THE MUDDY CHANNEL

New Zealand Listener, Volume 16, Issue 411, 9 May 1947, Page 22

THE MUDDY CHANNEL

Written for "The Listener" ||

by

BARBARA

DENT

the Lord, said Mrs. Fowler, and the rest.shall be added unto you. She placed her hands lightly on the sick girl’s brow. Relax. Be at peace. The Lord is with you and knows your need. She departed with that encouraging smile, which, to those who were somehow not under her spell, looked uncannily like a smirk. : The girl lay quietly under the smoothed quilt, her thin, delicately boned hands idle by her sides. She lay a great deal like this, sometimes without moving for an hour, For.a child of 12 her expressionless face was pitifully aged. She had been bedridden for three years, and she did not believe she would ever walk again. She wished the chattering woman who spoke about God would stay away. She wanted to be alone with her own vision of God that sometimes, if she were very quiet and waited very patiently, came near with a trembling radiance. Out of a shining mist a man with a beautiful, tender face would lean down to her. believe in the power of

Jesus! she would cry. Run, Gertrude, run! he would say. And she would bound into his outstretched arms. They often played for hours at all sorts of games she herself invented. It was always sunny in the fields where they met, lambs bounded and daisies shone, and Jesus’ gown was never dirty, no matter how boisterously he and Gertrude ran and played. Other children stood round watching, or sometimes played too. The whole scene was very like the big picture on the Sunday school wall that Gertrude had. often gazed at when she was nipe, before she

became ill. Under the picture was written, Jesus said, Suffer the little children to come unto me. In Gertrude’s mind the word suffer indubitably spoke a direct summons to her. For did she not suffer? So she really didn’t want to listen to Mrs. Fowler. She had her own Jesusshe didn’t intend to let any God that Mrs. Fowler brought with her displace him. In fact, she didn’t like Mrs. Fowler. Mrs. Fowler asserted that she would walk again before very long, but Gertrude knew: she was lying. There had been too many doctors and people. She regarded them all with an wufichildlike cynicism. She just wanted to be left alone with her playmate, Jesus. * C *--* AT home Mrs, Fowler told them all about it at the dinner table. Her own daughter, Sylvia, was 13. And just think, Sylvia dear, said Mrs. Fowler, poor little Gertrude hasn't walked for three years. Just imagine that! Not to be able to ski or run or play basketball, or do any of the things you take for granted-wouldn’t that be terrible? | Yes, mother. , And don’t you wish you could do something for her? Yes, mother. Well, shall I take her some of your books? Or perhaps you’d bring them yourself next week when I go and see her again. :

Yes, mother, But next week when Mrs. Fowler went to sort out some of Sylvia’s books she found that all the best titles had myeteriously vanished. Sylvia, she said, what have you done with your books? What books, mother? asked Sylvia innocently,

All the books that aren’t in your book case. You must have put them somewhere. Where are they, dear? Oh, no-I haven't shifted them, mother, said Sylvia, shaking her dark plaits round her small, oval face. Mrs. Fowler knew her daughter was lying. Sylvia knew her mother knew she was lying. She also knew her mother was helplessly wondering what to do. Sylvia had never been smacked. Her mother never lost patishce with her. Mrs. Fowler believed in ruling through Love. God wouldn’t like you te do that, Sylvia dear, she would say, or, Mummy’s so disappointed-I’m sure God is too. Mummy, God, and disapproval were inseparably linked in Sylvia’s mind, She didn’t like either God or mummy much, and, added to that, she déspised them both. It was so ridiculously easy to get your own way. You just stood there and smiled blandly and blinked, and tossed your plaits reproachfully, and lied. If she was found out in one lie, Sylvia immediately capped it with another. If her mother discovered her books neatly laid under her mattress, well, she had only to smile blandly again and say, Fancy that, mother-I can’t think how they got there. : What was Mrs, Fowler to do? Indeed, if she had been a little less certain of her undoubted favour in the eyes of the Lord, and the consequent inclusion among the chosen ones of her husband and Sylvia, she would have despaired at

times. But luckily, her faith in herself as God's particular favourite was unshakable, and so she always emerged serene and confident from these encounters with her. daughter. Well-if not entirely serene and confident, then near enough to it for there really to be no cause for worry. God will show himself to Sylvia, she assured herself. She will repent and reform her ways. All I have to do really, is believe that, and keep the way open for God. He will do the rest. Sylvia was quite content with this arrangement. It enabled her to get her own way with a minimum of overt disobedience and a maximum of enjoyment. a ue 4 RS. FOWLER haa a_ neighbour called Mrs. Pendleton. Mrs. Pendleton had enjoyed Mrs. Fowler’s patronage for 15-odd years. Being a shy, unassuming little woman, she was quite glad to take her place under Mrs. Fowler’s wing at Church affairs and afternoon teaparties, to appear helpfully when Mrs. Fowler had a boring visitor or a trying relation to stay, and to run the less pleasant errands that Mrs. Fowler's activities with the Lord entailed. She was quite happy with the mild, reflected splendour that fell on her from Mrs. Fowler’s magnificent progression. For really, Mrs. Fowler had had some marvellous successes with her healing. Her unfailing optimism, her assertive personality, her. spontaneous cheerfulness, her radiant health-they all acted as a sort of hypnosis on certain types of people. Why, I believe what she says is right. I believe I am well, they began to say o themselves: I believe there is some power peg 7 in me to make me healthy o knew it, they wal out of their bewildered as to how it had happened, but somea ow sure that Mrs. Fowler was the handmaiden of the Lord, and no mistake about it.Well, ioe, Mrs. Fowler would chant. Isn’t the power of the Lord marvellous? Isn’t he to be praised? Don’t you feel grateful to him? I’m sure you want to fall on your knees and worship him. I’m sure you'll dedicate your life to him now. You'll be a new disciple. Sometimes it was a little uncertain whether Mrs. Fowler meant a new disciple to herself or to God, or. whether she meant to claim gratitude for herself or her Lord. But whichever it was, her cured patients inevitably thought her a living wonder. And not a drug or a patent medicine do I use, she affirmed. Only herbal ointments and drinks, right food and right thinking. When patients overwhelmed her with thanks, she invariably said; though flushing with pleasure, Oh, don’t thank me. It’s no honour to me, It’s God working through me, you know. I’m only a channel for divine forces — there’s no credit due to me. Well, Mrs. Pendleton had never been cured by Mrs. Fowler. Indeed, she was never ill, except for a cold now and then, or a touch of rheumatics. But all the same, it was perfectly clear to her that Mrs. Fowler was a wonderful woman. Of course, she couldn’t expect Mrs. Fowler to waste any of her precious time visiting her, but as a compromise, she often inveigled Sylvia to come over, holding an apple or an orange at the fence. She -was a lonely woman, for her husband,

whom she had dearly loved, had: been dead for eight years, and she had had no children. Sylvia had often been minded by Mrs. Pendleton when her mother was away healing, and she really needed no bait to lure her over the fence. She loved the shy little woman who somehow knew how to talk to a young girl so as not to make her feel inferior and naughty, but an equal and good. And Sylvia always was good with Mrs. Pendleton. She often told long stories about the wonderful things she had done-and then at the end of it they would look at each other and suddenly start to laugh helplessly. Mrs. Pendleton, of course, knew it was all lies, and Sylvia knew she knew-but Mrs. Pendleton never took it seriously like mother did. She seemed to think it was extremely funny, and. after they had laughed together Sylvia would say, Of course, none of it’s true, you. know, Aunty, Pen. Oh, isn’t it? Mrs. Pendleton would’ cry in mock amazement. I was certain every word of it was true, and off they would start laughing again. I wish I could live with you, Aunty Pen, said Sylvia. It'd be so much nicer than at home, O, my dear! cried Mrs. Pendleton, genuinely shocked. You mustn’t say that. Your mother’s a wonderful woman. Just look at the good she’s done, the people she’s healed! Why, it’s ‘almost miraculous! Oh, but Mummy doesn’t do it, said Sylvia, God does. He and mother work together, you know. Mrs. Pendleton looked sharply at the thirteen-year-old girl, but only a blankly innocent gaze met hers. So she said, Of course He does. Your mother’s very close to God. %* *- % FTER she had been seven or eight times to visit Gertrude, Mrs. Fowler had a dream one night. She dreamt she died and appeared in heaven. She walked along a street very like the one in which she had lived, hearing music which gradually grew louder and louder. It was the thunderous chant of angels singing, Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom. of heaven. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Mrs. Fowler hastened her steps. It’s me they’re singing about, she told herself happily. I’m going to meet God. He’s going to say, Well done, thou good and faithful servant, A rosy light played about the housetops. The chanting grew more thunderous. ; Blessed are the pure... . Little children ran out into the streets trailing garlands of flowers. They scarcely seemed to notice Mrs. Fowler, but ran on in front of her, hastening to the top of the road, where a huge crowd was gathered. Wait, children! cried Mrs. Fowler. You're supposed to be escorting me. Bring your garlands and strew them on my But the children ran on unheedingly, laughing and shouting. Then Mrs. Fowler saw the crowd divide before her. They're making a passageway for me, she thought, and cried loudly, Hosannah in the name of the Lord! But no one took any notice of her, for out from the crowd hesitantly stepped (continued on next page)

SHORT STORY (continued from previous page) Mrs. Pendleton, leading Sylvia in one hand and Gertrude in the other, and walked up towards the summit of the hill. There suddenly appeared an old Ford car with a caravan behind it. The caravan door opened and out stepped God in a long, white robe and a gold crown. My good and faithful servant, he said to Mrs. Pendleton, as she knelt before him. My wayward child, he said to Sylvia. My well beloved, who has come to me through pain, he said to Gertrude. Blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are the pure in heart, thundered the angels’ chorus, and the children leapt and danced with glee, scattering their garlands all about God, Mrs. Pendleton, and Sylvia and Gertrude. But what about me, cried Mrs. Fowler. What about me? and anguish tore at her throat. Then out of the crowd stepped a man in a long, black cloak, who pointed an accusing finger at her and said, The channel was muddy. A Then the children joined hands and danced joyously round her, chanting, A

muddy channel! A muddy channel! Ha, ha-a muddy channel! Her humiliation and fear were so great that she woke, trembling and gasping. * * * HE next morning she could scarcely wait till after breakfast to go to her neighbour. Mrs, Pendleton, she said in a shaking voice, I had a prophetic dream. The Lord has called you. You are chosen. You must come with me to little Gertrude to-day. But, I-I-stammered Mrs, Pendleton, horrified at the thought of being thrust into prominence. You must come, said Mrs. Fowler so portentously that Mrs. Pendleton nodded without another word. That afternoon Mrs. Fowler sat in tense expectation on one side of the bed, watching to see what Mrs. Pendleton would do on the other. Gertrude lay between them, listless and uninterested. She seldom bothered to talk to or smile at Mrs. Fowler, and she didn’t see why she should at this other woman either. She wished they’d both go away and leave her in peace. Well, my dear, said Mrs. Pendleton, rather helplessly, I brought you some flowers. She laid the little bunch of sheeted on the quilt.

Alfie picked them, she said, then added confidentially, He’s my little elf boy, you know. I haven't got a little boy of my own, so I made up Alfie. You've no idea the tricks he gets up to. A glimmer of interest showed in Gertrude’s face. She reached out for the rosebuds and fingered them. Of course, said Mrs. Pendleton, lowering her voice confidentially, I know you’re too old to believe in elves and fairies and all those silly things, but do you know, Alfie’s so real that I had to wipe his nose this morning. Silly boy! He went out and played in the gutter in the rain yesterday, and got his feet wet. And his ears too. Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. You know, don’t tell anyone, because he doesn’t like me to talk about it, but his ears have long points. She nodded emphatically. Yes, long points! Four inches long to be exact. I measured them with the tape measure. And he insists on wearing balaclavas to cover them. He likes coloured ones, so I have to knit him blue ones and red ones and pink ones and green ones, and sometimes striped ones. Peculiar taste he has, hasn’t he? How old is he? breathed Gertrude, her eyes round with interest. Ten, said Mrs. Pendleton firmly. And do you know, for the last five years he’s refused to get a day older. .It comes

round to his birthday and I make a cake and put eleven candles on it, and he just takes one off and says, Oh, no-you don’t put that one across me! And he just stays ten! Mrs. Pendleton sat back with folded hands, and a mystified expression on her face, eyebrows raised, lips compressed. Now, what would you do about that? Bring him to see me, breathed the girl. Will you? Bring him to-morrow. Her eagerness was pitiful. Her little hands were clutched round the flowers, her face was strained. Well, said Mrs. Pendleton doubtfully, I'll have to ask him. He’s an awful one for being on the go. He wouldn’t sit still a minute if he were here. You'd have to chase after him and catch him if you wanted him to stay. Oh, I'll do that. I promise. You just bring him-I’ll see he stays. All right then, promised Mrs. Pendleton. I’ll see he’s here with me to-morrow at two. * * * BUT there isn’t any Alfie, expostulated Mrs. Fowler, as they went down the street together. What’ll happen tomorrow when you turn up and you haven't got any Alfie? Are you going to borrow one of the neighbour’s little boys? No, smiled Mrs. Pendleton, Gertrude knows he’s not real. She’s only make believing just like I am. Only she needs

to do it more than I do-though, heaven knows, I’ve needed to do it enough. Mrs. Fowler was mystified. She had expected something impressive and convincing, and she had only spent an aftermoon with a woman who babbled to a sick girl about elves. She sat for a long time alone in her toom when she arrived home, waiting for God to come and approve of her as He always had done in the past-but none of that satisfactory sense of well-being filled her. She went to the small bookshelf by her bed and searched among her little booklets of meditation and spiritual guidance. But none of their precepts could fill her with her" old selfsatisfaction, or ease her bewilderment. She kept seeing the way Gertrude had smiled at Mrs. Pendleton, and hearing the child’s eager voice. At last she knelt by her chair and sought for words where before words had always come effortlessly. Parts of her dream kept reappearing vividly in her mind, and she could not forget the anguish she had felt during the night at her exclusion. Then, as she knelt there, lacking words, she gradually forgot she had wanted to pray. She forgot doubt and fear and remembered only humiliationthe humiliation in her dream, and the humiliation that afternoon before a child who had not even bothered to acknowledge her presence. She began to feel she had been cheated and betrayed, that she had been flouted, and that it would only be after an immense struggle that she would be able to forgive both Mrs, Pendleton and Gertrude for their disloyalty and lack of appreciation. ‘It was not right or just that all her efforts should be discounted like this. Who was Mrs. Pendleton anyway? What price had shé had? What powers did Had she ever healed anype Vas ‘she the Lord’s work? Righteous. * indignation filled Mrs. Fowler. She forgot her attitude was one

of prayer-she saw only Gertrude’s inexplicable preference for Mrs, Pendleton and the obvious injustice of the whole affair. She forgot now she had felt the Lord sent her to Mrs. Pendleton, and remembered only that she herself had been slighted and passed by in favour of someone obviously inferior. Well-she would wash her hands of the whole affair. She had important work to do-her time was not to be trifled with. She’d let them see how they could manage without her. * * * ‘THAT night Mr. Fowler said, and how’s little Gertrude? Oh, Mrs. Fowler told him, I took Mrs. Pendleton with me to see her to-day. The child seemed to take quite a liking

to her-such a simple soul Mrs, Pendleton is-dquite childlike herself, really, So I thought I'd get her to visit Gertrude occasionally and I’d leave the case. Not that I’m in the habit of giving up, but the child doesn’t seem to show any progress, and‘ really I’ve more important work to do. I can’t be wasting my time on unproductive patients who won’t cooperate. My energy’s too precious to be dissipated like that. Mrs. Pendleton’ll be glad to go and see Gertrude occasionally, I’m sure. She laughed rather like a horse whinneying. Of course, she’s a peculiar little woman. You should just have heard the nonsense she talked this afternoon. But then, some children aren’t very particular about what makes sense, or what’s the truth, and some adults don’t seem to think lying to a child is wicked.