The Witch of Montefiore

“I want… to see my daughter…” The woman rasped her words slowly, but with distress. Her time was nearly up. That was alright. Aviva had gotten all she needed. The woman was a florist. She had loved gardening ever since she was little. Her favorite flower was a chrysanthemum. She had been 89 when she died eleven years ago. 

“I want to see…my daughter...” She --Dalia was her name-- spoke with tired urgency. Her lucidity was wavering. She was repeating her words, unable to form new thoughts. It was time to let her rest. Aviva had her hand resting gently on Dalia’s ankle, and from where her hand was a dark purple pulsed through her veins, making her appearance even more haunting. 

Aviva leaned forward. This part was delicate. She had long rid herself of the shame for doing this, but she still wished to treat the dead with the respect they deserved. Although she firmly believed that the dead deserved peace, she was disturbing their sleep for selfish reasons, and wanted to make it up to them. 

“Dalia, its alright. You’ll see your daughter again. Just rest for now. Close your eyes, and when you open them, I promise you that your daughter will be right here.” Dalia nodded sluggishly, a faint smile wrinkling her paper thin skin. Aviva slowly lifted her fingers from Dalia’s ankle, the purple faded from her limbs, and her body relaxed.

Aviva got up slowly, knees popping as she rose. She looked down at Dalia. Her eyes were closed. There was no tension left in her forehead. The echo of a smile at the promise that was never going to be kept still on her face. She was at peace.

Aviva brushed the dirt off of her pants and grabbed the shovel that leaned against the tree looming over Dalia’s grave, and began preparations to rebury her. To the left of Dalia’s body was the grave of her daughter.  

Once she had finished, Aviva continued her rounds through the graveyard. She allowed the knowledge gained from Dalia’s stories to flow through her mind. The energy from it all fizzed in her hands and head like bubbles at the top of a soda can. Her mind wandered over it all as she continued her search.

She had surpassed Dalia’s age by tenfold at least. She couldn’t quite recall. When one lives for as long as Aviva has, and when one’s head becomes a library of autobiographies, it starts to get hard to remember these things. Her age, or the year, or her mothers name, or the sound of her long gone children's laughter have become as foreign to her as one of the many stories in her head. The years, while they have been kind, have been long. 

She liked talking with older people. Even though the energy received from them was duller, the experience was better. They were much kinder, and more calm. She would never admit it outloud, but speaking with the younger ones still made her heart ache in a way that nothing else did. 

They were always scared. Even though their lives were short, they had so much to talk about. Sometimes the rush of energy was suffocating. They wouldn’t understand why they couldn’t leave, and were always unforgiving when she’d tell them there was nothing she could do. 

Aviva liked to think she did what she did because she didn’t have a choice, but that wasn’t the truth. The people she spoke with everyday were a reminder of that. She knew it was wrong, but something in her just wasn’t ready to stop. She had lived a long life, but she still wanted more. 

Aviva stopped in front of a small headstone. It was the usual dull gray color, nothing special to it, but clearly well cared for. There were a few small flowers, damp from yesterday's rain. This differed from the collection of rocks on top of the grave, and around it. They varied in size, color, and shape, but were all placed with care, as to not cover up the text on the grave. This was the one. Aviva got to work. 

A few hours later, the body of Talma Metz, aged 32, lay next to her final resting place. She was dressed in a dark blue long sleeve dress. A necklace was clasped around her neck along with several bracelets on her left wrist. Her face was without makeup.

Aviva knelt to sit Talma up. Her eyes were sunken, but her face was clear of wrinkles. This was one of those rare times that Aviva had chosen someone young. She didn’t know why, but she had been drawn to this grave, and anyone with her particular skill set could tell you, when something calls to you, you listen. 

Aviva leaned back, and crossed her legs in front of her. She wiped the sweat from her brows with her sleeves, then rolled them up. She leaned forward and placed her hands on Talma’s ankles. She bowed her head and whispered her commands over the body. The air chilled. Aviva’s chanting was the only noise in the cemetery, save for the sound of nearby birds fluttering off hurriedly, as if they could tell that they shouldn't be there.

Sometimes the process of waking up was slow, like coming out of a nap that lasted too long. Other times, it was quick and urgent, as if waking from a nightmare after sleeping through an alarm set for something important that was not to be missed. It appeared that Talma would be taking it slow.

Her eyelids fluttered and her head swayed. Her legs remained still, but her fingers twitched slightly in her lap. She struggled to raise her head as her awareness ever so slowly returned to her.

“Talma, can you hear me?” Aviva paused and visually inspected her for a moment. She seemed to react to Aviva’s voice, as her head moved up more slightly, but her eyes were still closed. “Talma, its time to wake up, I’m sorry.” Aviva pushed power into her words, and focused on her hands on Talma’s ankles, and the purple pulsed harder.

“Who…who are you? What are you- what are you doing to me?” Talma’s voice was hoarse and weak, but inquisitorial. Aviva nodded to herself in approval. Things were speeding up, to a pace she could work with. 

“My name is Aviva. I’m here to talk to you about some things Talma, is that okay?” She spoke slowly and matter-of-factly. She watched Talma look around, attempting to take in her surroundings. Her eyes landed on Avivas hands on her ankles, and the purple color coming from them. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion and she looked up at Aviva almost comically. 

“Yes, I can talk to you…what are we doing here? I was sleeping just a moment ago…” Talma spoke unsurely, as if trying to describe a dream in which the details were muddled. Her speech walked on eggshells. Aviva typically tried to stay away from cause of death, for it would usually only upset who she was speaking with, and confuse them. 

“Try not to think about that right now, just focus on me. Focus on my voice. Can you do that?” Aviva retained her patience. This was a careful and tedious process, and she wanted to make sure who she was working with adjusted smoothly to their circumstances. Something seemed to click in Talma's mind, and she looked away from the setting around her, and instead at Aviva. 

“I can do that.” Aviva nodded at the confirmation and smiled kindly. 

“Can you tell me about yourself? It can be anything, small or big. Just whatever you can remember.” Aviva tended to keep her requests small and vague, allowing her interlocutor to lead the conversation topics. 

“I’m…” Talma paused again and looked around, and something in her eyes changed. “I was a therapist. Grief counseling.” She smiled wryly. Aviva was slightly taken aback by Talma’s awareness of the situation, and was tempted to stray from her usual line of questioning to explore this further. 

“I was married for 8 years…I had a little girl…” There was regret in Talma's voice at the realization that she left her family behind. She took a deep breath, even though there was no need to. Aviva didn’t say anything. She found it could be soothing to allow for habits during life to be replicated posthumously. 

“They seem to care about you very much.” Aviva gestured to the many offerings around Talmas grave. She cast her gaze to where Aviva was pointing, and smiled, though there was pain in her eyes. 

“They teach you in school you know… how to deal with loss and help others deal with it, but it's different when it's someone close to you…or I guess… yourself.” Aviva listened intently, and noted how Talma still paused for breaths, despite the uselessness of it.

“The idea of going through the stages of grief with yourself is interesting. Everyone I know has lost me…and I’ve lost everyone I know.” This statement hit Aviva harder than she would have liked. 

“I’m…all alone.” A lump formed in Aviva’s throat. This is exactly why she so rarely worked with younger people. They made her think.

“You’re not alone Talma, you have me.” Aviva spoke softly, attempting to comfort her, but struggled to keep her own voice level after the route the conversation has taken. 

“What happens after? I’m guessing all of this doesn’t last, so what will I do?” Aviva was unsettled by Talma’s seizure of control over the conversation. She unintentionally tightened her grip on Talma’s ankles, attempting to shift control back to herself. 

“When we’re done talking, you’ll go back to how you were. Asleep. You’ll be at peace.” Aviva felt at this point that there was no reason to sugar coat these things. Talma saw through Aviva as much as Aviva saw through her. Talma seemed to mull this over for a moment. Aviva found herself wanting to hurry Talma along. She hesitated in admitting to herself that she wanted nothing more than to listen to Talma talk until the sun set. 

“And what about you? When you’re done here…what will you do?” Talma sounded out of breath, and Aviva felt tired. Her grip on Talma’s ankles had slackened, and the purple coursing through her veins had dulled. Time was almost up. 

Aviva looked around at the cemetery. The knowledge that just a short time of searching would yield the discovery of the graves of her parents, her husband, her children, and her grandchildren forcefully moved its way to the forefront of her mind for the first time in decades. 

“I’ve been doing this for a long time. Perhaps too long. Maybe its time I get some rest too.” A gentle understanding passed between the two women. Talma moved to place her hand over Aviva’s, but it appeared her body was too heavy to shift on her own. Aviva smiled encouragingly, but it did not reach her eyes. Talma looked around slowly, then met Aviva’s eyes.

“I think… I think my time’s just about up.” Talma spoke thickly, as if even her lips were getting too heavy to put into motion. Aviva knew she was right, but was not as willing to move on as Talma was. 

“Let me… go, Aviva.” Talma’s voice was barely audible, and it was slow, but it was determined, and there was about as much force as she could muster behind it. Her time was nearly up. Aviva had gotten what she needed, but not what she had wanted. “Let…me go…Aviva…” Talma reiterated. She was pleading with her. 

Aviva realized with bitterness that Talma was fading away. She was repeating her words. Time truly was up. She wasn’t ready, but Talma was. 

“Aviva…”. Talma sounded sad. 

“Goodnight, Talma.” Aviva gently lifted her hands from Talma’s ankles, slow as she could manage. This was not a kind act. This was selfish. Talma’s eyes closed, but her face showed the distress she had felt in her last moments. Aviva had kept her here for much longer than she wanted. She broke her rule of sending off the dead in peace.

Much time passed before Aviva began the burial process. The trees swayed in the wind, the brittle leaves remaining on their trees, soundless. The birds had long since returned to their posts, but stayed quiet, their heads bowed. Aviva sat still, and the graveyard mourned with her. 

Eventually, it was sunset once again in Montefiore Cemetery, and a woman stood in front of a grave that appeared to be freshly buried. Despite her solitude she recited the Kaddish, and for the first time in a long time, she wept.