1

Mary and the visitors

I hadn’t wanted a brother. I hadn’t wanted Ma to go to the hospital. I hadn’t wanted Meemaw to come over and babysit me. But I was only five, so what could I do? I could go around sulking, only that got boring. Plus, it was a waste of energy because Meemaw would only ignore me and watch TV. And anyhow, Meemaw turned out to be sort of interesting—the way she would talk to me with bad words and all, like how she would talk to any adult.

“You look like you just stepped in a big ole cow pie.” That was Meemaw being sympathetic after Ma brought the new baby home. “Babies are a pain in the rear, but you’ll get used to him. He’s a dumb, stinky baby, and you’re a smart five-year-old.” Meemaw gave me a head-nod like a cocky rooster. “To baby Albert you are cool as a cucumber—practically a teenager.”

Meemaw’s sharp wisdom did make me feel better.

On the third day of the new baby, Meemaw and I were eating pudding cups and watching a TV show that I didn’t understand; it was all dramatic with silly adults messing up their lives. The new baby was sleeping in his cradle next to Meemaw’s recliner. Ma was resting in her bedroom down the hall.

Meemaw began to doze. I think I may have been dozing, too.

I jumped. There’d been a tap-tap-tap on the front door; the careful knock of a visitor who didn’t want to disturb. I looked over at Meemaw in her recliner. Her head was thrown back and her exhales were shnooshling and gurgling like a coffee maker.

Tap-tap-tap.

I got up and opened the door. Brr. It was cold and snowy outside.

There were three people standing on the porch—a tall lady with very shiny, yellow hair—a medium height, black man with a skin-close buzz cut—and a small, pale man; almost as pale as the deepening snow. All three of them wore black suits and goggly, brown-tinted glasses.

“Hello,” said the pale man. He was bald as a melon. “We hear you have a new addition to the family.” He grinned and glanced at the cradle next to Meemaw. His smile showed teeth like square, beige tiles. The television talked about cleaning your floor.

“Meemaw, there’s some guys at the door.” I figured I’d hand this over to an adult.

Meemaw continued making coffee. “Shnooshle,” she uttered from dreamland.

I stared up at the tall lady. She was like a giant, but probably that was because I was very small.

“We do not wish to disturb,” the pale man said. “Here is a pamphlet for the infant to read.”

“Huh?” I said.

“The triad sends greetings and trifles,” he added.

I had no idea what a triad was—or a trifle, for that matter. It was with reluctance that I reached out and took the pamphlet. When I did, the pale man nudged a fabric bag forward with his foot, and peeking out of the top of the bag was a little stuffed lamb. The man bobbed his head and gave me a strangely disconnected smile. When I think back on it, it was like a cartoon copy of a smile, with a row of teeth clicking softly in a face that didn’t seem to cooperate.

The pale man took a step backward, and the other two followed his lead. They stood in a line, tall to short, and they all smiled that cartoon smile. Next, they raised their arms at the elbow to give me a four-fingered wave—like how little kids do. “Goodbye,” they all said in unison. They turned as one and tiptoed off the front porch.

I watched the three suits glide away through the snow, and I shivered, partly because I was cold, and partly because there was something very odd about those guys. I picked up the gift bag and shut the door—and locked it.

“Shnooshle…” Meemaw murmured again, still fast asleep.

I snatched the white lamb out of the bag. It was so sweet with silky soft curls and a green satin ribbon, really more appropriate for a little girl than a baby—when all of a sudden Albert woke up. His eyes were wide and he made a sound like a kitten. Swaddled in pale blankets and snug in his wooden cradle, Albert was watching me like his brown eyes had tractor beams.

Ma had told me on the phone when they were still in the hospital that they were spending extra time there for observation because Albert stared so much, and cried so little. Yeah, he was good at staring, that was for sure.

I meant to take the lamb, but I feared that Albert would know I was stealing from him and I guess I didn’t want him to know I could be bad like that. So I traded. I gave him the pamphlet instead.

“Look, Albert, see the pretty picture?” I held the pamphlet for him to see, and I put the lamb behind my back. Albert stared and stared at the paper, which had a bunch of stars on it. He found it so interesting that I took another look at it, too. There were some letters that made some words, only I couldn’t read yet. There were dots and symbols and numbers. I recognized e and x. I remember 0 and 1, but most of it was just clutter in my head.

“Here, you keep the picture,” I said, and I propped it up in his cradle.

Albert stared and stared at that pamphlet.

I backed out of the living room and ran to my tiny bedroom down the hall. I threw myself on the bed and scrunched the lamb under my pillow. I would hide it, and it would be all mine. I deserved a gift for being a good girl and not crying when Ma brought the baby home. It occurred to me that no one thought to bring a gift for little Mary—only for the cute new baby. Sad tears leaked out of my eyes and I used the lamb to wipe them away. Oh, I felt sorry for myself. My world was so changed, so rotten and—WHAT?

I sat up and looked around. It wasn’t like I’d heard a sound with my ears, but there was something . . .

“Hello?” I said out loud.

It was a message—a message that came into my brain. And it was from Albert. He hadn’t squawked or cried or talked. It was another kind of communication, like a combo of pictures and stuff that took shape in my head, like a thought bubble from a comic strip, only it melted into places where I could figure it out. I don’t know how I knew it was from Albert—I just knew.

He was telling me that he really liked the pamphlet, and the way he told me was that he put a picture in my head of twinkling stars in a really cool pattern. Pretty order was how I interpreted it; at least those were the words that came into my brain after the message made itself known. Plus, surprise!—Albert liked me . . . a lot. A new message appeared, showing a radiant pearl in a vast space of soft, velvety green. The feelings that flowed from the pearl were kindness, and patience, and tolerance. I could feel its beauty and gigantic value, and all of a sudden I knew exactly what Albert was saying without a word: I was the pearl. I was like a fantastic, one-in-a-bazillion-person, and then and there, he nicknamed me Pearl. In a voice that was part of the picture, he said, Hi, Pearl. You are the best sister ever.

Well, that changed everything.