sky is changing, there’s a shimmer to it that doesn’t exist in the depths of night. She climbs the last peak of the hill and descends the other side, sits on the ground that is damp from dew and rests her head on her knees. There is a stream that runs behind the hill, beyond the trees and along through Morningside. She runs there, once or twice a week, in bright daylight; runs so fast her lungs ache and her breath burns in her throat.
Sometimes, it is as if she can feel him here. Liam. She tries saying his name without making a sound, feels her lips form around the m and part again, longing for more. She could hardly look at him, when she was home last, for some anniversary or other; both of them had gone to the party for each other and left without exchanging a word. She thought his expression was an accusation, at the time, but it was not; she knows that now, somehow, on Blackford Hill, with another man’s taste still lingering, another man’s touch still felt. It is as if he is standing behind her, watching her, waiting for her to turn and say it is OK. That their love is real. That she will come home. But he is not here; he is lying in bed with someone else.
Perhaps that is her own fault. Hers, and his.
She doesn’t want to be haunted like this.
But she doesn’t want the Sams of this world either, the confident men with their city accents and easy conversation. She wants the whole world, a life full of different people, the bright lights dancing between her outstretched palms like she’d imagined as a child. And though nothing so far has compared to what she left behind she knows what she’s going to do. As the horizon blurs into a faded pink and she turns to see a child’s silhouette on the top of the hill, she knows; she is going to keep searching, because there is something more for her to see.
1858
Donati’s Comet
One minute the house was bursting with life and then the men were gone and the women, safe but left behind, feel the weight of silence as they wait. Crimea – not a place they had even thought of until it was all they could think of. And then there was no word. The war ended, but there was no word. The men did not return. Instead, a comet has appeared in the sky.
Mama Bélanger has not taken to her bed – that they would understand – she has taken to her bath and is refusing to get out. The comet is not here to hurt you, they say, but she has convinced herself it is poison invading her mind that only water can destroy. She scrunches her eyes closed, clasps her hands over her ears.
No! she shouts. No, I will not listen!
The doctor shrugs and says she is getting old, which she is, though what he means is that she must be going mad. Her eldest daughter disagrees. But that evening Mama Bélanger is calm again, and they can hear her softly singing a lullaby from when they were children.
Her eldest daughter brings her fresh hot water for the bath – if she must lie in there for days, she reasons, better to do it in the warm than in the cold.
Will you not get out tonight, Mama?
She pauses, wondering if she should go on.
This comet will do no harm, she smiles, reaches forward to brush her mama’s hair away from her face. I promise you that.
My sons are gone.
Yes, Mama, she says, glancing over, sadly, to the corner of the room. But your daughters are still here.
Mama Bélanger stands up and allows her daughter – who will one day be a mother and grandmother and great-grandmother – to help her out of the bath.
I want to show you something, Mama, she says.
Is there more I have to see?
Something more, yes, she replies, kissing her mama on the head.
She leads her out to the garden and they sit on the grass in the dark and gaze up at the stars overhead, and at the comet.
You see, Mama, she says. There’s nothing to be afraid of any more.
And she looks over to the ghosts of her brothers who are sitting opposite them in the moonlight and smiles.
Our family is changed, but will
Sometimes, it is as if she can feel him here. Liam. She tries saying his name without making a sound, feels her lips form around the m and part again, longing for more. She could hardly look at him, when she was home last, for some anniversary or other; both of them had gone to the party for each other and left without exchanging a word. She thought his expression was an accusation, at the time, but it was not; she knows that now, somehow, on Blackford Hill, with another man’s taste still lingering, another man’s touch still felt. It is as if he is standing behind her, watching her, waiting for her to turn and say it is OK. That their love is real. That she will come home. But he is not here; he is lying in bed with someone else.
Perhaps that is her own fault. Hers, and his.
She doesn’t want to be haunted like this.
But she doesn’t want the Sams of this world either, the confident men with their city accents and easy conversation. She wants the whole world, a life full of different people, the bright lights dancing between her outstretched palms like she’d imagined as a child. And though nothing so far has compared to what she left behind she knows what she’s going to do. As the horizon blurs into a faded pink and she turns to see a child’s silhouette on the top of the hill, she knows; she is going to keep searching, because there is something more for her to see.
1858
Donati’s Comet
One minute the house was bursting with life and then the men were gone and the women, safe but left behind, feel the weight of silence as they wait. Crimea – not a place they had even thought of until it was all they could think of. And then there was no word. The war ended, but there was no word. The men did not return. Instead, a comet has appeared in the sky.
Mama Bélanger has not taken to her bed – that they would understand – she has taken to her bath and is refusing to get out. The comet is not here to hurt you, they say, but she has convinced herself it is poison invading her mind that only water can destroy. She scrunches her eyes closed, clasps her hands over her ears.
No! she shouts. No, I will not listen!
The doctor shrugs and says she is getting old, which she is, though what he means is that she must be going mad. Her eldest daughter disagrees. But that evening Mama Bélanger is calm again, and they can hear her softly singing a lullaby from when they were children.
Her eldest daughter brings her fresh hot water for the bath – if she must lie in there for days, she reasons, better to do it in the warm than in the cold.
Will you not get out tonight, Mama?
She pauses, wondering if she should go on.
This comet will do no harm, she smiles, reaches forward to brush her mama’s hair away from her face. I promise you that.
My sons are gone.
Yes, Mama, she says, glancing over, sadly, to the corner of the room. But your daughters are still here.
Mama Bélanger stands up and allows her daughter – who will one day be a mother and grandmother and great-grandmother – to help her out of the bath.
I want to show you something, Mama, she says.
Is there more I have to see?
Something more, yes, she replies, kissing her mama on the head.
She leads her out to the garden and they sit on the grass in the dark and gaze up at the stars overhead, and at the comet.
You see, Mama, she says. There’s nothing to be afraid of any more.
And she looks over to the ghosts of her brothers who are sitting opposite them in the moonlight and smiles.
Our family is changed, but will
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