Marvels: Maggie

Part 8

by DarkMark

I had no real idea of what Maggie meant by that statement, at the time. But I was beginning to understand, and I didn't know if I liked it. In a flash, that insight: Xavier wasn't just a guy interested in mutants.

He was a mutant.

Perhaps the big guy, McCoy, was one, too. The kid with the shades might have been one as well.

On the other hand, I told myself, I might be going overboard with this thing: seeing mutants at every corner. I was apprehensive. Had I exposed my family to--them?

Still, I had to admit that I trusted Xavier. If my wife and daughters had to meet with a mutant, at least it was the kind of mutant who seemed honorable, if stern.

The man was pained by what Maggie had said. "Forgive me, Maggie," he replied. "That was an inconsiderate action, I agree. I just wanted to understand your situation, your...life, as it was."

"Don't let him get near me," said Maggie, looking at me. "And don't let him get in my head anymore."

I went towards her, trying to reassure her. McCoy was saying, "It's all right, Maggie. We're not here to hurt you, we're here to help you."

"It's all right, Maggie, it's all right," I said, grasping her hand. But she looked at me as if she'd been betrayed.

"It's not all right, Uncle Phil. It's not! I don't want somebody in my head!"

"Daddy, what's going on?" said Beth, nervously.

"Doris, I think you should get the kids up to their room," I said. "Please."

She looked at me, then said, "All right. Beth, Jenny, if you please."

"But, Mom," Jenny started.

"Jen," said Doris, in the don't-go-one-step-farther tone. Then she herded both of the girls upstairs. I could tell she didn't want to do it.

There I was with three mutants. The dark side of the Marvels. The kind of beings at whom I had once thrown a brick. I had to admit I felt a little wary. If Xavier wanted to, I had no doubt that he and McCoy could have picked Maggie up and taken her with them despite any efforts we could make to get her back.

But Xavier wasn't playing it that way.

"Maggie, you have my sincerest apologies," Xavier said, and looked sincere as he did it. "This is one of the things I do, to get to know someone better. Especially one of our kind."

"I'm not like you!"

McCoy said, "That's where you're wrong, little lady. You are one of us, no matter what you look like. And we've got a school full of people like you, and we help each other get by."

"I've seen another of them, I guess," I admitted, thinking of Summers.

"Do they look like me?" demanded Maggie, defiantly. I didn't know whether to be proud of her or to put her over my knee.

"No," admitted Xavier. "Some of them are more, shall we say, normal in appearance, others are oddly-made in their own ways. Sometimes, only when they use their abilities."

"Their abilities," I repeated, my arm about Maggie's shoulder.

McCoy said, "There's a lot we can't tell you for security reasons, Mr. Sheldon. Suffice it to say, the School For Gifted Youngsters is a place for people who share some of Maggie's traits. You already know this, I'm sure."

Maggie looked at me in horror. "You want to get rid of me!"

"Maggie, no!" I grasped her by both shoulders. "You ought to know that by now. We've been over all of that before. Haven't we?"

Now she was looking at me in sadness. "Is it because of my looks, Uncle Phil? Is it because I'm ugly?"

"No, Maggie," I said, squatting down to come face-to-face with her. "To me, you're still one of the loveliest little girls I know."

McCoy chimed in, "And myself, as well. Care for a piggyback ride, Miss Maggie? I promise not to let you touch the ceiling."

"No," she said, shrinking back just a little. But at least it wasn't a lot. McCoy looked hurt.

"Seems like a good response to me, too," said Doris, reappearing after shepherding the girls.

I was frustrated. "Dorrie, please. We're trying to..." I couldn't say anything else. I had no idea what the hell we were trying to. I only know we seemed to be kicking it all over the place, whatever it was.

Xavier came to the rescue. "Maggie, please listen to me, and do not say 'No' or cut me off till I am finished speaking. We are of your kind, Maggie. We are mutants. It is my hope that man and mutant may someday walk side-by-side without fear, though that goal seems all too distant at present. However, because of that, I have brought together a group of people, of mutants, to benefit ourselves and humanity at large. For we are part of humanity, Maggie...a very special part of it, to be sure, but a part, nonetheless. No matter what you see in the mirror, Maggie, you are a human being. Just like Mr. Sheldon...and just like me."

Her face softened just a bit, and I was able to draw her a little closer without her protesting. Doris was standing by the doorway with folded arms, a bit more skeptical.

"In my brief time within your mind, Maggie, for which I apologize again, I have learned something of your--fear," said Xavier. "A feeling with which I am not unfamiliar. I have learned something of how you had to run and hide from the outside world. Just as my first student had to, years ago, when I went to find him. We mutants know fear, truly, Maggie. But I promise you, there is no reason to fear me."

She didn't say anything, but she was still wary.

"Every day, Maggie, I teach youth of your kind, a bit older, to be sure, but still mutants. There are more that I have not yet taught. More like you. People who understand what we are. Do you think that you are the only one of us to be rejected, alienated? Sad to say, it's more of a group trait among us."

She almost shouted the next thing she said. "They'd be scared of me, too!"

"No, Maggie," said McCoy. "Surprised, yes. But we've grown used to people who look different from the norm. And we...look a bit below the surface, too."

"Don't you start walking in my head, too!"

McCoy looked downward. "I wouldn't even if I could. And I can't."

I had to step in, so I did. "Maggie. Remember, when we talked about this earlier? I told you that Professor Xavier might be the only chance you could get to find a decent education? And people of your...your own kind?" I blanched inwardly as I said it. The leitmotif of the day was supposed to be anti-racism. But you don't have to be Jewish to know how comforting the community of people more or less like you can be. People who understand, or at least you think they do.

"I remember," said Maggie. "But I don't wanna go with him!"

"Maggie," said Xavier, softly. "You have an advantage over me. Your adoptive father is so much a nicer man than the one I had."

All three of us, Maggie, Dorrie, and myself, looked at him with various degrees of astonishment, I wager.

She said slowly, "You lost your father?"

The bald man nodded. "I did. My mother married a horrible man who promised to take care of her, and he took her into the grave after a very few years. I spent the rest of my childhood with a stepbrother who tried to abuse me, and a stepfather who really didn't care. If I seem a little...cold...at times, perhaps that is the reason why."

"My father," said Maggie. "He...tried to like me, but he...he didn't..."

Impulsively, McCoy gathered her into his big arms and hugged her. She didn't shrink away, and Dorrie stood there with her mouth open. Maggie was sniffling, but she put her arms around his neck. McCoy didn't say anything. After awhile, he managed to put her down again. He touched the wetness on her cheek.

"You dry those tears, little one," he said. "We like you just fine."

She smiled. Dorrie, behind her, shook her head. I don't know what I did, but I hope it was adequate.

Xavier wasn't crying, but he looked a lot more human to me. Then he spoke again. "I have to use a cliche here, Mr. Sheldon. In my response to you, I will have good news and, regrettably, bad news. I will have to give you both, in that order."

"Okay," I said, glancing at the group. Maggie was holding onto Hank McCoy, her eyes still wet and wondering. McCoy looked sober, though not unfriendly. Beth and Jenny, both very tense. Dorrie more or less the same, trying to conceal it.

"First: if Maggie would wish to come to a school for mutants, a school administered by myself, in absentia, then she is perfectly willing to do so." A gasp from Maggie. Xavier continued, "Tuition would be worked out between us, probably in the form of long-term payment upon which we would both agree."

"So far, so good," I said. "As long as I get to check the fine print. And we visit the school ourselves beforehand."

"The second part is the hardest," Xavier acknowledged. "As of yet, Mr. Sheldon, I have no such school."

Boom.

There should have been a big rock falling into my living room from some point above, to emphasize the impact of his words. But there was just me, standing there with my jaw hanging out, and Maggie, who was in more or less the same state, and McCoy, who hugged her a little tighter, and my three other family members, who were also astonished. Plus Xavier, who was looking grim and a little regretful.

"I intend to build such a school within a year," Xavier said. "The School For Gifted Youngsters, Mr. Sheldon, is not for all mutants, much as I would like it to be. It is for a specific kind of mutant, for the adolescent whose great powers can be and must be trained towards the public good. For those younger than that, for those whose mutations are benign, but not of great power, I have no facility, at present."

"But you said--" I started.

"I came here to ascertain your situation, to meet Maggie, to understand her and how she lives here," Xavier said. "Mr. Sheldon, if Maggie was in an intolerable situation, I would spirit her away from you today, and find a place for her somewhere. Not in my school, perhaps, but in the hands of others who would be trusted to raise her. However, Mr. Sheldon, and you may be proud of this, you and your family are taking exemplary care, very good care, of Maggie. And for that--" He hesitated. "For that, I must ask you to wait a little longer."

"A little longer?" I said. "A little longer?"

Maggie choked down a tear, unsuccessfully. Dorrie went and took her from McCoy's arms and hugged her. Beth and Jenny were trying to fight back sniffles. Not ten minutes ago, they were hurting because Maggie might be leaving them. Now, they were hurting because Xavier wasn't accepting her.

He sighed. "Yes. A little longer. But, Maggie...look at me, dear, please...this is not a rejection. Not of you in any way, either as Maggie, or as a human being, or as one of us. For you are...indeed...one of us. I accept you. Will you accept me?"

She looked at him with some difficulty. Then she said, "I don't know. First you want me. Then you don't want me. You walk inside my head. Why should I accept you?"

Hank McCoy clenched and unclenched his big hands. "Maggie, sometimes we're in danger. Both from people who hate mutants...and sometimes, from other mutants. We're not all one big happy family."

"Regrettably not, Hank," Xavier said. "But if you can understand this, Maggie, I do want to help you. Those and others like you. Because, you see, there are others like you out there. Some whose fathers and mothers have to hide them, just like you. Or, worse, some whose fathers and mothers wouldn't hide them."

"Just like me," she said, dully.

"Yes," Xavier said, softly. "Just like you."

I was angry, obviously. "Listen, Mr. Xavier, do you mean that you've come all the way up to my house just to welsh on me? To tell me that you lifted our hopes so high, that there might be a place in the world for Maggie, and then tell me that there isn't? Not yet?"

The professor looked at me. "There is a place in the world for everyone, Mr. Sheldon. Perhaps not the place they would choose, but a place nonetheless. In a year's time, if everything can be brought together, perhaps there will be a place I can offer to Maggie and other children like her. But for now, Maggie's place is here. And it seems a very pleasant place, indeed."

"Thanks a lot," said Dorrie, sarcastically.

Xavier looked at her. "Mrs. Sheldon, do not make light of such a great thing. Most persons, faced with Maggie's appearance, would totally reject her. Drive her into the street. Then forget about her, unless they did what too many people do to people they don't like or understand. You did not. You took this little girl in as one of your own family. Do you think this is a small thing, Mrs. Sheldon?"

Slowly, Dorrie said, "I guess not."

"You shouldn't, because it is a great thing," said Xavier. "And as people who have accomplished it, you should be proud of yourselves. As I am proud of you, as a symbol of what man and mutant may do for one another once they have accepted each other for what they are."

"Yeah," I said. "Makes me feel warm and toasty all over."

Hank McCoy said, "If you knew what has happened to us, Mr. Sheldon, I think you'd be a little more understanding. In fact, quite considerably so. But there is only so much I can tell you, sir. For the rest, you'll have to trust me."

I sat down. "So what now? Now that you've taken up my hopes, maybe Maggie's hopes, up and then brought 'em down like they were on a grease rack?"

Xavier said, slowly, "I attempt to fulfill them."

I waited.

"The existence of Maggie, and of others like her, is a goad to me to negotiate with those whom I speak with for money enough to build another school. To staff it with persons I can trust. To educate not merely the mutant who can be a showpiece--forgive me, Hank--but the mutants who simply need help. If you can agree to keep Maggie for at least another year, Mr. Sheldon--"

"I planned on keeping her a lot longer than that," I put in.

"--as I said, for at least another year, then I may be able to report results. Twelve months is an awfully long period in Maggie's life. Is it in ours?"

"Not as long as I wish it was," said Dorrie. "Believe me."

Xavier said, "Despite what you may think of me, Mr. Sheldon, I am not heartless or unfeeling. But I do deal in the possible, in what I can accomplish. Ofttimes I am pushed to accomplish much more than I thought possible, as are my students. I will leave you with my personal number, not to be given out. You may call me to keep in contact, and I would definitely like to hear from Maggie. In twelve months' time, we will see what we can do. If you wish, if circumstances permit, I could pay more visits. But I warn you: these visits, like Maggie's existence, must be kept secret."

Maggie said, softly, "I don't like you."

The professor nodded. "I understand, Maggie. But perhaps, in time, that will change. I certainly hope it will, because I like you."

I didn't know if I liked Xavier at that moment. But at least I believed him.

I sighed. "So, Mr. Xavier, will you and Mr. McCoy be staying for dinner?"

"I believe we've got a long journey ahead of us, Mr. Sheldon," said the professor.

McCoy said, "It's all right, Professor. I'll drink a lot of coffee."

He looked at Hank and said, "On your head, Mr. McCoy. Well, then, Mrs. Sheldon, if you would have us?"

Dorrie said, "You're not walking around in my head, are you?"

"I wouldn't have asked the question, if I was."

"Okay," she said. "Girls, help me with the potatoes."

-M-

So we had dinner together and made conversation. He asked me a lot about my work as a photographer for the newspapers, and was intrigued by my idea of a photo book about the Marvels. In fact, he insisted on me bringing down a book of shots which started in '39 and went up to about ten years after. He was interested in the shots of Prince Namor, the Sub-Mariner, though I wasn't quite sure why.

Maggie and the girls got on well with Hank McCoy, who told them a story about his football days when a couple of crooks had tried to heist the box office at a stadium and he'd brought them down with a couple of nicely-hurled footballs. I thought he was probably full of it. Then again, looking at his hands, feet, and general build, I wasn't quite sure.

Finally, the two of them took their leave. I let Maggie get as far as the kitchen door. Xavier insisted on facing her, there in his wheelchair. She stood before him. He said, "Well, Maggie. If I can get a school together, would you like to try it?"

"I don't know," she said. "But I don't know that I wouldn't."

"Good," he said. "Goodbye, Maggie. For now." He held out his hand.

After a second or two, she took it and shook it. I couldn't tell the character of the shake, but at least she hadn't rejected it.

I followed Xavier and McCoy to the door. "I hope you meant what you said in there," I said. "About the school."

"Mr. Sheldon, I can assure you I meant everything I said," Xavier confirmed. "And I thank you for your trust. Especially for Maggie's."

"We've done a dangerous thing, letting you in here tonight," I said. "If any word gets out about her..." I couldn't complete the sentence. Part I didn't know, the rest I didn't want to.

"I have done a dangerous thing as well, letting you know what we have," Xavier said, seriously. "Can we trust you?"

I nodded. "As much as I can trust you."

"Very well, then. Goodbye, Mr. Sheldon, and thank you. For Maggie, as for the rest of us, there is hope."

McCoy said, "Good night, Mr. Sheldon. Give Maggie my best." Then he wheeled Xavier out the door and got him and himself into their car, and drove off. I stood at the door and watched the car go until it was lost from sight.

Benny Bolinsky, my next-door neighbor, came out to his front porch to smoke a pipe and take in the stars. He saw me. "Hey, Phil," he said. "Relatives come over?"

I looked at him. "Nah," I said. "My agent." Then I went back inside.

-M-

So now I must tell the end of the story. There are other things which went on with the family, and with Maggie, in between that time and what I will write now. But a lot would be called mundane--feh! I would call it normal--and there is only so much time I have alloted to the telling of this tale. Believe me, in time to come, and perhaps when it was happening, I was very, very grateful for the mundane.

This is how it ended.

It may seem strange to you that Maggie only stayed with us for a few months. From early September to December of that year, the length approximately of a school semester. As you know perhaps from your own memories of school, a lot can happen in that time. All of it seemingly marked in indelible ink.

Ink is a flowing metaphor which I do not care to think very much on. Let me move past it.

Our Jewish ways may have seemed odd to Maggie...she had, in her brief time at school, met her share of Jewish kids, but didn't live with them, of course, and her parents were, I believe, Baptist. She accepted them and at times wanted to participate, which she did, peripherally. But there was a sense of the Other, that these ways were not her ways, and hers were not ours. We knew this, and we made do. I've related the story of buying the Christian Bible for her and will trust this to stand for the differences we sometimes experienced.

Then there was Hanukkah.

Now, this is not one of the Big Primes of Jewish holidays, but I still love it. I think it's because when I was a kid, with all the things we had to put up with (and Hitler was still not in power in Germany, half a world away), the story of the Maccabees taking the temple away from the Greeks reminded me that, somewhere, somewhen, we could still kick somebody's ass. Of course, God knows, we've done it again enough since then, but back then, it'd been a long time since.

Maggie wanted to know why we were doing the things with the menorah and the latkes and the yarmulkes and such. So Doris explained to her about the Greeks wanting to do a number on us back then ("Like you were the Indians?", Maggie asked, and I think Doris nodded), how Judas Maccabeus and his brothers stood up to them and organized a revolt, and how a supply of oil which was supposedly only good for one night's worth of temple lamps miraculously extended to eight nights.

Then it was nightfall, and we lit the first candle. We did the blessings:

"Blessed are You O Lord our G-d, King of the Universe,
Who has made us holy through Your commandments,
And instructed us to kindle the Hanukkah light.

"Blessed are You O Lord our G-d, King of the Universe,
Who performed miracles for our forefathers
In their era at this season of the year."

Maggie had her head down, her eyes closed, and her hands clasped in prayer. "Thank you, Jesus," she said, in a subdued voice.

I looked up. Beth, Jenny, and Dorrie were looking at Maggie, at each other, then at me. Not necessarily in that order.

"Maggie, not now," I hissed.

She looked up at me, bewildered. "You don't want me to thank Jesus?"

"It's not in the ceremony. I'll tell you later!"

"Okay," she said.

She looked a bit troubled, but stayed silent thru dinner. Afterwards, I asked Beth and Jenny to do the dreidel thing with her. She thought that was fun, and thought the challah money was really fun. So afterwards, when the kids were in bed and I should have been, too, I sat her down and tried to explain.

"Maggie, Jewish ceremonies are not Christian ones," I said, holding her on my lap in what I hoped was a granduncleish fashion. "They are different, and you don't mix them up."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because they are two different religions," I said. "And it is disrespectful to one religion to mix it with another. Savvy?"

"But don't they both believe in the same God?"

"They do," I said. "But we don't believe that, well...let's say there are important differences."

"You said we believe in Jesus, but you believe in God," she prompted. "Does that mean you don't believe in Jesus?"

"Not in the same way you do, Maggie," I said. "We believe he was a good man, but not that he was the Messiah."

"The Messiah?"

"The Christ," I said.

"Oh," she said. I think I felt her shrinking away, and I squeezed her hand.

"You don't need to feel bad, Maggie," I insisted. "Judaism and Christianity sorta started out as the same thing, but we took two different paths. At least we've got something in common. Even though it doesn't seem like it, most of the time."

"Why not?"

I set my jaw and then said, "Because, Maggie, not so long ago a bunch of Christians killed a bunch of Jews. Almost six million of them."

I didn't know her eyes could look any bigger than they usually did. I found out then they could.

There was nothing left to do but finish it. "Between 20 and 30 years ago, in Germany, a guy called Adolf Hitler tried to kill every Jew he could get his hands on. And he got his hands on a lot. That isn't to say that he just killed Jews, or that all Christians killed them. There were a lot of 'em fighting on our side. But six million Jews are dead because of him." I paused. "That's not such an easy thing to forget."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"You didn't do it," I said. "Just like I didn't crucify Jesus. But some people don't wanna believe that."

"Why don't they?"

"You remember awhile back, that conversation you listened in on? When I was talking with Doris about letting you stay?"

"Yes," she said, meekly.

"Well, in Germany at that time, we were the muties. It was a lot worse than what you've had, believe me. If I hadn't been an American, Maggie, I probably wouldn't be here today."

She was starting to cry. I hugged her against my chest. "Why do they do that thing, Uncle Phil? Why do they have to hurt us?"

Us.

"Because, Maggie," I said, and I think I was rocking her back and forth as I spoke. "Because in the places where we're different, some people hate us for not being what they are. If you hate enough, you want to get rid of the thing you hate. Drive it out of your neighborhood. Or your country. Or maybe even kill it."

I could sense it was going to be rough going if Maggie ever read the book of Joshua and asked me about the Canaanites. (Yeah, they sacrificed babies, Maggie, and they did lots of other things like that, so it was a punishment...)

(Like the Indians?)

(I don't know...)

"I don't want them to do that to me, Uncle Phil," she whispered.

"They never will, Maggie. Not if I can help it. You just stay inside and keep to the family, and we'll all do fine."

"What if we have to move?"

"The house is paid for."

"What about the school?"

"We've been through that before. If you want to go, when it's built, if it's built, you can. That's still in the future."

"Uncle Phil," she said.

"Yes, Maggie?"

"Do you ever sing Hanukkah carols? I used to like to sing Christmas carols. Like 'Silent Night', and 'O Little Town of Bethlehem'."

"Sure. You heard us sing the Maoz Tzur. That's 'Rock of Ages'. We have some others, but that's the main one."

"Do you go from house to house and sing them?"

"Don't think so. It's mainly in Temple, and at home." I hoped she wasn't going to ask me to sing it again. Believe me, when it comes to such stuff, I am no Al Jolson.

"When Christmas comes, will you sing some carols with me?"

"I don't think my rabbi would like that very much, Maggie. But you can sing them yourself, if you want."

"My mom said I had a pretty voice," she said, wistfully. "That's one of the nice things she said about me."

"You're very pretty, Maggie," I said. "In all the right ways. Now. Off to bed with you."

I thought I'd done pretty well, all things considered. Maybe it was a down payment on understanding, and I'd have some time before Christmas to figure out other answers to her questions. Or to figure out what I was supposed to do for her, when it rolled around.

As it was--

But it was what it was.

To be continued...