“But will they want me?” I asked Madame in a moment of doubt.
She stared at me with her hawklike eyes. Her husband was French, and she spoke the language fluently, but she was Italian and had what she called an “Italian attitude.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Orlando. Of course they’ll want you. You’re such a beautiful dancer. Just don’t screw up your audition.”
We spent a lot of time together, the three of us. Even if Madame didn’t know it, you were there with me in the studio, watching everypirouette, port de bras,andtour en l'air.I swear sometimes you gave me an extra lift. I’d never felt so light on my feet before, and the moves had never been so effortless. Maybe you were telling the truth when you said you couldn’t give me talent, but you definitely inspired me to put in the extra effort.
One night, after I’d finished a grueling two-hour session and was stretching out my tight, cramping hamstrings in front of the barre while Madame got us something to eat, I asked you again who you were. This time you told me.
“I’m a courier of souls.”
Your answers, stingy as you were with them, only made me want to ask more questions. I definitely didn’t have the mental capacity to make all of this up.
“A courier. What does that mean?”
I felt a shift in the air, like a blanket being fluffed up and laid over a bed. I imagined you sitting across from me, getting comfy on the floor with your legs bent in a stretch like one of my dance friends. I could look in the mirror and visualize you there, that it wasn’t just my reflection talking back at me.
“When a person dies, their body ceases to function, but their soul survives.”
You spoke very slowly, always so careful with words. Either you thought I was dense or there were things you didn’t want to tell me. I listened closely. Whenever you spoke, I gave you my full attention and stored it away so I could write it down and think about it later.
“Okay,” I said, signaling I was ready for more.
“Are you religious?” you asked. I figured you’d known already. You seemed to know things about me that I hadn’t told you.
“Not really. My mother never took me to church. She always used to have to work on Sundays.”
I’d only been to church services a few times with friends when I’d stayed the night. The preachers (or priests) always creeped me out, like they were trying to get inside my head. It reminded me of Roger, the way he’d fuck with my emotions to make me obey. It was the same reason I hated Derek. I didn’t like feeling manipulated.
“I’ve never been baptized either,” I admitted. “Does that mean I’m going to Hell?”
A long silence followed. I didn’t know if you were offended or just trying to figure out how to continue. I tried to be patient, but you were so slow to speak sometimes.
“So, souls live on and go to Heaven or something like that?” I asked.
“Something like that. There’s a thin barrier between what most humans experience on a day-to-day basis and the spiritual realm. Many humans who’ve had a near-death experience talk about a blinding white light. That is perhaps how the barrier manifests in their diminishing consciousness. The journey between realms can only be made with some guidance. Some souls have deceased relations who claim them. Those deaths are usually fairly peaceful and somewhat expected—old age, chronic disease—deaths you can plan for.”
“But those aren’t the souls you carry,” I said, guessing at where this was going.
“Not usually. I deal with those deaths that are more unexpected. Sometimes violent or accidental, even self-inflicted.”
“Can their relatives not get there quick enough to collect them?” I asked.
“When a death is sudden, a soul doesn’t necessarily call on their deceased. There’s a lot of confusion. And sometimes there is no one to claim them.”
“That’s so sad. People dying alone and with no one on the other side looking out for them.”
“It is unfortunate.”
You seemed to be trying to be as unemotional about it as possible. When you were cold like that, it sometimes made me feel even more irrational.
“So, what happens?” I asked. “To those souls?”
“If there’s no entity to collect them, they are at a greater risk for being lost.”
“Like a ghost?”
“Yes, like a ghost or a geist, which is a bit more malevolent. We call them dybbuks.”
