At Noon the Bells Ring

AT NOON THE BELLS RING

         Alphie has never been this sick, but the slums of the city have finally caught up to him, and it doesn’t look good. He lies in the hospital bed, in a torrent of fire and confusion. Everything is black. The fever has affected his eyes and it is too painful to open them. The boy sweats and cries out, grabbing, trying to look for something, but there is nothing there but air.

For him, time is nonexistent, lost. In its place stands a jumble of hours and nightmares, hazy and blurry. His tired little mind is edging even closer to the Dark Deep Crevice. There is little tethering him to the mortal world; hope seems as far away as a fairytale. But in a little pocket in his heart there is a dim light of remembrance. He knows that tomorrow will be his eleventh birthday.

Daddy had promised him a giant chocolate cake and new shoes to wear out on the cold morning streets. Ma had promised he could say grace before his birthday dinner of sweet ham and gravy (of all favorable things!), because Dad was leaving soon and he’d better get used to being the man of the house.

But they say to him (the people without faces, just voices) that he is not going to live to see any of it, what lies beyond the day of January 12th, the day he moves up a little closer.

Gram had said that “from the day we are born, we begin to die”. Alphie remembers this fairly strong now, and her voice echoes through his ears. Does God really want him to die? Is it really his time? What did he do?

He then tries to pray feverishly, asking God for any forgiveness He might have this day, and says sorry for the bad thing that he guesses he deserves, whatever it was; he can’t remember at the moment.

The Bells toll routinely from the chapel at the bottom of the stairs, snapping him back to his reality. It must be 12:00 pm.

The room is not empty, as he originally thought. There are many voices-blurred together. He clutches the sheets and he knows they are sickeningly white, he can feel it. Then, panic sets in. His mind is going fast now. The eyes are shut tightly; stuck, black. It scares him. He feels as if monsters are choking him and beckoning him to come away with them.

Peace is lost and a battle begins.

He can hear them clearly now. They are praying the midday Angelus. He tries to follow in his head and remember the words he knew so well everyday before but he can’t. His mind is dark as is the caliginous texture of his closed eyes.

Ave Maria, gracia plena…

It continues on. The Latin prayer is whispered, and he struggles to clasp the words into the Light. The monsters are closer now, clawing his face and grabbing his feet. He is running from them, trying so hard to come back to familiarity. Feet pounding, darkness is suffocating him, run faster. There is no way out. And then a door lies in front of him-not as black as the world around him. The lead voice in the room suddenly rushes into his ears, filling them with music and serenity that washes most of the bad things away.

Et Verbum caro factum est:

The group answers softly:

Et habitavit in nobis

Then bells toll loud and triumphant. And the air is still. He hears them genuflect in respect, their heads bowed and souls filled with God. It is perfectly quiet.

Alphie then cries and prays with effort, placing his hands together in a desperate attempt at reverence and compassion, with them.

The eyes are still locked, but he sees misty white instead of the blackness.

He remembers now.

Then the bells stop and they continue the prayer, encircled around the bed. There is a long, sweet, sigh.

Alphie finally opens his eyes.