Chapter 4.1: Convallaria majalis – Commencement

Previous chapter (3) | Contents | Next chapter (4.2)

Aged 10

𝖁irtually every free moment since my first modelling class was spent researching miniature house building. I had asked my father to buy me materials I thought I might need, books I might read. I was eager to go back, fueled by the desire to prove myself as the superior crafter I knew I was. So I went again and I sat—again—next to Ixora, who didn’t look eager and dumb anymore. She was focused on her work and held a brush dipped in cadmium red between her fingers, running it carefully over her gorgeous Chinese roof.

“Help me with my foundation, please”, I pleaded, after minutes of tossing and turning in my seat. “I don’t want to be the only one without anything to show at the end.”

And so I don’t make a mess again.

“Sure”, she said. “After I finish this.”

Her gestures were smooth and elegant, worlds away from my choppy, clumsy hands. Eventually, she turned to me and walked me through all the steps I had skipped the week before.

“Start simple, draw a layout on the paper, double-check all the measurements and angles.”

My fingers suddenly clumsy, I grabbed the pen and drew a layout according to her instructions. I had been afraid that she would make fun of me, or reject my plea for help completely, and still wasn’t fully convinced that was not the case. She would probably start mocking me at the first sign of a mistake.

“Put the layout on the plastic sheet and draw the lines there, too.” Her voice was calm and composed. She didn’t stop to think about the next step.

“Have you been doing this for long?” I asked her.

“A few months.” Ixora gently corrected my hand posture as I started cutting the plastic dividers, then continued. “I’ve always wanted a big, beautiful dollhouse, but my parents can’t afford to buy the kind I like. So I want to make my own.”

She turned to me, smiling brightly. I didn’t smile back, still half-afraid she would turn mean any second now. After all, why wouldn’t she? I had been mean to her during the previous lesson.

“Why are you here?” she asked me.

I shrugged, pretending to focus all my attention on the metallic mesh I was carefully placing on the sheet. “Wanted a new hobby”, I replied eventually.

“It’s a nice hobby to have”, she agreed. “Even though it’s not as social as others. I like making new friends through stuff that I have in common with people my age.”

I shot a glance around the room, at the older kids that were talking among themselves, backs turned to Ixora and me. “Is that why you’re helping me? Because you’re lonely?”

“I’m helping you because you asked me to.”

My cheeks burned red. “You know what I mean!”

Ixora turned to face me, eyes bright, a half-smile plastered on her olive skin. “You’re kind of funny. You have this really theatrical aura around you, you’re super dramatic all the time. I like it.”

I frowned, unsure whether she was insulting me or not. It was difficult to tell if she meant it as a compliment, and even more so what I considered it to be.

Hands shaking slightly, I realised I had to pour in the cement. This time it’s going to be okay. I lifted my hands and placed them on my throat as if to calm down my ragged breath. You’re not alone now. I shot a glance at Ixora. Did she trick me? Was I going to make a fool out of myself again?

With slow, trembling fingers, I grabbed the plastic container and poured the cement in. Its thick, smooth greyness seeped around the mesh, around the metallic tubed that would be the basis for the walls, and stopped gently when it reached the outer delimiters.

It was done, and it stayed. I took a deep breath, inhaling the wet cement smell. Victory. Not complete, because Ixora had held my hand through every little step of the way, but it was enough for now.

“Thanks for helping me.”

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

There was a slight pause, then she turned to me again: “My birthday is in a few days and I’m having a party at home. Would you like to come?”

I checked her face to see if I could find the glimmer of sarcasm in her eyes, but she seemed genuine. I hoped she was. Well, I wasn’t stupid. I knew she was just being kind.

“I’d love to”, I said.

❀•······················•❀•······················•❀

Dressed in my prettiest dress, blue with white lace, I waited impatiently for Ixora to open the door. I pressed the doorbell again, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet. Eventually, the door opened and I was greeted by a beaming Ixora. Her slightly crooked front teeth on full display, her hooded eyelids shimmering with a golden matching her dress, her face alight with excitement, she signed for me to come in.

“I’m really glad you came”, she said as I was stepping through the narrow doorway. “I’ve been telling everyone I made a friend in the modelling class and they’re super excited to meet you.”

Unsure what else to do, I nodded and gave her the box I had been balancing on my knees the whole ride. “Happy birthday. I got you this. I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will.”

I looked around the hallway as I was taking off my shoes and placing them neatly next to the other six pairs. A small house, yet tidy and well put-together, with short walls covered in family pictures and assorted medals and diplomas, with open doors on either side of the corridor.

Ixora guided me towards a room brimming with chatter and laughter and asked me to make myself at home, while she ran to help her mum with something.

I was greeted by five pairs of eyes I had never seen before, scanning me from head to toe, polite smiles plastered on five unfamiliar faces.

“I’m Celia. I’m from Ixora’s modelling class”, I said, trying to hold my voice from cracking.

The rest of the girls introduced themselves in turn, mumbling names I forgot immediately, then turned to talk among themselves once more.

“They’re my classmates”, Ixora told me when she returned, a large plate of finger sandwiches in her hands. “We’ve been in the same class for three years now. It may be a little awkward in the beginning since you don’t know each other, but they’re all super nice. You’ll be right at home in no time.”

Looking back at the girls chatting about cute boys in their class, I smiled wistfully. “I’m sure I will.”

However, the party turned out to be more enjoyable than I had originally anticipated. After the awkward beginning, one of the girls had suggested we try putting on make-up on each other.

I had never been very creative with make-up, but during my music-playing days, I had had to learn to apply foundation, blush, and lipstick. Sometimes there was someone else to do it for me before I went on camera, but most of the time I had to do it by myself. At first, I was clumsy, as all children are, but the fear of looking messy in front of the camera had forced me to practice at home until I could handle myself decently. After I stopped playing, I expected to not need make-up for a long time, yet the opportunity had presented itself in this unexpected way.

The other girls were very impressed with my skills, and even Ixora’s mum, who had poked her head in to check in on us had commented that I was an expert, which made me blush with pride.

After we were all dolled up, we played Cluedo while nibbling on popcorn and waiting for the pizza to arrive.

“You know”, Ixora started when we had finally opened the pizza boxes, “we should try to find the hidden treasure at some point.”

The girls nodded excitedly, swapping suggestions and clue fragments. I straightened my back a little bit, to prevent myself from sinking into the bean bag chair.

“What treasure?” I asked, voice trembling.

“The treasure of the child of stone”, giggled Veronica, the girl closest to me. Her chestnut curls bounced when she turned to face me. “You know.”

My throat felt dry. “I don’t know.”

Veronica swapped a look with another girl.

“Are you new in town, Celia?” asked Ixora. “Everyone here knows the legend.”

I had lived here for a long time, yet I was always either holed in my room, practicing for hours on end or travelling to other cities for concerts and interviews. Yet it felt awkward to bring it up.

“Yes”, I lied. “Just moved in.”

“Well then.” Ixora clapped her hands together. “It’s time you found out.”

Alice jumped from her seat next to turn off the light, her skinny arms flailing from her loose sleeves, while Cathy pulled the curtains. Ixora brought a flashlight and lit it below her face, sending sharp shadows across her soft features.

“In the town centre is an apartment, right above a pharmacy – both abandoned. A long time ago, a pharmacist used to live there with his son, who was very badly behaved. The pharmacist tried to be strict and punish him but to no avail. The son was incorrigible.

“At one point, the boy sneaked out of his house at night, to meet his friends and torment a poor old woman who lived alone in a decrepit house. After throwing rocks at her windows and screaming from the bushes for a while, they finally got bored and decided to go home. They stumbled around on the main street, laughing and shoving each other until they reached the other boys’ house. They bid him farewell and the boy continued his walk until he got home. He was laughing to himself, because he felt he did a great job that day, and he was very confident in himself.

“But when he reached for the door, he noticed it was locked. His father had locked him out! He pulled harder on the door, but, no surprise here, the door wouldn’t budge. His blood ran cold, but he got himself together quickly. He would climb on the outside to his room!

“Although he was always jumping around, he was very weak. He always ran away from fights and chose to prank people that wouldn’t fight back or who were too weak to do anything about it. This is why it was difficult for him to grab onto the bricks and pull himself up, but, after a few minutes of hard work, he ended up right next to his window.

“But when the window didn’t open despite his best effort, he fell back and landed in the garden below, at the back of his house.

“He grumbled and groaned and tried to get up, but couldn’t. His whole body was in pain and his legs were shaking too much to stand up. He tried to scream, but no sounds came out. Maybe he couldn’t, maybe he was too embarrassed to admit his failure and, even worse, what he had been up all night doing.

“So he had to wait there, listening to the sounds of the night. Whoosh! The wind shook the leaves, who seemed to laugh at him. Creak! The house was settling in, arrogantly. She was right where she was supposed to be.

“But the worst thing of all was when the voices started.

“Little cloud, little cloud of dust

Bury me, bury me ‘n your heart

Keep the secret, keep it forever

Little cloud, little cloud of dust.

“ ‘Who said that?’ he whimpered.

“Nobody replied, but the breathy voice who seemed to surround him went on with another verse:

“Little child, little child of stone

I love you, love you as my own

Let’s stay here, stay here forever

Little child, little child of stone.

“He didn’t ask anything else. His body was completely frozen and the only movement came from his teeth clattering. The sound was deafening in the silence of the night. Until the third verse:

“Little chest, little chest of wood

I’d find you, find you if I could

I’ll want you, want you forever

Little chest, little chest of wood.

“After the voice finished, he screamed and this time his shriek pierced the sky. His father came to drag him inside the house and, after a couple of days of being grounded and barely moving, he was back where he started.”

Ixora took a break from the story, leaning in and looking deep into my eyes. I swallowed a knot that had formed into my chest and rubbed the goosebumps that prickled my arms.

“Only, not quite”, she continued, her voice low and deep. “The strange nursery rhyme was stuck in his head and he couldn’t brush it off, no matter how much he tried to. It was something about it that really stayed with him and wanted to tell him something, but he had no way of interpreting it.

“After a few days, however, he had an epiphany: the cloud of dust must have meant the mining business that had been going on before the mines closed a few years ago. The stone child must have been this statue, made in honour of all the children that died in the mines. The statue had been built hundreds of years ago by a grieving father who had come into money long after his son had died. And the box of wood must have been a treasure, buried by the father before vanishing.

“He then started looking around for the treasure. He researched, abandoning his friends and former interests, plunging into this new desire of getting rich overnight.

“Years went by and it is unknown whether he found it or not. If he did, he must have kept the secret very well. Most people believe he didn’t, and that the treasure is still out there, hidden, waiting for the right person to come along and take it.

“It is said that he confessed to his knowledge of the treasure to his eldest son, while on his death bed. Other people think he invented the whole thing, to cover some nasty business he had tried to get going. I think he was telling the truth. I think he actually spent his life looking for the treasure and was never able to find it – but nobody will ever be able to know for sure.”

Previous chapter (3) | Contents | Next chapter (4.2)