Of Bees and Mist Page 2

  “What is it, child?”

  Ravenna’s face was calm and untroubled. Meridia could not speak, for tears had once again sprung to her throat.

  “What is it? Why are you crying?”

  “What do you mean?” rebuffed the woman in the sea green hat. “She’s been looking everywhere for you!”

  Ravenna shot her a puzzled look. “What on earth for? I’ve been right here all along.”

  Unable to contain herself, Meridia broke out sobbing. Ravenna bent down and wiped her tears with her sleeve.

  “Tilt your chin up, child. Keep your back straight. Why are you letting the whole world see you cry?”

  Meridia sobbed all the more. Tossing her head, the woman in the sea green hat snorted, then gave Ravenna a sharp look before leaving. This look, unnoticed by the mother, sliced deep into the daughter’s heart.

  Though Ravenna held her hand all the way home, Meridia took no pleasure in it. The stranger’s look burned in her vision, and along with shame and sadness, it stirred a reckless dark feeling inside her. More than once she wished she had a cleaver to hurl, not at the woman in the sea green hat, but at the forgetfulness that imprisoned Ravenna in a different world. She wanted to strike until her arm was tired, scream until her voice was gone, and hound down whatever demon had erected this wall between them.

  TWO

  One morning in the spring of her twelfth year, Meridia was arranging her school books in the hall when she glanced up into the mirror and beheld the face of a ghost.

  It was old, ravaged, and female. Skin creased, chin hollowed, eyes dulled to a dirty yellow. Accustomed to seeing strange things in the mirror, Meridia did not become alarmed until the ghost grimaced like an old friend. She sprang back with a scream when the yellow eyes spun.

  “What is it? Is there a ghost in there?”

  The nurse, puffing into a coat a few feet away, was instantly at her side.

  Shaking, Meridia pointed to the mirror. The nurse inched closer, rolled up her sleeves, and throttled the frame with both hands. She saw only her own reflection.

  “What did you see?” she teased, her generous bosom rocking with laughter. “A pink dolphin or a three-headed horse? How many times must I tell you, if you think brightly, you’ll see only bright things around you.”

  The nurse fixed her silvering hair in the mirror and pinched her robust cheeks to give them color. Still shaking, Meridia wanted to ask her, Did other houses have mirrors like theirs, full of tricks and surprises, incapable of reflecting the plainest truth?

  The nurse opened the front door and stepped into the mist. Meridia followed with her books. On her lips wavered another question. Why did the mist never leave their door, harassing the mailman and the paperboy like a jealous presence?

  After countless pleas on Meridia’s part and a bemused intercession on Ravenna’s, the nurse finally agreed to let her go to school dressed like other students. In place of scratchy knee socks and woolen underclothes, Meridia now wore light cotton shirts and green pleated skirts, a pretty bow for her hair and shoes that did not pinch her calves. This small victory, however, did not come without costs. For one, the nurse kept a tighter watch on their walk to and from school, sticking to the same route, disallowing detours, forbidding Meridia to go off by herself. Not one to conceal her pride, the nurse let every mother in the schoolyard know that Meridia was the best student in her class. Once, she read Meridia’s composition out loud, her ample figure brimming with maternal fire while Meridia flushed bright red. The other students she held under the greatest scrutiny, convinced they were carrying lice in their hair and bacteria under their nails. As for Meridia’s teachers—she patronized these gentlemen with pursed lips and pointed brows, skeptical of their skills and qualifications.

  “If only your father would undertake your education at home,” the nurse often grumbled to Meridia, who shuddered at the thought of Gabriel and her shut up in the study. “Schools expose children to unsavory influences.”

  That morning, the nurse talked even more than usual as they walked. She chatted about the arrival of spring, praised Meridia on her recent examination score, and told her she was lucky to have an extraordinarily good head for numbers. “It gives me a cramp to see you sweep through a long column of figures without gagging. You must’ve gotten it from your father. I’m glad all my calculations can be performed on two hands.” Pale and nervous, Meridia did not reply. In fact, she had not spoken a word since they left the house. They were a block away from school when the nurse realized this.

  “You’re quiet this morning. Still thinking about the mirror?”

  Meridia chewed her bottom lip until the nurse’s silence compelled her to respond.

  “I had that dream again last night,” she said with uncertainty. “The bright flash in the middle of the night.”

  The nurse slowed down and faced her. “Did you tell your mother?”

  Meridia nodded. “This morning, while you were upstairs.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “What she always says. ‘Some things are better left as dreams.’”

  The nurse frowned, stopping completely, and then dispelled this with a shake of the head. “Your mother does say that a lot.”

  Meridia grimaced. “What does she mean by it?”

  The nurse picked up her pace. “How many times have you had this dream?”

  Meridia thought carefully. “Twice this past week. It’s been like this for years. It will turn up night after night for some time, and then nothing for months.”

  “And you see—”

  “The bright flash. Something fell and someone screamed. Mama snatched me up and a hot, wet thing dripped down my face. Tears, I think. But it could be blood.”

  The nurse said nothing. Meridia, seized with conviction, suddenly swung in front.

  “It was no dream,” she insisted. “I was small but I was there in that room when it happened and I saw it all. What was it, Nurse? What was I seeing? And why does the dream come and go every few months like this?”

  The nurse swallowed, opened her mouth, and closed it again. She tried to look into Meridia’s eyes but managed only another shake of the head.

  “It isn’t my place to answer these questions,” she said. “If your mother said it was a dream, then you must take her word for it. She knows what’s best for you.”

  Meridia found this as maddening as Ravenna’s answer. But before she could object, the nurse had resumed walking. At the gate, the good woman smoothed Meridia’s long black hair with both hands and hugged her more firmly than usual.

  “Go on, don’t be late for class. I’ll meet you here at three.”

  Meridia nodded reluctantly and joined the stream of students. Sighing, the nurse waited until her charge went inside the building before turning home.

  In the corridor, a damp hand appeared out of nowhere and fell on Meridia’s nape. In a panic she turned, books flying in every direction, but there was no one nearby. It was then she remembered where she had seen the ghost in the mirror. The dirty yellow eyes had glared at her before, wide and burning, in the dream.

  ONE OF THE UNWRITTEN rules of the house declared that Gabriel must have a proper breakfast before work. He ate lunch in his study and dinner elsewhere, but every morning, he sat down at the dining table and waited for Ravenna to serve him. During this time, husband and wife never spoke to each other, and no one, including Meridia, was allowed to enter. After breakfast, Gabriel took his coffee and paper to the front hall and smoked there for a half hour. This half hour was the most excruciating time of the day for Meridia. Ravenna, who seldom made demands, was adamant that she greet her father before school.

  On the best of days, Gabriel ignored her. On good days, he examined her coldly through a cloud of cigar smoke. On the worst, he spoke to her. Gabriel rarely raised his voice, but his words always managed to cut her. It could be as simple as a command to fetch things, open the window, relay a message to Ravenna, but the end result was the same:
Meridia would go about the rest of her day shattered and distracted. She would feel as if she had been given a test and failed. Had she only performed better, pleased more, been smarter and prettier, he might not look at her with such contempt. If she never learned to resent him, it was because she never felt worthy of his love. In the nights when her tears came, they flowed silent and strangled. Often, Gabriel’s hatred prevented her from breathing.

  Over the years, she managed to assemble an unflappable front before him. Though her heart might rumble like thunder, her lips no longer quivered when he scolded, and she became skilled in employing Ravenna’s advice to her defense. Hold your shoulders up. Do not blush. Do not even think about crying. In the back of her mind, Meridia was aware that her calm could only increase Gabriel’s hostility, but her pride did not allow her to act otherwise. As time passed, she endured his torment bravely. Her night tears, though they never completely stopped, fell less and less. But one day, something irreparable happened. Gabriel cut deep enough to sever the thread that joined them.

  It was a hot Sunday morning in June. The house, despite the scorching sun, was colder than usual. Meridia entered the front hall shivering and distressed. The dream had come again in the night, and the yellow-eyed ghost had this time turned up in her bedroom mirror. Again she had tried to question the nurse, and again the nurse had refused to answer. Frustrated, Meridia was halfway through the hall when she realized her father was not alone.

  “Come closer,” ordered Gabriel. “Give these gentlemen a better look.”

  Two men were sitting with him, smoking and drinking coffee. One was bald and whiskered, the other wore spectacles that kept slipping down his nose. Meridia greeted them formally as the nurse had taught her. They continued to talk but did not take their gazes off her. After some time Gabriel said, “Turn to the right and open your eyes wide.”

  Meridia did as she was told.

  “She’s quite pretty,” said the one with the whiskers. “She’ll go far with that nose.”

  “The eyes leave much to be desired,” said the other. “Too wide and too far apart. And if you don’t correct her posture, people will think she’s consumptive.”

  Gabriel smiled. “Go on. What else do you see?”

  The two scholars went on arguing. Meridia was instructed to lift her arms, bend her elbows, raise her skirt, stick out her bottom, and stand with one arm akimbo.

  Square your shoulders, she reminded herself, feeling like a specimen in one of Gabriel’s jars. Plant your feet so your knees won’t buckle.

  The men finished their cigars. Standing as still as she could, Meridia waited for her dismissal. But Gabriel, perhaps sensing her eagerness to be off, had another idea.

  “You are far too generous, gentlemen.” He folded his arms neatly and reclined against the chair. “I have a dull and plain daughter. Anyone with half a wit can see she has neither charm nor talent.”

  “Oh, come on!” said the whiskered gentleman. “Why are you being cruel to her?”

  Gabriel grew solemn. “Have you known me to speak unfairly? That little girl has no grace or beauty. She is awkward, unattractive, and silly. Her mind, if you could call it that, is idle and easily distracted. I expect nothing from her. She will bungle through life and slip out of it without leaving the faintest mark…”

  Meridia stood as if every part of her had become stone. On and on the shells exploded, but the more Gabriel raged, the harder and emptier she became. Her young mind understood what he wanted: a sign of defeat. All she had to do was show him a tear and he would stop. But for the life of her she could not summon the thing within her he most wanted to ridicule. So she set her jaw and denied him. There was no telling how long she would have gone on denying him had he not dragged Ravenna into the mud.

  “But what can I expect?” His voice was even now, scalpel-like in its precision. “Her blood is in the child’s; her madness, too. They are both fickle, illogical creatures. They crave to be touched and admired, and then without reason they shut you out cold in the dark. And when your heart no longer has a place for them, they blame you for the hell and the ruin that is their own making!”

  The blow hit. All at once Meridia’s stomach jolted, her insides squeezing out from between her thighs. She looked down and saw blood on her dress. While the two scholars sat dumbstruck, Gabriel sprang to his feet.

  “You animal!”

  He yanked her arm as if he might tear it off and shoved her into the hallway. Just before she smashed into the wall, Meridia caught herself. Behind her the door slammed. Another jolt assaulted her stomach.

  She dashed for the staircase, hoping it would not play its usual trick. Yet the second her hand touched the banister, the treacherous thing lengthened interminably. She ran and ran, panting and wincing, but it seemed she would never reach the top. A trail of blood marked her steps, scattered petals on smooth, shiny marble. Through the hall door Gabriel’s voice was booming, apologizing to the scholars for his daughter’s barbarity. Meridia clamped her hands over her ears and kept on running.

  When she reached her room, the nurse screamed in horror, letting fall the blanket she was folding.

  “My dear! Why is there blood on your dress?”

  The good woman rushed toward Meridia. Another glance told her there was no reason to panic.

  “You silly girl.” The nurse smiled with indulgence. “Or perhaps I’d better call you a little woman now. Why did you frighten me like that? I told you this would happen. Come, let’s get you changed before your mother sees you.”

  Meridia wrenched free and regarded her with angry eyes.

  “Why does he do this to me?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Papa! Why does he take pleasure in tormenting me?”

  The nurse gave a start. “What—what did he do?”

  Meridia told her. The nurse clenched her lips until they drained of color.

  “Why does he hate me, Nurse? Why did he say those ugly things about Mama? Tell me why they never speak to each other.”

  The nurse turned to the window. Meridia stole up and yanked her arm, as forcibly as Gabriel had yanked hers.

  “Look at me!” She jerked at her bloodstained dress. “How much more do I have to take before you tell me?”

  Tears began to cloud the nurse’s eyes, but still she clenched her lips. Shaking like a ribbon, Meridia shouted, “I will hate him if you don’t tell me. I will hate him with all my heart!”

  There was a terrible appeal in her voice, more forceful than if she had been crying. The nurse drew back, shocked to see the small, pale girl grow hard and savage. The air was filled with things Meridia could not yet phrase, things dark and unspeakable, heavy like clouds on an ominous day. It was the threat of them bursting and drenching Meridia whole that finally parted the nurse’s lips.

  “All right. I’ll tell you. But let’s get you out of that dress first.”

  TEN MINUTES LATER, SITTING in bed facing Meridia, the nurse began her story.

  “You must understand that your parents did not always live like this. There was a time before the mist when the house came alive every night to the sound of music. Everywhere you looked there were flowers and candles, drinks served in tall glasses, lanterns twined over the garden. Men in evening jackets and women in silky dresses piled into the dining room and flooded it with laughter.

  “I was a maid then, and no one in those days entertained like your parents. The best food. The best wine. The smartest conversations. Clever and handsome, your father sat on one end of the table while your mother ruled the other end with her grace and beauty. Even a stranger could tell how much they loved each other. It was said that an electric current jolted the room every time their glances met.

  “When you were born two years into the marriage, your father threw a banquet that lasted three days. He covered your mother in jewels, took enormous pride in your survival, and proclaimed to the town that he was the happiest man alive. ‘My daughter, who has defied death,
is the loveliest creature in all the lands,’ he said. It was not long before a handful of people took offense.

  “What arrogance!’ they fumed behind his back. ‘His child is barely alive, and already he’s trumpeting his good luck to the winds!’ Your father dismissed this as idle talk, but the more he ignored it, the louder the rumbling became. Soon everyone in town was whispering, ‘Pull up a chair and watch. Heaven is bringing Gabriel down.’ Oh, those ingrates! How easily they forgot his dinners! I don’t believe in curses, but to this day I wonder if all their ill wishes contributed to what happened. By the time your father took notice, it was too late. The cold wind was already tearing the house upside down.

  “It happened one night while the house was asleep. A gentle wind clattered the bedroom window, loud enough to wake your mother but not your father. Thinking the latch was unfastened, your mother got up to fix it. The instant she touched the window, the wind gathered force and flung her back against the bed. It howled like a beast of prey, ruffling the books on the desk, fluttering curtains, sliding your bassinet across the room. Your mother tried to wrestle it out the window, but the wind proved too quick and strong for her. She was on the brink of waking your father when the tumult died of its own accord. Shaking her head, your mother returned to bed. You and your father remained asleep.

  “By then I had been promoted to look after you, and I was the first to notice the changes. The drop in temperature, starting in the master bedroom. The ineffectiveness of blankets and fire. The dusk inside the house, even at the height of noon. Every morning the maids set about their duties grumbling and shuddering. Bathing was a torment. Boiling water grew cold in a matter of seconds. By the time I discovered ice on your lips, I decided I could no longer keep silent.

  “To my surprise, your mother told me she had noticed some of the same things. She was a different woman then, gentle and confiding. She told me about the incident with the wind, and confessed that she was troubled by it. ‘A fluke in the weather, madam,’ I tried to assure her. ‘There must be a logical explanation for all this strangeness.’ She did not believe me. As I turned to leave, she said something that made my heart lurch. ‘No matter what happens, promise me you’ll take care of my child. Think of me as you do today, even if I become a stranger to myself.’ Stunned, I stood staring as if she had struck me. A part of me wanted to weep for I didn’t know what.