The Vase

  Cecelia Smith

  Copyright Cecelia Smith

   

  The Vase 

  Miranda painstakingly checked off the last line, entered the sum in her adding machine, hit the total key and slumped. Somewhere in the half mile of tape was a transposition which concealed thirty-seven cents from her. She could stand it no longer. She left her desk, went to the ladies room, bathed her eyes and returned. She sat and stared at the listing in front of her, but did not see it.

  What kind of yard or thread could cause fabric to throw light like that? The woman's dress was not metallic. She would have liked to have touched the dress, rub it with her fingers, but didn't. She knew she would go to that woman's house. She had to find out more about her and her clothes. The dress shed blue light when she had lifted her hand and orange light when she had sat down. She was glad she had invited the woman to sit with her in the restaurant, when she could not find a seat elsewhere. What did she say her name was? She took out the napkin the woman had written for her and looked at it again. Alurmida it said, one name only. She would go to see her tomorrow. The woman had told her to come whenever she was ready, and she was ready. The dress cast red at moments and yellow lights when Alurmida walked, and a greenish blue when she pulled the door open to leave. Miranda went back to her work, to the task of the elusive finding thirty-seven cents.

  Miranda walked up to the only house in the cul-de-sac without a lawn, pebbles and straw surrounding patches of flowers and herbs. She rang the bell. Alurmida answered and was wearing the same type fabric in a different dress. The light show her dress produced was even more dazzling than Miranda had remembered it.

  "Welcome, I am glad."

  The room Miranda entered was large, belying the outside of the house. Miranda felt the room going up and up, followed the feeling with her eyes and grinned. "That's interesting," she mouthed.

  "What?"

  "The rafters", she replied.

  "Yes. Would you like a cup of tea?"

  "No thanks."

  "Alright then, come." Alurmida led her through a door opposite the front door, and into a room cluttered with looms, sewing boxes and plants. One wall was completely covered with a ceiling to floor drape, and Miranda felt her sense of space altered, as that should have led to the interior of the house, perhaps a bathroom or foyer.

  "Sit here, you will start with this loom." She indicated a small loom with a low stool in front of it. Miranda touched a spindle and frowned, she had no idea how a loom worked. She picked up the shuttle, turned it over in her hand and looked at Alurmida questioningly.

  "All your questions will be answered." She had the feeling the woman spoke of more than cloth weaving. A wonder crept over her. She did not ask many questions, as Alurmida explained the various uses of the different parts of the loom. The women worked and talked very little. Alurmida instructed Miranda mainly by example, using words only as an adjunct to her actions.

  "I think we should stop now," said Alurmida. Miranda looked at her watch and was surprised to find two hours had passed. She looked at what she had done and was very pleased. Under her hand lay the beginnings of a beautiful piece of cloth, about twenty-four inches wide, and Alurmida had said it would be as long as she wished it to be. It did not cast as many rays as Alurmida's clothes, but in time she would weave fabric as lovely.

  "Now, would you like a cup of tea?"

  "Oh yes," she breathed suddenly thirsty and feeling a bit of hunger.

  Alurmida made them both cups often. They sat in the room Miranda had first entered and talked. That is to say Miranda talked and Alurmida encouraged and listened. She spoke of the dream of owning her own accounting firm, of maybe having children, of the garden in which she had lost all interest only recently, or her aunts, her mother, and her very distant brother. Miranda heard herself, but was unable to stop herself from talking about herself. When she finally ran out of words and stories, she lapsed into silence. She was a feeling of deep relief, and could not quite explain exactly why.

  Miranda spent most of her evenings, and her weekends at Alurmida's house weaving fabric. She had finished her first piece, made from it a shirt, and was well into her second piece, which would be wide enough to make a dress. She barely noticed that she had given up going out and was seeing less of her friends.

  The day was Thursday they had just finished working and had sat down for their ritual tea before Miranda went home. They had developed a communicative silence when Alurmida said, "I can’t be here tomorrow, as I have to finish an assignment at work."

  "Oh."

  "Could you come early Saturday, say about seven o'clock?"

  "I guess I could, but you know I really like to sleep late on Saturday mornings."

  "I know, but it is very important that you come early in the morning."

  Miranda had come to take every word that Alurmida spoke literally. The woman was pleasant and a lot of fun, but on the business of making cloth and sewing she was always serious.

  "Okay, I'll just act as if I'm going to the office and get up."

  "Good. See you at seven then."

  Miranda felt disappointment; Alurmida had never dismissed her so abruptly before. She wondered on her walk home if she had been offensive in anyway. Then she reminded herself that for the first time since their meeting, the other woman had seemed distracted, not her usual focused self.

  At 6:57 am. Saturday, Miranda rang the doorbell, feeling very pleased with herself. The door opened immediately. Alurmida stood with one hand on the door knob and the other akimbo. She was wearing a shimmering blue dress draped in descending folds which gave off various shades of blue on the way down.  It captured exactly the sky on a bright winter's day. It dazzled. Miranda stepped into the room and Alurmida closed the door.

  "Hi. That's gorgeous." said Miranda pointing at Alurmida's headdress.

  "You are early. I made tea."

  "I had coffee already thanks."

  "That's alright, have some tea anyhow."

  The women sat in their usual places and drank their honey sweetened tea.  A blue candle burning on the table provided the only light in the curtain darkened room.  Silence entered and stayed, until Alurmida spoke.

  "I must go away."

  "Oh, are you going? I mean when?"

  The nutmeg colored woman chuckled. "You mean both so I'll answer both. Where I do not yet know, and when is after you are finished your lessons. Speaking of which, let's start now."

  Miranda, upon entering the weaving room, headed for her stool but the other woman's voice stopped her. "What you need today is behind that door."

  "But I thought we were..."

  "What you need is behind that door."

  Miranda had never seen that wall. The drapes, always drawn, were now opened, pulled to one side. In the far corner was a door.

  "Go get it," Alurmida urged from her just entered the room position inside the other door. Miranda turned the knob and pulled, nothing happened.

  "The other way," said Alurmida.

  Miranda pushed and the door swung opened. She stepped into sunshine, tall grass, lemon scented air and low music. She turned with a question on her lips, but the door, the room, and Alurmida was replace by the same vista as was before her. She sat down; her knees would no longer support her weight.

  Miranda sat for what seemed to her to be a long time. Her thoughts were ending in question marks and unfinished sentences. Her ears were the first to notify her that something had changed. The low music which she had first perceived to be flutes and violins, now sounded like voices, and instead of surrounding her as it had first appeared to be doing, it came from a specific direction. "Behind that hill," she spoke aloud. The sound of her voice released something, Miranda started to cry.

  After a few momen
ts of tears mixed with extreme self pity, she got up and walked toward the knoll and the music issuing from behind it. It was closer than she had thought, and easier to climb. Very soon she was on top of the knoll looking down on a very verdant valley. Small plots, circular in shape, were teeming with vegetation; she did not recognize most of it. The sight she welcomed most was the buildings. In what appeared to be the center of the valley were a circle of buildings, conically shaped with orange colored roofs. She ran. Down the hill and into the circle created by the buildings she ran. Reaching the center she looked around her but could not see any doors. Again Miranda sat.

  The chanting was now closer than before, coming from the buildings she thought. All around her the sound grew and grew. She placed her head in her hands and closed her eyes. What is happening to me, she thought.

  The building immediately in front of Miranda opened. A chocolate and cream colored woman stepped out. Her hair was braided in geometric patterns studded with glistening beads. Her flowing was robe a replica of her patterned hair. The