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And where's my ghost when I need him?!
D-Day arrived. I took my place in the ceremony room at the crematorium. Alone. I didn't want to put Elsa through this ordeal. To be perfectly honest, I really didn't want to burst into tears in front of her. She's already suffering so much, buried under the guilt of her survival. Here, at least, there's no one to bear my overflow of sadness and despair.
The relatively large room echoes as the manager makes his way to the control cabinet.
I hear a click.
The white cardboard coffins move forward, one after the other, on the conveyor belt that takes them into the oven. Amy, Hugo, then Jack. This short journey takes an infinite amount of time. It seems normal, given that this is the moment when loved ones are usually expected to express themselves and say their farewells.
I'm locked out of time. I see them playing together and squabbling as if it were yesterday. Their too-short lives flash through my mind until they disappear from my sight. That's when the incinerator kicks in. Suddenly, I hear the thud of the torch, the crackling flames, and the moisture leaking from the intense inferno.
In just a few moments, it's all over. As simple as that. At the touch of a button, my children's existence is gone forever. They're dust again. I let my sadness overwhelm me and tears flood my cheeks. I'll never see them again, but at least I have the satisfaction of knowing they'll be okay. That they'll enjoy eternity in peace, waiting for me to join them. That's if, when I leave this world, I can afford the services of a competent Sin Eater.
Eltz's journal
12
The Ghost
If only, like me, Believ could fly! Crossing this hilly region seems to be an ordeal for her, especially as she’s lacking sleep and food. Away from the town, there's nothing to pilfer, so she must content herself with finishing the crumbs in her bag.
Constantly on the alert, she struggles to rest for more than a few minutes at a time. Her complexion has become so waxy and the dark circles below her eyes so pronounced that they contrast with her moon-like hair, giving the impression that, of the two of us, she’s the one who has passed away.
If anyone should happen to catch a glimpse of her in the glow of their headlights, she would have no trouble passing herself off as a ghastly white lady, minus the dress from another time.
The melodious song of a stream unfurls beneath dancing trees.
“Believ?”
She emits a guttural growl from between her chapped lips.
“A river,” I insist. “You'll be able to quench your thirst and maybe even eat.”
“Eat?” she asks with a sigh so deep it betrays her desire.
At last, her eyes leave the ground and gaze into mine, a gleam of greed glinting in the depths of her prunes. They're very pretty, even if I don't know what color they really are. Anyway, I give them a light shade, oscillating between glacier blue and sky blue. I could ask about their true hue, but I'm afraid I would look like a clown. It's just a question of cheering her up by finding her something to eat, not of wooing her... Although the idea of combining the two isn't one I'm unhappy about. But Believ isn’t a woman of my time for whom dining and being courted is the norm. She lives in a world where the codes between men and women are governed differently, almost at opposite ends of the spectrum.
“Come...”
I guide her toward the lapping water. In the half-light of the night, she stumbles and scratches her cheek on some brambles.
“Fucking useless thorns!”
I stare at her, stunned by this unexpectedly sharp reaction. Since they've succeeded in hurting her, they have their purpose, however unpleasant it may be. Is that so difficult to grasp?
She vigorously rubs her scratched arms, then calms down as she perceives the shimmering moonlight in the crystal-clear water bubbling before us. She dips her cupped hands into the icy current and brings them to her mouth, swallowing long gulps greedily. She runs her palms over her face, diluting the scarlet droplets that have begun to bead.
I gaze at her swollen lips, hypnotized. The innocence of her gestures verges on the indecent, yet I can't tear myself away from the spectacle she's offering me. I begin to wonder about my pre-coma state—since I refuse to accept my death. Did I live in such isolation from female company that I become aroused by it, or is it only this woman who is causing me to feel the excitement of a prepubescent teenager?
I don't know how old I am, but I'm convinced I've had a long life, full of encounters of all kinds. Instinct tells me so, anyway. But I can't say for sure. And now this pint-sized young woman is carrying me away more than she should. I try to pull myself together, to look at her with fresh eyes. Her outfit leaves something to be desired, but I'm responsible for her condition. Her hair, always tied in a loose braid, gives her that unmistakable, fierce air that I like so much.
Her body, which I've had time to take in at length, is fine and loose, all supple... Unconventional ideas have sometimes crossed my mind—what's left of it, at least—imagining her in all kinds of…
That's enough of that! I shake my head. Quite obviously, this kind of reasoning will get me nowhere.
Quenched and clean, she plunges her empty bottle into the current.
“It feels great! The fish, on the other hand, I’ll take a pass!”
