The Embers of Heaven Read Free Page B

on the horizon, her lips moving ever so slightly in what might have been prayer. She already wore the black kerchief of the widow, and was no stranger to sea death. Neither were the others, the family members of the men on the lost boat, who also waited on the wharf. They all wore the same expression, which was no expression at all—their faces stony, as though they were already bracing themselves for the grief that was to come. Amais was too young to completely understand, but her grandmother’s hand on hers had turned into a cold and clutching claw made from marble, and the child’s own heart was beating very fast as the lovely spring day drew to a close.
     
    The sunset was beautiful; perhaps the most beautiful that Amais could ever remember having seen. The sky was streaked with unlikely colors—something that resembled the rich red wine they made from the grapes grown on the hillside above the harbor, a deep, violet-amethyst shade where the sky began to darken into twilight as the sun went down, and traces of dark gold… the exact shade that Amais had imagined of a mermaid’s hair. Someone, without speaking, without asking, lit a lantern and hung it on an iron hook set into the wharf—a makeshift lighthouse, calling them home, the lost ones, the ones that most people on that wharf already knew would not return.
     
    It was full dark when the first of the statues, another black-kerchiefed woman, finally moved, let her hands drop helplessly to her sides, let out her breath in a deep sigh that ended in a quiet sob, bowed her head, and walked slowly away from the sea, back to the hushed village. It was as though she broke the stasis. One by one they did the same thing, like a ritual, bowed their heads to the sea, walked away.
     
    Elena was the last to go. Amais had been standing there with her on the wharf for hours, had grown stiff and uncomfortable, but not for anything would she have moved, would she have let go of the hand that clung to her own as though she was the last anchor in a storm-tossed world. But Elena was almost unaware of her. When she too opened her lips a crack and allowed a breath to escape, a sigh that sounded like she was letting her soul out of her body and sending it out over the waves to search for her son’s spirit, her hand relaxed for a moment and it was only then that she looked down and blinked, seeming to have only just realized that she was still holding her granddaughter’s hand in her own.
     
    “Let’s go home, Nana,” Amais whispered, profoundly sad, not yet fully aware of all that this night would mean to her.
     
    “Home,” Elena repeated through cracked lips, as though the word held no meaning.
     
    “Mama has been alone all afternoon,” Amais said, her voice taking on a tone of urgency, “and the baby… the baby is coming…”
     
    “The baby,” Elena repeated again. It seemed as though repeating someone else’s last words was all that she was capable of right then, as if her own mind had ground to a halt, unable to move past this moment, this loss. And then she shook her head once, sharply, as though to clear it from the cobwebs of sleep. “The baby,” she said once more. “Yes, you are right. There is the baby.”
     
    They walked back to their house in silence, still holding hands.
     
    There was a light in the window as they approached, a lamp lit by Vien the good wife and left to light the way home for her family. She herself was waiting inside, very pale, her hands folded protectively over her swollen belly.
     
    She knew, long before she saw only Elena and Amais enter the house. She could hear the absence of Nikos’s footsteps, the void which his voice and his laughter would have filled; her world was emptier for his soul. Her face was stark, her eyes very bright, and when the door closed behind Elena, who had finally let go of Amais’s hand, Vien let out a small whimper and folded over herself as though she had been stabbed in the heart.
     
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