The Northern Lights

Chapter 23. Final Farewell II.

France, 2007.

Without Eden by her side, Azra walks blindly, tears flooding her vision. She walks aimlessly down the paths of the cemetery, hears the crying call of birds. She wonders if they sing out of respect, if Eden has been reborn as one of them. Rays of light pierce through the gaps left by her mantilla, shines against her wet cheeks. She recognizes the chattering voices of Eden's childhood friends but is unable to see their faces. Through the flowing, silky veil, she sees a flood of people, all dressed in the colour of death. Azra subconsciously grips Arlo's hand tighter, sweat begins to form between their fingers. She wipes remaining tears from her eyes.

The last four nights have been filled with non-stop crying. Each night, an absence of warmth beside her became increasingly stronger. She would wake in the middle of her short sleeps expecting a man on the balcony with a cigarette pressing between his lips. An unwanted idea keeps burrowing its way into her mind.

The last meal she remembers eating was the crêpe her husband had made her hours before his final breath. Last night, along with the constant weeping of her own cry, she heard the minute footsteps of her child through the doorways. She heard him pacing, pausing, pacing, pausing. And yet, Azra stayed in her bed, alone. The thought that had been scratching itself with its devilish claws into her consciousness came again, was your death Arlo's fault? The question made her want to claw the hair from her scalp. She did not confront her son, and now she regrets it, asking herself, asking Eden, does that make me selfish? And again, her head dipped under the blanket, and tears began to crash heavier than hail.

Azra's vision begins to clear, she notices a figure approach her, Edith. Her mother-in-law looks down at Arlo in empathy, grief, "Arlo," she pauses, sniffles, "Azra, come here." Instantly, her thin arms wrap themselves around her. How can limbs so tiny be used to warm Azra's heart just a little. The grieving mother picks up her grandchild, converses with him. Azra stands in silence, bites her top lip in an attempt to stop her from crying once again. The ceremony is about to begin.

Her moment of silence is interrupted by the sobbing of her child, and the approach of another figure, but this time, it is tall, slender, somehow familiar. Ivre.

"Edith," he says, his gaze locked with Azra's, "Let's go."

Azra's heart sinks, does he blame me? Edith follows her husband, she whispers an apology. To whom?

Azra kneels down, locks eyes with her child for the first time in what feels like an eternity. His face is slimmer than she remembers. Azra tightens her hands around the small boy, with a confidence in her voice, she tells him, "We have to be strong, okay my mountain?

He nods, "Okay mama."

For the first time since his death, Azra almost smiles. With more effort than usual, she lifts him from the ground, walks him to the crowd. She lifts her chin up, notices the heavenly weather. Maybe it's a sign. The funeral commences. And, as the casket carrying her lover's body is gracefully placed under the Earth's surface, Azra begins to sense that, maybe, just maybe, Eden's soul is above the surface. Above a mountain. Among the lights. Underneath her silky black mantilla, Azra's tears begin to slow down, farewell my fellow aventurier. I love you, 'til we meet again.