Four Spirits

by Naslund, Sena Jeter

• ISBN13: 9780066212388
• ISBN10: 0066212383
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2003-08-14
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publications

Summary

Sena Jeter Naslund is Distinguished Teaching Professor at the University of Louisville.

Table of Contents

prelude OLD TIMES THERE, 1948
Helicon, Alabama	3	(12)
one UNLEASHING THE DOGS, May 1963
Stella	15	(4)
Christine	19	(3)
Edmund	22	(2)
Dart	24	(3)
Bobby Jones	27	(2)
TJ	29	(6)
At the Athens	35	(3)
Gloria at Home	38	(2)
Edmund at Home	40	(1)
Christine Walking	41	(8)
Fieldings Department Store	49	(3)
Mr. Fielding	52	(2)
At the Bankhead Hotel	54	(1)
On the Vespa	55	(2)
Night Duty	57	(2)
Night Pleasure	59	(4)
Christine at Home	63	(2)
Engaged	65	(5)
Fred Shuttlesworth	70	(2)
Wanting Bach	72	(5)
King	77	(4)
The Telephone, the Microphone	81	(4)
Ryder Jones	85	(3)
Gloria's Thought Book	88	(3)
Ryder's Second House	91	(5)
Lee	96	(4)
Martini: Christine and Gloria	100	(3)
At Fielding's	103	(3)
After Business Hours	106	(3)
At Her Desk	109	(3)
At the Gaslight	112	(17)
two THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS, September 1963
Gloria	129	(4)
Pimento Dream	133	(6)
At Woolworth's	139	(2)
Susan Spenser Oaks	141	(3)
Kind of a Growl	144	(1)
Huddled Together	145	(4)
Rubble	149	(3)
The Face of Christ	152	(3)
Someone Small	155	(1)
Homeward	156	(2)
Old Aunt Charlotte	158	(5)
At the Cartwrights'	163	(4)
Four Lambs	167	(3)
Trials	170	(2)
Edmund's Memoir: I Begin Work and Study	172	(9)
three O SACRED HEAD, NOW WOUNDED, November 1963
Box of Moonlight	181	(3)
How the News Came to the Joneses	184	(5)
Stella's Odyssey	189	(46)
Dear Self,	235	(4)
Lionel Parrish: Letter to the Four Families, December 1	239	(1)
Edmund's Memoir: A Christmas Story in Retrospect	240	(7)
four THE OVEN, Summer 1964
New Work, New Life	247	(4)
H.O.P.E.	251	(4)
Driving Home	255	(3)
Stella's Aunts	258	(6)
Lionel's Office	264	(4)
In the Oven	268	(6)
Aftermath: Living It Again	274	(1)
Aftermath: "Träumerei"	275	(2)
Aftermath: Arcola at the Dressing Table	277	(1)
Aftermath: Home for the Night	278	(2)
Cahaba	280	(6)
Afternoon Roses	286	(3)
Night Again: Caryatid	289	(3)
Humming in the Heat	292	(4)
Aunt Pratt Alone	296	(3)
Lee Plays Barber	299	(4)
Dappled Light	303	(3)
Fans for August	306	(4)
View from Outside	310	(4)
Four Spirits	314	(3)
Lions Lounging	317	(5)
An Office Call	322	(5)
Picasso's Bull	327	(7)
Catherine's Story: A Friend of the Body	334	(19)
five SEED PEOPLE, September 1964
Dear Donny,	353	(3)
He Doesn't	356	(5)
In the Basement	361	(5)
Night Riders	366	(7)
Resurrection	373	(4)
What's the Matter?	377	(7)
Answers	384	(11)
Lionel Watching	395	(4)
Close to Earth	399	(4)
Agnes's Honeybees	403	(3)
How to Dream	406	(3)
Jonathan, the Pianist	409	(10)
Dear Self,	419	(4)
Saturday Morning: Edmund	423	(6)
Saturday Morning: Lee	429	(5)
Saturday: Agnes	434	(9)
Saturday: Lee	443	(9)
Saturday: Lionel	452	(3)
Saturday: Cat	455	(5)
Saturday: Gloria	460	(7)
Joseph Coat-of-Many-Colors	467	(6)
I, Gloria	473	(3)
Stella Listening	476	(11)
six SPIRITS IN THE SNOW, January 1965
Jonathan	487	(3)
New Years Party, 1965	490	(12)
Stella	502	(13)
postlude BRINGING IN THE SHEAVES
Helicon Homecoming	515	(6)
Author's Note	521	(2)
Acknowledgments	523

Excerpts

Four Spirits

Chapter One

Stella

From many places in the valley that cradled birminghamyou could lift up your eyes, in 1963, to see the gigantic cast-iron statue of Vulcan, the Roman god of the forge, atop his stone pedestal. Silhouetted against the pale blue skyline, atop Red Mountain, Vulcan held up a torch in one outstretched, soaring arm. In other mountain ridges surrounding the city, the ore lay hidden, but the city had honored this outcropping of iron ore named Red Mountain, as a reminder of the source of its prosperity (such as itwas -- most of the wealth of the steel industry was exported to magnates living in the great cities of the Northeast), by raising Vulcan high above the populace, south of the city.

Fanciful and well-educated children liked to pretend that Vulcan, who looked north, had a romance with the Statue of Liberty, also made of metal. But she was the largest such statue in the world, and he was second to her, and that violated the children's sense of romance, for they understood hierarchy in romance to be as natural as hierarchy among whites and blacks.

Looking down from Vulcan -- his pedestal housed stairs, and around the top of the tower ran an observation platform -- you could see the entire city of Birmingham filling the valley between the last ridges of the Appalachian mountain chain as it stretched from high in the northeast to southwest.

In early May 1963, Stella's freckle-faced boyfriend, a scant half inch taller (but therefore presentable as a boyfriend, if she wore flats), had persuaded her to drive from their college, across the city, avoiding the areas where Negroes were congregating for demonstrations, to Red Mountain. From the observation balcony just below Vulcan's feet, Stella and Darl hoped for a safe overview.

I believe if outsiders would just stay out ... Darl had told her. Let Birmingham solve ... Don't you?

But Stella hadn't answered. Instead, she'd said, I'd like to see. I'm afraid to go close.

We can go up on Vulcan, Darl had offered, for he was a man who wanted to accommodate women; a man who loved his mother. Stella had met her. He'd brought along his bird-watching binoculars. Darl could recognize birds by their songs alone; he could imitate each sound; he kept a life list of all the birds he had ever seen. His actual name was Darling, his mother's maiden name, and though Stella dared not call him Darling, she longed to do so.

"Do you know the average altitude for the flight of robins?" he asked.

A spurt of laughter flew from between Stella's lips. She imagined the giggle as though it had heft and was falling rapidly down from the pedestal, down the mountain, into the valley.

"I don't have the foggiest idea," she said.

"About thirty inches."

"What a waste!" she said. "To have the gift of flight and to fly so low."

She thought Darl might laugh at her sentence -- half serious, half comic -- but he didn't.

Stella glanced up the massive, shining body of Vulcan, past his classical and bare heinie, up his lifted arm to his unilluminated torch. At a distance, she had often observed that the nighttime neon "flame" made the torch resemble a Popsicle. Cherry red, if someone had died in an auto accident; lime green, otherwise. Even this close and looking up his skirt, Vulcan's frontal parts were completely covered by his short blacksmith's apron.

Though it was May and the police were already into short sleeves, on the open observation balcony, Darl and Stella were lifted above the heat into a layer of air with cool breezes. Stella wished she'd worn a sweater. Darl put hisarm around her -- just for warmth, she told herself with determined naïveté, but she thrilled at his encircling arm diagonally crossing her back. His fingers fitted the spaces between her curving ribs. They were alone up in the air; they weren't some trashy couple smooching in public. Yes, this was what she had been wanting. Perhaps for years. Someone's arm around her, making her safe.

Stella knew her breasts were terribly small. If they had been plumper, Darl's fingertips might have found the beginnings of roundness. Sex, sex, sex, she thought. His hand slid down to her waist; her mind careened. Do I feel slender enough there? Inviting? With his other hand, Darl trained the binoculars on the city. With one finger, he adjusted the ridged wheel between the twin eyepieces. The black leather strap looped gracefully around the back of his neck.

Darl was the complete darling: a lover of nature, a lover of music, a lover of God, considerate, a gentleman -- if only he loved her. And best of all he was an organist, a master of the king of instruments. When Darl played Bach's "O Sacred Head, Now Wounded," creating his own improvisations, Stella felt understood. It was she who had been wounded, and the music was what she missed and needed. The way Darl played promised wholeness, profundity. Almost it seemed that the spirit of her father was hovering around Darl and her on this high place.

She placed her hand just below Darl's waist; she shivered as though to say "I only seek closeness for warmth, against the chill." Her palm loved the unfamiliar grain of the cloth of his trousers, and underneath, the firm flesh of his buttock just beginning to flare. How tantalized her hand felt, the hand itself wishing it dare move down to know the curve of his butt. She glanced again at the side of his cheek, the binoculars trained on the city. His hair was a rich brown, and his freckles almost matched his hair.

She wanted to brush the field glasses aside, to stand in front of him ...

Four Spirits. Copyright © by Sena Naslund. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

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Excerpted from Four Spirits by Sena Jeter Naslund
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.