Garbo’s Faces

a Novel — Part 34: Leaving

That all took place in July of 1985. I met Harriet at Klosters the next three summers, and we spent some nice, relaxing weeks together: talking, walking, even practicing a little snake talk, although she was rusty, to put it mildly. Still, she enjoyed it.

In April of 1988, much to her delight, she received Royal visitors, when the King and Queen of Sweden called on her. Oh, she was as thrilled as a little girl to tell me all about it, and I was duly impressed, naturally. “Sweden has the most beautiful Queen,” she said. “And so smart. So smart.”

I, for my part, was glad to see that the myth had stayed intact, something that Ms. Graessli confirmed. Her lips had remained, and would remain, sealed. Nothing to hurt Ms. Brown. Ever.

I had taken a real liking to the large Swiss woman.

In 1989, Harriet was too frail to travel, so I visited her briefly in New York. She again told me that she was afraid of dying, and again we spoke of Attra and Athansor, and this stilled her worries. Her necklace was staying put, as she put it, and I swear her face was less wrinkled, at least to me.

In April of 1990 she was taken to the hospital, and I knew that the end was near. To protect the myth I chose not to visit her, which pained me, but it was a price I was willing to pay.

Then, on Easter Sunday, Esh came, along with Attra and Madhuri, and took me along.

It was still morning in New York, on a cold, fine spring day. The curtains in her New York Hospital room were partially closed to filter some of the light out, but even so the room felt light and airy.

She looked very peaceful as we entered, even though she was hooked up to God knows how many monitors and drips. Her necklace rested peacefully on her chest, snug as a glittering cat. Needless to say, no one saw us coming, for the spirit is invisible to the human eye.

At first she was unaware of our presence, but as we settled around her by her pillow and nudged her a little — Esh, who knew how, did the nudging — she stirred and said “What?” out aloud. A nurse just entering said, “What?” as well, but Harriet didn’t answer her, for now she had seen us.

Nachiketa, she said in a tongue not snake and not human.

Yes, it’s me.

Who is with you?

Esh, and Attra, and Madhuri.

Have you come to fetch me? She wondered.

No, I answered in the same silent tongue, I am only here to visit.

My companions, however, said nothing to contradict her, and then I realized that Harriet’s first notion was correct.

Your necklace, said Esh, it has found a home.

Slowly, her hand made its way across the light blue blanket up to her neck, where she patted the glittering stone lightly. It has forgiven me, she said.

There was never anything to forgive, said Esh. You were just too good a wisher.

Yes, she almost nodded. I am a good wisher, a very good wisher.

One of the best, said Attra, and Madhuri agreed.

You know her then, I said, a little stupidly. You’ve always known her.

Of course, said Esh. She’s quite a legend.

We left the hospital around 11:30 in the morning.

They dropped me off in London — if dropped is the right word: one moment I was regarding Harriet’s still face and chest, the next my apartment in a quiet London afternoon — Harriet telling me not to be sad, and that she would be looking out for me, and would wait for me, though she didn’t say where.

I stood up and stretched, and I was alone.

Her passing made the headlines: the end of a legend. And if you read the stories to the end, they always close with the beautiful necklace that one nurse swears evaporated into thin air the moment her heart stopped beating.

© Wolfstuff