Sylph slowly opened her drowsy eyes as a shiver of cold ran through her emaciated body. The place around her was still and she could discern the frames of several bodies lying motionless here and there. Though the darkness of the night was still pervading the place, she caught a glimpse of light in the far distance at the entrance of the bridge. The sky was pulling aside her black veil of night revealing a mesmerizing landscape of mingled blue and crimson hues which precede sunrise. She sat in awe watching as the night transformed into the day and wondered why she always woke up at this same juncture of time. Was it for the sole purpose of witnessing this magical transition from darkness to light? Her musings did not last long; soon the howling wind brought her back to her senses. She felt the pangs of hunger tearing her entrails from the inside and the stings of cold numbing her limbs from the outside. Helpless, she drew her knees to her chest and surrounded them with her arms, hoping to alleviate the pain and fortify her body against the cruelty of the elements.

For some time, she forgot her wretched situation as the wings of her fantasies lifted her away. She envisioned herself wrapped up in a warm blanket while the rain was battering against the windowpanes. A slight movement around her snatched her from her daydreams. It was already daybreak, and her companions, who were lying as lifeless bodies just minutes ago, were now rustling around getting ready to leave the bridge for the city. They were all homeless, forgotten children who had taken refuge underneath this desolate bridge. She had lived among them for as long as she could remember, yet she barely talked to them, for they all seemed to ignore her existence except for one of them, Raphael. When all the other boys left, the latter approached her with a warm smile and a tray in his hands.

“Here, eat this till Mrs. Smith comes to fetch you.”

Sylph’s face suddenly illuminated and her grimace turned into a genuine smile.

“So it’s Sunday. ” said she with bright questioning eyes. The mere thought dissipated her hunger.

“Yes, it’s Sunday..what day did you think it is?” Raphael answered with an amusing smile.

“I don’t know why I should know what day it is..you all go to the city ..I stay here alone”

Raphael eyed her compassionately and held her hands in his.

“You’re still young, Sylph, and the city is not a good place for young girls.”

Sylph lowered her eyes and her face wore the poignant expression of sadness again.

Raphael took leave and Sylph began eating the scanty meal laid before her despondently. When she finished, she went out to breathe some fresh air. The weather was chilly and the clouds hung heavy and low. She fixed her eyes on the flocks of birds that were swaying above her head “If I only were a bird, I’d fly far away from the bridge and go to the house of Mrs. Smith”. She stretched her arms, closed her eyes, and run swiftly emulating the birds. On the bridge, people were walking hurriedly in their rugged and worn-out clothes. She heard many a dreadful stories about people who live on the outskirts and she never dared to venture there. Suddenly, a thought flickered in Sylph’s mind “I’ll cross the bridge and go to Mrs. Smith”. Sylph leaped from excitement and quickly made her way to the bridge. Raphael’s warning was already forgotten, only her perpetual hunger and the meals that Mrs. Smith offered her each Sunday furnished her imagination.

As the bridge became an undistinguished spot on the horizon, Sylph soon began to hear the restless noise of the city. With her eyes wide open and faltering gait, she beheld the towering buildings that seemed to reach beyond the clouds and penetrate the sky. People were walking and chattering paying her no heed. In fact, her stature appeared infinitesimal compared to theirs. The different sights overwhelmed her senses, and the scent from a bakery permeated her nostrils intensifying the convulsions of hunger again. She stopped at the entrance of the bakery staring at the delicious cakes and bread with ravenous eyes when the coarse voice of the shopkeeper reached her from behind the counter “You filthy beggar…You’re blocking the way…”

Frightened, Sylph ran and ran jostling against the passers-by who lashed out at her. She did not stop till she reached the other side of the city. Finally, Sylph reached the house of Mrs. Smith. The neighborhood was empty and desolate. An ominous feeling suddenly pierced Sylph’s heart. The dreary sensation deepened as she tapped continuously on the door, but the door remained shut.

Exhausted by this futile excursion, she sat on the threshold looking nonchalantly around her. Hunger resumed his indomitable attacks. Her body transformed into a battlefield wherein hunger and cold competed to topple her frail frame. While thus sitting, an old woman was passing by leaning on a wooden cane. Sylph jumped to her feet and stood in the woman’s way.

“Hello, do you know when might Mrs. Smith be back?”

“Mrs. Smith is not coming back.”

The old woman resumed walking. But Sylph, unsatisfied with her answer, insisted.

“Where did she go?”

The old woman considered her question for some time and replied solemnly:

“She died. Go home, my little child.”

The woman departed but her words echoed intermittently in Sylph’s ears leaving her standing in the middle of the road petrified. Though she did not know that it meant for a person to die, her heart sunk in her bosom upon hearing the word, only the strips of her rugged dress and her loose hair swayed with the blowing wind.

The night was stretching its black veil again wrapping her in a shroud of darkness. The shimmering stars appeared in the firmament encircling the glowing rim of the moon, everything was following its natural course of life except for Sylph who could not bring herself to move. At a distance, a tall slender shape was getting nearer. The moonlight shone upon the figure of Raphael who looked, for a split of a second, surrounded by a halo and his face was unusually fair. Sylph felt a wave of warmth rush in her body as his hand took hers.

They walked in silence for some time. They were again in the middle of the city’s hubbub when Sylph finally muttered “Where do people go when they die?” Raphael, who did not seem to be surprised by her question answered “no one knows…Maybe they go nowhere”

“If no one knows where the dead go that means I can’t visit Mrs. Smith again”

Raphael did not reply. As they walked side by side, Sylph scrutinized the faces of the passers-by “They’re all going to die” thought she, but her train of thought suddenly came to a halt “Raphael will die” her hand pressed that of Raphael as if to prevent it from slipping away. The bridge came within view. Her companions were already asleep. That night, Sylph remained awake looking at the sky and waiting for the light to swallow the darkness again.

 

                                                                                                                                        -By Imane Lechheb