The Song Of The Bombers

Elisabeth

The old mansion stood against the clear blue sky under the hot summer sun. On the gray stone walls grew brown and burned grapevines and the garden was overgrown, its tall weeds and flowers touching the wooden exterior shutters covering the lower windows. On the steps of the front porch a sparrow knocked a snail shell against the stone trying to break it. On the lawn, between the common plantains and meadow buttercups a lost, lonely toad croaked in a sad tune. The mansion was decayed, its basement filled with water damage, the red paint covering the inner walls had lost its former glory, and the attic had been taken over by rats and bird nests, but I loved the building nonetheless. It was mine, and I had gotten it for a fair price. The war had left the land torn, the countryside worn out, and the mostly abandoned villages struggled forward slowly towards better times. As a woman, I had benefited from the war since there had been a lot of work for me after men left to the battlefront. That was how I had been able to save enough money to buy the mansion. It was not the best house on offer but the broken beauty of the property fitted my state of mind well. It would be beautiful once more after some work, I thought, like this country would too.

I leaned my bicycle against the gate and lifted the braided basket from the carrier. In it was everything I needed to bring to the mansion first: the end of a bread, shaker of salt, a bottle of expensive cognac and Mimi, my dear collector’s doll. My parents had given her to me for my fourth birthday. Her beautiful blond and curly hair was long, her dress Victorian style and beaded with golden stones, and the long, black lashes shadowed the crystal white eyes. Her skin was porcelain and felt cold to the touch. I had always hoped to find other such dolls as well and become a collector but they were extremely rare.

Inside the mansion I swept and washed the thick layer of dust covering the floors. I lit a fire in the stone fireplace but the chimney was not working well so the smoke filled the room. I made a bed from a mattress on the floor in one of the rooms upstairs. I opened the shutters on the window and the orange glow of the setting sun flowed inside. The oak trees outside painted moving shadows on the walls. This is the first night in my new home, I thought and opened the mahogany cover of my diary. In it I wrote: I and Mimi, we are finally home. The war is over and the land, teared by the bombs, is starting to grow crops again. Soon people will have money to buy food and nice clothes. The summer is at its best, I need to enjoy it before autumn comes and the mansion needs to stay warm.

I woke up in the middle of the night as it had gotten really cold. I noticed, I had kicked the blanket away. I stared out from the window in to the moon that shined pale blue outside. It lit the room and I was able to see the remaining dust balls swirl on the windowsill. The mansion was silent, the only thing I could hear was a raven cawing somewhere. I pulled the blanket up to my ears and brushed my hands against my arms to warm up. Suddenly, I heard something else. A quiet hum from the horizon. It bounced on the walls around like a wild beast circling me. I froze and breathed silently. The sound, it was too familiar. I had heard it too many times before: an enemy bomber. But the war was over, so it could not be. I hugged Mimi and looked into her glass eyes, filled by moonlight, so deep into them that I could dive into childhood memories. I could remember the summer night’s grass brushing my bare feet, I could feel the warmth of the furnace on Christmas, I could smell the fresh baked plain coffee bread my grandma used to make, and I could hear my brother’s laugh in my head. My brother who left to the front six months ago and never returned. I tried to concentrate on those good memories so that I could not hear the sounds of the bombers approaching.

Then, I was awakened by the yellow morning light filling the room. Was it all a dream? It was as if the night turned in to morning in a blink of an eye. Instead of hearing a bomber closing in I heard a fieldfare sing. Actually, it sounded more like an old man laughing. I looked out of the window and saw the morning dew glistening on the trees and a thin veil of fog squirming on the ground. I got up to make some coffee but realized that I had no beans. I fetched water from the well, broke a piece from the hardened bread and fried it on a pan. I washed it all down with a glass of cognac.

I spent the day in the garden, cutting the burned vines, pulling countless weeds from the ground, and washing the mold from the stone walls. I was irritated when I realized just how much work it would take to return the mansion to its former glory. It would take months and I would surely need some help. I had a headache for I had forgotten to drink enough in the hot weather. My thumb was hurting from all the pulling and my knees felt sore from sitting on the ground for such a long time. I decided that that was enough, got up and started making my way inside. Something made me stop and I looked at the driveway painted by the setting sun. Suddenly, I felt dizzy and I could see how the air turned black and gray from the dust that fell from the sky. The plants and flowers died in front of my eyes and there was fire on the streets. The neighboring houses had turned into piles of stone and there were body parts sticking out under them. The mansion had moved and the scene seemed out of place. I was so petrified I could not move. In the middle of the smoke and ashes I saw a man. It was my brother. I yelled his name but then I heard the bombers. I closed my eyes and covered my head in my arms as it was hurting. Then, after a few seconds, the pain went away and when I opened my eyes I could see everything had returned to normal: the warmth of the sun touched my skin gently, the birds in the trees were singing, all the flowers boomed. Was it all a dream? Or had I gone completely insane? I ran inside and into the kitchen, where I sat at the table and trembled in terror. I did not know what to do.

In the night I could not sleep. I was walking through the mansion, making a list of things I would need to renovate. The giant, broken chandeliers and the old family portraits of which I did not know who the people in them were, all that historic beauty could not be belittled even by degeneration of the past decades. I was still in awe. I could not digest that it all was now mine. I sat in front of the old fireplace and placed Mimi on my lap, hugging her. To be honest, I was a little afraid of being alone. My mom had died at childbirth when my brother was born. I was two at the time. My father had passed away due to a pneumonia few years ago. My brother never returned from the war, I did not know whether he was dead or alive. And there was no one else left of our kin that I knew. I had never married, perhaps because I was too independent, too stubborn, and now, at 30-years-old it was too late. I felt lonely. And I was a woman so I would not be able to pass on our family name anyway. Would the last of Every die with me?

Suddenly, I got a feeling that someone was staring at me. The hair on my back rose and could imagine someone standing behind me in the room. Slowly, I turned my head and moved on the floor. The old wooden boards creaked. My eyes met the big windows facing the garden and I could see a figure standing in the shadow of the lilac tree. I sighed startled and pondered whether I was dreaming again. Would the war return to hunt me once more? No, this was different. The figure was an old woman with a scarf wrapped around her head. I felt a little curious.

I got up and walk to the window. Outside the woman was staring me. I waved at her and to my surprise, she waved back. I was now sure it was not a dream. I ran through dark rooms and hallways to the door and outside. My feet were bare and the wet grass felt cold under them. I ran to the lilac and the woman was still there, standing under the tree.

“Excuse me? Do you live nearby? I moved here just few days ago, my name is Elisabeth, nice to meet you”, I introduced myself and reached out my hand. I was thinking how weird it was, standing in the garden in the middle of the night talking to a complete stranger.

“You came with the doll?” She asked. In her eyes she had a glazed look and I realized, she was talking about Mimi. Suddenly, I felt unsure.

“Hmm… Yes, I had a doll with me when I moved”, I answered. The woman’s eyes moved and she now looked straight at me. Her eyes were smoky white and looked like she might be blind. She stepped out of the shadow of the tree and I could see that her face was not old at all but covered in holes as if the skin had partially melted away. I got scared.

“You should not be here, the bloody mansion should be burned to the ground”, her voice rose.

“I don’t understand… Sorry, I think it’s best if I go back inside...” I whispered. Right then the woman charged forward and grabbed on to my arm with both hands:

“The poor girl, look at me!”

I was terrified and yanked myself free. I mumbled a quiet ‘sorry’ and ran back inside. I was shaking. I ran all the way to the room upstairs, threw myself on the mattress and cried on to the sleeve of my shirt.

The next morning I felt silly that I had been so easily scared. I continued my work in the garden and enjoyed the sunny weather, even though, I had already burned my shoulders and they now glowed red like a boiled lobster. Fortunately, I was wearing a brimmed hat that covered my face. The cotton garden gloves were full of blades of grass and thorns from the rose bush. I combed my hair on my neck as it was sticking on to the skin from sweat. Then, like a lighting strike out of a clear blue sky, a white light blinded me. I tried to blink but I could not see anything. After a while, the light was gone and the world turned dim and gray. It was followed by a loud rumble and I felt unable to breathe. It was as if my heart was being ripped right out of my chest. I tried to yell but I felt like my face was melting from the excruciating heat. My hands and feet felt numb. It was as if I was being shred to pieces. And then, in an instant, it was over. I was sitting on the grass, in the summer day’s warmth, holding dead roses in my hand and in the lilac tree the robins were singing.

When the evening came, a glistening dew covered the leaves and the tree trunks. I was sitting at the kitchen table, tired. I was just falling asleep when I heard my brother’s voice. It was loud and clear and I recognized a line from an old prayer. I jumped, now awake and hit my head on the glass of water laying on the table knocking it over. Right at that moment I heard my brother scream. I got up and looked for him but there was no one there with me. I felt terrified. I felt chilly. I walked to the window that was open and as I was closing it I noticed the woman outside. She was walking in the garden, her head pressed down. I felt goosebumps but for some reason I yelled to the woman, invited her in.

We were sitting around the kitchen table, staring at each other. After a long while, she removed the scarf covering her head and gently folded it on the table. I stared in horror at her bald head, the broken, bloody skin, and her eyes that had no lashes and looked blind and murky white. I was thinking that she might be suffering from a disease of some kind.

“Tell me about your brother”, the woman asked suddenly. I was puzzled.

“My brother? He was lost during war, I don’t know where he is.”

“Wrong. He returned from the battle two years ago”, the woman said in a soft voice. I did not understand. I tried to say something but the words got stuck in my throat.

“Elisabeth. Look at me. Really look. Don’t you recognize me?” She asked and I looked. I did not recognize her. I shook my head.

“You see. I moved in to this mansion over two years ago, when the war was nearing its end. It happened on that street, I was standing there...” The woman explained and pointed to the cobble stone street outside.

“That’s when the bomb was dropped. It hit me hard, there was not much left of me, as you can see”, the woman said and spread her arms around her face.

“This bloody mansion, it survived somehow. With my last strength I dragged myself onto the property as I knew that I had to die here in order to stay in the mansion as a spirit.” I could not understand a single word so I let out a nervous laugh but she kept going:

“The mansion went to my brother when he came back from the war. But he should’ve never stayed and he should’ve never kept the doll. Mimi.” I could not breathe.

“Yes. Spirits are an interesting thing. There’s not just one inside a person but there’s several. You attached yourself to Mimi and chose to forgot, to deny what happened to us when we were one. That’s why you could keep your beautiful face but mine is gone. I am the picture of how we were when we died.” My head was spinning, I felt like I could throw up.

“You can sometimes see your brother, hear your brother, because he’s living in this mansion. Look closer. Look real close.” And I looked. The rooms around me changed into beautiful colors, filled with new furniture, brightened up by new paint, and right then I saw my brother sitting at the table where the woman had been sitting a second ago. My brother looked old, sorrowful and in his arms he was holding Mimi. I looked in to the crystal cold, white, blind eyes of the doll and saw in them a reflection of my bloodstained, disfigured face torn apart by the touch of a bomb.