1
The Spirits Visit
“Spirit of the late Robert Fisher,” whispered Maria’s mother from the other side of the wall, “I summon you to this table on behalf of the dear wife you left behind so many years ago.”
Maria shifted her weight in the walk-in closet of her mother’s bedroom. The air was stale, with musty fur coats that clung to hangers high above. She brushed her curly hair from her face and pressed her eye to the holes that ornamented the grate looking into the parlor.
A tiny candle pierced the darkness in the next room, illuminating the dusty magenta of her mother’s turban and her thin hands above a crystal ball. Beside her sat an elderly woman wearing glasses. Her hair was pulled into a white bun that glowed in the light.
“For it is I, Madame Destine Russo, who begs you to inhabit me,” whispered Maria’s mother. The psychic shut her eyes and froze, the stillness interrupted by the rustling of a parrot perched on her mink shoulder.
Madame Destine’s eyes popped open. “Come!” she said, slamming her fist onto the card table. “Speak to your dear Marilyn!”
The parrot beat its wings before settling. Feathers floated around the two women seated at the table while Madame Destine’s eyes rolled back. Then her body spasmed, shaking her pale hands so that her bracelets rattled against the table.
Maria pulled away from the grate, her heart pounding. Even now, as an eleven-year-old who’d been part of the act since she could talk, she feared something would go wrong. Her fingers fumbled over the switch until she turned it. “Don’t mess this up!” she told herself.
The blades of the fan spun behind Maria until they gained momentum. Then she ducked, allowing the cool breeze to shoot through the grate and into the parlor.
Very slowly, the wind chimes sang a sad spirit song and the loose hairs on the old woman’s bun stirred under the flickering candlelight. Pipes clanged. Faint moans echoed deep inside the apartment.
Madame Destine shook before the startled old woman, their shadows running across the velvet curtains blocking the daylight.
Then Madame Destine froze again, letting out a soft whimper. Gradually, she tumbled onto the table, her head slamming beside her crystal ball with a loud thud.
The parrot flapped his wings again before settling on top of her turban.
Maria switched off the fan. Then she pressed her eye against the grate, looking for directions from her mother.
“Madame Destine?” said Mrs. Fisher, stretching her neck over the lifeless mound. “Are you okay?”
Maria rolled her eyes. Boy, was this old lady gullible. Although the scam changed from time to time, she knew what would soon follow. That widow’s wedding ring would be their meal ticket until the next naive victim arrived in their apartment looking for answers.
The widow shivered, turning her head around the parlor as if to look for signs of life. Finally, she grabbed her purse and shot up from her folding chair.
“Marilyn!” said a guttural voice.
The old woman stopped, then grabbed at her heart.
Madame Destine’s face rose from the table. “Mariiilyn,” she said in the same deep voice. “My sweet Maaaaaarilyn.”
Mrs. Fisher fell back into her chair and swallowed. “Oh, Robert?” she gasped. “Is it you? Is it REALLY you?”
“Marilyn, how I’ve missed you!” said Madame Destine.
“Oh, sweetie, it’s been twenty years, but not a day’s gone by that I’ve not thought of you,” said Mrs. Fisher.
“Sweeeet Marilyn,” said Maria’s mother, her eyebrow arching above one open eye. “I miss the world of the living. It’s so cooooold here without you.”
“My Robby, I’ll soon be joining you, I’m sure of that!”
“But, Marilyn,” said Madame Destine quickly. “There’s JUST one thing you must do before you join me. Just one favor I ask of you.”
“I’ll do whatever you want. Just say it!”
Madame Destine’s eyes darted sideways at the large diamond ring on Marilyn Fisher’s finger. “Oh, Marilyn,” she said, and tossed her head back. “It’s been two decades since we’ve been together. Do you still wear the wedding ring I gave you the day we made our vows?”
Mrs. Fisher glanced down at her hand and forced a smile. “I still wear the ring with pride, my love. I’ll always be your girl.” Her chin trembled.
Maria pushed away from the grate. Then she laid her head back onto the worn pillow on her tiny mattress. She propped her Converse sneakers against the wall before mouthing the words that came from her mother in the other room. “You must part with material possessions before you join me in the next world!” Maria waved the way she knew Madame Destine would, with palms out and fingers spread apart.
Kerthump!
A fur coat fell on Maria’s head. She pushed the moth-eaten lining away from her and stood up in the cramped closet that also served as her bedroom. She grabbed the coat covering her gray blanket and tiptoed around her mattress, stepping on pens, paper, and library books.
“Ouch!” Maria said under her breath. She’d hit her head on the hanging light bulb. Maria steadied it before placing the fur back on its hanger nestled with her mother’s clothes. The fan pointing at the grate took up most of the real estate, and Maria had to carefully ease back into position without knocking it over.
“I ask that you donate your ring, the symbol of our love and happy marriage, to the Brooklyn Urban Youth Initiative for Tomorrow,” said the deep voice of Madame Destine in the next room.
“TOMORROW! TOMORROW!” screeched the parrot.
“Silence, Houdini!” snapped Madame Destine.
Maria imagined Mrs. Fisher must be wondering why on earth her husband’s spirit wanted her to give her ring to charity, but she knew her mother had already solved that riddle.
“Our marriage produced no children, Marilyn. My only regret was not having a child to look after.”
“But, sweetie? You hated children. We talked about this.”
“And THAT is my biggest regret!” said Madame Destine, a little too soon and way too sharply.
“Well,” said the voice of Mrs. Fisher, “I suppose I could write a check. I would have to research the organization to make sure it was—”
“No!” boomed Madame Destine, slamming her fist on the table. “It must be your ring. It must be this organization.”
The pipes clanged in the apartment, and soft moans echoed in the hallway before the signal had been given. Maria slapped her forehead. “Oh, you’ve done it again, Mr. Fox!” she mumbled. She rolled off her mattress and turned on the fan so the candles could flicker and the wind chimes could whine in the next room. She listened for her mother’s bracelets to jangle, followed by the loud thud of her head striking the table. Then Maria cut off the fan and fell back on her mattress.
The house was silent.
Maria shut her eyes and cleared her mind in the stiff, musty air of the closet. She tried not to think of her mother and her scam, or Mr. Fox coming in too early with the eerie sounds. She pushed how they were conning a helpless widow to the back of her mind. She even ignored the pain in her stomach. It had been twenty-four hours since Maria had eaten.
As she let her mind go blank, she settled into stillness. And ever so faintly, her fingers began to tingle—the same tingle of lip balm on cracked lips or the first bite of minty gum in a stale mouth. She felt his fresh, comforting grip hold her hand. Although she’d never seen him with her own eyes, she knew he was with her.
“Edward?” Maria said, her lips parting into a smile. “What did you make of Mrs. Fisher? Did you see her late husband?” Maria pushed her library book, The Rescuers, aside where a pen had been resting under it. She slid a piece of paper beneath her right hand. Then she balanced the pen between her knuckles over the paper. Very slowly, Edward’s cool grip guided Maria’s hand across the paper, allowing the pen to leave a most mysterious reply:
Mrs. Fisher may be foolish to believe her,
But her heart is far wiser and sweeter.
Copyright © 2020 by Gilbert Ford
