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Back Margery Kempe Save as PDF
Chapters (69)
  1. Cover
  2. Biographical Notes
  3. Title Page
  4. INTRODUCTION
  5. MARGERY KEMPE
  6. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  7. Dedication
  8. Front
  9. PART ONE
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. 5
  15. 6
  16. 7
  17. 8
  18. 9
  19. 10
  20. 11
  21. 12
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. PART TWO
  27. 17
  28. 18
  29. 19
  30. 20
  31. 21
  32. 22
  33. 23
  34. 24
  35. 25
  36. 26
  37. 27
  38. 28
  39. 29
  40. 30
  41. 31
  42. PART THREE
  43. 32
  44. 33
  45. 34
  46. 35
  47. 36
  48. 37
  49. 38
  50. 39
  51. 40
  52. 41
  53. 42
  54. 43
  55. 44
  56. 45
  57. 46
  58. PART FOUR
  59. 47
  60. 48
  61. 49
  62. 50
  63. 51
  64. 52
  65. 53
  66. 54
  67. 55
  68. 56
  69. MY MARGERY, MARGERY’S BOB

In her mind her voice rings but Jesus’s half-smile challenges these facts by not responding to them. She can’t wound him anymore than she could heal him—a block of wood failed to become a boy. Her grievances are old and feeble in their infancy. At whatever level she rejects him, she sees that her love exists below that level. She can’t get to a bedrock beneath her love or to a Margery that hasn’t already been abandoned. Jesus will not be transformed by Margery’s anger. She throws up an arm to ward him off. “Get away from me!”—as though he assaults her in a nightmare.

55

The sun rose, house wrens sang below the eaves, dogs barked. I describe Margery’s suffering as though it lasted a few days instead of years. We are in the middle of our lives and we are breaking down. Although I think only of L., my senses jump when I see his image, name, or handwriting as though something is about to happen. What remains?

Through the window, only a few feet away, a rat perched on a decayed fence; its fur was the same gray as the weathered cedar. It drew its legs under its body like a sphinx; its beady eyes wore the peace of authority at the top of a long mule face. Her desire for transcendence was leaching into nostalgia for the view, her cup, the blue covers.

There was a haze or mist, the sky seemed sooty a long way off—farmers burning land? Margery recoiled from the voice in her head as it talked to her. No use trying to be two people, she thought. She was lonely for company and longed to be even in the hearing of other voices.

•

She had no happiness or faith as complete as her rich, obsessive grief. Reluctantly she abandoned grief and later its repetitions droning on and on, so arid that language was exhausted. Without Jesus, Margery’s story was open ended. She began to accept interim life and the lie of the partial truth.

•

Jesus returned twice to Margery. He gave her ten pounds towards her support, a large sum at that time, which she was glad to have.

Later he said, “I always felt guilty about desiring other people. If that was my negation of you, was the fault mine? My ambivalence and your demands were part of the erotics of our relationship. I didn’t always treat you well—I never tried to hurt you.” But Jesus couldn’t do or say anything to alter the figure always turning away in her imagination.

56

A flock of angels wear the wide eyes of departure; their gold hair is longer and curlier than strictly fashionable. Their wings open in a trance: powder blue fading to black banded in chestnut, the plumage believable the more unbelievable it looks.