"Stains Remaining"

Figure in a bed stencil, Brick Lane, Brixton.






Is it a woman or a child? Definitely female. Shiny hair tied back in a little pony tail. Dressed in an old Victorian, thin & worn dirty dress. Still pretty. Pretty still. Very still. This deathly figure lying on her side, serene, at peace. Too far past tired to wake. Was she facing slightly away from me or was I standing just slightly behind her, not wanting the full sight? For I knew she was dead. Far too tired I said. The innocence of yawning a ghost in the past. Someone must know her past. She was dead. I could see that. The candle in the corner of the room was following suit. Flickering it's final flames. Soon it will be dark in here. Was she growing out from the mattress or falling into it? She was stuck halfway, frozen. I tried to move around her. The porcelain skin cheeks. Or was it wax? Almost invisible light blue veins. Her mouth was home to her thumb. Her pale grey eyelids were as still as a sea of years worn granite. Thumb & mouth fused together, airtight. The soft knuckle of her index finger fast asleep tight against her 'Where angels did shush'. Nostrils blocked with soot or dust. Black. Closer. I need to hold. Comfort. For me. One step and I almost fall over her tiny whisper of a body. It was a child afterall. Too close now I stepped back to see. Out stretched arms to scoop up this tiny human puddle. Fused to the mattress. Difficulties lie ahead. I had to tear that poor child from her rotten putrid sheets. At arms reach still, I pause and wonder. If this is right. Afraid of the closeness I shudder with guilt and curiosity. My hands and forearms are wet from her putrification. Her stench unbearable but I am strong. I must stay strong. The stain on the sheets penetrate deep into her mattress. Her final sleeping place. Her best one. Ever. The happily tired, but calm looking expression on her face tells me all I need to know. I want to bend my arms. Bring her closer to me and bury my face. Hide. I need to cry into something. I just can't bring myself too near. What am I afraid of? But I feel so sorry for her. I imagine her tummy gently rise and fall. My arms are locked out straight. Can I hear air? The almost indistinguishable hiss of air through tiny nostrils. Just the radiator. Is she dead? She is dead isn't she? I knew that. I could tell. I could hardly believe what I saw in the darkest corner of the room. Suddenly lighter, from the candles last dying flame came a little burst of light. As if saying don't forget me, I am still here. Do candles really burn brighter just before they retire? I was actually speaking out aloud all that I had said before. To this women. She had been in the darkest corner all along. Silent. Watching. Was she the child's mother? My mouth won't open at first, then no sound, but finally. "Are you this child's mother? Nothing! I look back at the simple mess in my arms. Beginning to slip through. My eyes a thousand fathoms deep. I can't hold on any longer! Out the candle goes.....




Jason




(C) JPT 2007