Of Bees and Mist (7 page)

T
hree months from the day they met, Meridia walked the breadth of town, shining, and the dogs followed. Ten in all, they caught her shine from alleys and doorways and noiselessly marched single file behind her. Encased in a sleeveless blue dress with embroidered peonies and a high collar, Meridia noticed neither the dogs nor her shine, nor the mournful chime of the town bell that quarterly measured her progress. She walked with her chin high and her back straight, making no stop until she arrived at 27 Orchard Road. Even then, she paid no attention when a large mastiff from next door flew past her and attacked the shadowing dogs. Daniel was already approaching from the terrace.

“Don’t be nervous,” he cautioned, oblivious of the brawling dogs himself. “Heaven help them if they think you’re not perfect.”

“Heaven help
me
if they think I am,” she answered with a smile.

The house was an unassuming two-story of wood and exposed brick. It sat—or rather squatted—on flat ground, and the first impression it gave was of immitigable disorder. Dry grass sprouted from the eaves, a bird’s nest roosted on the roof, and moss and lichen ruptured over the bricks like angry boils. A wilderness of red roses smothered
the front lawn, filling it to the edges with barely space for a clump of marigolds to survive. And yet, though it had nothing to recommend it in the way of grace or beauty, the house pulsated with undeniable warmth. The windows were wide and inviting, caged birds sang merrily from the terrace, and below them two rocking chairs nodded to each other as if engaged in an animated argument. A closer inspection suggested that loving hands had nurtured the wilderness of the roses without leaving anything to chance.

Entering the front door, Daniel led Meridia down a narrow hallway overlaid with faded carpeting. A haphazard arrangement of shoes lined one side, yellowing stacks of magazines the other. The walls were a dark shade of sage, bare save for an askew photograph of an imperial garden. Daniel paused and gave Meridia a kiss.

“For good luck,” he said, “in case you need it.”

Meridia smiled and realized it was he who was nervous.

They entered the living room to the resounding sound of a slap. A little girl in a bottle green dress lifted a hand to her cheek and began to cry. Standing in front of her was an older girl with eyes so furious they set her pretty face ablaze.

“That’s enough, Malin,” said Daniel from the door. “You’ve been torturing Permony all day.”

“She broke my figurine!” exclaimed the older girl. “The ballerina with a pink bow! You know Mama gave that to me for my birthday.”

Daniel walked over to calm the weeping girl. “That’s no reason for you to hit her. Especially after Papa told you not to. I’m sure Permony didn’t mean to do it. You didn’t, did you, Permony? Tell your sister you’re sorry and be more careful next time.”

The younger girl did as she was told. “I can glue it back,” she pleaded. “It will be as good as new.”

Malin rolled her eyes with impatience. “But I’ll still know it’s broken, won’t I?” Then to Daniel: “She’s never happy until she smashes something of mine. Even a mule can be trained to do things properly, but not Permony. She’s so fat and clumsy she’ll never find a husband!”

This last bit appeared to be addressed to Meridia, although Malin had not once glanced in her direction. To her surprise, Daniel made no reply, but introduced both girls as his sisters. Malin, who was twelve, scowled while she shook Meridia’s hand. Ten and bashful, Permony managed a smile through her tears.

“Mama’s upstairs in her room,” said Daniel pleasantly. “Why don’t you sit down and talk to the girls while I fetch her?”

As soon as he left, Malin crossed her arms and sat on the farther side of the sofa. Under her glare, Permony collected the porcelain shards from the floor and put them in the wastebasket. Meridia navigated her way among more magazines and settled on an armchair that smelled faintly of burnt sugar. From there she observed the sisters with curiosity. Apart from their long braided hair, which was tied with organdy bows at the ends, they hardly resembled each other. Malin had a tight, thin mouth and a snub nose. Permony was plump and broad-faced, with soft lavender eyes that drooped like flowers. Reclining against the sofa, Malin acted as if she could not be bothered. Permony directed shy glances at Meridia, who promptly rewarded her with a wink.

The sisters resumed their play. Permony knelt in front of the coffee table, facing Malin and a carefully laid row of figurines. When Malin pointed to a chimney sweeper, Permony picked him up and cleaned him with her skirt. Seeing that her sister’s hands were trembling, Malin sucked her teeth with relish. After the chimney sweeper had been cleaned, Malin pointed to a shepherdess and the same ritual was repeated. Dumbstruck, Meridia watched the game without knowing what to make of it. Before she could ask a question, a sweet silvery voice drifted into the room like a summer breeze.

“I hope my daughters haven’t shocked you with their behavior.”

At once Meridia was on her feet. The woman with the silver voice was smiling warmly.

“I’m Eva. I had the misfortune of giving birth to these monsters.”

Daniel’s mother was not a particularly tall or large woman, yet her presence filled the room with authority. Broad of shoulder, with a full bust and matronly hips, Eva brimmed with such energy and resilience that anyone would be hard-pressed to imagine her ill. Her form-fitting print dress, shapely belted at the waist, revealed firm and robust arms, darker even than Daniel’s, as though she made no qualms about exposing them to the sun. Her almond-shaped eyes were alive and alert, framed by high cheekbones and steel blue hair like glittering stars.

Suddenly nervous, Meridia stammered to introduce herself, but Eva stopped her with a wave.

“I know everything about you. You’re the siren who has stolen my boy’s heart.”

Whether or not this was meant as a criticism, Meridia had no time to discover, for Eva’s hand was already on her waist and drawing her gently to the sofa.

“Please sit down. Could you move to that chair, Malin? You mustn’t let Meridia think you have no manners.”

The girl glared but obeyed her mother.

“I told Daniel to give me ten minutes alone with you,” continued Eva breathily. “You must tell me, in all honesty, what you think of him.”

Meridia cleared her throat, but Eva had begun talking again. “We’re a modest family as you can see, and that little jewelry shop on Lotus Blossom Lane is our pride and joy. Daniel’s grandfather started it many years ago with just two gold rings and four silver bangles. In his lifetime, the shop suffered so many hardships it almost went under twelve times. Then Daniel’s father, my husband, Elias, took over and grew the business into the success it is. It took a lot of sacrifice on our part, but we managed to pull through. Daniel is second in command, naturally. When my husband retires, he’ll hand everything over to our son. It will be a comfortable future for my Daniel.”

Eva smiled with evident pride, and without drawing a breath, she went on to talk about the girls. “Malin is an outstanding student, always first in her class and beloved by all her friends. Permony has a blessedly active imagination—you can just tell from the extraordinary color of her eyes. They’re both good girls and very devoted to their brother. Whenever Daniel catches a cold, Malin waits on him hand and foot, and Permony pampers him by making all kinds of remedies. One time, Daniel pretended he was getting worse after eating Permony’s sesame soup. The poor dear cried for hours, blaming herself even after Daniel assured her he was as hale as an ox!”

Eva’s laughter erupted pure and infectious. Her rounded chin, which was giving signs of turning into a double, shook delightfully from the effect. Meridia laughed along, though she noted that the two sisters did not share in their mother’s merriment. Permony pinched her mouth as she went about wiping a matador. Malin’s hostile stare was trained at her mother for all it was worth.

“I’m sorry my husband couldn’t leave the store to meet you today,” said Eva. “I’ll tell him you are much prettier than Daniel has led us to believe. Look at you, you are practically shining!”

Thoroughly disarmed, Meridia turned bright red. Eva went on as if she had not noticed her embarrassment.

“Tell me about your family. What does your mother do? Do you have a good relationship with your father? Daniel said you’re an only child. What was it like growing up without a sibling?”

The speed with which these questions were raised thrust Meridia’s anxiety to the forefront. Although she had anticipated Eva’s inquiry and had carefully prepared her answers, she remained convinced that somehow, despite her efforts to restrain them, the ghosts and the mists would find their way into the room. Their stories would not bear up under Eva’s eyes. Meridia shuddered to think that the whole foundation of her existence might crumble at the flick of the woman’s hand.

“Papa is a scholar,” she began as if reciting a lesson. “Mama, Ravenna—”

She never finished her sentence, for at that point Eva had turned to stare at the coffee table.

“Malin, where is that pink ballerina I gave you for your birthday? Are you tired of it already? You practically begged me to get it for you!”

Without blinking, Malin tossed her chin at her sister. “Permony broke it. Right before you came in.”

So many things suddenly happened at once. Eva’s face shifted, almost imperceptibly, and with that, the room darkened although the light remained bright. Malin sat up straight, savoring the moment with such delight that her complexion turned the same peach color as her dress. Permony was displaying the most alarming symptoms. She buried her eyes in the matador’s red cape, fidgeting like a mouse, and when the intensity of her mother’s stare nearly caused the figurine to leap from her hands, she trembled mightily as if from a chill.

“Careful, dear,” Eva said without changing her gentle tone. “You don’t want to break another one, do you? Oh, what am I going to do with you?” She sighed and turned to Meridia. “You must forgive my Permony. The child takes after her father, always breaking everything within reach. I wish she could be more like her sister, tender and ladylike. Permony is perhaps the only girl in the world who can’t sit still for more than five minutes.”

Unable to bear Malin’s sneer a second longer, Meridia gave Permony a conspiratorial smile and uttered the first thing that came into her head.

“Neither could I when I was little. My mother used to say I could never finish a meal without walking through all the rooms in the house.”

She was surprised at how smoothly the lie rolled off her tongue. Ravenna had never said anything of the kind. Hearing Malin snort, she thought the effort was well worth it, until her gaze returned to Eva and her smile froze on the spot. There was no mistaking it. The grave slant of Eva’s head told her she had committed a blunder.

“Please do not encourage her. I’d only be too glad if Permony turned out half as fine as you. A girl her age should know how to handle glassware without crushing it to pieces.” Eva shook her head as if ridding herself of an unpleasant thought. “Now. Tell me more about your family. What is it that your father studies as a scholar?”

Meridia was saved from further fabrication by Daniel’s entrance. At his approach, she felt light and brightness rushing back into the room.

“Is Mama giving you the third degree?” he teased, sitting down next to her. “She said she won’t rest until she squeezes every drop of information out of you.”

“I said no such thing!” protested Eva. “Meridia and I are having the most wonderful talk. Did you tell Patina to bring in the tea?”

At that moment an old woman hobbled in with a wooden tray. Everything in her appearance—gnarled, hooflike feet, sparse white hair, liver-spotted arms—indicated decay, except for her eyes, which were clear and youthful. As she drew close to Eva, her limp became more pronounced, causing Meridia to fear that she might fall.

“Thank you, Patina,” said Eva. “You may place the tray on the coffee table. Don’t worry about serving the tea.”

The old woman did as instructed. The smile she gave Meridia upon leaving was the toothless grin of a child.

Eva poured cinnamon tea into three glasses, stirring sugar and ice cubes with a long spoon. She picked up a plate of plum sweets from the tray and offered it to Meridia.

“Please try these. They are my favorite.”

Meridia took one and then, at Eva’s insistence, another. For the next twenty minutes, Eva regaled her with more stories. “You’re spilling secrets too soon, Mama,” Daniel objected in jest. “Let Meridia find out a few things on her own.” Eva scolded back, said that nobody who lived under her roof had anything to hide. Meridia laughed. Easing into her surroundings, she took pleasure in the crowded room with its twin bay windows and antique furnishings,
the shelves loaded with not just books but brass-framed pictures of the family. Adding to the charm were the birds twittering on the terrace and the sisters’ now peaceful play. A warm, delightful feeling overtook her as Eva talked on, urging her to eat and drink more.

Later, alone with Daniel on the terrace, she told him, “Your mother is wonderful. Do you think she approves of me?”

Daniel took her hand and kissed it. “Approves of you? She’s ready to worship you! Don’t worry, they’ll come to a decision sooner or later. It’s getting dark. Let me walk you home.”

Meridia shook her head. “It’s all right. I can find my way.”

“Are you sure?”

She lifted her eyes and nodded. As their lips met, she stifled the urge to tell him that she wanted to walk alone because she had fallen under a spell. The house with its crowded rooms had seduced her, as did the wilderness of the roses and the explosion of moss over bricks. But most of all, it was the vision of Eva she wanted to cherish, privately and without intrusion, for in that bold and confident figure she had glimpsed a refuge from the ghosts and the mists. The music of Eva’s laughter, her strong arms and steady gaze—these, she believed, held the power to dispel neglect, loneliness, and the unremitting curse of forgetfulness.