Liadan sees her saddest light

Liadan thought this a devastating end to what had seemed her happiest day.

Today Mama had been her happiest ever, and moreover she had been fussed over almost as much as Liadan herself. Though Liadan was jealous of Penedict and Sweetdew and Dear Auntie Cat’s belly and everything that was ever fussed over in her presence, she had not been jealous of Mama. It was only right that Mama be loved. Anything that made Mama so happy made Liadan feel very good inside, and that was proof enough of its rightness.

Liadan had not even been jealous of Dear Osh—though Mama had fussed over Dear Osh more than any big person besides Mama deserved—for Dear Osh had a way of reflecting Mama’s love back on Liadan and on Mama herself.

Had they three not been as happy as happiness could be in those last minutes? When Mama had held her in her arms even after she had finished nursing, and Dear Osh had held Mama in his, and Liadan had made them both laugh with every wry face she attempted?

Had she spoiled it all with a yawn? She did not think so. It had simply, suddenly been decided that Liadan was to be banished from happiness.

Strange Woman had come, and she had taken her to the strange room, where there was a strange cradle with strange-​smelling bedding, and no way to see the stars or clouds. Strange Woman did not even know that she must be held so that she could look at the candlelight, if there was no other light to be had.

Perhaps Strange Woman would even put her in the cradle, and blow out the candle, and leave Liadan alone in the darkness forever, without her soft gray blanket, without her milk, without her Mama—without even the good feeling of Mama inside.

For something was happening to Mama. Mama was flickering. That warm, red light of Mama that Liadan felt deep down inside of herself even in the dark—even when Mama was not in sight—was wavering. Perhaps it would go out like a fire, and then out like the embers of a fire. And just like a fire—or just like Old Man or Dear Abbot or anyone who went out sometimes and disappeared—Liadan could not be certain Mama would return.

Therefore she screamed and screamed. She screamed for Mama. She screamed for milk, since Mama could be found wherever milk was. She even screamed for Dear Auntie Cat or Dear Osh or anyone who might understand.

She screamed until her face was flushed and sweaty. She screamed until her little fingernails had gouged little crescent moons in her little fists. Finally, abandoning her body to her despair, she squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her gums together in a broad grimace, and groaned.

Her own voice surprised her, as her body so often did. Every day she was finding something new she could do. This sound she had made seemed right for her anguish—a little like Mama’s sounds when she was sad and moaned into Liadan’s blankets. That had always made Liadan feel very bad inside, and very bad inside was how she was feeling now.

She squinted her eyes and squeaked and grunted, but she found she could not make the sound again. She was about to recommence her screaming when she heard another sound: a shushing and a clucking that was coming not from Strange Woman but from behind Strange Woman’s head. Liadan opened her eyes onto the loveliest light she had ever seen.

This was an entire man made of light—not a man with a little bit of light lingering around his fingers, like Dear Abbot, nor a man with a mere glow around his head like the man she had always—wrongly, it now seemed—thought of as Light Man, but a man so bright he cast shadows on the walls.

Liadan’s traitorous body continued sniffling and gasping, but she no longer wanted to cry.

The New Light Man seemed so very right—surely he would fix everything that was wrong. Liadan whimpered as winningly as she knew how, hoping it would help him understand. Mama was the most important thing. Mama must not be allowed to go out.

New Light Man was speaking to her and making sounds, and though he did not mention Mama, sometimes she heard a word she thought she knew: sometimes he said “ma-​puce”. She knew it was a good word, for it sounded a little like “Mama”, but she knew that this word was especially for her.

This word had always made her feel good inside when Old Light Man said it, and it made New Light Man seem not-​strange from the start. It made her want to call him Dear Light Man already, as if she had loved him forever.

Then he started to talk about Mama. Something about Mama? Something about Mama?

Liadan kicked her legs and squealed. Yes, yes, Mama. Take me to Mama. Make Mama come. Perhaps he could help Mama—perhaps, with all his light, he could stop Mama’s light from going out.

Light Man tried to laugh at her squealing, but he laughed short as if it hurt to laugh, and then he looked very sad.

Liadan’s face crumpled and she began to cry bitter tears. Such sadness in the Light Man made her feel very sad inside, just as she felt when Mama cried.

Then he began to sing.

The song he sang was the happiest song Liadan had ever heard—the song of the happiest happiness there could be—but it made him sad to sing it. Liadan understood. Light Man had been banished from happiness, too.

She sniffled and stretched one little hand out to him, asking him shyly to stay with her. She thought they might be a little less unhappy if they could be unhappy together, just as when Mama cuddled Liadan when they were both sad enough to cry.

But it was Strange Woman who seemed to hear her pleas, and Strange Woman moved to thwart them, taking Liadan down from her shoulder and hiding her in the shadow of her body, away from Light Man’s light.

Liadan felt another sharp stab of despair, and before she noticed how she was doing it, she twisted down her mouth and groaned.

At once Light Man hopped out from behind Strange Woman and smiled on Liadan with all his light, shining without shadow.

If only she could lie in Mama’s arms and look up at his light, Liadan knew it would be her happiest day forever. If only he could sing her such lullabies, she would never be sad to see the days end.

Light Man spoke to her a little, and made a few sounds, and he said ma-​puce, ma-​puce again. That was her name with love overlaying it, and it made her feel good inside in spite of her loneliness for Mama.

But he spoke short, as if it hurt to speak or it hurt to love, and he gasped and groaned as Liadan had.

Liadan lifted her hand and tried to tell him she understood, but his light suddenly wavered and went out, just as Mama’s was threatening to do.

Liadan felt she was living her saddest night. She now knew even her happiest day had not been as happy as it might have been, for New Light Man might have shone upon it and her and Mama together. And like Dear Abbot or Old Light Man, now that he had gone out, she did not know whether she would ever see him again.

There remained only the slowly fading light he had shone upon Liadan like a loving caress. It clung to her little face and her little body, loath to leave her, as light lingered in embers and in clouds after sunset, or in Dear Abbot’s hands after the last Amen.