Epiphany, flash fiction by Maria Beville at Spillwords.com

Epiphany

Epiphany

written by: Maria Beville

 

Under the stairs, the crib glows on the oval mahogany table. Úna stays focused on it as she sips lukewarm tea. On the floor beside her neatly crossed ankles, an unopened tin of biscuits awaits the careful peeling of Sellotape that will signal the arrival of the infant Jesus, when the scene will be complete.

It took 33 minutes to arrange two six-inch porcelain figurines, a plastic cow, and a donkey around the empty manger. Three magi, including a disfigured Balthasar, his nose knocked off two winters ago, huddle on the windowsill of the landing. From here, they will soon begin their journey, descending one step each day, to present themselves to the newborn king.

For 29 days, they will tolerate countless polishings and readjustments. They will overhear rosaries. The angelus, twice daily. Before they start their descent, there will be one visit from Neil, the postman.

She discards the brown window envelope and its contents and double washes her hands. Lowering herself onto the rigid sofa, she stands up again to adjust the hem of her blouse. Seated, she plucks a piece of invisible lint from her knee-length cotton skirt.

12:01pm: A tinny voice carries from the answering machine.

‘Úna, love, will you call me? Let me know you’re OK? It’s been so long. Mrs Ryan said you popped into the shop yesterday. Maybe I can get an appointment with the doctor for you before the holidays. I just want to help, pet. Call me. Please?’

‘As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. World without end. Amen.’

Úna floats up the stairs and performs a dainty curtsy for her royal guests.

‘She thinks I’m mad, you know. She just wants me out of mammy’s house. But I won’t go.’

Balthasar, the noseless, gives her a knowing wink, gesturing with his vessel of myrrh.

‘I’ll never leave this house. On mammy’s grave, they’ll never get me out of here.’

January sixth. The baby shimmers: arms outstretched to the world. The coat of clear glitter nail varnish that embalms him is cracking in places. Still, he joyfully awaits his birthday presents.

He will continue to wait.

Balthasar and his fellow travellers linger on the stairs, three steps from their journey’s end.

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