Up too damn early for a Saturday. Went back to bed to steal a moment more of sleep.
I’m walking around a crowded place. So many people. Whispers and murmurs fill the spaces in between. Bright colors clash against the smothering grey of enveloping shadows. Everyone is adorned for Los Dios De Los Muertos. Including me. My red satin dress with black feather hemming and adornments was outside of my comfort sphere. But it was par for the course for what the other women were wearing. What skin was seen was adorned with dried mud to look like I was a walking skeleton. Even my face had a fanciful rendition of a skull. I wasn’t out of place. Everyone here had the same type of markings.
You wouldn’t know I was walking among the dead. Except for their lack of eyes.
A few noticed I still had my eyes in my head, my own eyes even, and began to stare. Their faces were slowly segueing from mild curiosity to dangerous anger. Remembering the fan that came with the dress, I opened it and held up the black lace before my face. My gesture was that of a young lady at play with would-be suitors. The action caught them off guard, and they fell into the role at once. With smiles, they accepted my polite refusal to show my face clearly, and turned away.
The mindless grey we walked through enveloped their minds at once. Their faces became slack, as they forgot the excitement of the previous seconds. Aimlessly, they wandered around me, knowing they are supposed to be going somewhere, but not knowing where. Knowing they are supposed to be moving, but they have forgotten why.
I wandered among them, apparently aimless, but I had a sense of purpose. Horatio’s trinket hung heavy off my hip, even though he has been absent for the past couple of days. I don’t know where he ran off to or why. I only know I had the instinct to allow him to finish whatever task he had gone to accomplish. I also knew I could recall him to the trinket at any time. But this time, I felt it best to allow him to finish.
Now his trinket, still empty, has pulled me back among the dead. I had the sense that he was close, but not sure where. I knew that the trinket would be a beacon to him, however. No mattered how far I wandered among the dead, he would find me.
“See, here she is. You did not have to run. She would have taken you as well.” Horatio’s bass timber stood out from the whispers and murmurs that surrounded me. I turned towards the source, standing as if I knew what was going on. The crowd parted slightly to allow him, and the person he was escorting, to reach me.
Oh Horatio, how splendid you look! A black tux with a long tail. A white shirt underneath, crumpled and unbuttoned to reveal his chest with impunity, but somehow that seemed fitting. On his dark skin were the ash markings of skeletons. The dingy and worn top hat did not rub off the markings on his face. Horatio stepped to me, not in a Halloween costume, but in the regalia of a bokor.
I was not afraid.
He tipped his hat to me. “Master, I found her.” Gently he pulled a woman into view. Her dress had changed into shades of red, but I recognized her at once. She is the mother of the blue-swaddled infant. She looked up at me without eyes and burst into tears.
She tried to pull away, but Horatio’s gentle grip held fast. “No judging, Mademoiselle. My master cares not for what you have done. She only cares for your release.” The woman looked at me in skepticism, but allowed Horatio to guide her forward to me.
I closed and lowered the fan, revealing my face and my living eyes. “Buenos dias, Señora.” She winced at the honorific and trembled in sorrow. “Lo siento, Señorita. I do not wish to wound you further.”
She wrung her hands nervously. “Mi hijo?” She cried without tears. “Is he…” Her voice trailed off as the shudders of withheld sobs shook her.
Horatio held her in gentle arms as I spoke. “He is gone. He has been released and his soul is among los ángeles y los santos. My work with him is done.” I held out my hand. “My work with you, is not. I am neither un ángel o una diabla. I help those that wander find final rest. But I can not take you unless you are willing. My servant brought you to me so you may choose. You are free to leave me at any time. I will not chase you. … You were understandably distraught before.”
“I saw the fires consume him!”
“Was not hellfire that you saw. But the fires that purge what lingers of the living. No judgement. No torment. No tricks. Just like water washes away dirt, the fires burn away what burdens cling. Infants don’t remain long, they have no cares to worry about.”
She looked at my still outstretched hand. “I want to join my son. I want to rest, at last. So long… so…” She bursts into tears again, but takes my hand anyway. “Okay. ‘Sta bien. Voy contigo.” She tries to smile, but she is afraid.
I pull her gently into my embrace, wrapping her in my arms and the black lace shawl that came from my shadow. Mouthing to Horatio to stay put, I call the Purging Fires to me. She whimpers at the first touch of flame. “No es caliente, no es frio… How is it warm? Like mi mamá hugging me… like…” She closed sunken eyelids over empty sockets and wrapped her arms around me. She surrenders to my embrace. I surrender to the flames and close my eyes.
I open them when I hear the ravens. Now in the Boneyard, I look up to find someone has prepared an elaborate bone ofrenda. I find I am carrying a bundle in red cloth. I know it is the bones of the mother.
Laying them on the ofrenda, I arrange her remains as if she were sleeping. A raven flies to my shoulder, carrying something. It is a piece of blue cloth. I take it, and lay it in her skeletal hand. To my surprise, the hand closes around it and brings it to her cheek.
A sudden coolness comes from the bones and I know she has finally surrendered to passing. I drape the remains of her dress over her as if tucking her into bed, and kiss her skull in affectionate farewell.
Without words, I call the fires. I remain by the pyre until I am satisfied the bones have taken well. I bow to the ravens, and take my leave. They watch me coolly, some with amusement. I’m not cynical enough, I suppose.
I return to where Horatio is waiting. At once I open my black lace fan to hide my living eyes. He takes my arm and we slowly stroll among the dead in our fine regalia.
“So that’s where you’ve been.” He chuckles.
“You thought I was making a run for it?”
“The idea did cross my mind, often.”
“When you was busy with other things, I saw them. She and l’enfant were easy pickings for those that see. I could not just allow them to continue on. There are many bokor looking for such this time of year. Her pain, his innocence.” His voice was strangely emotionless, as if he was trying to hide something. “I know what you could offer, Master. And I know your conscience. I may be bound to you, but I had no fear you would treat them the same.”
A passing man crossed our path. He tipped his hat in polite greeting to us. Horatio tipped his and I merely nodded in return. As fast as the man turned away, he forgot ever seeing us.
“No, Horatio. I would not abuse them. I still have some morals. And I doubt the ravens would allow it. Thank you for bringing them to me. And for returning, yourself.”
“Thank you, Master, for trusting me.”
We continued on strolling through the sea of dead souls in silence. I noted that some saw me and knew me, but they quickly turned away as if I would set chase at once. Arm in arm, our dark colored garments in contrast against the bright colors worn by the dead, we passed as shadows among shades.