The leaf and the prayer

The lawn was a deep green with the sun creating dark shadows where the trees went over the grass. It was a small patch bordered by the tall row of maples on one side and the house and garden on the other. Further down at the bottom of the lawn was another garden with bushes to hide it. There was a small man-made stream and berries that might be poisonous. A Mother Mary hung for prayers at the center of space in the garden, hidden from view. Benches surrounded this altar. The large eucalyptus tree in a bottom corner waved like a tired lover back and forth, spilling seed on the grass.

Amy lay down, head in the turf, eyes at the space between leaves on the rows of maples. It was deep summer, heavy and warm. The sun each day a friend to hug her and move her in her play. A thick and embracing comforter in charge. Running and sprinting and walking under the leaves, and picking up sticks. The pine needles were the walls and the roofs were the branches.

Amy ran her hands over that lawn. Soft, small motions. Her fingers couldn’t hit dirt, the grass was so thick. She rolled onto her belly and stared at the brush hiding the prayer garden. It was right at the edge, where the path wound from the cactus garden, around and into the prayer garden, then back out to the prayer field where the Baby Jesus lay. At the corner where she could see the tire swing and the little prayer house. The field for horseshoes and the steps down to the church. Looking all at once at an expanse of options for prayer.

Prayer was all. In you. Always here. The places were just places made sacred by the thoughts in your heart.

Pray before everything. Supper and lunch and driving and sleep and waking and walking and all the wardrobes of life. Prayer was necessary and essential. Prayer was livelihood. The spectre of mandatory prayer was a burden that little Amy would only be aware of later in life. Then belief would collide with knowledge and she would learn the word “satire”.

Right at the cusp, when the lawn was no longer a lawn, a large leaf lay, upside down, creating a tent on the grass.

Amy walked slowly to the leaf and tried to pick it up.

It wouldn’t budge. She felt as if she were trying to lift something enormously heavy, like the jugs of distilled water bought to feed the iron.

Bent to the left, pulling with her whole weight, the leaf shifted and finally let go. Amy fell backward with the force. And caught herself. Then she looked down.

Lying on the grass, eyes shut, lay a small doll. The face was reddish, like the ruddy skin of an old man too long in the sun. It had a little yellow cap with a tiny feather in it. Its arms were up with the hands under the little head. A bulbous little nose, blue shirt and pants. A tiny belt and large green shoes.

Amy had never seen a doll so detailed before, so realistic. She shifted her gaze to the leaf as if, by looking, she could decipher why it had been so heavy. She touched it and then lifted it with ease. It weighed just what a leaf should.

She bent down and placed it back over the small figure. And then she tried to pick it up again. To her surprise, the leaf had once more gained weight. She pulled and pulled. A light breeze ran through the trees above her, bent down, and kissed her cheek.

Amy thought of saying a prayer. And then the leaf let go and she fell fully back onto the grass. She rolled onto her stomach and placed her face right up against the little doll. Then, as she watched, the doll moved. The arms reached above the little head and the body stretched. The miniature hands rubbed the eyes and the eyes opened. They looked like the tiniest little marbles with purples circles shining in the glass. A look of panic shot over the features of the little man and Amy felt a thrill go through her.

Amy said nothing and the little man said nothing. They just looked at each other.

Slowly the little man sat up and then stood. He was no taller than a ballpoint pen. He placed his hands behind himself and leaned back, still staring at Amy. The moment stretched on and on.

Then he walked towards her. Her nose was only a few inches from him. Her eyes crossed trying to see him. She was afraid to move for fear of startling the wee figure. Then the little man reached out and touched her nose. Amy felt a shock of cold race from the spot he touched, down through her body and into her toes and arms.

Amy blinked and saw a startling light. She sat up. All around her was a field of yellow grass. The sky was a blinding white with traces of blue in it. The air was bright and her eyes hurt.

She stood and turned. The little man was standing behind her, except that he wasn’t so small any more. He had stretched to exactly her height. He rubbed his hands together and adjusted a crooked red top hat.

“What do you want?” the creature asked. His voice was low and musical. It reminded Amy of the priest at the church where they sometimes went, reading off the Eucharist. A voice with a lilting melody that was almost a song, but not quite.

“I…” Amy grasped at words with difficulty. “I just wanted to see what was under the leaf.”

“Why didn’t you pray before you turned over the leaf?” the man asked. “You would have found it very easy to do then. Just that tiny bit of faith would have taken all its weight away.”

“Would you still have been under the leaf, if I had prayed?”

The man shrieked in uproarious laughter, then bent double with the force of it.

“No!” he barked with merriment. “No, of course not.” Another bray of laughter, then a slow titter into silence.

As the sound faded, like color sucked from air, Amy saw the ground around her slowly fill with black liquid. She began to sink downward.

“Wait, no! I can say the prayer now, can’t I?”

“I’m afraid it’s too late,” the little man replied.

The slow sinking gave way to a sudden drop and Amy saw a brief glimpse of green velvet shoes before her head was swallowed. It was as if the ink-filled floor had discovered a trapdoor.

As Amy’s head went under, she choked on the dark fluid surrounding her, swallowing it. It tasted strong and sweet, yet putrid, like cherry cough syrup. Then Amy blinked and her eyes opened to the sky. Dark blue and a breeze trembling through it. She was lying once again on her back, on the grass. The deep, green grass.

Amy jumped up and ran over to the lawn’s edge. There, in the same spot she remembered, was a large leaf. Trembling, she reached for it and turned it over. The motion was effortless. A small snail shell lay under it. She picked it up and examined it. There was a living snail in the shell, and the shiny sticky residue coated her fingers where she touched it.

She held the snail by its shell and walked on the little path, through to the prayer spot with the Baby Jesus. She left the snail at the base of the creche.

Amy thought she heard laughter then, but she turned and searched and there was nothing. Nothing but the wind. The warm wind. Sleepy, sneaky, and sweet.

“Amy!”

It was the call of her mother to come in. In to pray. In to eat. Amy picked the leaf back up. Then she crushed it in her hand until the juice in the thin skin bled onto her palm. Amy threw the leaf, crushed and drained, towards the garden. Light now, the soft wind took it and steadied its fall.

***

Amy’s mother said the prayer over the soup. Amy kept her mouth closed in a tight straight line. Then she tasted the soup. It was delicious.