Free The Willow Tree: A Novel by Hubert Selby Page B

hospital, but sitting all day with the pain….O dear Jesus, Blessed savior Jesus, that is too heavy a burden for these old bones….I am not like you, I cannot bear the sorrows of the world on my shoulders….I do not wear your robe, but sometimes I feel like it is the crown of thorns that sits on my head. You are God and what am I???? I am only an old woman in a strange land filled with much sorrow and pain. O…mother of God, what am I to do? Am I to sit at the foot of the cross and try to take Marias pain??? and my daughters??? is Isabellas pain mine too? I am just old…only old and weary, I am not the mother of God and need to find some rest for bones so much older than those smoking demons. Take my sorrow, dear mother of God, dear Mary, take my sorrow, and that of all of us….
        Here mother—she slowly raised her head and looked at her daughter as she put a cup of coffee on her lap, carefully placing the saucer first, then making certain her mothers hand was steadying the cup—A cup of real coffee will lift your spirits. Raise my spirits?
    Yes. You look sad and worn—looking at her mother for a moment then smiling at her and kissing her on the top of her head—It is such a tiring day. You need rest and food. But first—broadening her smile—a cup of real coffee, not the machine.
    The old woman almost smiled and bent over as much as possible and carefully lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip, licked her lips then took a small mouthful and closed her eyes as she swallowed, then took a larger mouthful and raised her head and leaned back in the chair and sighed, Ohhh, what a blessing—smiling up at her daughter, the sadness still clearly etched on her face, momentarily obscured by her smile. Isabella returned her mothers smile, Rest. Soon we will eat and then we will talk—smiling—when the children are sleeping.
    The old woman nodded her head and finished her coffee and held out the cup to her daughter.
    Good….Another cup…good.
    Her mother leaned against the back of the chair and smiled up at her.
    Maria lay quietly on the bed. Unmoving. A dull pain in her right hip slowly radiating out. Getting worse. Thinking move to stop the pain. Mommy gone. Grandmother gone. Bobby gone…somewhere. Still sounds…noises. From time to time opens eyes…lights. More pain. Eyes sting, leg hurts. Cant move. Cant will to move. Cant force movement away from pain. Crack in ceiling moving….Ceiling falling, eyes shut, body tense, waiting…waiting for impact…to be crushed… the clock lost its hands …mommy…mommy…alone alone alone O mommy mommy…
                                                      darkness sudden, safe from ceiling….It hurts. Really bad. Mommy it hurts. Mommy move me. Stop the pain. Terror freezes body, stiff, rigid, cracking and splintering and little pieces falling off and rolling from bed to hungry demon mouth devouring, grinding, laughing, moaning, moaning, moaning, MOANING, MOANING
                                       Maria. Maria. You in pain?
    Tears soak bandage, body shatters in million pieces, a million demon shattered pieces, bones, flesh, the sunrise, all swallowed, swallowed and disappearing into whatever is beyond darkness
           mommy…. mommy
    I have the nurse bring you somethin—o mommy—tears of terror soaking gauze and sheets—o mommy—a tiny plea from a small mouth and a huge pain, a tiny plea in an infinite threat, a thin, frail body pleading, reaching, reaching, reaching beyond itself to the unknown for something to touch, something to hold it, to comfort it, trying to force the darkness to give up a little glimmer of light as the darkness continues to consume and rend and torture and devour and torment and twist and grind and grind and spit the powdered bones of the tiny body into its crying eyes—mommy, mommy—the fires of fear and pain burning the tiny shell, the tears