Mischief and Malice. Berthe Amoss

shutters. I couldn’t see Norma Jean and I heard Aunt Toosie coming upstairs. I found my pink, rabbit-fur slippers and hurried to the bathroom. I made gargling noises and poured the hot, salt water down the washbasin.

      “That’s better,” I said, coming out of the bathroom at the same time Aunt Toosie came into my room. “I think I can rest now, Aunt Toosie.”

      “Good, dear. Sandra Lee apologizes. She’s very, very sorry she was rude.” Aunt Toosie went through the tucking-me-in process again. “I’ll bring you some more fruit juice later on,” she said.

      As soon as she’d left I opened my shutters but there was still no sign of Norma Jean Valerie. I didn’t dare call. I spent the whole morning checking her window and plodding through a theme Sister Maurice had assigned about an imaginary conversation with God.

      “Use lively dialogue,” she’d said, “and vivid description! You are there!”

      I had just finished in pencil and was about to copy it in ink when Aunt Toosie came in with fruit juice and began reading aloud over my shoulder.

      “‘A Celestial Conversation,’” she said, happily. “That’s a nice title.” I hate people to read my themes aloud. I slunk down under my sheets and listened to my words:

      “Alone on a small cloud, I floated forward and faced God.

      ‘Ah-de-lade!’ said God. ‘I see by your record that you have sinned exceedingly in Thought, Word, and Deed!’

      ‘Oh, yes, Your Majesty,’ I answered politely. ‘I confess that I have gone and broken at least eight of the ten commandments, in fact, maybe all of them, but I’m not sure about adultery and coveting my neighbor’s wife because, you see, I am not married yet and besides I am a girl but maybe to be perfectly honest I should substitute husband and it’s true I have been noticing a certain, possibly married man, so maybe that might come under the same heading as the coveting wife or the adultery ones, it’s up to you, God, and that about covers it unless I’ve forgotten anything, and you are welcome to add it to the list!’”

      Aunt Toosie’s voice was getting shaky but she continued.

      “‘Ah-de-lade! Are you truly sorry for your sins?’

      ‘Oh, yes, Your Majesty, I am hardily sorry for having offended Thee. Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault!’

      ‘All right, then, Adelaide, you’ll have to spend a short time in Purgatory, that’s a place not quite as hot as Hell, but after that you may live in Heaven with your dear mother, Darling Pasie, and your Aunt Eveline at 16B St. Peter Avenue, a very good address, with an excellent view of earth from the living room window.’

      ‘Oh thank you, Your Majesty!’ I said, floating happily backwards to the other clouds.

      The End.”

      “Addie!” Aunt Toosie moaned and sank into a chair. “You don’t believe—you don’t believe it really is… that God really is like that, do you?”

      I modified my answer. “Sort of,” I said.

      “Addie, God is Love!”

      I said a silent prayer of thanks that Aunt Toosie did not know I knew all about real love from Dearest.

      “And—and the married man?” she continued. “I hardly dare ask—but that’s just fiction, of course, isn’t it? I mean you made it up, of course?”

      “Oh sure! Don’t worry about it, Aunt Toosie,” I lied. “It’s not in ink yet and I have till Monday.”

      “Oh, God,” said Aunt Toosie, who never used the name of the Lord in vain. “I am going to give you catechism lessons every afternoon until we clear this up.”