The Revelation Of Joan

Chapter 5 A Nice Quiet Girardi dinner

The more I thought over Lily's criticisms, the more I realized that she was right. It was all OK to talk about art being self-expression, but would good did it do to "express yourself" when nobody else knew what the hell you were talking about? Oh, a few art critics and cognoscienti -- but few of them would be likely to attend Father Ken's church.

An amazing number of artists had been able to produce religious art -- all the way from Bosch's visions of hell to beautiful Italian Madonnas. I ought to be able to fit into the spectrum somewhere -- by temperament, if not by degree of skill.

But how could I hope to inspire worshippers when I didn't feel inspired myself? What I needed, I realized, was a spark -- and if one didn't seem to be forming in me, I would have to get it from outside. Accordingly, I drove to Joan's bookstore that afternoon.

The lazy manager was, of course, not there. Joan was in charge, and as I entered she chirped professionally: "May I help you?"

I didn't really want to discuss my problem with my daughter, but she would see the books anyway when I bought them. "I'm looking for a book of Bible stories -- you know, Joseph in Egypt, David and Goliath. The sort of thing people give children."

"I'll show you." Curiosity seemed to win over professionalism. "But why are you looking for that, Mom?"

"I've volunteered to paint a picture for the repair of the Catholic church. I thought a Biblical illustration might do." Joan didn't have to know that my first attempts had been rejected.

"Since it's a Catholic church, religious stories aren't limited to the Bible," observed Joan. "There are also saints' tales."

"Do you have one in mind?"

"Joan of Arc."

"Why that one?"

Joan hesitated. "Well, to start with, I like her name."

I laughed. "All right, give me a book on Joan."

She looked through the shelves. "If you really get interested in Joan of Arc, you also might want to talk to Dr. Dreisbach, from school."

"Isn't he the one who accused you of cheating last year?" I asked, surprised at the referral.

"Yeah -- but he apologized afterward. And this year he was especially nice to me -- worried that last year's brouhaha may have contributed to my 'breakdown'."

Still, it was good for to forgive him, I thought. Why does everybody have to talk about Crazy Joan and never Good-hearted Joan? And where did that generosity come from?

When I got home that evening, I was shocked to find Lily getting dishes out of my washer, handing them to Kevin to be wheeled over to the table. I didn't even like for the kids to do my chores; why was Lily doing it? To make up for criticizing my art this morning? "What's going on?"

Lily looked up. "Oh, hi. I'm just getting some practice housekeeping. My bachelorette pad is a lost cause, and working in the nunnery kitchen isn't exactly the same thing."

"The same thing as what?"

"Marriage. I proposed, and Kevin accepted -- are you all right?"

I had seen this coming for some time, and Father Ken had helped me analyze my feelings. It was still a shock, but I might as well be honest about it. "Frankly, thinking of having a daughter-in-law makes me feel old. And the possibility of having grandkids makes me feel older." And to think that, just last year, I thought that I was pregnant again.

"And I suppose having a daughter-in-law pushin' 30 is worse."

"I'm afraid so."

"Just tell your friends that I have tattoos and surf a lot. They'll think I'm a lot younger."

I laughed. "Don't let me spoil your day with my problems. Deep down, I'm happy for you -- I think." I walked up and kissed Lily, for the first time. It was awkward, doing that to a woman whom I had considered a casual friend -- and what made it even more awkward was the strong whiff of cigarettes. I'd have to set ground rules, asking her not to smoke here -- but that could wait.

Joan and Luke wandered in. Looking back on it, they both looked rather subdued, but at the moment I was just aware that we would have to break the news to them somehow. Simply having Lily present didn't seem to bother them -- they probably assumed that she was here to discuss my confirmation or the paintings.

"I'd like to propose a toast," said Kevin after the meal, raising his wine-glass dramatically. "To us! Lily and I are getting married," he added by way of explanation.

The two younger kids stared. "You proposed?" Joan said, as if trying to absorb the idea.

"No, I did," said Lily.

Luke slammed down his silverware. "The last thing I need -- another crazy sister!" He looked about, realized how much out of order he was, and ran off, up the stairs.

Joan looked flustered. "Sorry about that. Luke and I had a big to-do, and he's taking it out on you." Belatedly she raised her own wineglass and saluted Lily. "Me, I'm glad. Now I'll finally have a sister that I can talk girl talk with."

I had visions of the two trying to compare notes on sex: "I'm a virgin." "Cool, so am I." Aloud, I said, "Joan, you could always talk to me."

"You're not a girl. You're a mom."

And never the twain, apparently, would meet.

"So what persuaded you to take the plunge? Joan asked Lily.

"It's almost embarrassing to explain. A girl named Jennifer Hovah came to the church to talk about her upcoming wedding, and that resonated with me."

"Jennifer Hovah?" repeated Joan in puzzlement.

"Yeah. Know her?"

"No. It's just an odd name." She thought for a few seconds, then said: "J. Hovah. Jehovah."

"Wow!" said Lily. "I didn't think of that. I wonder if her parents did when they gave her that initial?"

"Parents often don't think of things," Joan said. I wondered what she meant by that.

"I've heard that, in Jewish tradition, it's forbidden to even say 'Jehovah'," mused Lily. "And here's a girl who uses the name. I hope God has a sense of humor."

"Oh," said Joan. "I'm very sure He does."

Eventually Lily excused herself -- after all, from her point of view she was dining in the enemy's realm. I intended to give Luke a good scolding after she left, but to my surprise I spotted him outside the house, talking to Lily on the pavement. I couldn't hear what they said, but it ended with her giving him a sisterly kiss.

I decided to let it slide. If his apology was good enough for Lily, it was good enough for me. What a relief it was, to have at least one child who always ended up doing the right thing.

The next order of business was calling Driesbach to ask for an interview. He sounded annoyed at being bothered, but eventually gave in. I suppose that what won him over was the opportunity of being able to lecture to somebody during the otherwise fallow summer months.

"So what was the real Joan of Arc like?" I asked after settling in his house.

"Joan of Arc? Nobody knows. She's been the subject of fantasies since before her death." He said "fantasy" as if it were a swear word. "Even her name is unreal -- her last name was Darc and it got mistranslated as "of Arc".

"At the time Joan lived, the English and French had been fighting for a hundred years. Given the superstitions of the time, each side was looking for miracles that might imply that God was favoring their side. The English side's supposed miracle was their lopsided victory at the Battle of Agincourt."

"In the Henry V movie?" I asked. "I saw that several years ago, with Branaugh and his wife."

"That's it. The French miracle was Joan herself. Naturally the English wanted to denigrate the French miracle, so they announced that Joan was a witch and had her burned at the stake. It didn't work. Legend says one of the English soldiers, impressed by Joan's fortitude at the stake, cried out: "God help us now, for we have burned a saint". And so the tug-of-war began."

"The English calumny lasted for some time. Shakespeare depicted Joan as a witch in an early history play, but nobody reads that nowadays."

"In the 1600s, Louis XIV was trying to set himself up as the divine-right king of France. Jean's legend helped to "prove" that God favored Louis' dynasty. Then came a backlash. Voltaire hated pious legends designed to bamboozle the people, so he wrote a ribald satire of her story."

"I didn't know that," I said. "I would think he'd have admired her as a rebel."

"No, that came later. It was during the French revolution that the idea started that Joan had defended not the French kings, but the French PEOPLE. Then other oppressed nations longed to have a Joan of Arc of their own. This was the period of the famous dramatizations, from Schiller's MAID OF ORLEANS to Shaw's SAINT JOAN. It was also the period where popular demand got Joan canonized by the Church. And after Europeans themselves got free, third-world nations outside Europe continued to be fascinated by the idea of a supernatural liberator. Somebody once asked Indira Gandhi who her childhood hero was. You might have expected her to choose an Indian legend, but she said it was Joan of Arc."

"Nowadays, apparently, the image of Joan has gotten enmeshed in these stupid cultural wars. To a religious person, Joan's story is proof that miracles have happened in history. To a secularist, Joan is a frightening image: somebody who thinks God has sent her to kill people. And so it continues."

"So: what was Joan of Arc really like? Nobody knows. She is buried under too much legend for us to know."

"My daughter said that you considered her a lunatic."

"Yes, I used to. But your daughter's own opposition and experience made me reconsider that position. Faced with something you don't understand, it's far too easy to dismiss it by saying somebody's crazy."

He glared at me as he said that, and I squirmed uncomfortably. After all, we were supposed to be talking about a fifteenth-century historical figure. Not a troubled 2000s teenager.