trouble mah haid about things that I can't help." For just a moment I heard what she must have sounded like as a poor Alabama girl, before she shed her accent. "But over these years I've realized that though I do grasp the basics – and, indeed, am more forward in my comprehension of doctrine than many – it is only by dint of hard work, and I shall never be any sort of theologian. And I have to confess that stings my pride a little. I do not lord it over you with my multifarious capabilities, for they are those suitable for a contented housewife – which I most certainly am. But it is hard to miss the fact that I can do so much that you cannot – or, at least, which you have no interest in doing. And my sinful pride and arrogance don't let me forget that I can do these things and you can't. And that same pride and arrogance dislike the fact that in one area which is more important than any other, you so easily best me."

I opened my mouth, and then shut it again. I knew what I was going to say, but I wanted to say it in a less brutal fashion than I'd first thought of. "Cecelia," I finally told her, "this isn't a contest. I don't 'best' you in theological attainment. May I chastise you, gently, my love? To think of our respective levels of theological knowledge, and our abilities in that regard, as something where one does or can best the other is to get the whole thing wrong. If I know anything at all, it's only by the grace of God; my own ability not only isn't up to the task, but for years the very best my own mind could do kept me away from God. I have a sneaking suspicion that if it were only a matter of intellect, you would be the theologian in the family."

"You're right," she said, slowly enough that I knew it wasn't something she really wanted to say. "I know that – and yet I don't know it, not yet, not deep inside where it counts. And I've let it fester – I didn't know it; I am just now realizing that it was festering; I am amazed at myself for being so blind to my own heart – for some time now. I don't like this!" The last sentence was a passionate burst.

My arm was still around her shoulders, and I pulled her tightly to me. "Cecelia, don't kick yourself. If that's all you've got to be unhappy about you're doin' mighty well. You'll get it right. I know you, and you've been the wisest counselor I've ever had. You'll get it straight in your head and your heart, don't worry."

She looked up at me, her black tilted eyes bright with unshed tears. "Do you really think so?"

I'd never, I don't think, seen her so vulnerable. Hurt to the point of uncontrollable weeping yes, but not this vulnerable, not this easy to hurt. And I was very careful in my answer, not just with the words but with the tone of my voice. "I know so, mi amor. To the extent you love the Lord, you will get over this, and get it straight."