There was no sound left; everything was white. I was frozen there, I don’t know for how long. Even my thoughts had stopped. Suddenly a heartbeat echoed in the distance, and the silence swallowed it. A second struck against the thick partition of my consciousness. The third shattered it. The white seemed soaked in black ink. The beat grew sharper and more regular, like the ticking of a watch. My senses returned. I was on the ground, on cold, hard, rough earth. Frost condensed my breath into a milky trail. I tried to orient myself. It was night, at the entrance of a park. It stretched out as a vast lawn saturated with moonlight. The moon was full, but the sky was overcast, which gave it a modest air. Suddenly, a scent of sea salt disturbed my attention. It was about to rain incessantly. I lifted my head to contemplate one last time the one that illuminated the darkness. A splash of drops slapped my face—the deluge was about to strike. Within seconds, the intensity and density of the rain increased sharply. I spread my arms in a cross to welcome the melancholy of the sky. But instead of calming it, the wave of sadness gave way to rage. Hailstones struck my bare skin like blunt daggers, numbing my muscles. I bent onto the tips of my toes. One step back, three to the side, two leaps forward. Quarter turn to the right, a genuflection. I grabbed my leg and pressed it against my shoulder. Pain lashed like a whip, its lacerations tearing through my nerves.
“Pearl?” A chirping came with the first rays of sunlight. I couldn’t see where the voice came from in the dimness. “Pearl?” A strange vocal regurgitation followed. As the sun finally began its long ascent, a magpie revealed itself. “Pearl, pretty girl!” the magpie said with great enthusiasm. It was now rubbing its beak vigorously against a branch. A familiar reflex made me bow repeatedly in a jerky, exaggerated motion. The magpie responded by wagging its long iridescent tail up and down, mirroring my own gesture. “Pearl, treat!” the bird chirped happily.
“My name isn’t Pearl. Is that your name?” I replied.
A moment of silence cut the conversation. Pearl bobbed her head and looked at me with an eye whose reflection of the sun made her gaze particularly intense.
“Pearl, pretty girl!” she said in a slightly distorted voice.
“Alright, alright, let me see what I have in my pockets.” I instinctively took a handful of dried worms from my pocket and placed them on the ground. With a hop and a flap of her wings, Pearl filled her beak and flew off into the distance.
I walked toward the house, at the back of a residential neighborhood. No one liked living there—not because it wasn’t comfortable or spacious, but because no one could bear seeing themselves there. It wasn’t resentment either. My parents lived together because it was practical, and the alternative was full of potential problems. And I was the mistake that couldn’t be erased. So I preferred living outside, where I wasn’t undesirable. When I reached the porch, I saw light through the window. My father might have gotten up early; he liked solitude and the calm of the morning, before having to pretend. I no longer had the courage to go inside, so I headed toward school.
I was tied to a rock, unable to move. The rising tide struck my face and filled my lungs with salt water. I tried to breathe in rhythm with the waves, but quickly found myself below the surface, without air. Unable to hold back, I inhaled the water fully. Reflexively I tried to cough, but instead the water seeped in and filled what little space remained. I suddenly woke with a jolt. I was lying in the grass of the high school courtyard. I could still feel the weight of the sea against my body. It took me long minutes to recover. Fortunately, I wasn’t in a hurry. Because of my illness, I was given a lot of freedom. I spent most of my time on the lawn, without really knowing what I was doing there. But it wasn’t unpleasant. Today he was there as usual, before his athletics training. I often watched him—not out of admiration, but because it calmed me. He looked at ease, as if he were part of the scenery. Like a fireplace that soothes.
“Are you always like that?” the young man said.
“Like what?” she replied.
“I don’t know… like that.” He looked dejected.
“No way!” I stuck my tongue out at him in defiance.
He burst out laughing, which suddenly surprised me. There was no restraint left, and I started laughing too. I woke up—this time disappointed. I still felt the tightness in my chest, the hilarity, and finally the closeness and his warmth. Now there was only a setting sun, the last incandescent glimmers, and me alone on the grass.
“Pearl? Treats!” the magpie suddenly said beside me.
“I gave you everything this morning,” I told her.
She tilted her head and chirped.
“I still have mint candies if you want.”
The magpie cackled loudly at the idea. I stood up, and she settled on my head, trying to keep her balance. She was so light I felt no weight—only her feet. We then walked toward the horizon, which was tinged navy blue.
The watch I was wearing soon showed 9 p.m. Pearl had left, and I was sitting on a flower bed. The full moon cast a soft but deeply melancholic light. I didn’t know whether I had slept or remained awake. As if my consciousness evaporated and then condensed with the cold. I no longer knew whether I was myself or the scenery—the poplars creaking under their weight, the grass crackling in the wind. But my physical presence had disappeared. The incessant ticking of my watch brought me back to reality. The cold had numbed my legs enough that I was unable to put weight on them. Like rubber bending under its own weight, each of my limbs had become nonfunctional. I stayed there for a moment, frustrated. My field of vision suddenly widened; beyond the clearing, I saw streetlights. The darkness made me uneasy, so I tried again to walk—slowly—using my arms to stiffen my legs. As I moved, sensation returned, and I was able to reach the city.
It was too late for the last revelers to go home and too early for the first workers to leave. It was probably the calmest moment of the night, between 3 and 4 a.m. The streets were usually empty; not even a cat wandered. Only solitary hedgehogs slowly migrated through their thorny hedges. I watched them pensively, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the road.
“Lev. It’s Lev,” I had told him.
“You can’t have a boy’s name, and besides, a name isn’t changed on a whim,” he retorted.
“I am neither a girl nor a boy, so that doesn’t apply. And that name was chosen before I was even born, so it doesn’t represent who I am.”
The psychiatrist chuckled awkwardly, then replied, “Come now, I’ll make a note of it. Your privileges have gone to your head. That’s all for today.”
He stood up and opened the door.
“What about increasing my medication? Or perhaps an alternative treatment? The dissociation is almost constant…” I changed my tone, pleading.
“You seem perfectly fine to me—that’s my medical opinion. Now, if you please, make room for the next patient.”
I sighed. Now I was alone with my pains. I threw a pebble far away; dark thoughts weighed on me. There was no place for me here. I was not only a mistake, but a dysfunctional one.
A sudden noise ended my torpor—a crash against metal. Two men were fighting, as if they were dancing tightly against one another. Their faces were disfigured by rage. They shoved each other into nearby objects—cars, a low wall, a façade. Despite their hostility, they fought in silence. Their clothes tore, and soon they were bare-chested in the cold. I discreetly withdrew into the shadows; disappearing came easily to me. In a dark alley, I caught my breath. The smell of trash and urine bothered me. My eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and I spotted a fox scavenging in a dumpster. It was tall and slender; it looked at me imperiously, then resumed its task. It would soon be daybreak, so I decided to go home.
The door was open, so I went in. Inside, I was seized by an intense nostalgia for what had never been—a home. At the same time, I felt a great deal of disgust and fear toward a place that was hostile to me. Everything was silent. The table was set for breakfast; there was even a drone my father repaired in his spare time. He loved all kinds of gadgets. I went upstairs; I could hear him snoring despite the closed door. I headed to my room. It was cold, odorless, immaculate, lifeless. I took a change of clothes and went to the bathroom. I undressed and stepped into the shower. The warmth of the water softened my muscles.
“If I had known, I would have had an abortion,” she had said, without even looking at me, before going out for the night.
I began to cry softly, without sobbing. The stream of water carried all my tears far down the pipes.
I heard a dull sound, like someone knocking on the window. I opened it, and a black whirlwind rushed in.
“Pearl, pretty girl!”
I took a moment to recover from the surprise.
“Pearl, treat!”
She began scratching the piece of furniture she was perched on.
“You scared me!” I said. “If you come with me into the kitchen, we can have breakfast.”
The magpie tilted her head side to side, then opened her beak wide with joy. We went downstairs, and I offered her a slice of pork belly, which she had trouble eating. She tried to wedge the meat between her feet, but it kept slipping from her claws. Still, she didn’t give up, and after frustrated cackling, finally managed to get the charcuterie into her beak. I realized that letting her in might not have been the brightest idea. But I couldn’t abandon my only friend.
“Come on, Pearl, let’s go out.”
I gathered my things and left the house behind, Pearl on my shoulder.
Students were already on their way to school, and the sun had not yet risen. Pearl didn’t like it when there were too many people, so she left. I didn’t like the institution I attended either. Everyone there was focused on their studies, and I was invisible. No one came to greet me, or even talked about me. Not even the teachers addressed me. I was excluded, like a primate locked in a cage no one ever visited. So I sat on the courtyard grass, waiting for time to pass. If it passed long enough, would I be forgotten? And if the dissociation lasted long enough, could I disappear? I was no longer sure I wanted to stay. There was no place for someone deficient and undesirable like me. It wasn’t that people would be happier without me—but would there be a difference? Until then, I had tried to prove otherwise, like in my dream. This story wasn’t about me, but about the people around me. I had no place in it either. I was tied to the rock of everyone’s expectations, drowned by the symptoms of my illness. There was no favorable outcome, and I knew it. The light suddenly grew intense, bright enough to blind me. I welcomed the disintegration of my consciousness with relief.
The silence was long but brief. It measured an inconceivable distance, but since there was nothing, it passed in an instant. Then it slowly dissipated—like sleep becoming partly conscious. A sharp smell pulled me from this stasis. There were many smells now, but it was hard to wake up. A rain of impacts made me stand. I opened my eyes; bricks had fallen right beside me. I looked around—everything was in ruins, dismembered bodies littered squares and streets. Tears streamed from my eyes. I moved deeper into the gorge of debris and freshly cut corpses. Had no one else survived? No matter how far I walked, there were always more dead and more destruction. Eventually I grew tired and lay down on the ground. The sky was overcast, faintly lit; I didn’t know whether it was day or night.
The ticking of my watch brought me back to my senses. It was 3 a.m. I could hear the highway in the distance—heavy trucks. Nothing else. The scene was lit by orange streetlamps fighting drowsiness. I took a step and moved forward—somewhere. Nowhere. Wide and narrow alleys stretched endlessly, and I walked on and on as if trying to escape—farther and farther. There was never more than a gap, and yet I was never any closer. So I finally stopped.
“Pearl?” I said, but silence was the only answer.
A cool wind blew like a howl through the arteries of the city. Was there still anyone left to keep me from leaving? But where was Pearl? I felt vulnerable not being in control, and also guilty for feeling such desire for so dear a friend. In my confusion, I noticed the entrance to the cemetery. A small chapel of rough stone stood in the pallid light.
The wooden door was three times my height. There wasn’t much time left before daybreak. I moved deeper inside the rows of crosses, angel statues, and headstones. I carefully read the birth and death dates, family ties, the faces in the photographs. There were many people—some with ostentatious ornaments, others without. Yet no one remained but me.
“Pearl? Here!” the bird said playfully, perched on a grave.
“Pearl? Here!” she repeated.
I stepped forward, and before me a small wooden cross marked a freshly gathered mound. The epitaph read:
“Lev, by the presence of your loved ones and friends, we honor here what was taken from you in your life.”
There were bouquets of blooming chrysanthemums and several jar candles.
“Pearl, here!” she said one last time.
Pearl leapt, beating her wings against the air currents, and took flight. She spun with the wind, rising beyond the treetops and rooftops. To the left I saw the park stretching peacefully in the gloom, and to the right the school I attended in the distance. Pearl flew toward the rising sun, like a blazing fire igniting the silhouettes of buildings and the tree canopy. Other magpies joined us in this pilgrimage, far beyond the infinite horizon, between earth and sky.