Birgitta the Nun

Part 44 - The Procession

Before she had time to count her coins a second time, the doors of the church heaved. For a moment the movement wavered, expectant. The atmosphere around the church quivered. A creaking noise escaped the entrance. The wizard looked up, focused on the doors, just in time to see them flung open.

Life sprang from the silence. Through the thick air of the churchyard, all the way up to the gates, sounds and colors flowed from the building.

The evacuation of the church - the pouring out of life into the cemetery- agitated everything about it. Everything came alive - everything except the dead ones of course - but everything else on the graveyard stirred. Flowers, bees, birds, insects and greenery - all of it - welcomed the procession out of the church with a cheerful murmur and a whisk of movement. The doves sitting on the gravestones - the ones made of flesh and not of stone - took flight, and filled the air with white and gray feathers.

Also the knocked-out Birgitta stirred. She crawled up to the wizard and joined her in her peeping - or rather, glaring - from behind their large stone.

The procession was marvelous. It certainly was a sad and solemn cortege, but also a festive one, full of serious humor and gentle laughs. Though most participants wore black, the coffin sparkled white and shiny, and the priest wore a violet robe trimmed with gold. Strong hands hurled flowers up in the air - like fireworks without the bang. The blossoms sailed through the air, tracing an arc—then dropped, and landed with a soft thud on the coffin. Or on the heads of the mourning - or on the ground left behind.

Both children and adults wore bright red bows and ribbons that stood out like rubies against their black clothes. If some of them sobbed, then the rest of them smiled and comforted. The priest nodded to herself, seemingly pleased with the sermon. Her right hand rested on the brilliant, white coffin - being carried by four short but sturdy women - and her left hand clasped a small bouquet of flowers. If the flowers were for her, for being a good preacher, or for the deceased, for being a good corpse, was hard to tell.

The wizard took it all in without revealing any thoughts. Calmness occupied her face, even disinterest, leaving no room for emotions. Not even a heavy rose landing on her head would pull a reaction from her. The brilliant flower was left lying on the brim of her hat, as she continued her staring at the spectacle passing by. Even now, so close to the gathering, she made no attempt to join in. Birgitta didn't push her. They had chosen a good spot and all of the parade was in full view from behind the stone.

Then, something stirred on Birgitta's head. She did not move, dared not. As it were, a part of her hair had come alive and now wandered about her head, aimlessly seeking new horizons. She felt the mysterious movement halt, collect itself - to find a direction. It headed for Birgitta's forehead. She did not want to imagine what it could be - her skin crawled at the idea - but a small tickle on her brow gave the intruder away. The invasion belonged to a spider—only a small bastard, sure, but with eight eager little legs.

Birgitta panicked. She shot off the ground and tried to flee—but the wizard grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back down behind the gravestone. She put some pressure on Birgitta's shoulder and motioned for her to stay down. But that wasn't going to be enough: the nun put up a fight. She waved her arms and legs, and managed to give the wizard a nasty kick in the guts. Her hat was knocked off - but she wouldn't let go. She held the panicky nun down with one steady hand, and with her other—she gave Birgitta a light smack on the head. And the spider was dead.

As if also dead, Birgitta fell like a stick to the ground. She landed on her back without receiving herself - no cough escaped her breathless chest. And down she remained, laying perfectly still. But her eyes were open, staring at nothing. Charlie made sure the nun was breathing, then went back to her surveillance.

The procession had moved on. Some sobbing could be heard in the distance, but all mourners were out of sight. The wizard breathed a sigh of relief.

"Did you know the devil has eight legs?" Birgitta asked, still lying flat on the ground.

"No—no I didn't know that," the wizard replied, not really listening to the delirious nun.

Birgitta changed the subject:

"So this peasant, she was your mother?"

"She sure was."

"And she was a rich fellow?"

"I know what you're thinking." Charlie turned to Birgitta with a crooked smile, "But no—I will inherit nothing. I've already spent my part—and some more."

"That sounds expensive."

"Being a wizard is expensive," Charlie looked at her eccentric robe. She picked up her oversized hat from the grass and put it on her head with a grand gesture. The rose still clung to the frayed brim.

Birgitta didn't ask, and the wizard offered no explanation to her inexpensive-looking outfit. If her lifestyle were an expensive one, her appearance was no part of it.