Birgitta the Nun

Part 45 - Family Matters

"And what do your siblings think?" Birgitta continued. "Hilda for example, what does she think about your spending her inheritance?"

"Hilda doesn't need money," the wizard replied. "She's a gnome. She will make as much gold as she likes."

"But that's a myth."

"Is it?"

"Well—"

"Anyway—" the wizard continued. "You see, I am sort of proud of my mother. But I'm not welcome here. Certain things just exclude one from a family—from any family."

"Like stealing?"

"Hmm—well yes, like stealing. But this isn't about money—" the wizard hesitated. "Never mind, you wouldn't understand."

Birgitta didn't reply. She wasn't moving from her spot on the grass and Charlie wiped the dead spider from her brow.

"The thing is," she continued at length, "I've got no one—maybe I need everyone, but I don't want anyone. That's the hard part, to make what I want work with reality. But then it wouldn't be reality anymore. It would be delirium—" The wizard took a deep breath. Then, more to herself than to any listener, "However, if the moon were to fall down on my head, I would be less surprised than if everything worked out for me. So why even try? Well—I've got to. Otherwise I'd be like everyone else - normal, and empty inside. My mother was like everyone else, normal. And when the poor reality hit me, when I finally saw through the bright facade, it was like no disappointment I had ever felt before. I can't be like that. I can't pretend—and I won't.

"So now I try to do everything wrong—not wrong for me, it never is, but wrong and awkward in everyone else's eyes. I don't do it on purpose - try to be abnormal and annoy people. They just get annoyed along the way, as a reflex I guess."

"You seem compliant enough," Birgitta murmured from the grass.

"Do I? Really, Birgitta?" the wizard snorted. Then, hesitating, "Whenever I happen to do anything useful, it's purely by accident. That's how my logic works - I strike a stone and wish for fire. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes I altogether miss the stone and strike a tree. The tree falls and it turns out to make excellent timber—and I even get credit for it. That's how useful I am, but not in the least honorable—"

The wizard broke off. She kept her face free from frowns and scowls, though her words were burdened. Her blank stare would have seemed sad, were it not for her very dry eyes—and for the rose still occupying the brim of her hat, hanging down slightly to cover her left eye.

"It's funny how provoking loneliness can be—" The wizard chuckled. She looked down on her hands and on the ground, and on nothing in particular. "The moment I step away, out of the circle, everyone starts tearing at me. Suddenly people notice me and start questioning me—just because I want to be alone, I'm suddenly a villain and a crook, and something is sure as hell suspicious.

"So I do my best to hide, but people do find me now and then and nag me, and complain about other people nagging them.

"So it's a whole lot of nagging—yes—can you believe it?" it was a rhetorical question. "That's what socializing means: to tear each other apart, simply from fear of being alone. People don't want to be alone—people want to be a people, not a person. A person is nothing on its own - a lone being is not a whole - only in social context can she become something. But I'd rather be nothing than something awful, and that seems to make people upset.

"Why do people want to know who I am? Why do people care what I do? I've never seemed to figure this one out. I'm not nice, I'm not interesting. I don't even smell nice. But still people won't forget about me."

"You're a wizard," Birgitta said, "that's your problem: a wizard is not nothing. A nun is more like it—more like nothing. You should abdicate your magical throne."

"Maybe you're right," the wizard replied. "But I'm really more of a detective than a wizard. You don't see me waving my staff, do you? I'm more of a hiding kind of person, snooping maybe. People really shouldn't notice me—"

"Also, you're greedy. That's your second problem—I still think you should become a nun. It's the closest thing to nothing you'll ever get—"

"I'll think about it. You're all like ghosts, I'll give you that—" the wizard hesitated. "In fact, some time ago - in the corner of my eye - I saw some small steps pass me by, just like a ghost. It was only a tiny movement, like a buzz in the floor, but still enough to make me loose my mind from fear. That was a shift for me - that tiny incident of my wicked imagination. It made me wonder what my being, in a way, was all about. I figured—if I myself could scare the living soul out of me, then what did I need other people for? If I could create monsters and ghost, and other non-existent things, then what did I need reality for? Perhaps my fantasy was enough to both choke me and keep me alive?"

"So—" Birgitta interrupted, "was it a nun or what? That which you saw?"

"It's not important—you're missing the point."

"The point being that you're mad?"

"So—yes. Maybe I am a little bit mad," the wizard picked up, "Of course I am, but that's quite alright. I've realized that my impressions are mine, and mine alone—that no one can ever understand my reality, or have the same impressions I have. So why keep it real? We're all alone in the end. So why pretend not to be?

"And so, now I live in delirium, and people worry very much. I don't understand that. I don't understand why people care. I don't care. Delirium is kind of nice. It's all about making what you want work with reality. And that is great news for me, but I won't tell anyone, because then it wouldn't be great news anymore. It would be a complete madhouse, and not in a good way—people can't handle reality any more than they can handle delirium. So I let them stay in their black and white world, while I turn grey. Perhaps my grayness will be complete some day? Perhaps I'll be so grey I'll even be transparent? Let's hope so. A grey shadow can't hurt anyone, and then maybe I will finally stop making people upset—I do love people, as they do love me, but we will never work together. Not in delirium, nor in reality."

The wizard got to her feet. She brushed some grass from her robe and made it clear her speech was over—then she helped the nun up. The confession had been thorough, and both the wizard and the nun avoided eye-contact.

"What did your mother die from, really?" Birgitta asked. She took the rose from the wizard's hat but still avoided her gaze, "Is this actually all my fault?"

"Well—" the wizard replied, "she didn't die from any cold, if that's what you're implying? My mother was sad, that's all—she was a very sad person, despite her colorful appearance."

But Birgitta wasn't so sure.