There is no way the girl could have done it herself. So who is in there? Has the abbess returned, bringing her supper? In which case why hasn’t she closed the door?
She runs across the courtyard, regardless of the rules. As she nears the open door she hears something—more a sound than a voice—a whining, like a line of taut thread vibrating in the air.
Inside, on the floor by the mattress, a figure is crouched, so small and bowed it looks more goblin than human, the head larger than the body and naked, save for a covering of white stubble over scabby skin.
For a moment Zuana stands transfixed in the doorway. Then as she goes closer the keening turns into words.
“See—oh, yes, you can see Him. Yes, yes, I know you can. He is come to welcome you back. Oh, see how He bleeds for you, Serafina. Feel His breath on your face. If you open your eyes He will be there. He has been waiting for you to find Him. He has been waiting so long for you.”
“Suora Magdalena.” Zuana tries to keep her own voice gentle.
The old woman does not turn but simply tilts her head to one side, like a beady-eyed bird detecting a sound. “Not yet, not yet. I am with the child. See—she is better.” She gives a sudden girlish giggle. “See what He has done for her?”
And as she comes closer, Zuana does indeed see. For the girl, lying on her side on the mattress, is awake, her eyes open and blinking.
Zuana takes a sharp breath and moves toward her, dropping to her knees next to the old woman.
“Serafina!” she says urgently.
The eyes are huge in her thin face, and there is a strange blankness to them, as if she has woken to something she does not yet understand. Three months ago she had been so young. Well, she is not young anymore. But she is alive.
“Welcome, welcome.” Zuana cannot stop smiling. The girl stares at her, then seems to give a small nod.
“What happened?” Zuana’s question is directed at the old woman, but she is not listening, simply rocking to and fro, singing to herself, the holy goblin returned.
Behind, out in the courtyard, Zuana can hear people moving. She must get up and close the door.
It is already too late.
“Oh, Sweet Lord Jesus, she is alive!” Suora Umiliana is standing in the doorway, a few brave souls willing to risk disobedience gathered behind her. “Suora Magdalena has brought her back to us.”
But Magdalena is not listening to her either. She has taken hold of the girl’s hand, thin claw on soft flesh, and is stroking the skin. “See, see, I said He would come.”
The girl tries to pull herself up on the mattress but does not have the strength. Zuana supports her until she is almost sitting.
Umiliana is inside the cell now, others crowding in behind her.
Serafina opens her mouth a little, moving her tongue around her blistered lips. She looks at Zuana, then out across the room.
“I saw Him,” she says—and though hers is a sad little voice, its silky beauty all burned out, it reaches everyone in the room. “Yes, I do think I saw Him.”
IN THE BEGINNING there was nothing. Just darkness, blessed darkness, deep and soft, like being wrapped in swaths of black velvet and held within the silence of an eternal night sky. No past. No future. No present. And it was good, this nothingness, an oblivion of mercy with no pain.
It had descended upon her as she moved across the gardens. She did not have to do anything. After all that had been done, nothing more was asked of her. She was not even scared. Zuana’s arms were around her, her voice was in her ears, and she was safe.
“Help me, Serafina. Walk a little, yes? Oh, sweet child, I am so sorry.”
She wants to tell her it is all right. It doesn’t matter anymore. She wants to say she is the one who should be sorry, not Zuana. To thank her for what she has done, and to ask forgiveness, for she is not yet so lost that she doesn’t know that what took place on the dock between them will bring trouble on her head.
“No, no, don’t try to speak. Save your strength. Just a little farther. We can talk later.”
Only there will be no later. Because when the drowsiness comes it is not to be argued with. Behind it she feels the pull of the darkness, with its deep rich velvet touch.
“We are nearly there. Keep walking, keep walking.”
And she does walk, because she does not want to disappoint Zuana, not again. But after a while she has to stop, because the nothingness wraps itself around her and takes her away. And, just as she hoped, there is no pain.
