The Northern Lights

Chapter 25. Where?

France, 2008

Some days, Azra thinks that she is living in a long, unpleasant nightmare, that Eden's death was just a figure of her imagination. She expects to wake up with a man standing on her balcony, staring at the vast landscape; the darkness that leads to Paris. But as each day passes, she knows that he will not appear, that ghosts are not real, and if they were, he would have visited by now. But dreams keep coming to her. Not nightmares, dreams. Dreams that tell her that his soul is still out there, somewhere, needing to be visited, to be seen. Messages from a mountain.

Arlo stares at his mother's blank face, noticing the slight tremble in the hands that hold the thin child's book. There is a deep emptiness in her eyes. He snaps his mother out from her thoughts, "Mama?"

She is back, her eyes wander the page once again, fingers follow the words on the page "Oh, yes. The man-"

"We can take a break mama."

"Are you sure?"

Arlo has already finished this book at school, unlike the other children in his class, he finds it quite easy to translate the choreographed lines on a page into speech, "Yes mama, I'm sure."

Azra shuts the book, places it on her lap. Her eyes dance around Arlo's walls, the planets, the five-pointed star ornaments, the crooked drawings. One of them with two stick figures, a man and a boy. A mountain and a sky. She sighs, "Arlo, can we talk."

"About?"

"Moving houses maybe? Would you want to?"

Arlo shrugs in response, dragging the blanket over his chest, as if hiding his heart from a ghost. With his small, wrinkleless hands he picks up the book from the top of the blanket, fiddles with the pages, "That's up to you mama, but where?"

Azra pats his head and noticed the instant yet brief look of sorrow in his face. Her fingers caress his cheeks and jaw, before shaking her head, "We'll stay." To a stranger, his micro smile would go unnoticed. To his mother, Arlo's reaction is as clear as glass. She snatches the book from his hand, continues reading. His innocent eyes, ones that were once filled with a year's worth of tears, stare in awe, as if, right in front of him, the Northern Lights shine.

The final sentences of the book are read aloud. Behind the window blinds, the sun had been absent from the sky for hours. Azra almost leaves the child sized bed before Arlo stops her, "Mama?"

"Yes, my mountain?" Azra notices how long his crisp brown hair is getting, its fringe falling just above his eyebrows. When is the last time he had his haircut? His father used to be in charge of those type of things.

"Can we chat? About papa?"

The last word that fell from his mouth almost causes a tear to shed, but under the blanket, she clenches her fist, forcing the salty droplets to stay locked within, "Of course. What would you like to know?"

Arlo remembers the four letters he read on the tombstone a year ago, after the large wooden box had been covered in layers of earth, "Is his name Eden?"

"Yes Arlo, his name was Eden, but you can only call him papa," flashes of Eden's smile come flashing back, as do memories of the Northern Lights, his proposal.

"Mama, last year, after papa was gone, I heard Grand-mère say he was in heaven." Arlo checks under his mother's eyes, making sure there no tears roll before continuing his question, "Do you really think he is in heaven mama?"

"No," a migraine pulses in her skull, images from her dreams, her visions, begin to flicker in her mind. Does she even believe that? After-all, she clung onto a small hope that this was all just a bad nightmare.

"Then where?"

She blurts out the best answer she can think of, "He's in the Northern Lights. In Norway." As the words come rolling off her tongue, Azra questions if she is telling Arlo or herself.

Arlo's eyes widen, "Papa's soul is in the lights?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it."

Arlo can feel a thick layer of mist form in his palms, "Then why don't we go see him mama?"

"Not yet, but soon Arlo, be patient."

Why do I have to be patient!? He wants to yell in anger, but something in his throat stops him from doing so, "Okay..." silence fills the room for a few seconds, "I miss him mama."

"I miss him too Arlo, but I promised that we'd see the lights one day, didn't I, that we will visit him?" she meant to say them.

"Yes, you did."

"Be patient, my precious mountain," she kisses Arlo on the forehead, his wavy hair smells of coconut, "besides, he could also be in the wind that gives you a hug, the rain that kisses your cheeks, the trees that give you air, or the animals that you meet. Even if we don't see him, he can still be here my darling."

Arlo begins to smile, takes a deep breath through his nostrils, is that the smell of his father again? The taste of his cologne perhaps? Is the wind that whispers beside his bedroom window the voice of his father? Arlo looks around the room, eyes wide and curious. Everything his eyes touch makes him wonder, Papa? Is that you? Nothing his eyes touch reply.

Azra watches her son's pupil jump from left to right, "Any more questions for me?"

"No..." his dark hazel eyes flick up to his mother's endearing smile, "goodnight mama."

"Goodnight my mountain."

Azra softly tucks the blanket over her son, none of her steps make a sound, she is a ghost as she approaches the door and flicks the light switch off. Arlo lays motionless in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He can't shake off the question, where? And, as he blinks, his eyes are met with a raging mixture of two of his favourite colours, a flashing image of a roaring sky and a peaceful mountain, there. He sleeps peacefully for the first time in almost a year.