My dearest Henrietta,
A strange boy visited me in the night. You would have been so proud. I saw his shadow move in the light of the moon that poured through my window. It wasn’t the first time I have seen shadows sliding across my room, but it was the first time I dared to see if their origin was real or ethereal. My imagination has brought terrifying things to me since we have moved to this new world. Before, in my true home, my imagination was something of a friend. It accompanied me wherever I chose. It filled those times when I wasn’t allowed to leave my home, when the bombs would send shudders through the house, when everyone became the enemy and we had to take shelter in the cellar of the Wellington’s next door. Those were scary times, yes, but familiar. They were a place where I could touch or smell or see the memories of my childhood and feel the warmth of nostalgia. Here… it’s not the same. The sounds send chills through me; the shrieks in the night are confused cries of ecstasy and pain. The smells are repugnant; people defecate in the streets and can’t find the means to bathe. The endless number of people in this city flows like a mighty river; the force pulls me into a frenzy and I lose time and space as I float into places I fear I won't know how to return from. So you can see how, at night, my oldest friend - my imagination - seems to have turned against me. Before, while it accompanied me through the most treacherous of times, now it haunts me through every night, sending fear of the unknown into my bones.
But this last twilight, my imagination was in a slumber of its own. I saw this shadow and felt curiosity tickle in my stomach. As you may remember from my previous letters, (which I do hope have found their way to you. It has been many months since I have received a response, although I know this war has sent everything into a frenzy) this tenement housing leaves much to be desired. It's a wonder that I even have this window. It’s the only one in our quarters, and you will believe that I fought tooth and nail to be next to it. You have to go through the other bedroom and small family area just to find this corner of the building and then climb over my sister’s bed that crowds the doorway. Otherwise, I fear I would have drowned in this crowded place.
So as I slipped out from beneath my covers and made my way over to the sill, I saw this boy hanging from the side of the building; various metal objects strapped to a long rope that snaked its way around him. His eyes locked on mine, and oh, Henrietta, I felt a thrill spin through me like nothing before. His dark eyes almost disappeared in the night, but the evening’s stars shone bright enough to make them sparkle. His olive skin would look as dark as milk chocolate against my ivory complexion, and his slender body was as slim as mine, but shot through with tight cords of muscle that kept him clinging to the brick side of the building. I don't know how he managed to hang on to those tiny protrusions of stone, but his lithe figure made it look as easy as descending a flight of stairs. And then he smiled at me, Henrietta. A sly smile. One that said, here is my secret and I share it with you. I smiled back, and then he vanished as quickly as he appeared. I had just enough time to slide the window open on its frame and spy him jumping from the last floor onto the ceiling of the privy housed in the courtyard. Someone inside - facing the dangers of slinking into the night - cried out from within. The boy was quicker than a fox as he fled, sending one last hurried glance towards my bedroom window. The man in the privy rushed out not a moment after, his pants nearly around his ankles, swinging something over his head and shouting threatening expletives into the empty courtyard. But only the sound of the many various objects strung around the boy's waist, clanking into the nearly silent block, was what remained of his quick escape.
The next morning I recounted the scene over and over again in my head. I worried that it had only been a dream. In fact, I had many that night in which the boy made an appearance, and each one began to mingle with reality and I lost sight of which was real. My sister could see how unfocused my morning chores became and tried to call it to my mother’s attention (what a pest!) but fortunately my mother was in a world of her own. It took me a while to come out of my reverie and see my mother’s worry. She was furious with herself, crying out about how she lost the grater from the kitchen downstairs. She borrowed it the day before to shred vegetables for the day's casserole - her grandmother's recipe for colcannon - and now it had disappeared into the night. I gasped quite loudly as I realized, those metal pieces hanging from the boy's waist, one had been the grater from the kitchen! I laughed boisterously into the crowded family room. It was true, the boy smirked at me because he knew I had caught him in the act! And he merely let me hold on to his secret, perhaps not worried a girl like me could undo a boy as strong and as quick as he. But perhaps, just perhaps, what he saw in my eyes let him know that he could trust this lonely girl locked in this high tenement tower.
I have my fingers crossed, Henrietta, both for your responses to come and keep me company in this odd new world, and for the boy to return in the night and share with me more of his secrets. I know the odds are against me that he too felt the electric current that sizzled through my veins, but there is not much more to hope for in this dark place.
I send you my love from across the seas,
Roisin O’Doherty
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