Tears of Things
There was nothing, and yet the girl was not afraid. The formlessness of the dream was typical, and though the depth, space, and hollowness of the place was terrific, she simply had nothing to do but wait. Wait for the swirling dark colors to shape themselves into shadows and blurry ghosts of her near and distant past. She mentally commanded herself to concentrate, knowing that if she remained here long enough, the ghosts would become clearer. There would be a succession of remembered people, thoughts, words, and actions until…she would arrive, and the dream would begin in earnest. So the girl waited patiently. The first figures were nondescript, a pair of lovers she had passed enviously on the street corner earlier that morning. Then a child emerged from the mists towards the girl until she recognized him as her little brother, Thomas. Soon he, too, vanished into the dream-mist. The figures came and went until at long last the girl barely glimpsed a light in the distance. Out of the brightness a woman appeared, hooded in a dark purple cloak which shadowed her entire face. The cloak was shapelessly cut, eliminating the curves of her body. Without opening her mouth, she spoke to the girl, saying, I am Ophelia, sent to guide you through the realm of the unconscious. And just as the girl knew she would, Ophelia stretched out a gloved hand from within the folds of her cloak and beckoned the girl to follow her. As soon as she willed herself to take one step, the air around her swirled in a great final gust of shadow and an unanticipated wind tossed the darkness away. Light poured in from nowhere, or perhaps from Ophelia herself, until the dreamscape formed. The girl felt, because she could not see Ophelia smile as she said, Let the dream begin.
Blue dawn. Blue like when you kiss too long with eyes tightly shut. I wake up too soon, the alarm hasn’t gone off. Mother walks in and throws open the curtains. The light hurts my eyes. A bird is at the sill. It looks at me like it knows things. Things I’ve only heard strange doctors say. Things like schizophrenia and hallucinations. The wind streaking the pane and whistling knows things, too. Deep, ancient things like unearthed bones and weathered rock.
“Pick out your clothes, Alannah, and for God’s sake get out of bed.”
I find purple clothes. I like purple today. Thomas fell down the stairs yesterday, and I laughed for an hour straight. Mother hated me for it. I laughed even though it wasn’t funny. He was crying. But I laughed.
Welcome, said Ophelia when the girl returned to sleep. Tell me of your day.
The girl’s eyes were wet with tears. “It was horrible.” She said, “No one likes me, no one at all.”
I like you very much. Ophelia took the girl’s hand and wiped a tear from her cheek with a gloved finger. In fact, I know we are almost like sisters.
“Really?” said the girl, “I’ve always wanted a sister.”
Follow me, said Ophelia, and together they entered the dream.
The trees in this place were filled with sunlight, a light turned green as it filtered through the splendid foliage. The boughs were so fully cloaked in vegetation that what light did penetrate was hazy and dim. Motes of pollen floated lazily through the nebulous air as the forest hummed with the business of invisible life. The girl took in her surroundings with a sense of awe. Never before had she seen such ancient trees, flawless in their antiquity, just as she had imagined them. This was the golden wood of her childhood imagination, this dream realm of infinite impossibilities thrived with every daydream of her lonely youth.
The girl realized that she still held Ophelia’s hand, and smiled wonderingly at her faceless guide. Together they moved through the silent, knowing trees until they came to a small clearing. Presently, the girl could hear the rasp, uneven sound of hushed voices. In the middle of the clearing a small fire crackled and spit, and huddled around the fire were three hooded men and a small child. Above them, hung like linen from the branches, were five transparent sheets. All of them, save for one, were pure white. The last one, hanging off the edge of the branch, was spoiled and stained. It was as if several ghosts had gathered to watch the men as they warmed themselves by the fire.
“What are they?” the girl whispered.
They are souls, responded Ophelia, and a sadness that was also like dignity crept into her voice that the girl was sure only she could hear. Ophelia gestured to the dirty sheet and said, that is your soul, and the four accompanying it are those of the three men and boy you see by the fire.
Suddenly, the boy cried out and rose to point into the half-light where Ophelia and the girl stood. The men, now alert, peered in their direction. Alarmed, the girl tried to hide herself behind a tree, but Ophelia held tightly to her hand, motioning her to remain still. The little boy hurried to the place where the white sheets hung, and grasped what Ophelia had named as the girl’s soul in his hand. As he moved in the firelight, the girl recognized him as her own brother.
“Thomas!” she cried, but Ophelia jerked her arm.
Be silent! Your own kin, your brother, Thomas, seeks to take your soul and throw it to the fire. He despises your filth – for the girl could see now that her soul was by far the most ragged of them all – because the three men you see, the gods of the Trinity, have poisoned his mind. You must destroy him before he damages your existence forever!
Terrified and confused, the girl ran from Ophelia and threw herself at Thomas, attempting to wrestle her soul from him. At once the men, or gods, as Ophelia had called them, tore off their cloaks to reveal bright shining bodies like angels. The girl screamed in terror as she pulled the soul from Thomas’s hands. Simultaneously freezing and burning, the filmy material singed her skin. Thomas, enraged, lunged for the girl.
Kill him!
The girl, not comprehending her own movements or motivations, took her brother’s neck between her hands and squeezed. She did not let go.
I wake up screaming. Tears blur my eyes and won’t stop coming. What is happening to me? Hours pass. I can’t bear to look at Thomas. I only laugh. Laugh and cry. Cry and laugh.
Thomas comes home from school with a Bible. He reads it for hours. Jesus says this, Jesus says that. Thomas says, “Alannah, you have demons like the pigs do.” Thomas says Jesus will make me drown myself to save me from Satan. Stupid boy, I cry. Stupid, stupid boy. I slap Thomas across the mouth. Mother yells and cries. I yell, but then I laugh. Stupid idiot boy.
“Why is my soul so dirty?” the girl wept. She held her torn and filthy soul in her shaking hands.
You are a wicked child, but I love you all the more for it. Oh, don’t cry, don’t cry. To be wicked is to be un-good and to be un-good is to fight back. The only way to win against the Trinity is to fight back and the only way to fight back is to become soulless.
“How do I do that?”
Ophelia seemed tired and very, very sad. You must end your own life, my sister, my child. You must die a murderer’s death.
The girl covered her ears with her hands. She had been taught so much, and yet now felt as though she knew nothing at all. “I don’t know if I could do that.”
Ophelia was silent for a long while and then took the girl’s hand. Follow me, she said.
The girl followed. Through the trees, far past the fire where the boy had died and the men had disappeared along with their perfect souls, another clearing opened up before them. In the center of this clearing stood a gilded mirror, its surface broad and foggy with the dying light of the afternoon. Ophelia moved to stand in front of it, and the girl followed.
Stand beside me.
Together the girl and Ophelia stood before the ancient mirror. Slowly, with an air of reverence, Ophelia removed her hood.
“I…don’t understand.” Said the girl. For standing next to her in the mirror was no magnificent lady, but – impossibly – a second copy of herself.
We are one… Alannah.
Alannah. Alannah. “Alannah!”
I wake up again. No tears this time. Mother is standing over me with angry tears in her eyes, dripping down her cheeks to touch mine like slimy loveless fingers. “Get out of bed this instant! Don’t you know where Tommy is? He’s out doing laundry because he’s OBEDIENT. Do you understand that word? I swear, one more slip from you and you’re out of here. I can’t take this shit anymore, Alannah, I really can’t.”
Mother leaves. I leave. Thomas is out in the yard, hanging the laundry on the line…God. Oh, God, no. Not this, not again. White. White like souls not dirty grey like mine is. White like his accursed Jesus. I am the demon. Mother says I’m losing it. Maybe God says in his Bible that the pigs were insane. Am I insane? Running. I’m running towards Thomas. God, no. Not again. I take the sheet from him and he looks at me like I’m crazy. I am, I am, I am. I put my hands on his neck and all I’m thinking is where are the angels? Where are the sweet fresh souls and where is she? Where am I?
The rest is insanity.
I’m running again. I have the sheet and I’m running. Mother is screaming behind me so all I can do is run. I run until I find them. Those trees. Or at least something like them. And here’s the water, just like I knew it would be. I kneel down, folding the clean white sheet across my lap. I look at the water, and I see her. Ophelia. She smiles like she knows things. She beckons for me to join her. To fight back…to fight back is to become soulless. But now she is weeping, and her tears make circles upon circles on the glassy surface. Soulless.
Sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt ~ Vergil, The Aeneid
