I kept her silent company for most of Wednesday, and she didn’t complain. But when she still wouldn’t rise from her bed on Thursday, I was genuinely troubled. This wouldn’t do. Where was my invincible Clem, who scoffed at vulgar warnings etched into her back? Well, it was hard to accept, but undeniable: she was not invincible. “Clem,” I began, from my place at the foot of her bed. “I can only imagine how you must feel about Rosetta…I’m so very sorry.”
She kept her eyes on the ceiling. “I’m not grieving for Rosetta. I’m only tired.”
“No, I believe it’s more than that. I’ve watched you for months, and you’re never tired. You are indefatigable.”
“Well, now I’m tired.”
I looked at her, unable to hide my concern. “What can I do to help?”
Clem didn’t reply.
“Remember the words we exchanged in the realm? We agreed to destroy the Society, and avenge your sister’s death. And mine.” I paused. “I can’t do it without you, Clem.” I knew these words would remind her of what she’d said to me on the mooring line: of how we had saved each other.
Finally, her eyes met mine. “Something happened to me there, Sam. On the way back.”
I moved to sit on the bed beside her. “What happened? Tell me.”
“Something…something left me. I don’t know what. Something…whatever it is that keeps a person moving forward, wanting things, pushing on. I’ve spent so many years battling death. First my mother’s death, then my father’s death, then the possibility of my own death and Rosetta’s. But in the realm Isawthat death. I saw that it’s all for nothing. What’s the point, Sam? What’s the point of trying to stay away?”
“I think what you are feeling is Rosetta’s loss,” I said gently.
“No.” She shook her head. “No, I…What I feel for Rosetta is more fear than grief. It’s not that. It’s…We are all bound for death, Sam. Every one of us.”
I had no immediate reply. After a while, I said, “You’re right that we will all arrive there, sooner or later. But if I could only convey to you what it’s like to be there as a spirit—the monotony of it, the endlessness of it. Having felt that, I know, I truly know, that each moment as a living being is priceless.”
Clem wasn’t looking at me. She was looking past my shoulder, and I turned to see Wister standing in the open doorway. Wister smiled at us. “You’re a young spirit, Sam,” she said. The words were gentle, almost fond. “Your love for life is only natural. But let me ask you this, both of you: Why doesn’t every spirit long to come back? Why do some spirits move on beyond the first isle?”
I thought about this. “Perhaps they become tired of the monotony.”
“Or everyone they know in the living world has died,” Clem offered.
Wister didn’t correct her. “The living world is no longer fascinating to them. It’s impossible for us to imagine, because the living world iseverythingto us. Nothing else matters. But just as you look back on the toys of your childhood with affection butalso a degree of distance—you no longer play with them, or need them—so does life become something else to a spirit. An earlier delight, now gently put aside. Other things call them.”
I felt something twist inside me at this thought. No, I couldn’t put that aside yet.
“Neither of you is ready for that,” Wister continued. “Nor am I. We’re still here, for the work of the living world is dear to us, and urgent. This is where we belong—you as well, Sam.” She stood a moment longer in the doorway, and then left us.
I could see this thought moving sluggishly through Clem’s mind; she didn’t try to conceal it from me. For a while longer, she lay in bed, her thoughts churning, and then she said, “I need a little time alone. Don’t worry; I won’t go anywhere.”
Taking some slight encouragement from this attempt at humor, I did as she asked. I spent an hour in the kitchen, answering Gertie’s and Meg’s many questions, some more prudent than others, and then I sensed Clem’s thoughts, reaching for me, tugging. I hurried to her room. She was sitting, dressed, at the edge of the bed. “You heard me.”
“Yes, I heard your thoughts.”
She looked at me, and I saw the same bleakness in her expression, but something else, besides. “I thought about what you both said. I don’t feel any different, but…” She looked down at her knees. “I made a promise to my mother. I have to keep it.”
I was relieved. A first step, albeit a small one. I thought it might be the right time to offer her a gift: the one gift I could give her, from my time in the realm of the dead. Perhaps it would cheer her a little. “I wonder, Clem, if you might want to visit Vera before we do anything else.”
She looked momentarily dejected again. “No, I don’t think so. I’m sure she hasn’t found the case.”
“Probably not. But she doesn’t have to.” I paused, waiting for her to look at me, and smiled. “I know where it is.”
Clem’s eyes widened. “You saw it? You really know where it is?”
“He never moves it. It’s inside a false book on his shelf.”
She rose from the bed in a single bound and threw her arms around me; surprised and gratified, I returned her embrace. Could it be that my spirit form, cold and damp, did not disgust her? She spoke into my shoulder, and the warmth of her voice stole over me. “Thank you, Sam. Thank you.”
Roy had come on Thursday, but his visit was brief; on Friday he returned and, finding Clem on her feet, he stayed for longer to discuss our plans. Clem had received the news of his membership in the Sor Juana Alliance with interest rather than enthusiasm, but she was noticeably easier now in his company. And though she still concealed most of her thoughts from me, she had allowed me to see some of her plans, like a player showing her cards, and they made clear that her mind was once again active. “Exposing them publicly will be most effective,” Clem said as we debated possibilities. She still looked wan, and her spirits seemed to me depressed, but I could see that her thoughts were clear. “Their power comes from their lofty reputation. If we destroy that, they are weak.”
