The Resurrection

 

On how a manuscript came alive but didn’t eat me

 

It’s three o’clock in the morning when a strange rustling sound wakes me up. After listening attentively for a couple of minutes, I am almost sure I’ve located the source of the noise - under the bed. I sigh…I’m certain it is Pitzi again, playing with the dust bunnies that live there. But no, Pitzi is asleep on the pillow next to mine, his paws in the air, tail twitching.

That noise again! It is definitely getting louder and coming from under the bed. I lower my face to peer into the darkness…I squint, my vision is not that good in the dark…I blink…And I see a corner of a white page emerging slowly from the “Sugar Plum” collection box from Sabon where I kept the manuscript of my book.

What is happening?

Now more pages are materializing from the box, one after the other, dragging themselves across the floor, like a rustling white river of printed words.

I stand on my bed looking down. It seems that my own abandoned creation decided to stage a rebellion.

Pitzi is still sleeping peacefully. I hope he’ll wake up because of the noise and maybe seek vengeance on the attackers.

And out of nowhere, I hear a faint whisper: “Whyyyyyy? Whyyyyyyy did you abandon me, Ramonaaaaaaa?”  The raspy voice is getting louder:” Why did you put me under the bed in that box smelling of cinnamon and burnt sugar, together with the plastic Christmas tree and the artificial flowers?”

“I am sorry”, I reply.

Am I talking to some pages I once called proudly “my book”? Am I still asleep and this is a nightmare?

“I am sorry”, I say again. “But you know how busy I was…”

“No”, it interrupts me. “You bought books, you read them!” it finishes in a higher, indignant note and with a papery huff.

“You know how many problems I had. You know I was sad and depressed and lonely. The books helped”, I press on.

“Well, I could have been your companion and friend”, it replies bitterly.

I don’t know what to say. Of course it was right. I had no excuses to abandon it like that. Yes, I had a million bad things happening to me, my life wore me down to the bone, but still…I felt ashamed. So ashamed.

“I am sorry”, I say again, like a broken record. “I am going to fix it”.

“If you’re still willing”, I whisper.

I get down from the bed, paying attention not to step on any pages. I kneel on the floor and gather them holding them to my chest. The familiar scent of old paper and ink wafts around me. I get up and stride to my desk, putting the pages on it. I then spend some time smoothing them down, putting them in the right order.

And I take a deep breath and I say: “Now, where were we?”