A story for Manuel (with words: life, arm, ghost, lighter, bullet)

Once upon a time, no, not once upon a time, actually a year and two days ago, there was a girl who wanted to become a ghost. Back then there were storms with lightings tearing the night sky, in which she wished to dissolve, and with thunders by which she wished to be carried away. She remembers the same acid rain but whether the moon looked like this, crooked and of burn orange colour, she doesn’t know. She even had an arm, a secret tool, which would turn her invisible forever. All it takes to become a ghost is to cross a frontier between two worlds. If you feel heavy in this one, there you’ll become lighter. But it doesn’t mean you travel light, too. You don’t. You must pack up all your life, including the moths that appear on your window when you stay up and write. But at the same time you leave everything behind: your beloved dog, your favourite pen, your bookcase, a handsome stranger, a new job, your own apartment, first Spanish class and a taste of quesadillas the taste of which you still don’t know. If you are serious to become a ghost, you don’t care. You are none of the known forms already. You are a bullet aimed at the target, preparing to become a hit of the season, a hit everyone who hears it will talk about and that will spread around. So, a year and two days ago there was a bullet-girl covered in a glossy shell. When a shell opens a pearl appears, a pearl ring with a colour of spermy cream. A ring which divorces you from life. Are you taking it to be your bride? Do you want your name to disappear? Do you want to become a substance, a smear? Ask the bullet girl questions beginning with “do” and she will obediently answer “I do, I do”. Don’t bother with Wh- questions. Where, what, when and why are details from another, human time. She’s aiming high, where there is no gravity in the way, where there is only light.

Once upon a time, no, not once upon a time, a year and three days ago (yes, time moves on, it actually flies), the realm of ghosts was full of electricity. Someone was trying to break the gates, get in, without permission, without ghosts allowing it. An example of human stubbornness and will. Humans think being a ghost is fun and a relief. They have a romantic idea of no memory, no duties and random appearing with a purpose of scaring or lecturing. In fact, being a ghost is a pain. They have a task: show humans the truth or lie but it is up to people to work out which is right. It is like a school of higher intelligence yet without an input, guiding or correcting the mistakes. Ghosts even have a saying: “Has your man found a meaning?” when one of them seems to be in unusually high spirits. But if the question required an answer, it would always be “no”. The reality is, there is no meaning, just truth and lie, dark and light and that’s about it. Everybody eventually dies. This soul trying to break in was simply about to take a short cut to another place without a meaning. What’s worse, she wouldn’t put up with it. She had force and exceptional drive for good, fair play and justice. She would be able to tell Jesus that letting Jews crucify him would be rubbish and to equip Stalin’s mistress with a weapon much worse than syphilis. She wouldn’t be able to be unbiased; she would take sides and leak the higher knowledge. She was dangerous as all idealists are in any system where unquestioned hierarchy is set up. The realm of ghosts decided to bolt up.

Once upon a time, no, not once upon a time, a year and four days ago or now, it doesn’t matter; because what is time, just an illusion, there was a clairvoyant and she sensed death. The sensation was getting stronger and denser day by day, it was approaching but whom and where from she didn’t know. She asked the angels, cards and consulted her crystals but the answer wouldn’t show. Until the July 20^th when the parcel arrived. The post woman was a new one, probably a substitute for someone taking a vacation, not young not old, pretty, but unconscious of her looks, and with a feel of a cloth doll. Her spirit was escaping like air from an inflatable ball. The clairvoyant, had she believed it possible, would have thought there was a ghost at her door. She also saw the woman was not possessed. She had simply chosen a new identity to which she set off with a determination of a bullet. For a split of a second she also saw the woman was not going to succeed. But there was something wrong, she saw the post woman caught up in a cocoon or a net, she couldn’t move and was mute but in her mind was this one though: I want to die, I want to die. This woman has clearly stopped seeing light. The clairvoyant shut the door but didn’t let the woman out from her mind.

A year and five days ago, or was it once upon a time?, the bullet girl decided to shoot in three days time on her father’s 60^th birthday. It should stop when it started, the seed which has been abused and molested, causing only repulsion and hatred and triggering violence in all people around it should be eradicated. Together with her the evil will cease and her father will be reborn to innocent years. The realm of ghosts was boiling and constantly murmuring. There were voice calling that she should be given the truth on a silver plate – she’s not capable of seeing it herself, for supreme power’s sake! - , others were arguing that her act could serve her father as a source of light or a punishment. Agreement was impossible because who if not ghosts know that all good can turn evil or the other way round depending on people’s response which is unpredictable. However unpredictable the universe can be, though, the clairvoyant was now sure that unless something diverts it, the post woman will soon end up paralysed. She couldn’t know if that was right or wrong but she could see the woman had no light. Or rather, there was something around her that was poisoning her mind and heart. She asked heavens for permission and when that arrived, the clairvoyant started to restore light in the post woman’s life with all her might.

The bullet person doesn’t think. What about? There is a target, a clear bull eye, all will is compressed to fly and hit, merge with the target, disappear. The mission becomes you, you may perform stuff from the past but you don’t even know where you are, your orbit has shifted and you revolve with it. All laws have lost power over you, you obey nothing but you and your ultimate freedom the mouth of which is sucking you up and destroying all you have behind. The clairvoyant was confused. She could swear there was an increase of light and warmth but the death was still sitting there like a moth with claws. She was constantly trying for three days and nights, the feeling has changed but the image has not. The forth day she realised she had done all she could and now she must leave everything up to life.

Three days later, or have ages gone by?, the clairvoyant was working in her garden when she spotted an old retired postman. She looked up, greeted him and asked: “Do you know what has happened with that post woman before you?” He looked at her with surprise. “Haven’t you heard? It was a tragedy, tragedy indeed. Her father shot himself, and on his birthday. People say he found a gun which somebody else prepared for himself together with a goodbye letter. God knows what was in it, but he burnt the letter and used the gun on himself. There was only one bullet. He was immediately dead.” The clairvoyant shook her head. The picture was clear now. It wasn’t a dark moth with claws but a butterfly clinging to life. The colour wasn’t its, it was a deep shadow hanging over it. The shadow, which will have to be lifted, if the butterfly finds the strength and will to spread the wings and fly. Well, her beloved dog, her books and pen, a handsome stranger on the way, a new job, flat and language and even a new taste of quesadillas will be there to help.

After a few stormy days, the sky calmed down. The gray metal look broke up and heavens started to shed light. The realm of ghosts accepted a new soul and it was alright, it was ripe. From this one no troubles or danger were expected, it entered the sphere where there is no good or bad, where everything is as neutral as life. In some fifty years it might be called on a worldly duty again. Or earlier, when all traces of its actions have been healed or erased, when all has been transformed, all that looked like a crime but nobody with certainty can say whether it was wrong or right.