Read Online Ascension by Steven Galloway - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Steven Galloway
Ads: Link
As a result, he was destined to stay in limbo for all eternity.
“When other Roma found out how this great hero had been treated, many cast their own souls out of their bodies in protest. The Rom who was not in heaven was moved by this action, and he gathered their cast-out souls and returned them again to their owners. There is a consequence to casting out one’s soul, however,and the descendants of these loyal Roma have loose souls that sometimes escape from their bodies. Without their souls, they sometimes do things they otherwise would not do. The Rom who was not wicked knows about it, and he collects each soul for safekeeping until such time as that person is ready to take it back.”
Salvo stood atop the cusp of the steeple and stretched his arms out wide, palms skyward. The rain was warm and soon he was soaked to the skin. Tears ran down his cheeks and were diluted by sweat and rain, but he did not sob or shake or move a single muscle. He closed his eyes and willed his soul to leave his body. When it would not leave voluntarily he ripped it out, and he could feel it fall to the earth, where it lay in the mud. His tears stopped. He felt his soul rise up, only slightly at first and then with preternatural speed. It shot straight up the height of the church, hung even with him for a moment and was gone.
Back on the ground he could not remember having descended. The rain had eased up a bit, and Salvo realized he was hungry. He looked back in the direction of the town, pulled his sodden shirt tightly around him and set off in the opposite direction, northwest, towards the Transylvanian mountains and, far beyond, Budapest.
THREE
I t was a cool October day, and Esa Nagy sat rigidly in the front room of the apartment she lived in with her husband, László, and her son, Leo. Cradled in her hands was a steaming teacup. At a casual glance it might have appeared that Esa had company over; she seemed to be holding a polite and restrained conversation. But the fact was that she was completely alone. Esa Nagy, who had recently turned thirty-two, was having an imaginary tea party.
She knew that it was an odd thing for a grown woman to do, and every time she engaged in the fantasy, she told herself afterwards that she would do it no more, but her resolve never held and she was beginning to wonder what the point of fighting it was. She had never actually been to a tea party, or anything that even remotely resembled one, and she was therefore unsure precisely what went on at these gatherings. They belonged to a whole world outside of hers, but she didn’t think her one indulgence could be harmful to herself or others in any way. Still, she knew it was definitely not normal.
Normal, what is normal? she asked herself. She thought she heard a knock at the building’s main door and turned her ear to the street, which was one floor down. Maybe this craziness is what keeps me sane, she ventured. Maybe everyone should do this. Maybe then things in Hungary would go back to normal. Whatever that is.
But now her brief respite was ruined. She couldn’t tell whether there was someone down at the building’s front door, but like a person prematurely awakened from a dream, she knew there was no going back.
She rose and moved herself into the room that faced the street. This room served as both a kitchen and an eating area, and was the warmest room in the house on cold winter days, thanks to the coal stove that stood in the corner. A large arched window allowed her a view of the street. Esa leaned out the window and searched the area surrounding the door. She saw no one at first and then, just as she was sure it was all in her head, she saw, protruding from the edge of the entrance alcove, an arm. It was a small arm, and no sooner had she seen it than the arm disappeared from view.
Esa stood in the kitchen and listened, like a mouse who suspects that an owl is near by. For a long while she heard nothing, and then—faintly,
“When other Roma found out how this great hero had been treated, many cast their own souls out of their bodies in protest. The Rom who was not in heaven was moved by this action, and he gathered their cast-out souls and returned them again to their owners. There is a consequence to casting out one’s soul, however,and the descendants of these loyal Roma have loose souls that sometimes escape from their bodies. Without their souls, they sometimes do things they otherwise would not do. The Rom who was not wicked knows about it, and he collects each soul for safekeeping until such time as that person is ready to take it back.”
Salvo stood atop the cusp of the steeple and stretched his arms out wide, palms skyward. The rain was warm and soon he was soaked to the skin. Tears ran down his cheeks and were diluted by sweat and rain, but he did not sob or shake or move a single muscle. He closed his eyes and willed his soul to leave his body. When it would not leave voluntarily he ripped it out, and he could feel it fall to the earth, where it lay in the mud. His tears stopped. He felt his soul rise up, only slightly at first and then with preternatural speed. It shot straight up the height of the church, hung even with him for a moment and was gone.
Back on the ground he could not remember having descended. The rain had eased up a bit, and Salvo realized he was hungry. He looked back in the direction of the town, pulled his sodden shirt tightly around him and set off in the opposite direction, northwest, towards the Transylvanian mountains and, far beyond, Budapest.
THREE
I t was a cool October day, and Esa Nagy sat rigidly in the front room of the apartment she lived in with her husband, László, and her son, Leo. Cradled in her hands was a steaming teacup. At a casual glance it might have appeared that Esa had company over; she seemed to be holding a polite and restrained conversation. But the fact was that she was completely alone. Esa Nagy, who had recently turned thirty-two, was having an imaginary tea party.
She knew that it was an odd thing for a grown woman to do, and every time she engaged in the fantasy, she told herself afterwards that she would do it no more, but her resolve never held and she was beginning to wonder what the point of fighting it was. She had never actually been to a tea party, or anything that even remotely resembled one, and she was therefore unsure precisely what went on at these gatherings. They belonged to a whole world outside of hers, but she didn’t think her one indulgence could be harmful to herself or others in any way. Still, she knew it was definitely not normal.
Normal, what is normal? she asked herself. She thought she heard a knock at the building’s main door and turned her ear to the street, which was one floor down. Maybe this craziness is what keeps me sane, she ventured. Maybe everyone should do this. Maybe then things in Hungary would go back to normal. Whatever that is.
But now her brief respite was ruined. She couldn’t tell whether there was someone down at the building’s front door, but like a person prematurely awakened from a dream, she knew there was no going back.
She rose and moved herself into the room that faced the street. This room served as both a kitchen and an eating area, and was the warmest room in the house on cold winter days, thanks to the coal stove that stood in the corner. A large arched window allowed her a view of the street. Esa leaned out the window and searched the area surrounding the door. She saw no one at first and then, just as she was sure it was all in her head, she saw, protruding from the edge of the entrance alcove, an arm. It was a small arm, and no sooner had she seen it than the arm disappeared from view.
Esa stood in the kitchen and listened, like a mouse who suspects that an owl is near by. For a long while she heard nothing, and then—faintly,
Similar Books
