Nothing like being serenaded on a ride over the river. And by serenaded, I mean realizing the “song” are the muffled cries of lost souls, and by river, I mean the current of the dead.
I was snuggled down in the prow of the small boat, well tucked in and comfortable. I peeked out from under the blanket expecting to see Charon.
“You’re not Charon.”
“No, Miss.”
“May I inquire who you are?”
“Would not be good to, Miss. But if you insist, I will answer, Miss.”
“Then I will take your advice and not insist.”
“Yes, Miss.”
I could not tell if we were underground or if the sky was overcast. The cries from the waters around me were too soft to echo off anything near.
“May I inquire what your orders are regarding me?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Then what are you to do with me?”
“Keep you company, Miss. Keep the boat moving, Miss. And keep anything that would disturb you away, Miss.”
“So, I’m supposed to be resting here, I take it.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Every now and then, the powers that like to fuck with me will grant me some form of respite. Alright, then. I’ll take it.
“Very well, then. Continue your duty with excellence. Would you be insulted if I go back to sleep? I would not like to be a poor companion.”
“It is not often I get to escort a soul at rest, Miss. You are not a poor companion for sleeping, Miss. This is a solace for me as well as for you, Miss.”
I finally recognized the river hosting me. The porter was right to dissuade me from asking about names. I wondered what would be so great and terrible to assault anything upon this particular river. My porter looks like old skin stretched tight over unfleshed bone so delicate that a sneeze would snap kir in two. But now that I know which river I’m on, I know my porter would be able to send any aggressive thing to the bottom of the river before I even started to stir from the disturbance.
“Then let us each take comfort while we can. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Miss. You’re welcome, Miss.”
I slept well.