Channelling Sylvia Plath in a Green Organza Dress

by D. M. Artis

wasp.star@virgin.net

Distracted by her dilemma, Morag hadn't noticed the match burning down to her fingers until it was too late. She gasped and ditched it in the saucer. It hissed on contact with a moat of cold peppermint tea that she’d earlier spilt while carrying her cup from the kitchen.

“Feck.” She cursed under her breath and fanned her scorched fingers, causing numerous copper bangles to jangle on her wrist.

On the side table, an incense cone she’d intended to light sat beside a miniature ornamental brass clock—the subject of her dilemma. Morag, who kept an open mind on all things mystical, believed the clock had the power to grant wishes. 

It had been a gift from her friend, Xanthi, who she'd first met when travelling from Edinburgh to Goa, decades before the place became fashionable. One sultry afternoon, when talk turned to hobbies, Morag mentioned the collection of miniature ornamental timepieces left her by her grandmother. According to a family joke, Morag had no conventional concept of time, hence the bequest. These timepieces decorated every surface of Morag's living room; they perched on shelves alongside various statuettes of Buddha, assorted crystals, driftwood, fossils, and untidy stacks of well-thumbed paperbacks.

            The wish-granting clock was crudely made and ornamental, rather than functional. Morag loved its irregularity. Often, she closed her eyes and glided her fingertips over its varying textures and imperfect edges. While some ornaments in her grandmother’s collection were valuable, any would have been easier to part with than this one.

            “Would you mind,” said Morag addressing the clock, as she often did inanimate objects, “if I gave you to someone more worthy?”

            She paused, then crossed to the sideboard and took down a framed photograph of her niece. She returned to the table and hesitated, feeling the need to justify herself.

            “Lily is a lovely girl…a pure spirit.”

            She turned the photograph so that the clock might see for itself.

            “It's been tough for her. Her disability. Those awful callipers. You’d think they'd have found a better way…we can send people into space for goodness' sake.”

            She paused, as though allowing the clock to respond.

            “Don't think I’m ungrateful. You’ve helped me so much over the years.”

            She counted among those wishes granted the riddance of a red wine stain on her genuinely ancient rug, success with her wild garden, and the wish-granted tolerance of her neighbour's teenage son, whose urge to copulate among her tall grasses seemed unrelenting. Barely a night went by in summer when she didn't look out to see flashes of bare skin and the pampas quivering like white-haired voyeurs among the bushes.

            Morag yearned to try a grander wish: world peace. But that involved too much power. No matter how benevolent the intention, it felt like a crime against free will, akin to playing God. She would no sooner wish for world peace than put a happiness drug in the water supply.

            She glanced from the clock to her niece’s photograph.

            “Perhaps Lily will be brave enough to wish for something grand. Bolder than me…less conflicted.”

            She traced the outline of the pretty blonde girl in the photograph with her henna-stained fingertip.

            “And yet…” Morag sighed. “And yet.”

            She set the photograph next to the clock and sat back down to contemplate them.

            “Parting with you may be more than I can bear. It‘s not the wishes. We‘ve history, you and I. You know my soul.”

***

That day being the last Sunday in the month, Morag had a regular arrangement to visit her brother Bill and his family for dinner.

Bill wheeled out the time-honoured family joke upon her arrival, two hours late. “Honestly, ’Rags, you should buy a clock.”

“So sorry.” She slipped off her coat, getting a bangle caught in the lining of the sleeve. “I don’t know what happened. When I checked the time it was eleven, then I had a wee problem with the door latch, then the heating wouldn’t switch off...”

Bill gestured toward the remains of dinner. “There’s not much left. Just some tiramisu, if you like.”

“Is it vegan-friendly?”

Bill shrugged. “There’s no meat in it.”

“Oh, no, I won’t just now, thanks.”

“Well, it’s lovely to see you whatever time you arrive.” Bill nudged his wife, Glenda. “Isn’t it, dear?”

Glenda tilted her head. “Is that one of your own creations—the dress?”

“Oh, this?” Morag smoothed the crumpled layers of her neon green organza dress with the flat of her palms. “Sal gave me the material…surplus stock. Really kind of her. She’d reduced the price to almost nothing…couldn’t shift it.”

“Well, I can’t imagine why,” said Glenda.

“Me neither. Crazy, isn’t it? And I’ve enough material for two more. I could make one for you and put the other on eBay.”

“I couldn’t possibly put you to all that trouble.”

“Go on, Glenda,” said Bill. “I think you’d look great in it.”

Though she'd never say so, Morag thought Bill's environment, their house with its identical rooms, neutral, non-committal tones, and his immaculate wife for that matter, could do with a splash of neon green.

            “Hi Auntie ’Rags,” called Lily from the living room. "I'll get you a cup of tea."

            Morag made to decline but Lily got up and headed toward the kitchen before a word of protest could be uttered.

            “That girl is such an inspiration.” Morag shook her head. “Always looking to help, despite everything.”

            “We encourage her to be independent,” said Glenda. “I’m not saying it’s easy, of course…”

            “No, I understand.” Morag felt dewy-eyed thinking about it. “In fact, I bought some new brochures from The Healing Centre. I've made friends with the two women who run it. Thought you might be interested. For Lily, I mean.”

            “How sweet.” Glenda handed the brochures to her husband without looking at them or him. “Bill will have a good read of those later, won’t you, darling?”

            Morag lowered her voice, “And just to let you know, I’ve brought Lily a little something. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.”

            “You shouldn’t have.” Bill folded his arms. "Really."

            After coffee had been served, and the conversation dried up, Morag sat beside Lily on the sofa while Bill and Glenda cleared away the remaining dinner things. Morag made to put her cup down on the glass coffee table—Lily slid a coaster under it before it landed.

            "Mum's very fussy," she said.

            Cup safely on coaster, Morag took her niece’s hand in both of hers.

            “Sweetheart, you know how much I admire you. You haven’t had things easy—”

            “I lead a pretty normal life, Auntie.”

            “Oh, I know, and bless you for it. Some would let it crush their spirit…not you. You're an exceptional girl.”

            Lily blushed and looked down at the carpet.

            Morag began routing in her handbag again. “I’ve decided that you deserve a…well, let's call it a talisman.”

            “No, honestly, it’s okay.”

            “Hush. It’s just a wee thing. I think it deserves a new home with you.”

            She handed her niece the offering wrapped in lime green tissue as bright as her dress.

             “I can't promise it’ll bring you luck.” Morag winked. “But, as the saying goes, there are more things in heaven and earth…”

            Lily unwrapped the rustling tissue paper layer by layer until the tiny ornamental clock lay in her hand.

            “But this is part of your collection."

            Morag put her palm up. “I want you to have it.”

            “I don’t know what to say.”

            “Say nothing.” She closed Lily’s hand around the ornament with both her own. “May it bring you joy.”

***

Twenty minutes later, Bill watched from the window as Morag clambered into a taxi.

            "She's forgotten her coat," he muttered to nobody in particular.

            Morag's dress and angular clumsiness put Bill in mind of a parrot trying to stuff itself into a cage. He turned to his family.

            “Okay, she’s gone.”

            Glenda closed her eyes and exhaled. “I swear, one more story about travelling to festivals in camper vans and I would have throttled her."

            She ran her fingertips over the back of the leather sofa.

            "And glitter. Everywhere she sits she leaves glitter. You can hardly see it but it's there. Why, Bill? She's a middle-aged woman, what does she want with glitter?”

            “I've no idea. I just hope that one of these days she’s so late she leaves before she even arrives.”

            Glenda snatched up The Healing Centre brochures, skimmed them toward the bin, and then slumped onto the sofa. “Why don’t you drop a hint about not coming at all?”

            “Because Morag is incapable of taking a hint," said Bill. "Morag lives on Planet Morag."

            "Where Jimi Hendrix is still alive, tie-dye is mandatory, and nobody ever waxes."

            He snorted. "I’d have to set the dogs on her to get the message across."

            Bill didn't need to add that having his sister visit regularly looked better given that he and Glenda owed her thirty-five thousand pounds, which they did not intend to pay back. Morag didn't need money anyway—no kids and a lifestyle that made Gandhi look extravagant. She wanted to be some kind of tree-hugger and shun material wealth: he was helping her.

            Glenda turned to her daughter. “Sorry to be talking like this, Lily, I know how much you love your Auntie ’Rags…”

            They all burst out laughing.

            “Yeah, right.” Lily curled her lip, an expression that made her look like her mother. “She’d be boring if she wasn’t so creepy. I swear she’s a witch, and not the good kind. Have you seen what she gave me?” Lily presented the ornamental clock in her palm. “I mean, look at it.”

            Bill grinned. “I wondered what it might be when she mentioned having a present for you. I thought maybe a dress to match hers.”

            “God, that dress was like the most hideous thing ever,” said Lily.

            Glenda shuddered. “I can just imagine her wearing it, by candlelight, trying to channel some dead feminist poet or other. Her and a bunch of her women friends from that bloody Healing Centre.”

            Lily wrinkled her nose. “What am I supposed to do with this thing anyway? She told me it might bring me luck. I am so not keeping it in my room."

            “Make a wish?” said Bill.

            “I wish Auntie ’Rags would drop dead.”

            “Come on,” said Glenda. “That’s too harsh. Even I wouldn't wish that. Manicure boot camp, yes; death, no.”

            “Okay, forget that. I wish I‘d drop dead rather than have to put up with her for any more than an hour.”

            “Thanks to your father you already do." Glenda arched an eyebrow. "She stopped all evening and she’ll be here again next month.”

            “A day, then. That's my wish. I’d rather die than put up with her for a whole day. Have you heard the way she patronises me?”

            Glenda slipped into her grotesque Morag impersonation: “Such a poor wee lassie, amazing how she copes.”

            Their laughter continued.

***

Morag left her brother’s house feeling terribly out of balance. In the back of the taxi, the heating blasted at face level. She fanned herself with her remaining Healing Centre brochures.

            When fanning made no difference, she called to the driver, “Shall I wind down the window a touch?”

            He mumbled something incomprehensible.

            Winding the window down an inch caused chilly night air to gust through, whipping the dangling tree-shaped air freshener into a frenzy. Either sweltering or freezing, but the temperature wasn't causing her unease. It went much deeper than that.

            Within fifteen minutes, the taxi dropped her home. Morag headed straight to the kitchen to brew a mug of peppermint tea. While waiting for the kettle to boil, she reflected on her day with growing agitation. Something ominous welled within, like the bubbling tumult of water in her kettle, or the onset of those panic attacks she'd suffered as a child after the bullying.

            She pummelled the tea bag in the cup with a stained teaspoon, then carried her drink through to the living room. She set it down on the table next to her magic ornamental clock.

            No, much to her shame she hadn’t been able to part with it, just another from her collection. This troubled her all day; it troubled her now. After years of self-examination, she thought she knew every aspect of her own personality. It felt like betrayal, as though a devious imp within had acted against all she'd stood for over the years. If you couldn't be sure of yourself, who could you be sure of?

            “I feel awful…so guilty,” she told the clock. “Still, I did give Lily the most valuable one, Grandma’s favourite, so I’m sure she’ll treasure it. Besides, it would have been irresponsible to give her such a powerful gift. Anything might have happened.”

            These platitudes failed to ease her conscience. Giving someone a gift of something you didn’t care much about meant little. No matter how modest, there should be an element of sacrifice. Same with the money for Bill—it wouldn't have been a pure and unselfish act if she could have afforded the loan. But her unprecedented selfishness over the magic clock—that required soul-searching.

            After a few moments of reflection, she decided upon a practical course of action. She snatched up the clock and held it out in front of her at eye level.

            “I confess—I was selfish keeping you.”

            She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

            “Dear unseen powers, in whatever form you take, please bring joy into my niece Lily’s life, forgive my selfishness, and grant her wishes.”

            Morag paused to let her words resonate, then placed the clock back on the table.

            That took care of the first part; now for the second.

            Morag picked up The Healing Centre brochure and found the page listing the various sessions available. She took a pencil and circled the booking reference number. First thing tomorrow, she would book a day-long session. She would take Lily along and treat her to a full day out, perhaps stopping at The Good Earth Café for fennel tea and organic brownies on their way home. Lily, bless her, adored chocolate.

            Morag laid the brochure next to her magic clock. She went to bed chastened by this new-found selfish aspect of her character, but content to have restored the universal balance of things.

©2010 D M Artis

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