Waking Rose: A Fairy Tale Retold (43 page)

Now you tell me.

And he had shaken his head violently, the only resistance he was still capable of making.

Then this will happen again. You know you can’t win. You’re just like me, though you don’t want to face that fact. It’s pitiful to see you denying it. Struggle will only prolong your agony. But perhaps you enjoy self-torture? Many Catholics do.

Fish paced savagely around his car, tired but almost afraid to stop moving. Freet had said someday he would beg for it. And at times it seemed to Fish that all his defiance had been useless, as useless as his first interrupted escape from the ropes, which had ended with his recapture and being beaten senseless. The hunger, thirst, and loneliness that Freet had cursed him with still dogged his heels, even now.

You’re different from him, though
. Rose’s voice came back to him.
Your eyes are different. You have a different kind of soul.

He looked up at the row of windows in the patients’ wing, but they were all dark now. The nighttime routine had ended. All was still in the palace of sleep, but he was outside, cut off from the peace of her presence by a hedge of thorns, alone. And the thorns wouldn’t part for him. If he dared them, he would only be torn to shreds.

Only the pure of heart shall see God.

Rose, he didn’t doubt, could see God. But right now, he couldn’t even see her.

Hers

She lay beside the palace window, looking out at the eternal night of the realm of sleep, waiting for him.

Was he staying away because somehow he knew she hadn’t been able to keep his secret? She prayed that if he ever found out, he would forgive her. Now she thought about him constantly in the night world as she lay pinned in her bed, looking at the moon tapestry, waiting for the execution that she knew would come eventually. Sometimes in her deeper sleep, she saw Fish as she had found him in the cellar, tied to that pillar by more ropes than she would have thought anyone would have needed to keep him down. But he was wrestling against them with all the strength that was in him. That, she remembered, was when Freet had been trying to kill her, in front of him.

She remembered thinking at the time,
I mustn’t die. Because the only reason Freet is killing me is because he knows it will hurt Fish. So if I don’t die, I can stop him from hurting Fish.

But she hadn’t been able to save Fish from all the harm that had been done to him before.

What are you thinking about?
The serpent had slid inside and was fondling her arm before she quite realized it. Since she had no feeling in her limbs, she only noticed the serpent once it appeared in her line of vision.

Him.

He’s not coming, you know. He’ll never come.

She could feel the tears sliding onto her lashes.

I’m sorry to have to destroy your hopes… There’s no way you can escape from the coma. And even if it were possible, this man can’t save you. Why, if he’s been violated the way you told me, that’s a debilitating psychological condition. And his other problems. He won’t come for you. He can’t. He’s an emotional wreck, too caught up in his own hurts to be a hero. Men like him are perennial victims, not knights in shining armor. I hate to see you waiting for him.

The shadow was behind her, at her shoulder, whispering in her sleep-clouded ears.

Trust me. I’ve met men like him before. They’re unpredictable, and sometimes unstable. They’re victims, and they use their victimization as an excuse to be selfish. And to victimize others.

So he’s excluded from normal life forever?

You could say that, yes. His future is the psychopathology ward. Or the jail cell. Some scars never heal. And he sounds like he has a lot of them.

But Christ had scars too, even on His risen Body. Wounds in this life become glory in the next.

Have you ever considered that you might have an unhealthy fascination with sickness and pain? No man like that is going to be able to save you. He can’t even save himself.

She lifted her head, closing her eyes against further tears and resolving.
I believe in him. He always comes for me when I’m in trouble. And I know he will come again.

She turned half-towards the shadow.
You hate men, don’t you, serpent? Perhaps you’ve never met a truly good man. But I know that a good man, particularly one who has suffered, can change the world.

You’re in the realm of fairy tales again.

Or in the land that is really real.

Or just mired in the irrational hopes of the feminine imagination.

Rose had to smile.
Yes, perhaps some of those too.

20
…The story of the beautiful sleeping “Briar-Rose” went about the country, and spread abroad.

H
IS

Midterms were happening, and both Fish and the Mercy College students were affected. A mixture of busyness and discouragement meant they dropped communication for a time.

Fish was struggling with another persistent headache and a paper on Postmodernism when he got a phone call from Kateri.

“We’re going to do something,” she said importantly.

“About what?”

“About Robert Graves Memorial Hospital. And the homeless man.”

“Who?”

 “You didn’t hear about this? I keep forgetting you’re not on our campus. His name’s Milton Brown. He was hit by a truck three weeks ago, and he’s been in a coma in the hospital ever since. A hospital volunteer who’s a nursing student told the pro-lifers in this area that she thinks he’s being neglected. He didn’t even have a nametag or a chart for a long time, until the volunteer complained. The media don’t want to do anything about it—they say the case is too vague. So we’re going to do something.”

“Such as?” he asked, rubbing his neck muscles.

“We’re having a sit-in. Saturday. Do you want to join us?”

“I don’t think I can,” Fish said, ruminating. “You’re probably going to get arrested, aren’t you?”

“Probably.”

“I don’t think I should. My police record is a bit shaky, and I’m not sure I would do much good to your cause if I were involved.”

“That’s fine. I understand. Anyhow, I’m trying to recruit some of the others. We’re going into the hospital to his room and we’re going to chain ourselves to the bedrail.”

“And so draw attention to his case.”

“Yes. And to draw attention to Robert Graves Memorial’s deplorable record on human rights.”

“Are you still set on going after Dr. Prosser?” he asked.

“In my mind, she’s still guilty until proven utterly innocent.”

 “A bit extreme, isn’t that?” he asked wearily. “You Catholics tend to look at everything in these Thomistic categories. If so-and-so doesn’t believe that human life is sacred, ergo, that person would push Rose off a hayloft to her grave injury. Real life just isn’t like that. Most people aren’t intellectuals—they don’t make a strong connection between what they believe and how they act. That’s why we have so many religious hypocrites today—and thankfully, most people with insane, destructive ideas never act on them.”

“You’re forgetting something else, Fish. Not all Catholics are Thomists.”

“You’ve lost me,” Fish said.

“We don’t all think in these types of categories. Also, we’re dealing with something a bit more concrete here. Dr. Prosser doesn’t simply believe that human life is just a commodity—she and her staff actually treat life as a commodity, doing abortions, euthanasia, whatever they can get away with. So there’s no dysfunction between her beliefs and her actions. She thinks and lives in harmony. A rare person in our times.”

“She practices what she preaches,” Fish murmured.

“Unfortunately for us.”

Fish sighed. “I see. So you’re going to go protest. And if it does turn out that Dr. Prosser is the villain in Rose’s case after all...”

Kateri chuckled. “This can only help. A sort of ‘rumble before the storm.’” 

For some reason, her enthusiasm only depressed him. “Well, I wish you the best.”

He had off work Thursday because of midterms, so after taking his tests, whose results he barely cared about, and grabbing some dinner from a fast-food place, he found himself drifting out to Mercy College to see if anyone wanted to come with him to see Rose that evening.

Kateri wasn’t answering her room phone, but he walked up to the dorm anyhow, hoping to find her.  Knowing the Mercy College strict rules, he walked into the small entranceway of the dorm where a few girls were studying.

“Excuse me,” he said to one black girl who was reading a book by Dietrich von Hildebrand. “Have you seen Kateri Kovach?”

“I think she’s gone for the evening,” the girl said in what sounded like a thick Caribbean accent. “May I ask—are you ‘Fish?’” She pronounced the word
feesh
.

“Uh, yes, that’s a nickname,” he acknowledged. “Are you a friend of Rose’s?”

“Yes, I knew her from theology,” the girl said. “How is she? My name is Nanette,” she added.

Feeling tired, Fish sat down on the sofa next to Nanette’s chair. “Well, she’s doing as well as can be expected,” he said, and gave a brief account of Rose’s condition. Nanette listened, her face sad, and asked more questions. Fish had gotten used to filling in various Mercy College students on Rose’s progress, but Nanette’s last question threw him off.

“May I ask—were you Rose’s boyfriend?” she asked, with a faint coloring. “I knew she was quite fond of you but never had a chance to ask…”

“No,” Fish said, and heaviness came over him. “I probably could have been, but I guess I didn’t feel…adequate.”  He reddened.  He had meant to say, “up to it,” but weariness had made his tongue slip.

“Why would you not feel adequate?” she asked in some surprise.

Having made a misstep, he decided to live with it. He shrugged despondently. “Just not fit for that kind of commitment, I guess.”

She looked at him seriously, and put a hand on his. “You just told me you have been visiting her every night.  How is that not commitment? How is that not adequate?”

He couldn’t speak for a moment.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said at last, and got up. “Thanks for asking.”

Feeling thoroughly befuddled, he went to Sacra Cor dorm.

The teepee was still in the front courtyard, with a huge sign over it reading QUIET. STUDY IN PROCESS. VIOLATION=DEATH.

Paul, it turned out, was the occupant of the teepee, wearing earmuffs and studying embryology. Alex was in his own room playing video games with the volume turned down. Leroy sat on the top of the bunk bed with books propped up all around him.

“Ah, there you are, Ben,” Alex said, seeing Fish. “Any word?”

“None whatsoever.”  Fish glanced at the game. Two monsters were battling each other on the screen. “What’s been going on?”

“I just bought James’ sister’s old car,” Alex said. “So once I get it to pass inspection, I can start driving to visit Rose myself. Maybe bring Kateri or some of Rose’s other friends.”

“Sounds good,” Fish said. “I hear that Kateri is planning a protest.”

Alex shook his head. “Kateri Kovach planning a protest,” he said. “Why am I not surprised? Over the homeless guy we’ve been hearing about?”

“Yes.”

“Not sure what good it will do, except play into the hands of the liberal media,” Leroy said from the top bunk. “Give them more excuses to bash pro-lifers.”

“Well, it’s something,” Fish said.

“I say we just blow up the hospital. That would solve the whole problem,” Leroy proposed.

Alex pinged a pen cap at his head. “Leroy, stop being so anarchist.”

“Not to mention illogical,” Fish said, rousing himself. “Talk about giving the liberal media more excuses to bash pro-lifers.”

 “No, I’m serious. Think about it,” Leroy said. “It would get rid of the abortions that are done in this area. Get rid of the euthanasia.  Effectively get rid of the people who are profiting by them.”

“And create a lot of innocent victims,” Fish said. “Who would then probably die from lack of effective medical treatment.  Plus the ramifications for the pro-life side in general, Mercy College in particular, and maybe even Catholics would be almost entirely negative.”