As November slipped into December, Meridia could think of no one but Hannah. Nothing got her down—not Ravenna’s absentmindedness or Gabriel’s rage; not the dampening weather, the unpredictable mists, or even the vicious girls in the schoolyard who took relish in the misfortunes of others. When she woke up, it was Hannah she thought of. It was as if with this one person, this one person alone out of the multitudes, she had been granted ease of movement, eloquence of speech, and the exquisite privilege of laughter. At night, exhausted from their adventures, she would recall fondly their mad dash across Independence Plaza in the rain, or their animated talk over biscuits and grape soda at the bookshop café. In the moments before sleep came, she would imagine Hannah lying next to her, so near she had only to reach out a hand to touch her.
Meridia did not think it odd that she never mentioned Ravenna or Gabriel to her friend. In the same way, she exercised silence over the antics of 24 Monarch Street. Hannah herself talked little about her family. What information she disclosed amounted to the existence of a father, the traveling merchant, and a brother. Her mother had passed away when she was little, and soon after her death, her father had made it his goal not to stay too long at any one place. Hannah had lived in a lot of cities and found it difficult to tell them apart. On one occasion she admitted, “I know it’s time for me to pack again when I start remembering the names of people.”
On the last day of school before the New Year’s holidays, Meridia walked into class and found Hannah was not in her seat. History came and went and still there was no Hannah. Halfway through Geography, a boy entered with a note from the principal and handed it to the teacher. The teacher did not read it aloud, but Meridia could hear the announcement in her head: Hannah’s father, having been summoned by work to another town, had left early that morning with his family. Meridia did not blink when she realized this, and for the rest of the day she sat up as rigid as a tomb. When the afternoon bell rang, she was the first to slip out of the gate, walking quietly, furiously, yet allowing no expression to escape. When she got home, there was a letter waiting for her on the hall table. She tore it open and the first line hit her like a fist. “You must forgive me, but I have said too many good-byes in my life.” Meridia read no further. She tossed the letter into the wastebasket and went up to her room.
That day she went back to saving her allowance in the pewter box under her bed. In the following months, she revisited all the places Hannah had shown her, kept her hair the same length as Hannah’s, and even forced herself to applaud the performances in Independence Plaza. Nothing held her interest. After a while, though she retained no bitterness toward Hannah, she tried her best to forget her. Only in the coldest hours did the feeling sneak up, creeping over her like a dream of heat, and for a moment she would know what it was like to be warm.
FIVE
After the initial rush of assurances, Hannah’s letters arrived with declining regularity. In them she bemoaned her fate as the daughter of a traveling merchant, declared how dearly she missed Meridia, and swore that neither time nor distance would diminish the strength of her affection. In terms equally impassioned, Meridia replied as promptly as she could, but it was difficult to keep up with Hannah’s change of addresses. Before many months passed, their letters crossed each other, got lost or misdirected, and finally stopped altogether. Meridia took it for granted that Hannah had found another friend and was even discovering a new town with a new girl. The realization hurt less than she had anticipated, for by that time she had embraced the belief that people would pass from her life in the manner of shadows sliding over a room. The nurse was one, Hannah another.
Loneliness had a way of marking her. In the middle of her sixteenth year, a melancholy expression settled permanently in her fine-boned face. Her dark and earnest eyes became more searching, the quick leap of intelligence tempered by a studious discernment. The strain of Gabriel’s scorn and Ravenna’s forgetfulness showed most clearly on her cheeks, which hung tense and lean without their previous bloom. At school she continued to inhabit her role as the girl who could not belong. She had grown as tall as Ravenna, but instead of reinforcing her presence, her height only pronounced the solitude she carried within her. A few of her teachers likened her to a creature without ties or anchors, capable of being swept up into the sky by the slightest gust. And then one day, just when she thought her life would know no other manner of existing, a song summoned her into the Cave of Enchantment.
It was in this year that the town celebrated the inaugural Festival of the Spirits. For two days in January, Independence Plaza packed up its performers and entertainers and played host to one hundred spiritual counselors from the world over. They were teachers of mysticism, faith healers, doctors of the occult, prophets, exorcists, flagellants, and fortune-tellers. Standing on boxes or in booths decked with colorful banners, they distributed pamphlets and bulletins, offered guidance, and for the price of a few coins gave their blessings before the statue of the town founder. They administered healing by fire and ice, performed surgery without scalpels, and removed tumors by the laying of hands. A giant sheepdog barked away sins from afflicted souls. A one-eyed woman transmitted messages to the dead with the help of a lyre. For sale were crosses and prayer beads, relics of holy beings, antidotes to common poisons, and talismans against sickness and heartbreak. Those who had not done so were encouraged to secure the happiness of their loved ones by entering their names in the Book of Spirits.
On the first day of the festival, Meridia wandered through the plaza like a dazed soul. The air was ripe with salvation, clamoring to be plucked if she only knew which speaker to heed. In her pocket was the allowance Ravenna had given her that morning, and after studying the different banners, she decided to approach the table where a monk stood guard over the Book of Spirits. Producing two silver coins, Meridia asked him to append the names of her father and mother. “Anyone else?” said the monk gruffly. “It’s better to register everyone at once so you don’t confuse the spirits.” Meridia hesitated before taking out two more coins. The nurse and Hannah. The monk wrote down the four names and placed a golden seal next to each. Meridia was turning to leave when the monk spoke again. “What about yourself? You don’t want to be left out, do you?” Suddenly embarrassed, Meridia gave him one more coin and whispered her own name. She was beating a hasty retreat when her foot stomped on someone’s toes.
“I’m so sorry!” she cried out.
“Please don’t be. I’d rather maim my own foot than give that cheat another cent.”
The voice was light and full of grin. Due to the bright sun, Meridia saw only a pair of hazel eyes, so pale and luminous they seemed to float without a face. The young man smiled—she could discern the outline of his mouth now—as if waiting for her to say something. Meridia shifted nervously, wishing a single word, any word at all, would come to her lips. In an instant it was over. The sun dimmed. The young man disappeared. Meridia craned her neck and searched for him in the crowd. Had he not singed her with his touch, she would have thought him a mere spirit, conjured from a nameless region by the prayers surrounding her. Yet his grasp had steadied her elbow; the spot of flesh now burned with a thirst that brought sweat to her face.
The next day she sat in class without allowing herself the hope of seeing him again. When the last bell rang, she made her way to the festival, calm to all appearances, though not for a second could her heart stop from skipping. Above her the sky stretched blue and benevolent. The chrysanthemums bordering the plaza on four sides had never looked lovelier. The same monk was guarding the Book of Spirits, his face as stern as the grimmest of relics. Anxious to avoid him, Meridia mingled with the rowdy mob of prophets and exorcists. A great many people were purchasing crosses and love brew that day, though no one showed interest in obtaining insurance for the afterlife. It was at this deserted table that Meridia sought refuge, hoping to recover her breath away from the crowd. A saleswoman in a white turban immediately chimed in.
“C
are to insure your afterlife, dear?”
Meridia said she was not sure and accepted a brochure. She was pretending to examine the prices of various plans when a storm of fever broke over her. Gripping the brochure, she turned sharply to the right. The young man was standing not three booths away, his pale hazel eyes regarding her with an expression both tender and mocking. He had a strong jaw and longish black hair, and his trim, dark suit showed to advantage his lean and long-boned figure. He smiled slowly, lazily, shifting his weight to one foot as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Feeling a sudden dryness in her throat, Meridia parted her lips and quivered.
“What do you say?” prodded the woman. “You can start with the least expensive plan. As you age and commit more offenses, you can upgrade by writing to us.”
Meridia wheeled around in confusion, having completely forgotten about her afterlife. “I—I will think about it,” she stammered. She found it impossible to concentrate, and when she turned again, the young man was gone. In his place was a maroon-haired matron, threatening a psychic with the tip of her umbrella to lower the price of a tarot deck. Unable to suppress her disappointment, Meridia braved herself to approach. She was about to ask them where the young man had gone when suddenly she blushed. A band of fire had snaked up from the ground and latched onto her thighs. Stifling a cry, she instantly realized that she had brushed the spot where the young man had stood. Her flesh was soaking up the heat he had left behind.
Meridia spent the next hour searching for him in every booth. In the process she weathered a reading from a palmist, who badgered her to purchase two prayer beads and an amulet against heartbreak. Though no one had seen the young man, she saw traces of him everywhere, shimmering in the air like a wistful promise. Nonetheless, she knew her options were exhausted after circling the festival six times, especially when the woman in the white turban began to glare at her with suspicion. Defeated, Meridia withdrew to a bench on the far edge of the plaza. For the first time she considered the possibility that the young man might be nothing more than a lonely product of her imagination.
The song started low and desultory, scarcely audible above the crowd’s din, but by the time the notes reached Meridia, they had become part of a lush and vibrant melody. Meridia sat up and looked around her. On the bench opposite were three university students, arguing loudly about the properties of the soul. On her left, two boys were pinning flowers in their mother’s hair. A group of shop assistants a distance away were twirling silk gloves and flashing their teeth at passing young men. Meridia began to tremble. No one seemed aware that a most splendid song was playing. She waited a few seconds and then followed it.
She edged along the neat row of chrysanthemums to the southeast corner of the plaza. This was the section reserved for the fiercest flagellants, yet their rapturous screams, instead of drowning out the song, only increased its beauty and lushness. Meridia did her best to duck the scourging steel whips and pine branches, and after a few close calls, she escaped with a few errant drops of blood on her dress. The song, meanwhile, was leading her to a dove blue tent beyond the last cluster of the flagellants. She felt sure she had searched this area before, but she did not see the tent then. The banner flapping from its triangular top read THE CAVE OF ENCHANTMENT. The song was coming from inside.
Meridia pushed aside the curtain that served as a door and went in. All at once the song stopped, as though someone had abruptly shut off a record player. A deep silence fell all around her, so thick she could no longer hear the screams of the fanatics. It was night inside the tent. The dark purple panels were lit up by a constellation of stars. Amazed that this vast, jeweled universe could exist in so meager a space, Meridia was searching for an explanation behind the illusion when out of the darkness boomed an ancient-sounding voice:
“The spirits have requested your presence. Sit down.”
A crystal orb blazed in front of her, flooding the round table on which it spun with a silver light. Behind the table sat a hoary-bearded seer in a magnificent blue robe. His eyes were narrow and greenish, his mouth skewed to the left, but Meridia did not fear him. She took the nearest chair and stared at the man openly.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“The spirits have chosen you. Picked your name out of the thousands in the Book. But hush a minute more. They have not informed me of their final decision.”
The seer shut his eyes in concentration. The crystal orb continued to spin, spraying jets of light over the constellation on the walls. Meridia sat as still as she could, torn between awe and an inclination to tap her foot against the base of the table.
Some minutes later the curtain behind her blew with a force and brought the orb to a standstill. The seer opened his eyes, which had turned from green to milky white, and pointed his right hand at her.
“The spirits have spoken. See for yourself.”
Meridia swung around. The curtain, fluttering fiercely, went up in a flame of smoke. Sunlight flooded the tent, and with it, rapidly swirling motes of debris. A tall, upright figure emerged from the explosion, coughing noisily. Meridia’s heart leapt to her throat. Even before those pale eyes turned their gaze on her, she already recognized the figure as belonging to the young man.
“I demand an explanation for this! Whoever thinks this cheap ploy is amusing—”
Meridia’s glance skated across the air and arrested him.
“Well, hello there.” He advanced toward her and smiled. “I have been dying to meet you, miss.”
Meridia moved to rise but the seer stopped her.
“Don’t hasten your fate before it’s ready!”
The young man stopped as well. His brows arched as he took in the seer’s long beard and magnificent blue robe. Before he could get a word out, the seer spoke again:
“The spirits have entwined your paths. Out of all the names in the Book, it is the two of you they have summoned together. I assure you—”
“My name is not in the Book,” interrupted the young man.
The seer turned on him with a wilting glare. “The spirits do not make mistakes. It is no small matter for them to select—”
“My name is not in the Book,” the young man repeated. “I never registered and have no intention of doing so.”
The seer gasped at this sacrilege. “No intention of registering! Have you no care for your future and the happiness of your loved ones? Don’t say another word or the spirits will forsake you!” The young man took this stoically, although a quiver in his lower lip alerted Meridia of a buried smile.
“Consider the possibility,” continued the seer in a stinging tone. “You may be indifferent to your own well-being, but someone close to you might care enough to enter your name in the Book. Think! Have you a special friend? A family member who knows what’s good for you? Believe me, the spirits have too much on their hands to be drawing names out of thin air!”
The young man thought for a moment, then conceded with another quiver of the lip. “I suppose my mother could have done it. She’s a great believer of the spirits.”
“Bless her heart! At least someone is looking out for you!”
The young man bared his gleaming white teeth, unsettling Meridia to the edge of her seat. “Please continue.”
“As I was saying,” said the seer with redoubled gravity, “those whom the spirits have joined will not be parted. Yes, you have been marked. Yes, you now have a claim to all the wonders the spirits have to offer, but unless you take immediate action, you will forfeit everything you have gained. At present, your future is suspended inside this orb, balanced equally between joy and sorrow, wealth and penury. If you do nothing, chance alone will determine its direction. This is a great risk, and a terribly foolish one, considering that the spirits have already favored you. What you need is an intercessor, someone who can tip the scale positively in your favor. You need someone like me. I have the gift to delve inside this orb and reserve a glorious future for you. All I need is a gesture of goodw
ill, and my service will be at your disposal. A tiny sacrifice on your part will go a long way.”
Meridia was much too dazzled by the young man to grasp the subtlety of the proposal. With difficulty she managed to suppress a smile as he put on an exaggeratedly solemn look.
“A tiny sacrifice? Please allow me to ask, what would such a sacrifice entail?”
“Twenty silver coins,” said the seer without missing a beat. “But the more you give, the more I can do to safeguard your future.”
The young man threw his hands up in the air. “Twenty silver coins? I’m sorry, sir, but has my appearance misled you to think that I am a man of means? I’m lucky to have two coppers in my pocket! But perhaps this lovely young lady has enough to save us. What say you, miss? Do you have twenty silver coins to secure our happiness?”
He swung on Meridia with such suddenness that she nearly fell off her chair. Rallying her mind on the spot, she noticed that his eyes were secretly beaming at her.
“I have one,” she said, although she still had two left from her purchases. “I’m sorry but I can’t afford it either.”
“Can’t afford it either!” the young man cried, and wrung his hands in despair. “Oh, what are we to do now? The spirits must be disappointed in their choice! I suppose we’d better resign ourselves to misery and poverty.”
Meridia hastily bent her head, feeling again the ripple of a smile on her lips. The seer propped both arms against the table as if readying himself for a battle.
“That’s all you have? Not a coin more? You are testing the spirits’ patience! Very well, I have been known to work smaller miracles. I can’t promise you a golden future—that’s out of the question—but with what you have, I can guarantee you’ll always find comfort in each other. Give me the coin and we’ll start the procedure at once.”
Of Bees and Mist Page 5
