Michele Forbes - Ghost Moth

And there is her father, hollowed, one hundred times hollowed at the very least. Elsa swivels the brooch around in her fingers and watches every one of him sparkle and glint like gold milk-bottle tops in the sun before the birds have pecked them.

She turns her head with the brooch to her eye, continuing to peruse the curious life upon these sanded shores and now wishes she could submerge herself and completely disappear from them all. She moves her head a little to look at the lighted lamp on the table beside her, like a moth irresistibly drawn. A fist of sunsets bursts through the amber-colored glass and Elsa feels she is in Heaven.

Elsa moves through the subterranean landscape of the long room like a deep-sea diver, her walk slow and deliberate, her periscope placed firmly to her eye. She needs to find something special in which to put her amber brooch, like the blue box she keeps for her pennies.

Elsa makes her way out of the busy kitchen, her hair tousled by some tea-warmed hands, and moves quietly along the hall past the “good-front-room,” where the coffin ticks. If she steps quietly enough now, the door of the room will stay as it is, she thinks, solemnly half-closed, and she will make it to the end of the hall. If, however, she lets herself be heard, the gape of the door will swallow her and the room will suck her in. Elsa holds her breath and moves quietly to the end of the hall.

There are some boxes and small bags in a corner at the end of the hall. Her Aunt Vera had been looking for some personal mementos belonging to her mother to place in the coffin and had left them there, either to be kept or disposed of. Amid the bits and pieces Elsa spots a small box wrapped very loosely in a cloth. She pulls the cloth away and opens the box. Inside the box is an object wrapped loosely in paper. She opens the paper, to find a small broken statuette. She puts the pieces of the statuette back in the box and looks at the paper. The paper is lovely, she thinks. It has lots of writing on it and lots of music notes and lots of colorful orange-red lipstick smudges, as though someone has kissed it over and over. Elsa wraps her amber brooch in the paper and takes it upstairs.

She finds Maureen and Elizabeth, sitting on Maureen’s bed, story-picking from the Bunty Christmas Annual 1969 . Maureen and Elizabeth are reading “The Four Marys,” and when they finish the story, curiously at exactly the same time, they flick over the page to begin “Pansy Potter.” Elsa sits with her two sisters on the bed, listening to the murmur of voices rising from the room below them. It is like some melancholic music, she thinks, that someone has piped around the house, making everything “The Four Marys” and “Pansy Potter” do seem much more serious than usual. Even the obligatory celebration in the tuck shop appears to be a sad affair.

Elsa looks at Maureen. She watches as Maureen slowly reaches down and fixes the curve of her slipper around her heel. The movement of her hand is soft, soft and desperate. Elsa follows the arc of it. She then moves to her bedside cabinet and, trying not to raise her sisters’ curiosity, reaches into the back of the cabinet and takes out the little blue box fastened with an elastic band. She slips the amber brooch wrapped in the piece of music paper with the kisses into the box without taking its lid off completely and replaces it firmly. Then she finds her place again upon the bed.

Just then, a gentle knock comes on the door. The girls lift their heads to it but say nothing. The door opens, revealing their father. George looks tired and cold.

“Just coming in to say good night, pets. Everyone will be leaving soon, so try to get some sleep.”

“Yeah, we will.” Maureen answers first with a commanding air, which belies her desperation, and resumes comic-flicking.

“We promise, Dad.” Elsa smiles at her father.

George remains straight-faced, as though he is wondering about how he should be saying good night to the children. All through Katherine’s illness and hospitalization, it had, ironically, been simpler. They had had a purpose. They had prayed for her every single night before going to bed, prayed for her to get better and for her to come home. And George had, of course, told them that their prayers would mean something. What else could he have said? But now what was there to pray for? So, before he closes the door of their bedroom, he says quietly, “And in your prayers tonight, ask God for good weather for the funeral on Monday.” His face is stings red from the pathetic realization of the words he has just heard himself say.

“Okay, we will.”

George leaves.

Maureen turns to Elsa. “You can’t wear my navy hairband to the funeral.”

“Oh, okay, then.”

Monday morning, the morning of the funeral, and from the front window Elsa sees Isabel coming up her driveway. Isabel is dressed in her school uniform. She looks plain. Her hair is tied back in a low ponytail. She walks as though she is counting her steps, her head bowed, her pace regular and deliberate. She is holding something in her hand. A few moments later and Isabel knocks on the front door. Elsa opens it. At first, nothing is said. Isabel is looking down at the front step and is beginning to tap one of her shoes against the other one. Elsa is looking above Isabel’s head, as though she has noticed something of great interest in the far distance. Isabel begins to chew on her bottom lip.

“I brought you some chocolates.”

The box of chocolates is not wrapped, so Elsa can see that they are chocolate-orange matchsticks, which she likes.

“Thank you” says Elsa politely.

“And a card.” Isabel indicates for Elsa to turn the box over. Elsa turns it and sees a white envelope taped to the base of the box.

“I didn’t draw it or anything, I bought it,” Isabel continues quietly. “The card’s for everybody, but you can have the chocolates.”

“Thanks.” Elsa gives the box of chocolates a little shake. There is a soft rattle. “You can come in if you want to.” Elsa now looks at Isabel.

“Can’t,” Isabel replies. “Got a note from school on Friday. There’s nits goin’ around. Mummy said just in case.”

“All right.”

“Did ye see Dana won the Eurovision song contest? Did ye watch it on the telly Saturday night?” Isabel sways back and forth on the step.

“No. We had people over.”

Isabel stands for a moment. “I’m sorry about your mum.” “Thank you,” Elsa says politely.

“When are you going to the church?”

“Not for another hour and a half. Are you going to school?”

“Yeah, soon.”

“See ye.”

“See ye.”

Then Isabel trots down the front steps of Elsa’s house, and when she reaches the gate she attempts a smile and a casual wave back to Elsa. Elsa closes the door. She moves into the kitchen, where Nanny Anna is tidying up. Elsa puts the box of chocolates on the table and begins to help her grandmother.

“That was Isabel.”

“Yes, and she brought you something nice.” Nanny Anna nods at the chocolates. “That was very good of her, wasn’t it?” Nanny Anna turns to Elsa and gives her a hug.

“Yes,” Elsa says simply, and goes over to Stephen, who is sitting on the floor. He holds a biscuit in one hand, a slice of apple in the other. He has no agenda, no plan for the day. He is nodding his head in his own time to a tune on the radio. When he talks now, he sounds polite, precise. “Go, go, go,” he is saying. He is looking at the apple in his hand. “Go, go, go!” Since Christmas, his hair has grown into long, soft, dark curls. One of them falls down onto his forehead. He is a child always eager to be happy. “Look, Nana,” he says proudly, “look!” He shows Nanny Anna the apple slice from which he has taken a bite.