Save the Butterfly

3 - The Ghost

Next shift near the line's head had me on full alert. However, nothing happened, and I soon was ready to dismiss the whole ghost story, half-believing Martha had made fun of me. I called myself foolish and relaxed when suddenly the temperature dropped.

An icy finger touched my cheek. A shiver ran down my back, and my teeth chattered uncontrollably. Anxiously, I checked my surroundings and remembered Martha's whispered advice. Fighting embarrassment, I held my breath and waited for the ghost to manifest.

A ripple ran over the surface of the warm chocolate spreading in the forms before me on the conveyor belt. In the semi-liquid mass, the imprint of a child's hand appeared. It dissolved as fast as the chocolate mixture spread and formed a smooth, unbroken surface. I glanced left and right to check if someone else had seen the handprint.

But my coworkers, Beth and a stern woman whose name I hadn't gathered yet, were preoccupied with their own tasks. When I looked back, one chocolate form sat slightly askew on the belt. I reached out to adjust it, but I fumbled, and it slipped away from my fingertips. The belt moved on. If I didn't align the form in time, it would block the next station. I leaned forward and succeeded to push it in line right in time. A girly giggle made me look around. No one was there except my two coworkers who were oblivious to my plight and concentrated on their jobs. The handprint appeared again, in the middle of a new chocolate bar. I gasped and stepped back, my beliefs shaken, suddenly afraid to reach out and do my job.

Martha hadn't been lying.

Shaken and unsettled, I searched for the old woman. Luckily, she worked only two stations down the line and caught my eye, concern written all over her face. Martha shook her head and signalled me to calm down and concentrate. Yes, she was right. I couldn't risk being blamed for interrupting the workflow. I needed the job.

When the handprint manifested for the third time, I leaned closer in a mixture of fear and inquisitive dread. I felt a sudden urge to run away and visit the lavatory. But I had to know.
"Hey, Katharina," I whispered, not expecting an answer. However, on the surface of another chocolate bar, an elegant swirl appeared, drawn by invisible fingers and accompanied by a happy giggle. It caught me by surprise, and spontaneously I giggled back, my former anxiety dissolved, leaving only curiosity.

~

From that remarkable day on, I didn't mind working near the conches anymore. On the contrary, I even went as far as accepting the odd job trade with other women, aware they thought me strange. Only Martha smiled a small smile on dry lips and sent me a secret wink, knowing I waited for Katharina's ghost to drop by.

The friendship of the senior worker made my life easier. The other employees left me alone. I could live with their hesitant sidelong glances as long as I had Martha's understanding and the ghost's company. I still shivered every time Katharina appeared. But this bodily reaction couldn't disrupt the joy her visit brought. I didn't drop chocolates anymore and soon overcame the clumsiness in her insubstantial presence.

In time, I learned more about the child-ghost of the conches. The girl was playful as befitted her age. She basked in my attention, inventing fresh ways to manifest herself, and my shifts slipped by as quickly as sunny Sunday afternoons. On certain days, I left the belt with reluctance and whispered a soft goodbye to my ghostly companion.

~

Martha waited for me in front of the factory one morning. She took my arm and walked me down the street, out of earshot of workers on their tired way home. "I'm glad you became friends with Katharina," she said. "She likes you."

I was taken aback. Yes, we got along, the ghost and me, even had some forbidden fun. So why did Martha sound so sad?

"Katharina is happier than I've seen her for a very long time, probably since her mother died and old Paula retired. She's lonely. Only a few humans in this age of reason are open-minded enough to accept the existence of other realities."

I stared at the old woman, unsure why she told me this. Katharina had a way to mark her presence if she wanted to. Martha smiled, a faint, gentle smile on cracked lips. Suddenly I realised how tired and old she looked.

She nodded and answered my unspoken question. "Yes, I'll be gone soon. Please watch out for Katharina. Will you do that for me?"

What was I supposed to say? Of course, I promised.

We buried Martha the following week—on a cold, windy day in March. All the night-women attended the simple funeral: A quiet procession accompanying a plain coffin to the local cemetery. During the brief ceremony, the sun broke through torn clouds. In a sparkling ray of light, the first harbinger of spring, danced a tiny butterfly.