Blood of the Pure (Gaea)

by Sophia CarPerSanti

  The soft push she gave me forced my petrified legs to move and stumble forward. And as crazy as it was, that same movement repeated itself almost as if I were some kind of robot, taking my stiff body and paralyzed mind towards Michael.

  My heart was beating so hard I was practically deaf to the world surrounding me. I had the strange feeling of hearing his warm and marvelous laughter among the soft and delicate voices of the two girls. Another boy was telling them something apparently funny. And then, suddenly, everyone grew quiet; and, horrified, I understood why. My presence had been noticed and they were all looking at me with intrigued expressions.

  Now that I could see them right there, right in front of my eyes, standing side by side, I wondered if I looking at some work of art. The four of them together were simply perfect ... like a painting. A painting where I could never belong. The knot in my stomach became even tighter and I lowered my gaze, remembering how my eyes always looked kind of eerie when I looked directly at someone. Four pairs of shoes were all I could see from then on and, when I came around, my feet weren’t moving anymore and I was standing right in front of them. I swallowed hard, not sure I was still breathing, and Steph’s words were all I could think of.

  “Um ... Hello,” I somehow managed to say and was immediately certain no one had been able to hear me. I felt so stupid! And then what? The silence around me told me they were waiting for something else, some kind of purpose for my presence there, for interrupting their talk. “Ah!” I suddenly exclaimed as something else to say occurred to me and, forgetting myself, raised my head to look at him. “I never had the chance to thank you ... for yesterday,” I spat all in one breath and only then noticed his surprised expression. I looked away once more, escaping from those green eyes that had the ability to make my heart stop. Wished fervently I could disappear or, at the very least, run away from there. And, above all, I couldn’t and didn’t even want to imagine what he might be thinking about me. “So ... um ... thank you,” I added, trying to make sure my voice wouldn’t tremble.

  “Oh. You’re welcome,” he replied, sounding rather unsure. But the only thing that mattered to me was he answered. My cheeks caught on fire and a shy smile stretched across my lips as my heart jumped in pure bliss.

  “Well, that’s it then,” I said, not knowing what else to say, knowing that my courage was already beyond spent, and fell back on Steph’s words of support. “Um ... See you tomorrow.”

  “Right. See ya.”

  My smile took over my entire face as I turned around wishing to return to Steph’s side as fast as possible, my footsteps still shaky as I walked in a complete state of disbelief. My heart was beating like crazy, but I was overjoyed and proud of myself. I wished I could run, or jump, and so I tried hard to keep walking as normally as possible. Finally! I’d been able to take the lead and talk to him. And he had answered me! He had talked and looked at me!

  “That girl. Who was she, Michael?” I heard one of the girls ask and my attention was immediately focused on them.

  “Um ... To tell you the truth, I don’t really know.” All air left my chest and a dark hole opened beneath my feet. The voice I loved so much saying words that could break my entire being. “I think she reminds me of someone, though.”

  I wondered if I was still breathing and noticed I wasn’t. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs as pain filled my heart. My eyes burnt and I wished I could cry, but I had no tears to shed. And so I raised my head and kept walking towards Steph, who watched me at a distance. Truth was I could never cry when I felt like it and had reasons to do it.

  “Isn’t she the girl we met yesterday, at lunchtime? The one from the stairs?” the other boy asked, still wondering.

  “She’s strange,” one of the girls observed critically. So I was deeply grateful when the distance didn’t allow me to hear anymore, and even more relieved when Steph’s voice filled my ears.

  “How did it go? Did you talk to him?” she asked me excitedly, putting an arm around my shoulders. I simply nodded. My body was there, I could feel her and listen to her, but the world around me didn’t seem real.

  “Hey, Mari! How do you know Michael Heaton?” Joanne asked me curiously. I raised my head drawing a smile on my face, not knowing if it would be enough to fool them. Were there tears in my eyes? My sight was a bit blurry, making everything deformed and distorted like in a nightmare.

  “It’s nothing. I just went to thank him for his help yesterday, that’s all,” I answered and the pain in my chest became even sharper.

  He hadn’t had the slightest idea who I was, he didn’t remember me! My own insignificance hit me hard. How could I’ve been so stupid! Should’ve known better and known my own place.

  To my relief, the subject of ‘Michael Heaton’ was quickly forgotten. Steph, who seemed rather pleased with my progress, dragged me by the arm and we finally left the school grounds towards the bus stop.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  At that time of day there were very few people in the streets and, because we were practically standing at the National Art Gallery’s doors, most passersby were tourists taking pictures near Trafalgar Square’s fountain.

  Steph looked at the time on her small golden wristwatch and took a deep breath.

  “It’s two o’clock. Can we meet here by three? Will it be enough, Mari?” she asked and I nodded.

  During our subway trip we’d ended up agreeing to split up for at least an hour, so that I could pay a short visit to some of my favorite bookshops, which no one else seemed to have interest in. In truth, one hour would hardly be enough to cover half a bookshop, much less visit more than one. But I also couldn’t deny that, left on my own to freely wander around, I would spend the whole afternoon lost among books, reading titles, synopses and prefaces. And since I wasn’t alone I simply couldn’t be rude to the point of telling them I’d be happy spending the rest of the afternoon on my own.

  The freezing wind made me shiver and I pulled the collar of my coat up. Walking hurriedly with my head bent to better cut through the wind, I followed the opposite direction from the rest of the group.

  The first drops of rain fell cold and heavy, and quickly became a rainstorm. I pulled an umbrella from my bag and huddled under my coat. But the wind seemed determined to blow my umbrella away, and the thought that I would end up being carried with it crossed my mind. The hard, cold rain wasn’t falling vertically anymore and I was completely soaked in a matter of minutes.

  I ran down the road and pushed the first door I came across. A tiny bell rang, announcing my presence, and I took a deep breath as I closed my dripping umbrella, which somehow had survived. The sudden heat from inside the store blushed my cheeks and I tried to straighten my hair, certain by then it looked like a mouse’s wet nest.

  “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”

  Obviously, I shouldn’t have been startled to hear a voice, but I still jumped as I turned around, noticing for the first time the kind of shop I had walked in.

  My eyes swept over the many objects pending from the ceiling — wind chimes of various materials, some shining softly, others made of feathers and gemstones, swinging lazily due to my unexpected visit. The left shelf was filled with different artifacts from all kinds of cultures — Egyptian, Mayan, Aztecan, South American, Oriental, African. On the right there was a stand with CDs carefully arranged. At the top, on a paper printed with a flowery font, was written ‘New Age.’ Besides the stand, a glass showcase kept strange objects, whose purpose I couldn’t even begin to guess. I noticed some metal daggers and tall cups and glasses that made me think of the Middle Ages. There were golden crucifixes of different types, wooden bowls and hand mirrors. Over the counter, placed at the far end of the store, there was a stand with candles sorted by color and, inside the counter, silver and crystal pendants with strange symbols glittering by the pinkish light that shone over them. I recognized a Celtic influence on many. Others had meanings easier to understand, such as the dragons, mages, penta
grams, swords and crosses I could see from where I stood. And finally, behind the counter, was the woman who had greeted me.

  Her hair was mainly white, pulled up on a snowy knot. She had a purple shawl over her shoulders and was watching me with a friendly, but somehow intimidating, expression. Her dark eyes, even from behind the glasses that hung from the point of her nose, shone with a liveliness rarely found on faces marked by time like hers; and she smiled almost softly.

  Behind her, a bookshelf caught my attention at once. The books had been carefully arranged by collections and sizes, and I couldn’t help notice that some looked really old, the brownish spines with no titles.

  “Ah! I’m really sorry to bother you. But the truth is I just came in to get out of the rain. I was completely caught off guard.” I hurriedly excused myself and expected to see some measured disappointment on her face, but her eyes seemed to glow even brighter.

  “I see. It’s really raining hard. Make yourself at home, child. It’s no bother at all.”

  “Thank you. I hope it will ease up soon,” I said wishfully, watching as the drops fell hard on the street’s cobblestones outside.

  “Why don’t you take the chance and have a look around? This store is filled with many interesting things,” she suggested, and I thought maybe I should tell her I had no interest whatsoever in that kind of stuff.

  My lack of spiritual beliefs stemmed from the death of my grandmother when I was still a child. At the time my mother tried to explain what had happened, using all the typical strategies grown-ups apply when talking to children about life and death. She told me my grandma, Anne, had gone to Heaven to be with God, the angels and the Baby Jesus; and how everything was much more beautiful and peaceful there. However, and contrary to what had been expected, my incomprehension of death quickly transformed into feelings of anger and envy of God. After all, why did He have the right to keep my grandma if she was mine? I was sure that, given the choice, she would have chosen to stay with me. I remembered her telling me I was her dearest granddaughter — even though I was the only one she had. Clearly, if she had left me, it was because someone had forced her to go. God, angels, Baby Jesus! It didn’t matter at all! All I knew was that someone or something had taken her away from me, and that was unforgivable.

  Sure, over time, I’d begun to understand things differently and my childhood ideas eventually lost their meaning. But my early rebellion against the main Catholic concepts, among which my academic education had taken place, had helped me develop a rather skeptic vision and a rational critical thought towards all things religiously and spiritually related. And so, although I’d never expressed such thoughts, and, like the good girl I was, had always fulfilled my part at school as required, the truth was my spiritual beliefs remained in an indefinite state.

  Still, I had no courage to say any of that to the nice old lady who had kindly offered me shelter form the rain. And so I walked up to the left shelf and let my eyes wander uninterested over the various statues, whishing it would stop raining soon before I felt obliged to buy something from her. In truth I’d never been to a store like that, nor had I noticed its existence prior to that day, although I was sure I’d passed in front of it many times before.

  “Ah, in your destiny, there’s going to be a big change.” Her voice put an end to my aimless wandering and I turned back to look at her. Her white hands held a deck of cards. Some had already been placed on the counter and her eyes were fixed on them attentively. I recognized the illustrations on the cards immediately, from a movie I’d seen. Those were tarot cards.

  “Um, you don’t have to do that. I don’t really believe in that kind of thing,” I uttered, anticipating she would want to charge me for the reading. She raised her head, smiling kindly.

  “Don’t worry, child. It’s only a game to help spend time,” she said lightly and went back to the cards.

  I sighed, seeing I couldn’t dissuade her and, trying to repay her kindness, walked up to the counter.

  “Your life was supposed to follow a certain path,” she asserted, looking rather pleased to have my attention. “However, Human Beings have these things. It’s not that they’re errors or mistakes. Let’s just call them unforeseen events.” I kept quiet, not knowing what to say, not even understanding what she meant, and her hands pulled out another card. “Hmm ... I see you have a special loved one in your life.” She went on and my heart jumped painfully. Still I made myself look firm and unaffected. That was far from impressive, I thought critically. After all, what girl my age didn’t have one or two love interests? “Unfortunately, your love is not corresponded,” she added and I felt that sharp dagger stabbing my heart even deeper. Even so, I mused, and as hard as it was for me to admit it, that was also quite easy to guess. One would only have to take a look at me, at my completely uninteresting and plain image to figure that out. “This is something very painful for you. And it is this suffering that creates the distortion that pulls you away from your initial and predestined path.” She continued, now with a sympathetic tone. She peered at me over her glasses with a worried expression and I wished with all my heart that my face would remain neutral. The woman sighed and turned another card. “Ah! Just as I thought!” she confirmed with new light dancing in the depths of her eyes, almost as if she’d been expecting what she now supposedly saw. “Right now the path before you is divided in two. One is straight, easy to follow but dark. The other is devious, promising as much pain as happiness, but filled with light. On this dark path your true love will never come to pass,” she said, looking at another card and turning over the last one. “On the path of light, your life will be filled with new things, and among these things your love will be corresponded, the true love that you are destined to live.”

  By the time she became silent I was already completely immersed in her story, the same way I got when reading a fantasy book about some distant heroine. And, of course, I wanted to know more.

  “Two paths?” I asked leading her on, and she raised her head smiling kindly.

  “Yes, child. Human Beings always have the right to choose their way,” she explained. “In our lives there are small, almost insignificant choices, like the clothes we decide to wear, or what to eat for lunch. But there are also the big choices. And those have the ability and strength to change one’s life completely, in a single second. And not only that person’s life, but also the lives of those around us.”

  “Choices like a marriage, or a divorce,” I exemplified and she nodded approvingly.

  “Yes. And the choice standing before you, right now, is something with that potency ... Maybe even more.” I smiled softly, unable to dislike her, and brought myself back to reality. She wasn’t telling me just some fantastic story. She was talking about me. And something like that was simply impossible.

  “Well, I’m sorry but I really don’t think so. My life is rather simple and monotonous. And since I’m still a student, I’m guaranteed with at least two more years of this same exact routine,” I argued. She smiled again, this time with a condescending look; one of those that tells us that we, young people, still have a lot to learn. Turning around, she went to the bookshelf behind her and came back with a heavy-looking book.

  “Here you go,” she declared, placing the large volume on the counter. Although smaller than standard size, it was bigger than most of my books, and certainly thicker. On the brown leather cover one could read in shiny silver letters, Magic Spells and Enchantments.

  I smiled wryly, not knowing how to refuse it. Things like that made even less sense than the spiritual philosophies of the Catholic Church. Besides, it looked like a rather old secondhand book. And I feared it would be some antiquity, which meant I would probably be unable to pay for it.

  “In this book you’ll find all you need to make your choice,” she pronounced. “The one that will take you down one path or the other.” I took a step back, avoiding even touching it.

  “You know ... it’s like I told you.” I began trying t
o sound as nice as possible. “It’s not really my thing. Besides, I don’t have that much money on me.”

  “It’s a gift!” the woman stated, invalidating my best argument. “To tell you the truth, it’s not even for sale. You see, this book was once mine,” she said, caressing the leather cover with a nostalgic expression. “It served me well during this life. I brought it here, together with many others, in hopes of finding them new owners. They’re not something I can simply put a price on. To me, they’re priceless.” She stated her remarks firmly and I couldn’t help feel touched by the woman’s love for her books, independently of their strange titles.

  “That’s more the reason. If it’s so important to you, how can I simply accept it? For starters, why did you decide to give it away?” I asked with genuine curiosity. For me it was simply unthinkable giving my precious books away just like that, to some stranger.

  “Because, child, books are like Human Beings. They have their missions, and these books’ missions next to me have already been fulfilled. The same way I’ll leave this world once my mission in this life has been completed, to return to it once again for a new mission, these books also need to be reborn next to those who need them. And, this book in particular, has a task to fulfill with you.” I looked at the book on the counter and took a deep breath. I didn’t really want to keep it, but she cut short my thoughts. “Please take care of it,” she insisted. “It was a good friend for me.” With a sigh I picked the book up and held it against my chest.

  “Thank you. And I promise I’ll take good care of it,” I assured her. The joy in her lightly wrinkled face made me feel pleased with myself. Making others happy always made me feel that way, and I promised myself I’d really take care of that lady’s treasure, although I would probably never read it. “Oh, and how much do I owe you for the reading?” I asked, wishing I could somehow repay her kindness and time. She placed her pale hand over my arm, stopping me from reaching inside my bag for my wallet.