Roots for your secrets, leaves for your fears,
Sleep in the hollow, child, nothing hears.”
The deep forest was full of twists and turns—an endless labyrinth of bark and leaves. Snaking, complex… Nothing hears.
“That song,” I said. “I haven’t heard you hum it in years. I thought you had forgotten it.”
She turned, smiled. “You never forget a song you learned as a child. It’s always there, waiting. Hidden.”
Waiting. Hidden.
The windows rattled with the rain. Outside, the hue had shifted to a curious green. Over-green, like Theo’s irises.
I pressed myself out of the chair.
“Going outside to wash?” My mother crossed back to the counter. “Be careful out there, my girl. The acid is terrible today.”
My girl. My girl, my girl, my girl.
I didn’t move. I swayed in place; the world had lost some of its solidity, some of its flatness. It always did when she was so kind.
“Mama,” I said, “you’re acting strange.”
She paused. She had just pressed her fingers into the dough. “Why do you say that, Eury?”
“Normally you take to bed on a day like this. But you’re so happy. You haven’t taken off my boots for me since I was five.”
She remained stiff, still at the counter.
“And you haven’t called me ‘my girl’ since I was eight.”
Beyond her, the rain sizzled on the windowpanes. The smoke rose, but not in small plumes—in a great hissing bath, like the whole street smoked.
I crossed to the door and opened it. The noise of the rain intensified, clanging off the overhang. The green hue was so thick, I couldn’t even see Jo the busybody’s window across the way.
“What are you doing, Eury?” my mother’s voice came from inside. “You’ll let the rain in.”
Deep in the forest, the green paths wind,
Twisting and turning, you lose what you find.
Step where it’s darkest.
“Mama,” I said. “Tell me the words to that song you were humming. I’ve forgotten them.”
She recited the words. All of them.
My mother never got all the words right. She’d taught me the tune, but Elisabet had taught me the song.
I stepped barefoot onto the stoop. My mother called after me, but I shut the door. The rain muffled everything; the smoke waslike jelly in my throat.
Jelly. How did I know about jelly?
Step where it’s darkest.
I moved off the stoop and onto the cobblestones. My feet stung. My nose stung. My throat stung.
I walked out from under the overhang, into the rain. The green smoke rose so thick, so high, I couldn’t even make out the other side of the street or the high outer wall. I coughed and coughed, pressing my eyes shut?—