“Nothing,” said Ella, without blinking.
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“I’m not going to ask you for anything. This is all about faith, not money.”
Josh felt himself flushing. “Jesus. I wish my bank manager could tell when I was thinking about money.”
“It’s all right,” said Ella. “It’s all right to doubt. If nobody doubted, then belief would have no value at all. But remember that Julia was more than your sister. She was a friend to many, many people; and she was my friend, too … Now,” she went on, “let’s bring her closer, shall we? Let’s feel her living and breathing, living and breathing. Let’s see her face, the way we remember her best. The way we loved her.”
Ella raised her eyes to the ceiling and her grip on Josh’s hand tightened so much that her long fingernails dug into his palm. She was hurting him, but he guessed that she was doing it on purpose, to concentrate his mind.
She was silent for a long time. Her breathing was deep, with a slight rasp in it. The candle flames dipped and swiveled and all kinds of distorted shadows danced in the corners where the sloping ceilings met the walls. Outside, in the night, Josh could hear the ceaseless muttering of London’s traffic, and for the first time since he had arrived in England he felt very far from home.
Ella released Nancy’s hand for a moment and took a pinch of salt out of the silver bowl. She threw it into the center of the room between them, and chanted, “Three angels came out of the east. One brought fire, one brought frost. The third brought the spirit we seek.”
She took another pinch of salt and threw it in a crisscross pattern over the candle flames, which flared up bright blue. “Three maidens once going on a verdant highway. One brought bread. One brought wood. The third brought the spirit we seek.”
Now she took hold of Nancy’s hand again, and closed her eyes. “Julia Winward, Julia Winward, Julia Winward. Thrice the candles burn by me. Thrice our hearts shall broken be. Pchagerav monely, pchagerav tre vodyi.”
Josh took a deep breath, and this time he could smell Julia’s perfume quite distinctly. The air in the flat began to grow cold, and somehow everything seemed blurry, as if they were being shaken by a distant temblor.
“Julia Winward, Julia Winward, Julia Winward,” Ella chanted, her voice rising every time she called Julia’s name.
The temperature dropped and dropped, and the smell of perfume grew so strong that it was almost overwhelming. They heard a creaking sound, too – very faint at first, but gradually growing more distinct. Creak, pause. Creak, pause. It reminded Josh of Julia sitting on their grandfather’s rocker, on the porch in Sausalito. Her hands covering her eyes, to shield them from the setting sun, her bare toes swinging, her blonde hair alight. Creak, pause. Creak, pause. Creak, pause.
Suddenly, they heard a soft, desperate tumbling noise. Something appeared right in front of them, in the air. A pale, flickering shape, like the images seen in an old-fashioned zoetrope. The movement was frantic, but the creaking continued at the same measured pace as before.
Creak, pause. Creak, pause.
Ella dug her nails so deeply into the palms of Josh’s hand that he almost expected blood to come dripping out. “Julia Winward!” she called, her West Indian accent very strong now. “Juli-a Win-ward!”
The tension in the flat was almost unbearable. Josh felt as if the air pressure were increasing as the temperature plummeted, and his eardrums popped. The flickering shape in front of them became brighter and brighter, and at last Josh realized that it was two legs – two bare legs – pedaling like a cyclist in mid-air.
“Julia?” he whispered. Then, much louder, “Julia?”
Gradually, the image brightened even more, and grew, and Josh looked up at it in growing horror. Nancy said, “Josh – what is it? Josh, speak to me, for God’s sake – what is it?”
Ella babbled, “Save us. Name of the Father, name of the Son, name of the Holy Duppy, amen.”
They only saw her clearly for a split second, but that split second was more than enough. Julia was hanging naked from the ceiling, her hands clutching at the noose around her neck, her legs wildly kicking. The rope was swinging slowly from side to side. Creak, pause. Creak, pause. Julia’s eyes were bulging and her tongue was lolling over her chin, but there was nothing that she could do to claw it free.
Nine
Josh shouted, “Ella!” but Ella was ahead of him. She picked up the bowl of salt and threw it at the struggling vision of Julia in the air. With a sharp crackle-crackle-crackle every grain of salt flared into a tiny pinprick of sparkling blue light. The vision vanished immediately, leaving nothing but a thin swirl of bitter-smelling smoke. Abraxas let out a defiant bark, but still didn’t venture out of his basket.
“God, that was scary,” said Nancy, her eyes wide and her voice shaking. “That was so, so scary. My grandfather raised the spirits. Shadows, invisible finger-writing in the sand. But nothing like that.” She pulled out one of Ella’s chairs and sat down, while Ella herself leaned against the table, dabbing her forehead and neck with her scarf.
Josh stayed where he was. He still felt freezing cold, unbalanced, and nauseous, as if he were standing on the afterdeck of an Arctic fishing boat. He reached out for the back of the nearest chair to steady himself but he couldn’t move his legs. Ice-cold perspiration was trickling down the sides of his face into his collar, and coursing down his spine. He tried to take some deep, steadying breaths but he couldn’t. His throat felt congested and his stomach kept flinching in sickening spasms.
“Josh, what’s the matter? Are you all right?” Ella asked him, with a frown.
“I’m just … I’m just … sick,” he choked.
He had never felt so bad in his life. His body temperature felt as if it had dropped to zero, and every joint ached. His stomach made a disgusting gurgling noise, and his mouth was flooded with sour-tasting saliva.
“Here,” said Ella, taking his arm. “I’ll take you to the toilet.”
“That was Julia,” Josh gasped. “That was Julia, hanging.”
His stomach contracted as tight as a fist, and he felt a swelling in his throat that he couldn’t keep down. He tried to take another step forward, but he couldn’t. He doubled up over the table and something huge and slippery filled his mouth. It felt like an oyster, only twenty times larger. He tried to breathe but bile sprayed out of his nostrils and stung his sinuses. The thing inside his mouth was so large that he didn’t think he would be able to open his mouth wide enough to regurgitate it. He reached out for Nancy, desperate for breath, his eyes bulging, his whole body wracked with gut-wrenching heaves.
“Ella – call for an ambulance!” snapped Nancy.
“He has to bring it up,” Ella insisted. “It’s stuck in his throat. He has to bring it up.”
“Call for a fucking ambulance! He’s dying!”
“No, no, no! He has to bring it up.”
Nancy went to the phone herself and dialed 911. All she heard was a piercing high-pitched tone, and a polite woman’s voice saying, “The number you have dialed has not been recognized …”
“What’s the emergency number?” she shouted. “Ella – what do I dial for an ambulance?”
Josh bent so far over the table that his forehead pressed against the velvet cloth. He clutched his stomach with both hands, trying to stop the heaving. The only sound he could make was a tight, supressed cackle, like a man being pressed under tons of concrete.