Blue
“Lies, its all lies!!” the old woman stirred in the corner, a crazed look entered her eyes and a trail of spittle ran down her chin. A thin, small hand lurched out from under the stained blankets and a wizened finger pointed at me. “You, you come here to expose us, to cast the light of the world into our corner. Well, you should expose the broken promises and forgotten treaties! I see you, I’ve seen your kind before - you and those little girls – your no relatives of mine!!! I’ve watched generations come and go – pink babies born, grow, and pass out of this life frail and forgetful. But I remember, and I have never seen the soul of your eyes before. And you, little girl…” the old woman’s age spotted finger curved around to point at Lenore, “you think you’re so pretty, with your golden locks and bows of silk, but believe you what I say, that I was once far more beautiful than you, but generations in the New England forest turn even the most well chosen mortal body wrinkled and grey.” The old woman erupted into a series of wet hacking coughs, prompting Molly to rush over with a handkerchief and cover the old woman’s mouth.
“Perhaps this has all been a little too much excitement for the poor dear” Molly said, The aged aunt coughed and spat behind the handkerchief - “feeling better now?” the old woman’s words were muffled, but became clear for a moment “…not stupid you know, you can’t…” another eruption of coughs echoed through the room and the handkerchief was placed back over her mouth.
“Well,” Molly continued – “I suppose it’s time we all said goodnight, we all have plenty to do in the morning. “ Molly let out a yelp as the old aunt’s remaining two teeth sank deep into her index finger. “Goodnight…. Goodnight everyone”
The girl’s did not have to be prompted again – they grabbed a candle and pulled me along up the stairs to the second floor. The moon had grown even fuller – the cold rays were vivid and harsh, illuminating the planks of the floor with a crisp edged light. In the light of the window the girls needed no candle at all – but slipped into their night things bathed in the moon’s light. I moved to the glass and watched the cold disk of light slip in and out of the wispy clouds, snow was melting fast – patches were left isolated the fields below me, the icicles had let go their hold on the edges of the house. I noticed, staring out the window, little white balls on the outside on the window sill, glowing in the moonlight, almost luminous, forming a little line along the edge of the window. I tried to force the window open, but it was either nailed or painted shut. We crawled under the sheets, but the night was restless, the floorboards expanded sending creaks through the room – the girls once again abandoned their bed for mine, and I found myself staring at the cracks in the ceiling waiting for sleep to find me as Lucia kicked of the covers.
I drifted in and out of sleep, but slowly woke to a light tapping on the old glass of the window. Unnerved, I slowly made my way to the sill – the night’s cool light was shining in and I expected see some specter, some apparition’s finger imploring me into the night, or pleading to come in. But as I made my way across the floor I found the tapping was made by the bull headed persistence of a grey sphinx moth knocking against the glass with a rhythm as regular as a pendulum – drawn, seemingly. to the light of the moon beyond. I cupped the creature in my hand, and watched closely as it slowly unfurled its spiraled proboscis. In college I had read Darwin’s study of the sphinx moth of Madagascar and how he presumed the existence of a long necked orchid to be pollinated by twelve inch length of the moth’s galea. This specimen’s protuberance seemed equally impressive, for as it sat cupped in my hand it searched with its appendage the furthest reaches of my forearm. I wanted to show the moth to the girls, so I placed the creature in an overturned cobalt drinking glass on the nightstand. I fell asleep watching the moth flutter toward the light- rising and falling inside the blue glass. My dreams were filled the images of a body struggling for air in the icy blue depths of the winter river.
When I woke I found that the girls were already up – Lenore was leaning into the window sill – making a watercolor sketch of the spring landscape outside, Lucia sat in the corner – reading an article out of the Hoard’s Dairyman praising the Alderney breed of dairy cattle for its dainty form and high butterfat content. Glancing at the table I found that my nighttime quarry had vanished. The water glass lay broken on the floor, shards of blue mixed with small drops of red, the moth had escaped somewhere into the morning.
Composed by Dr. G on Thursday, May. 1, 2008
Gentle Reader Responses
Loryienne says:
There is more mystery and magic stirring than the mind can scarce comprehend. And it has been a long day and a half for Dr. Galubrious!
Rosemary Renlund says:
Moths. Nngh. Ever since that long-ago incident with the Polilla Vampira of Patagonia, I've had... shall we say... a strong distaste for the order Heterocera.
I believe a spell on the fainting couch is in order.
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