#
My punishment began immediately. I sat quietly in the circle during both the girl’s and mixed counseling sessions, and I was never asked to share. At lunch, I helped the cook, Ms. Johnson, who was a kind, but obedient woman, and responded to her commands with nothing more than a polite nod and immediate compliance. After I was finished with my chores, I took my meals alone at the kitchen table.
Every day that week proceeded in the same manner, passing slowly in complete isolation. Though I’m certain that Alice did her best to circumvent my punishment, the staff was careful to keep her away from me. I spent my evenings alone in my room, pouring over my few books, to keep my mind off of the isolation. When I was especially lonely, I would take Clara’s note from its hiding place and read it aloud to myself. Her note became wrinkled and soft from the constant folding and unfolding, and the ink began to fade.
“I wish I could ask you if you’re okay,” I responded aloud to the note one night. “Are you well? Is David leaving you alone? Have you found someone else? I’m not well, you see. I’m alone. I’m more alone than I’ve even been in my life. I have tried, again and again, to make the right choices, but they always seem to lead me to disaster. I should have rebelled against my parents, and stayed home. I should have minded my own business, with James, so I would at least still have friends to talk to. I should never have come out to Mother and Daddy, so they would never have sent me away. I wish- I wish-“ I was overwhelmed by an almost tangible wave of regret, then, which seemed to wrap itself around my throat, cutting off the words. My frantic tears kept me bound to my vow of silence for the rest of the night.
The next day was Friday, and everyone but me went on an outing. I spent the afternoon in the library, with C.S. Lewis as my only companion, until it was time to prepare dinner. After dinner, I passed through the lively common room and made my way back to the dorms with slow, shuffling steps. My body ached, and I was ready to fall onto my bed and lay motionless there as long as I could, but I found, on my pillow, a large, pink and white box. I recognized the box from a pastry shop in town. Attached to the box, on a bit of white ribbon, was a note.
Crumpets and Couplets for Miranda
A Spark of light illuminates my cell,
And penetrates the deepest parts of hell.
What angel could have brought this gift to me?
What miracle of mercy could this be?
A girl, no miracle, but just a child,
Whose voice is soft and countenance is mild.
I owe my health and sanity to you,
Command me, for I am your servant, true.
You are beginning to resemble a twig. Eat as many of these as you can manage.
Love,
Alice
I wished I could have eaten all of the pastries, but I still lacked an appetite. Reading the note had fed something within me, however, that food could not, and I tucked the box and note tenderly into a drawer. Despite this comfort, my head was beginning to throb with the familiar pain of a tension headache, so I turned the light out, and lay down.
Outside, there was the usual chill, but my room felt unbearably hot and close. In my half-sleep, I wondered vaguely if the walls were closing in on me, and I woke fully, unable to breathe. This happened to me several times, and when I finally fell asleep, it was a strange, fevered sleep, filled with disjointed dream images- driving with Mark in our convertible, eating honeysuckle off of the vine in our old backyard, and being chased by a rabbit. Near morning, I had a frustrating dream that Mark broke the music box that Clara had given me, and I was trying unsuccessfully to glue it back together.
When I awoke the next morning, my head was still aching, and my throat was scratchy and sore. I went to the lavatory sink and filled a glass with water, drank it, and went back to sleep.
Sometime later, there was a knock on the door, and Ms. Sweeny, without waiting for my response, entered the room.
“Are you feeling okay, Miranda?” she asked.
I shook my head in reply.
“You may talk, Miranda. What feels bad?”
“My head,” I croaked, “and my throat both hurt.”
Ms. Sweeny sat on the bed and put her hand on my head. “You have a slight fever,” she said. “I think you’ve caught the flu. I’ll bring you some medicine, and something to eat.”
She left, and returned carrying a tray with soup, orange juice, and medicine. My mouth felt like cotton, and my throat was still very dry, so I drank the orange juice, along with two more glasses of water. When I finished, I felt significantly better, so I sat up in bed, reading.
In the afternoon, she came back and took my temperature.
“You are still running a fever, but it isn’t bad,” she said. “How do you feel?”
“My throat is still dry, but my headache is gone,” I said.
“Dr. Caleb wants to speak to you, in his office. He said you had an appointment with him, and he’s pretty insistent you go, even though I told him that you aren’t well. I’m afraid you’ll have to go, but I’m sure it won’t take long,” she said with a kind smile.
I didn’t feel healthy enough to face him, but my illness dulled my sense of fear, so I only felt tired and indifferent as I walked to his office. When I arrived, Dr. Caleb wore a kinder demeanor, and seemed almost as friendly as he had when I’d first arrived in the abbey. He offered me a seat in one of the plush, leather chairs which were back in front of his desk. Instead of sitting in his own chair, he sat on the edge of his desk casually, and looked at me with a fatherly smile.
“Hello, Miranda. I’m sorry to hear you aren’t feeling well, but I’m glad you feel well enough to honor your commitment to be here, today. How has your week been?” he asked.
“I’m allowed to speak, now?” I asked, my voice still rough.
Dr. Caleb smiled even wider. “Of course you may speak, Miranda. I wanted you to have time to think about what you’d done, and now we can discuss what you’ve learned.”
“What should I have learned?” I said evasively.
Dr. Caleb’s friendly demeanor slipped for a moment, but he recovered it quickly, and laughed. “Miranda, there’s no right or wrong answer. I want to hear the things you’ve thought about, this week. For instance, have you thought about your brother, at all?”
I nodded.
“And what have you learned?”
“I’ve thought about how right you were, when you said I was powerless to prevent his death.”
“That’s good, Miranda. I’m glad you’ve realized that the situation was in God’s hands.” He said, patting my knee affectionately. “He has a plan for everyone, Miranda, and all we have to do is open our hearts, and trust him. That’s why I was angry, when you closed James’s heart.”
“You say closed, and I say opened,” I said, noticing that he hadn’t removed his hand from my knee.
“But Miranda, think about everything he’ll be missing- everything you’ll be missing, if you continue on this path.”
“Like what?” I challenged.
“Like having babies,” he said. “You can’t have children without a husband.”
“I’m a bit young to be thinking about having babies, but if I wanted to, I suppose I would adopt,” I said, still staring down at his hand. I was beginning to feel slightly nauseous.
“Adopting isn’t the same as having your own children, who look like you,” he said. “Also, don’t you want to get married? I thought all girls dreamed about their wedding day.”
His words evoked an image of Clara, standing at an altar, dressed in white and surrounded by flowers. I smiled in spite of myself.
Dr. Caleb noted my smile, and pounced. “See, Miranda? If you continue with your current lifestyle, you will never be able to have that.”
“I don’t see why not. I’ve heard of same-sex couples marrying, before.”
“Not legally, not in your home state, Texas. You wouldn’t have a real marriage; it would be a pale imitation of one. You can’t un
derstand how special the things a man and woman can share together really are. Have you ever had a boyfriend, Miranda?”
I shook my head. Dr. Caleb was tracing a slow circle on my knee, over my skirt. My throat constricted painfully.
“That’s too bad. You’ve never been shown how much better things are, with both a man and a woman.”
“I’m not a woman yet,” I reminded him, pulling my knees back and leaning away from him, “and what I had with Clara was special.”
“You’re such a pretty girl, Miranda, that you could have any boy you wanted. It seems a shame to let that go to waste.” He leaned over me, and put his hand firmly on my thigh.
I stood quickly, knocking over the chair I’d been sitting in, which fell with a loud thump. I could hear the sound of footsteps outside, and in a few seconds, Pastor Smith opened the door, looking concerned.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Miranda is feeling ill, and I think she became dizzy as she stood. She knocked her chair over.” He lied smoothly.
I wanted to protest, but I really became dizzy, and had to brace myself against the wall to remain standing. Another wave of nausea washed over me, but I kept it down.
“Miranda, I think you’ve had enough for today,” Pastor Smith said kindly. “You should go lie down in the infirmary.”
“Miranda had a breakthrough, today,” Dr. Caleb said, as Pastor Smith was helping me from the room.
“She’s not feeling well,” Pastor Smith said, seemingly in reply.
“That will make things easier for us,” Dr. Caleb said.
I wanted to ask what they meant, but I was still dizzy, and my head was beginning to throb again. I let Pastor Smith lead me to the small, curtained- off room, and lay down on one of the small, white cots. I was fed a bitter, syrupy medicine, which made me feel comfortable and sleepy. I fell into a dark, dreamless sleep.
#
I was drifting pleasantly in a deep slumber, when I was pulled out of it by a faraway cry. I opened my eyes, and they adjusted to the dim light as the cries and screams grew louder. At first, I was confused by the strange surroundings, and it took me some time to remember that I was in the infirmary. I sat up and looked around as the screams grew louder, still. There was a digital clock on the far wall that glowed with a blood red light. It was almost midnight.
The blanket fell off of me as I sat, and I shivered, exposed to the chill of the night air. I lay down again, and pulled the blanket up to my neck, but I knew I would not get to sleep again. Mary’s screams, and they was undoubtedly Mary’s signature screams, were growing not only louder, but also closer. They did not sound outside of the window, but instead, I could hear them echoing down the hallways inside the building. They were real, human, and undeniable.
I thought, perhaps, that I had never wakened at all, and I pinched myself, hard, on the arm. I didn’t awaken, but remained on my narrow cot in the frigid infirmary. I closed my eyes, and tried to ignore the screams, but they were too loud to be ignored, and grew chillingly close, despite my silent pleas that it was impossible.
As the screams reached their climax, the doors to the infirmary were opened, and the curtains near the cots were flung aside. In the shaft of blinding light, framed by the white curtains, stood a woman dressed in a nun’s habit. She was crying and moaning, wringing her hands and looking up toward the heavens as though in supplication.
As my eyes adjusted to the sudden light, I could discern the nun’s figure and face more clearly. She was not an apparition or a dream, but solid. She had a pallid complexion, and her expression was contorted in anguish, but she had a young, almost pretty face. Something about her seemed familiar, but I didn’t have time to contemplate her identity, because a second figure, clad in a black cloak with a hood covering the face, rushed into the room and seized me forcefully.
I tried to struggle, but the cloaked person picked up my slight frame quite easily, and slung me over its shoulder. I screamed as loudly as my throat would allow, but my screams were nothing compared to Mary’s wails, and I knew no one would be able to hear me. I was dragged out of the infirmary, down the narrow, dark hallways, and out of the calefactory into the cold night air. I had fallen asleep in my clothes, but my feet were bare, and I had no coat. I was shivering almost uncontrollably, but the night air shocked me fully to my senses, and the uncontrollable panic fled. I noticed that I was being borne to the chapel.
Inside the chapel, the air was almost as cold as it had been outside. The cloaked figure dumped me onto the rough stone floor in front of the altar where I sat, shivering, before the imposing figure of a monk.
The monk stood over me with a triumphant expression, and I realized in an instant that it was not a monk at all, but Dr. Caleb dressed as one. I tried to stand, but the cloaked figure forced me onto my knees. Dr. Caleb stepped around me toward the nun, and took the veil from her head, revealing Ms. Sweeny’s short, dark hair. He knelt in front of me and placed the veil over my head.
“'You have brought this curse upon yourself. You yielded to unnatural temptation, and because of this, we are both damned,” He said.
“What are you doing? What’s going on?” I asked, attempting to pull the veil off. The cloaked figure, which I was now certain was Pastor Smith, pulled my hands off of the veil, and held them down by my sides.
“I’m going to help purge the demon of unnatural desire from you,” he replied.
“You mean you’re giving me an exorcism, like James had?” I asked. “Does it really have to be this theatrical?”
“Stories have power, Miranda, or should I say Mary.” He took a crucifix from the folds of his robe, and held it over my head. “Now, demon that dwells within this girl, I command you to release your hold.”
His voice was powerful, and I was still weak, and shivering uncontrollably, but I fought to keep my mind clear.
“You made up the story, didn’t you?” I said. “You invented the tale of Mary of Misery, and spread it among the patients here, to make this moment more frightening, and more effective.”
“Demon,” he shouted, his voice louder and clearer, “I command you, reveal yourself.” He took the cross and pressed it against my forehead.
“Ms. Sweeny dresses up as Mary, on windy nights, and she’s the one you can hear screaming,” I kept my voice steady. “She goes to the women’s dorms to retrieve your female subjects. That is why you can hear her more clearly on the women’s side.”
“I command you to release this girl. Come out of Miranda.” He pressed the cross to my stomach, the way the abbot had in the story.
“You go to the men’s side, dressed as the abbot, to retrieve the male subjects, and-“
“Out, demon! Let Mary’s curse be broken!” Dr. Caleb’s voice rose to a yell, thundering through the tiny chapel. He turned, then, and took a rope from behind the altar. As he drew near me, again, I recognized it as the noose he’d used before.
I panicked, then, and tried to back away, but Pastor smith was still there, and held me fast. I struggled in vain as Dr. Caleb held the noose over my head.
“I bind you, demon, with the holy word.” Dr. Caleb slipped the noose over my head, onto my neck.
I screamed.
I began to thrash and struggle, trying to claw the noose off, but Dr. Caleb tore my hands away, and tightened the noose. I could no longer scream. I couldn’t breathe. The rough fibers of the noose dug into the tender flesh of my neck, and cut off my airways. My vision swam as I choked, and everything seemed to be tinted pink. I heard voices, but they were muffled, as though underwater.
“-looks faint-“
“- rope… too tight-“
“-faith… steadfast…”
The pink turned a deeper red, like I was drowning in blood, and then finally darkened to black.
#
Death was not only peaceful, I decided, but also liberating. The trials I had suffered, the cold I’d felt, and the restless, fevered tossing of my body, were nothing but a dim memor
y. In fact, basic, physical laws were a dim memory to me. I was drifting freely in a sea of color and light.
The light began to coalesce into textures, shapes, and, finally, form. I could now recognize my surroundings. Heaven wasn’t at all how I’d imagined it in life.
I was in a spacious white and blue room, lit by a large, bay window which allowed liberal amounts of sunshine. I was seated on a plush stool, in front of a clear oval window. No, it wasn’t a window, it was a mirror. I was home, in my own room, seated in front of my vanity.
My room seemed mostly unchanged, but there was something wrong with the vanity mirror. The mirror’s frame was the same white wood I remembered, and the glass was bright and clean, without a smudge or scratch on it, but the reflection was wrong. It wasn’t distorted, or warped, but the face wasn’t mine. It was similar, but the features were harsher, and more masculine, and the hair was cropped short.
“Mark?”
The reflection nodded and smiled back at me, showing the familiar dimples and shining green eyes of my lost twin.
“Oh, Mark, I’m so glad we can be together again.”
Mark tilted his head quizzically. “I’m always with you.”
“Yes, but now that I’m dead-“
He laughed. “Miranda, you aren’t dead. Aren’t you glad? You can go home soon, and live, and be happy. I wish I could.”
I frowned, but Mark’s smile continued to be reflected back to me. “If I’m not dead, then what has happened to me? How did I get here? Why am I not in the chapel, still?”
Mark only shrugged.
“I hate not knowing. Why can’t you tell me?”
He shook his head. “Why do you always have to have all of the answers? Life, despite what you might have heard, is not a test. It’s not always imperative for you to be perfect, or do the correct thing. In fact, even when you do everything correctly, and are careful to avoid mistakes, the world is still imperfect, and events will conspire against you.”
Mephisto Waltz Page 25