That night the wind broke a window. I stood barefoot in the doorway watching as the storm came in uninvited. Power was out and the dim room mixed into the darkness creeping in from outside. The window glass had broken into thousands of rain-soaked shards on the beech wood floor. In the shadows, the see-through white, long curtains reaching from ceiling all the way to the floor, danced in the wind like ancient ghosts dressed in wedding gowns. The rain poured in drumming loudly and outside there were waterfalls running down from the over-filled eaves. The sound reminded me of wild horses running as their hooves drummed the ground. I stared into the darkness. Behind the broken window the world seemed to disappear as if it never existed. I could smell the scent of wet leaves and pumpkin fields carried by the autumn storm. The sight looked exactly how I often felt inside: sometimes my mind felt as broken as that window.
I was awoken from my thoughts, as Noah appeared beside me and put his little arms around my leg.
“Who came in through the window?” He asked in a quiet, sleepy voice. The big, white T-shirt and long, blue underpants were wrinkled and fuzzy. I wished I had more money to buy new clothes for the boy.
“The storm came in, nothing else. Go back to sleep, honey”, I said and brushed his nut brown, curly hair. It had grown too long, hanging in front of his eyes. I should cut it. I only had kitchen shears but they would have to do.
“You’re wrong. Someone else came inside with the storm.”
I got chills down my spine. I looked around in the room. There was no one there. Something about the way Noah had said the words made me anxious.
“It’s just your imagination. Go back to sleep”, I said a little firmer this time. Noah looked at me with his big, dark eyes shadowed by the long, black eyelashes. Then he obeyed and walked silently back to his room. Something kept bothering me.
As I was cleaning the broken glass, I found a dead bird. A big, black owl. Its feathers, wet from the rain, looked like snakeskin, and its beak was slightly open as if it was still breathing but I could not be sure in the dark. I fetched a towel from the kitchen and lifted the bird with that. The feathers were glued to the floor and let go reluctantly. Somewhere in the distance a lightning erupted and for a second it lit the room and the trees standing outside. I was soaking wet from the rain pouring inside. The bird was in my lap in the towel and did not move. Its head was dangling in an unnatural way, it must have had broken its neck when it flew against the window. I covered the bird with the towel and put it in a cardboard box. Noah must have seen the bird. My intuition was warning me.
The storm kept coming in from the broken window all night but when the morning dawned it finally stopped. In the cloudy, gray weather next day we buried the bird in the backyard, underneath a rowan tree. I dug a hole using a green planting shovel and Noah sat on the ground, legs crossed, watching. Finally the hole was deep enough.
“Mommy”, Noah whispered.
“Yes, honey?”
“Why are you burying it underground? The bird will suffocate there, will it not?”
I stopped for a moment and gave the boy an encouraging smile:
“Its not breathing anymore, therefor, it cannot suffocate. Just like your dad there in the corner of the fields, underneath the apple trees, do you remember? We have to find a stone for the bird, like the one your father has.”
The boy looked puzzled, even sad for a while. Then there was an expression of disappointment in his face.
“Then why don’t you bury it with dad. They could keep company to each other.”
My heart skipped a beat. I had not visited Edward’s grave for a year, I simply could not. I often stared through the window at the big, black gravestone standing in the shadows of those apple trees but I could not force myself to go to it. Something kept telling me not to. I shook my head.
“I can’t bury it there”, I said and it sounded as if I was supposed to say something more but the thought slipped my mind. I looked at Noah and then said briskly:
“We are going to find a beautiful, big stone for this grave. Come, honey!”
Behind the house, there was a forest and a river running through it, a river no bigger than a stream. There were big stones peeking from the water, rising defiantly up towards the sky. We found one we liked and placed it on the freshly dug grave. All flowers had died already but I broke a small branch off the rowan tree and put it on the grave. The orange berries looked so very beautiful.
Strange Happenings
Eventually the darkness of autumn subsided as a white veil of snow covered the dry grass. It scrunched nicely under shoes when walking. Frost hardened the ground and day after another a white cotton-like cloud hang low in the sky absorbing the sunlight. Bright-orange berries bent the branches of the rowan tree down, ready to feed the animals through the long winter but despite that I never saw birds or squirrels in the tree. A weak draught came from the mountains. It took away the smell of autumn and replaced it with coldness that froze the hair in your nose making it hard to breath. During nights, I watched through the window, I had now fixed, and saw the colorful auroras flowing like a river in the sky. Some believed that those lights were souls of the men and animals of past. I had no opinion on that but I found the colors soothing. I loved winter nights, wrapping inside a blanket, sipping hot cocoa and staring outside. To Noah, I had only given hot milk as I did not want him to have too much sugar before going to bed. He buried his curly hair in my chest.
“Tomorrow I will cut your hair. It’s too long”, I said and brushed it.
“No. My hair’s fine”, Noah stated reluctantly, lifted his head and shook it exaggeratedly in a child-like manner.
“Yes, I will. You can’t see anything under that hair!”
“What if I don’t want to see. What if I wouldn’t like what I saw.”
The question was so strange I left it unanswered. That something, feeling of uneasiness, still haunted me. Behind the window, the still fresh grave looked lonely. It was so far away from the other grave standing further in the fields. My eyes closed and the Sandman welcomed me into a dreamworld. The last thing I heard was Noah snoring in my arms.
I woke up in the middle of the night, still sitting in my chair. I was not sure how long I had been sleeping. I lifted my hands from the arms of the chair and put them down on my lap, suddenly realizing that Noah was gone. I panicked, I was not sure why, and jumped up.
“Noah! Noah!”
Then something flew over my head. I stood still. I looked around in the room. On the top of the fireplace, there was an old, silver-framed mirror. I saw from the reflection that behind me, on the chair I had just sat on, was a big, black owl. It could not be the same owl but my mind instantly thought so, nevertheless. I was startled and turned around quickly but the owl was gone. Noah came from his room looking half asleep.
“Mommy. Why are you calling for me?”
“Oh, I was just scared when I woke up and you weren’t there anymore! Then I thought I saw an owl fly in the room”, I explained and turned on the floor lamp in the corner of the room. Luckily, the power had returned by now. The warm light filled the room and made Noah’s face look round and plump.
“But you buried the bird?” Noah said and blinked sleepy.
“Yes, yes, I did. There is no bird here, of course. I guess I was dreaming”, as soon as I said that I felt really tired and yawned. I scooped Noah into my arms and carried him back to bed.
Almost a week had passed by when I finally got around to cut Noah’s hair. The boy was sitting on a kitchen stool and was moving in annoyance as the scissors came too close to his earlobes. I had put a faded, yellow towel on his shoulders so the cut hair would not get on his skin. I was cutting the hair hastily and was aware that it looked uneven. I was in the middle of cutting the hair on the back of his head when I noticed something terrible. My hands stopped.
“Where did this come from!” I gasped. There was a red spot on the back of his head, like an imprint or abrasion. It looked bad.
“But mommy, don’t you remember? You did that.”
I struggled to breath.
“No, no, I did not. Don’t lie to me!” I yelled shaking my head in disbelief. I put down the scissors and walked to the window. I closed my eyes and breathed. I did not do it. But who then? I just stood there for a long while and eventually my mind wondered back to the dead bird. Maybe I should light a candle on the grave. I turned around, dried my eyes and looked at Noah.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know”, I said hesitatingly. I walked back to the boy. There were no signs of any red spot on the back of his head. I rubbed my eyes. I guess, I was just tired. I raised the towel off his shoulders and ordered him to go for an evening wash. Then I started preparing porridge out of oat flakes as we did not have much else for a supper.
It really properly snowed the first time that night. We woke up to a winter wonderland. Noah loved snow and so we spent most of our days outside. I had lit a candle on the owl’s grave and I wished I would have the courage to light one on Noah’s father’s grave as well. But I had not.
We were walking down a snowy path between the fields. It was difficult for Noah to walk as his tiny legs kept sinking into the snow so he wanted to ride piggyback. We went on in silence, Noah was swinging on my back. He was heavy for a four-year-old.
“Mommy, why did you bury dad?”
I stopped. I tried to think.
“I didn’t bury dad. Dad passed away and that’s why he was buried. Just like the black owl that flew inside the house.” For a second, I could almost feel the wet feathers in my hands.
“But who buried dad if not you?”
My eyes grew wide and I heard my self gasp in horror. I could not recall who had dug the grave. How could I not remember that?
“And why did dad pass away? Did he fly through a window as well?”
My ears started ringing. I lifted my hands to them and shook my head.
“No, no, no. I don’t remember. Your dad is dead, that’s all you need to know.”
I could feel Noah’s little body trying to get down. I dropped my hands and let him come off.
“Dear mommy, that’s okay. You will remember. Lets go. I want hot milk, my toes are frozen!” Noah started running’ in the thick snow. I rubbed my forehead. Let it go. You haven’t slept well recently, that’s all. Then I followed the boy.
Black Bird Returns
It was as if I was unable to reach a part of me. I was disturbed by the enigma of what really happened to my husband but still I was unable to visit his grave. Instead, I burned candles on grave of the owl. The rowan tree was still full of berries, no animal would come and eat them. I kept wondering that maybe that was because of the grave. Maybe the animals could sense the dead bird resting underground. I had seen birds in the forest behind the house but they never came to our yard. I sat in the armchair, thinking. It was early morning. The sun was shining bright at the break of dawn. The snow glistened like it was filled with thousands of little diamonds. Why was I unable to remember? I was starting to think that someone had something to do with it. I was unable to recognize my reflection in the mirror, it looked unfamiliar. Was it a witch’s curse or why did I feel as if my head was foggy. It was difficult to see.
Suddenly my eyes met something. In the rowan tree, on the highest branch, sat a big, black owl. It was staring at me and I became restless. Again, I realized I was thinking that it had to be the same owl I had buried, even though, I knew that was impossible. What if I truly was cursed? What if it was trying to tell me something? I felt the bird’s stare so pressing, I had to turn away from it. I instead looked into the silver-framed mirror above the fireplace. My face was wrinkly, my hair on a bun was gray and messy. I rubbed my eyes. I should go wake up Noah. I had promised the boy that we would built a snow castle later today. It would take time and the days were short now so we should get an early start. I turned to the tree again. The bird was gone.
The snow castle ended up looking miserable. The roof was low and it was hard for me to get inside. We decorated it with pine branches and watercolors but that did not help. Noah was happy, nevertheless, and that was all I needed. I left him outside to play and went inside to prepare a meal. My mittens were soaked and I left them on top of the heater to dry. I took off the red overalls and the white beanie. My hair looked like a bird’s nest. I was combing them with my hands when I felt a burning on my cheek. The pain kept growing. I went to the bathroom, lit the dirty yellow light over the mirror cabinet and was surprised by what I saw. There was a bright red spot on my left cheek. Funny, as I did not remember hitting it. My head was pounding and the cheek kept swelling in front of my eyes. My ears started ringing. I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. Suddenly, there was silence. I opened my eyes and there was nothing out of ordinary about my cheek. No redness, no pain.
I put on dry woolen socks and went to the kitchen. I took off a white and blue striped woolen carpet on top of the hatch on the floor. I pulled from the metal ring that worked as a handle and the hatch opened creaking. It was pitch-black in the cellar. I grabbed a flashlight hanging from a nail on the wall, and dropped down. I found a sack of potatoes and another with turnips. I picked some vegetables and put them in a plastic bowl, then lifted the bowl up on the kitchen floor. I found also a bottle of red wine and some red currant juice for Noah. Then I jumped out of the cellar, closed the hatch and pulled the carpet back to cover it. Just as I was doing that, Noah ran inside waving his hands.
“Mommy, mommy! The owl came back!”
I stared at the boy, his red cheeks and nose and his big, brown eyes.
“Honey, I don’t think it’s the same owl. I saw it this morning myself. It looks similar but it’s not the same bird”, I explained and moved the vegetables in the sink.
“But it is. It is the same bird and you called for it to return. Don’t you want to remember dad?”
I turned around quickly and stared out the window.
“What are you talking about?” I asked. I did not understand what Noah meant.
“If the owl was no more, you could remember again, right?”
I was getting annoyed.
“Go to your room!” I yelled at him. My head was pounding again. I opened the wine bottle and poured a full glass. Noah was just standing there, silent, watching.
“Go!” The boy ran away.
The Grave Opens
Auroras danced in sky, green, blue and purple. Unlike usually, this time they did not calm me down. I had decide to open the owl’s grave and make sure that the bird was there but the ground was still frozen so I had to wait for the spring and I was anxiously counting the days.
Even though, winter was long, I enjoyed it. Months went by and I got better, my mind seemed to ease. I slept well and did not worry so much. We went for walks with Noah every day and we were already planning which flowers to plant when the spring would come. I had started knitting and had managed to finish two pairs of socks, two shirts and mittens. I felt rested. The sun stayed in the sky longer each day, snow started to melt and the ice turned into water drops and dribbled down from the eaves. Somewhere in the forest birds started to sing on the trees that were turning greenish again. I had planned that we would paint eggshells on the Easter and fetch some willows to decorate with colorful feathers. I hoped to see birds on the rowan tree but they were still evading it. Spring spun into life and soon we were able to go out without wearing jackets. I was waiting for the ground to defrost and then the day finally came.
The spring sun felt warm on my bare arms. Light, chill wind broke the heat from time to time and made the hairs on my arms rise up. The smell in the air was a mix of wet sand and cool spring rain we had gotten yesterday. I struck my shovel into the ground. It was hard but I managed to dig. The rowan tree above me had withered and towered gray over me, watching. I kept digging until I recognized the cardboard box. It was partly decomposed but still in the same place I had buried it last autumn.
I lifted the box carefully from the ground and it felt too light. I opened the lid and found the towel inside. But even though, I kept turning it and searching, I could not find any sings of the bird.
It’s not possible, I thought. I was in disbelief. My head was pounding. My ears were ringing. I dropped the towel from my hands and stared at the rowan tree. There was a burl I had never noticed before.
The Unseen Becomes Visible
I was sitting in silence in the kitchen. Noah had gone outside to play and had not returned yet. My head was pounding as if a herd of buffaloes were thumbing on it. I had drank a glass of wine, then another and then another and then took some pain medicine. I made coffee and hot chocolate and ate some salted crackers I found. Nothing helped. My body was shaking and I could hear my pulse. I was sure I was having a heart attack. Then the door opened. I got up in panic.
“Noah! I thought you would never come back!” I wanted to hug the boy but something was keeping me from doing that.
“You opened the grave, right? You know now that the owl never existed”, Noah’s voice was different. Grown-up. Like a familiar stranger. Someone else was speaking through him. I heard myself cry.
“What do you mean? Someone must’ve opened the grave and taken the owl. I don’t understand.”
“Come and I’ll show you”, the boy said and offered me his little hand. I hesitated a while, then grabbed it and let him lead me out the door, past the rowan tree and towards the grave on the corner of the fields.
“No, no, no, I don’t want to. Please”, I begged but my feet kept walking. Noah stayed silent.
The night was drenched in mourning, the ground was gray and naked beneath my feet. I was not wearing any shoes and my toes felt frozen. My ears were ringing. The world otherwise was strangely quiet. I followed the boy all the way to the grave and then forced myself to look at the gravestone. Engraved in it read: “Here lies Noah Eric Avonius”. I turned to Noah but he was no more. Painful memories came back forcefully, I was screaming and dropped down to my knees. Wet grass stained my dress.
“No, no, no, I don’t want to remember, please! Please, take it away!” But I could not run from the truth anymore, it was seeping back into my mind.
I was very young, only barely in my twenties. We had gotten married and bought a house in the countryside, far away from civilization. I had grown up in a city, I was a city girl, and suddenly I was forced to leave it all, the social life, my friends, my family, everything. I was so lonely, I did not want to get up in the mornings. Then I got pregnant and gave birth to a little boy. I was sure I would never feel lonely again.
But I was wrong. Edward did not help me with the baby and I felt exhausted. The child needed me every second of the day. Noah had a colic, he never slept, he just kept crying all the time. I could not sleep either. I felt like I was going to die, every day was a battle. Then Edward left to war. I was completely alone with Noah. I simply could not cope. I never meant to hurt anyone. I was not myself.
That evening Noah was sitting in a tub. I stood in the bathroom doorway and watched the hazy scene. The warm water looked yellow and there were happy soap bubbles bouncing on the surface. Noah smiled at me revealing his tiny, adorable, white teeth. I walked next to the tub and sat on the floor crossing my legs. I stared at my son with a slight smile on my face. He looked so happy right now but soon the crying would start again and I just wanted to rest. Noah turned his back to me and then I… Raised my hand, put it on the back of his head and pushed. I did not have to use much force, he was so weak. He started to fight back and I pushed with both hands to keep him underwater. I pushed until he stopped moving and went limb.
I lifted my dead son into my arms and stared at his chubby, round face. Funny, though, I did not feel anything. I heard the front door open.
I walked to the door with the boy in my hands, dripping water. It was Edward. He had returned. When he saw me, he screamed in horror and ran to me, snatched the boy from my arms and pushed his face against his soaked wet, curly hair. I felt nauseous. Edward raised his eyes and looked at me, he knew. I opened my mouth to say that I was sorry but right then Edward hit me in the face. My cheek felt burning hot, I felt it swelling. It was as if I was awoken. I started crying. Edward opened the door, took a shovel resting against the wall and carried Noah underneath the apple trees. Then he dug a grave and buried the boy. And then he left. I never saw him again but a month later I noticed someone had placed a gravestone on the grave. At that time I was starting to forget. And soon came the night when the black owl flew inside with the storm and transformed into my son.
