What I love more than anything about this part is how you show us Martha's part in shaping Clark into the person he has become. You start by considering Martha from an outsider's POV:
He flashed his mother a grateful smile and for a moment really took her in; her blond hair was mussed from sleep, and her blue eyes blinked at him myopically. Her hands were holding his, and he looked at them – really looked – and for an odd moment he saw them not as her son but as a stranger would see them. They were not beautiful, his mother's hands. They were the hands of a poor farmer's wife – scarred and callused, with short, practical nails. They were hands that had spent his entire lifetime gardening and cleaning and doing a thousand rough chores. If they'd ever had a manicure it had been a lark, something someone talked her into doing once, not an indulgence she would allow herself on any sort of a regular basis. And her hands showed it – showed the effects of all those years and all that work.
You show Martha as, in a way, plain and ordinary, particularly her hands. Except they are not ordinary: most women in the western parts of our earthly civilizations would take greater care of their hands than that. Ah, but that is because Martha has been like the Biblical Martha, the one who worked and toiled and waited on the needs of others while her sister sat rapt at the feet of Jesus. Maybe, while we are being Biblical, we might quote Proverbs, 31:10: "A capable wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels." To which I can only say, amen.
Martha is far more precious than jewels. She has been a capable wife, but even more so, a capable, caring and loving mother:
But those same hands had reached into a tiny spaceship in a lonely field, clasped him to her heart, and carried him home. They had changed his diapers and soothed him to sleep when he was a baby, newly arrived from a distant world. They had clapped at a thousand Little League games, had made cupcakes for his birthday parties, had tucked him in at night. Those hands had, in a very real way, given him life, even if he had not been born of her flesh. He had been prepared to cast all of that away, everything those hands had worked to give him. And then her hands squeezed his, and he felt a swell of love and gratitude he knew he could never adequately express. He was searching for the words to try, though, when his mother gave him a tender smile and he realized that he didn't need to say anything. She knew.
This is wonderful, Caroline. Martha is the one who, along with Jonathan, shaped and guided the creation of Clark Kent. She was the great, great Enabler. And Clark was prepared to throw it all away.
“Clark, we know how you feel about Lois. We've always known this day would come. Children grow up, they find their own lives, and now Lois is a part of yours. We understand that, honey. We understand that she's going to be a part of our family, even if it's not official yet. We know what that means.”
He knew she didn't understand, not really, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her. Those same beloved hands had made his suit, he remembered suddenly. They had dusted off the old sewing machine and stitched together his disguise. They had covered his chest with the shield of the house of El.
Clark can't bring himself to tell his mother that instead of throwing Clark Kent away, he will now do away with
Superman. He knows she understands and blesses his love for Lois, but she doesn't know what he is going to give up for this love. And then he remembers that Martha has not only shaped and guided his Clark Kent persona, but she was also the one who dressed him up in his Superman suit and sent him flying on his superhero career.
But Clark clings to the hope that his parents will not be too disappointed and will not feel let down, because...
Since he had been old enough to understand the words, his mother and father had told him that all they wanted was for him to be happy. He didn't believe they would begrudge him his happiness now.
Clark is an adult, so he can choose his own path, but... someone should try to talk some sense into him. (But he is right that his parents will stick by him no matter what.)
Constance watched him, apparently waiting for some sort of a punch line. “You're gonna go home to Krypton, play a little golf, do a little fishing….”
Superman grinned. “Something like that.”
“You're serious, aren't you?”
“Well, not about the golf,” he admitted. “But about leaving... yes.”
Your way of writing Constance Hunter is delightful.
She sighed. “You weren't kidding when you said you didn't understand greed, were you?”
“Not really, no. But now that I'm leaving, I want to get the foundation set up properly. Don't you see, it's a way I can go on helping without having to…”
“Fly around and save people?”
“Well… I wouldn't have put it quite like that. But, yeah.”
“Listen, I definitely think you should get your foundation organized and do something worthwhile with this money, if you don't want it yourself. But the thing is… anyone can do that. Even I can do that. You're the only one who can fly through the ceiling with a briefcase full of C-12 and save a courtroom full of people.”
I love her way of pointing out what Superman is, and what makes him so unique.
She cocked her head at him. “Do you often talk about yourself in the third person?”
Superman froze momentarily and then forced himself to relax. “In this context, it's appropriate. I'm not talking about me as a person, here. To most people, I'm not a person at all.”
“Because of the alien thing, you mean? Because I don't think….”
“No.” He smiled to relieve her obvious discomfort. “No, not because of that. Because I just don't seem real to them. Superman is an icon… larger than life. He's not the guy you ate bagels with last week, is he?”
She nodded. “Okay, I guess I see your point.”
I'm glad she is asking about this, too and that she gives him a chance to explain. (Not that he is too clear about these things himself.
)
“You're not going back to Krypton, are you?”
He reminded himself that Superman did not squirm. “Is this conversation privileged?”
“Of course.”
“Then, no.” He shook his head slowly. “I know it sounds selfish, but I don't want to be the icon anymore. I've promised someone the real man. This is the only way I know of to keep that promise.”
Constance gave him a wry smile. “She must be something special.”
“She's the most incredible woman in the world,” he said softly.
I love how she gets the truth out of him.
“Does she know what you're giving up for her?” Constance's eyes seemed to pin him to his seat, and there was a part of him that resented it – that wondered just who she thought she was to be questioning him this way – but he knew that the fact that she wasn't intimidated by him was part of the reason he'd gone to her in the first place.
“I... I don't think of it as giving something up. I'm making a change. A change that will make both of our lives better, I think.” He glanced at Constance Hunter and saw that she was still giving him that same, steady look. “No, she doesn't know. She will one day, though.”
And he was smart enough to be dreading that day already, but it was none of Constance Hunter's business, and he had no intention of discussing it with her any further. She nodded, seeming to accept that.
And she makes him confess that he hasn't even told the woman for whose sake he is making this monumental sacrifice about what he is giving up for her sake.
And Judge Angela Diggs. She threw me in jail once.”
“I remember. Kind of an odd way to recommend herself, isn't it?”
He shrugged. “She was just doing her job. I liked her.”
Clark comes through as very likable here.
But there had been a moment there in that restroom when he had thought about how many times he had spun in and out of that suit. How many places he had ducked into as Clark Kent and dashed out of as Superman, and vice versa. For just a moment, he felt a whisper of... something. It wasn't quite regret. He wasn't sure what it was. But it hit him as he spun out of that suit that he'd just set something in motion – something momentous that would change his life, and Lois's, and perhaps even the course of history. He had thought of all that before, of course – had stayed up half the night thinking about it – but it hadn't seemed real until he'd spun out of that red and blue suit and realized that he might only do that a few more times, and then never again. It didn't feel like a death – not in the same way that packing up Clark Kent had – but it felt like an ending.
Clark has often been so contemptuous of his Superman persona. I'm glad he is having some small regrets here.
But it was a beginning, too, he reminded himself, as he exited the building and turned toward the Daily Planet. Not only was he beginning something with Lois, but he had just taken the first steps toward forming a foundation that would continue Superman's work long after he was gone. His life would be different without the suit, but it would be a change for the better. The world would be different without Superman in the skies and on the streets, but it had gotten along without Superman before, and it could do it again. In the meantime, Clark Kent would help where he could – surreptitiously with his powers, sometimes, and always with his pen and his partner.
It would be enough, he told himself firmly, and then he turned his attention to his date with Lois that night.
Sure it is a beginning... but it is not a beginning you should be happy to make, Clark. Face it! You should just tell Lois that you love her, but that you are Superman, and that you need to work out some deal with Lois that lets you split your time between being Lois's boyfriend and the world's hero in a way that leaves both her and you (and the world) reasonably happy. Why do you have to make all the big decisions yourself, without talking them over with anyone first?
This chapter brought us some wonderful insights into Martha and Constance Hunter. Now I want to see Lois interact with the new, Superman-less Clark! (I can just imagine him squirming and trying to ignore all kinds of cries for help...)
I love this story, Caroline. Please come back soon with more!
Ann
