Here, brides fell from the sky, drifting silently through the night like wingless white angels. It happened on certain lonely evenings, when the guards were napping in their stations and the military jets weren’t flying overhead making a great roaring noise.
Saranya could tell when they were coming because the sky would go from black to blacker, and there was a certain hush in the air, as though the sky were holding its breath. Then the sky wept brides. Their faces from a distance could not be made out. They seemed blank and inscrutable, their white veils fluttering up and out like pennants. The secret, Saranya came to learn, was not to try too hard to see them, but to look just at the edges of things. She unfocused her eyes, softened her gaze, and went down into the depths of herself. Then the brides would come in a thick flurry.
The first time she had seen them was when they had first arrived on the island, and Saranya’s mother would let her stay up late outside their tent, as long as she didn’t go near the security fence and was very quiet. And what she saw in the sky delighted her, at first.
But she was also a little afraid of what was surely forbidden. She had the panicky feeling that this was something she was not supposed to see. So she hurried back into the tent and got under her blanket, covering her face, trying to unsee it in her mind’s eye.
But, when it happened again on another night, this time she was not afraid. She brought her binoculars out to see them better: she could see their faces now, their painted lips, the orange blossoms of their headpieces. She felt a tender communion, between herself and the night brides. As though between them, they knew a secret truth. And that they came out just for her.
The next morning, she asked her mother about it. “Mama, do you ever see the ladies that fall out of the sky at night?”
Saranya’s mother was busy hanging clothes to dry that she had washed in a bucket, but she paused and asked, “What ladies?” Her eyes were tired, pinkish with broken blood vessels. Her hair was pulled painfully tight into a braid that hung down her back. She was trained as a teacher in their own country, and now she taught English to the other children in the camp. The migrant children. Although Saranya and her mother were also migrants.
“The ladies that float down from the sky. The brides. Dressed in bride gowns with veils! I see them when I sit outside at night with the binoculars, they are so beautiful!”
Her mother stared into space for a moment, looking wistful and sad; she had spent all morning begging the guards to deliver a letter she had written to the embassy, asking for asylum, so they could all get off the island. But they had just laughed at her and said rude things and torn the letter to pieces.
Finally, her mother sighed and said, “You’ve been through so much, and you’re only nine. Sometimes when we’re feeling overwhelmed we can imagine something, and it seems very real. When it’s not. And that can be a dangerous thing. Do you know what I’m saying?”
“But it was real. I’m not a little kid anymore, I know what’s real.” Ever since she turned nine, things were different. She still had stuffed animals, but suddenly one day, she knew they didn’t talk to her in her mind anymore, and playing with them wasn’t the same. ” Mama, what are those ladies? Do other people see them too?”
“Shhhh.”
“But, Mama, I was just talking about the…”
“Yes, hon, I know. Just.…don’t.”
“Why? Because it’s magic?”
“Because……” She looked to the side, thinking. “Because the way things are right now… Sometimes it’s OK to see things, to notice things. But you have to be careful not to talk about them.”
“Why?”
“Because the people here…well sometimes with people, there are lines you don’t cross.” She looked away for a moment, her face going taut with the pressure of tears. “And the thing of it is, those lines keep shifting and changing, so it’s kind of hard to…”
But right then another military jet flew overhead, and it was so loud that her mother’s words got drowned out, she was moving her lips but no sound was audible. The shadow of the jet raced over them, like a predator bird flying across the sky.
“Mama?” Saranya asked after the noise subsided.
“Yes, honey?”
“Did you ever think that everything in the future…is already happening?” Her eyes drifted to watch two little kids from the camp, talking nonsense words and playing a game with used paper cups the dirt. On the other side of the fence, a guard walked by with his dog on a chain, watching them all. “And everything in the past… is happening still?”
Her mother laughed. Her mother had crinkles on the sides of her eyes that were white against the tan of her skin. It was from squinting as she looked out across the water, over the blue line of the horizon, trying to see so far, so intensely.
“You’re getting awfully metaphysical on me, hon. Here, help me hang the clothes.”
Her mother had paid all of her savings, and sold all of the jewelry she had, for her and Saranya to have spots on a boat that was to smuggle them from their home country to Canada; the fighting was still going on, even though the war was supposed to be over. When she and her daughter had to squeeze together in a hole in the sand on the beach to avoid the shootings, she knew there was no other choice.
So they packed their lives into a small fishing boat with the other migrants and set sail into the unknown.
The first day was magical and sun-dazzled. A pod of dolphins leapt and frolicked, keeping pace with the boat, and Saranya laughed with glee to see them. Everyone abord chattered excitedly like it was a holiday, sharing flatbread and curried meat together. And when the sun began to set, the colors of the sky were all glowing pastels, pinks and blues and greens and yellows, iridescent as an opal. Saranya’s mother held her close and talked to her about the new life they would have, free from war and danger. “We won’t have to be mail-order brides like my sisters. I’ll get a teaching job, we will rent an apartment with a balcony, maybe we can get a dog. And you will marry who you want, someone who loves you and will make you a citizen.”
Saranya felt so happy, but could barely keep her eyes open anymore,“I’ll never get married, but I do want a dog,” she said, and was soon asleep with her head in her mother’s lap.
But as night fell, a storm began to come upon them. It began with lightning that lit up in great zig zagging cracks against the gathering dark clouds. Then a wind that shrieked and howled, before the rain came, heavy rain that blew sideways. All was black water, occasionally all lit up by a crack of lightening. There was salt in her throat, she was nauseated flailing as an enormous vertical wave sprung up as though to slap them, and the boat capsized.
She remembered holding onto part of the boat, floating with her mother, as the storm began to slowly subside. The sky turned a dusky blue as the sun began to peek over the horizon. And in the distance, like a dream or a mirage, a ship began to emerge. At first they could see only a mast and the wake it generated behind it. “I think it’s a cargo ship,” her mother said hoarsely, “coming out to save us, thank god…”
But as the ship drew nearer, they could see how large it was, with an enormous streamlined hull. It had radar dishes and antennae.
“Oh, it’s a military ship,” her mother said nervously.
It seemed too big to be real, painted a matte gay. It had torpedo tubes and deck guns.
“Look, helicopters! They see us, Saranya, it will be okay!”
Inflatable boats with fast motors were driven by men wearing camouflage and helmets. Everyone was taken out of the water and brought to the ship, where they were given dry clothes and food by men who did not speak their language.
When they were brought to the island the next day, Saranya was happy just to be on solid land again. “Are we in Canada?” she asked, as they were escorted by a soldier through a gate.
“No,” said her mother in a flat, quiet voice, as she laid eyes on the tent city for the first time.
One evening, Saranya sat alone outside their tent and looked at the sky over the security fence to see that the brides were falling from the sky thicker and heavier than ever before, but at such a distance that they could have been magnificent white birds. She could forget herself completely, watching the night brides. She wondered what it would be like to drift like that, so light and so pure that no one could even acknowledge that you existed.
Because you weren’t of this world.
They had a radio that sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t. Saranya would twist the dial. Sometimes she would hear music. Sometimes she would hear news from the outside world. Stories about wars, or mass shootings, or a new pandemic illness that made people lose their memory bit by bit until they forgot the meaning of words and couldn’t speak.
“Let’s don’t listen to that,” her mother would say, and find a music station. Sometimes after English lessons she would give the migrant children dance classes, teaching traditional folk stories through dance and movement. Saranya didn’t always like to dance, though, and it was a good time to slip away unnoticed to be by herself.
One day during her wanderings she discovered a place deep in the woods where the security fence had a small gap in it, just wide enough for her to wiggle through; she wasn’t fully grown yet, but she wasn’t a small child, either. Once she squeezed out of the fence, she walked down a small slope covered in brush, and suddenly, there was the beach. The waves lapped upon a stretch of pristine white sand in which there were no footprints. She had it completely to herself.
She ran to splash herself in the water, which felt warm like a bathtub. The foamy waves rushed over her feet, sucking the sand from under them. She made garlands for herself out of seaweed. She watched as a swarm of tiny transparent-shelled crabs scurried on their delicate legs towards the waves. A sea almond tree grew near the water and it was like a big pagoda, there to shelter her from the sun. She lay in its cool shade and daydreamed. She tried to imagine one day wearing a wedding dress of her own, and saying the magical words that would make her married. What was it so transforming about being married? What would it mean, to take a man’s name, to belong to him, to become a citizen, as her mother wished for her to do? She couldn’t imagine. She might not be her anymore. She enjoyed spending time in her own head; there were so many wild, strange ideas that lived there.
She went back to the camp with tiny pink and blue shells filling her pockets and a small bouquet of plumeria blooms, white, with deep red veins in the center, clutched in her hand. She could not find her mother at first, but then saw her, hands gripping the wire fence so hard that her knuckles were strained white; she was staring out at the water, and standing very, very still.
When Saranya, said, “Mama?” she turned around, and her face was a mask of anguish.
“Mama, I went on the other side of the fence and I found the most beautiful place. I brought you something!”
Her mother looked down at the flowers, and at first it was almost as though she were blind, her gaze was so fixed and glassy-looking. Then she suddenly slapped Saranya across the face, hard. “Where did you go?” she cried “I couldn’t find you anywhere! If the guards see you leave the camp they could shoot you! Do you understand?”
Saranya was too stunned at first to respond. Then she said quietly, “But it’s okay, nothing happened.”
“But it could have! You can never do that again!”
Now Saranya started to become angry. “But I’m tired of it here! It’s boring and sad! I just wanted to see something different and you won’t let me do anything fun!”
“Honey, I’m sorry. It’s not that. You just don’t understand how dangerous it is for people like us. Sometimes we have to do what we don’t want to. For a while, at least.”
“The dogs have more freedom than we do!” Saranya yelled, and then turned her back on her mother and walked away. She could still feel the sting of the slap on her cheek, a burning reminder that she would never, never forgive.
Later that night, her mother made Saranya’s favorite dish of mashed coconut and chilis . Coconuts grew everywhere on trees, the chilis she grew from dried seeds saved from on3 of dishes they were served. She offered to tell her favorite stories, stories of the crocodile sea monster, the blood demon, and the prince born with the hands of a lion. But Saranya said no, she was too old for these stories now, and she just wanted to be left alone. Her mother tried to look into her eyes, to stroke her hair, but she shrunk back from her touch and went back into the tent by herself until everyone put out the fires and went to bed.
When the campsite settled down into silence, Saranya got up and quietly slipped through the flap that was their door and sat alone looking up at the sky. She concentrated on absolute stillness. She would be so quiet and so still. She would not move, and barely even think. Because when her head was empty of thoughts, and her gaze went soft and unfocused, was when they would come. And sure enough, there soon came a glimmer, and a delicate white flutter high in the sky. Finally. She bent and put her eyes to her binoculars, slowly moving them back and forth.
She was still awkward with using the binoculars, which they had originally bought for the boat voyage, and had stayed tangled around her neck after the storm. She could see better with them. But the smallest movement and the bride would be lost. What she was able to see was amazing. She saw one, a young Japanese girl wearing a dress that was strapless with a full, swishy skirt of dotted tulle. Her hair was arranged in stiff, tight curls, her face was powdered white, and her lips were red. As she glided down through the night, her hands were folded, and her eyes were downcast, as if in prayer. And then her hand slipped and the view jerked to the right, and Saranya lost her.
She lowered the binoculars, but then she was unable to tell which bride she had been looking at. They looked sort of the same now, like glowing white birds. She tried again. This time she saw one that was wearing a flowing white satin dress with a train and long veil, but she looked Hindu; she had sleek black hair and golden skin, and there was a half-moon bindi painted on her forehead. She held her hands together above her head with her fingertips barely touching. Saranya stared fixedly, keeping track of her so she would not get lost. She was a little away from the rest, making it easier to see where she landed: it looked to be down by the little beach, the place that she had gone to just that day.
She knew that she wasn’t supposed to leave the camp ever again, but she just couldn’t take it anymore, seeing the same sad people day in and day out. She hated the American food they made them eat. There were holes in the tent that let in water when it rained. There were rats, giant coconut crabs, and tropical fire ants that left painful bites. What was wrong with the adults who just gave in to this? It was as though to become a grown up, you agreed to wear chains around your wrists and ankles. Sometimes we have to do what we don’t want. Well, Saranya would never let her spirit break in that way! Her mother, all of the adults, had failed her. But she knew, deep in her heart, that the night brides were nothing like them. If she could just find a night bride, she would ask what the secret was.
She squeezed again through the narrow gap in the fence, listening for the burble of a walkie talkie, or the bark of the guard dog, but there was nothing. She made her way through the brush, down to the sea almond tree that was shaped like a large pagoda. But everything looked so different at night. Its wide, green, leathery leaves were black now against the spooky lavender sky.
At first, she couldn’t find her anywhere. She looked and looked and found nothing, and felt that she could cry in despair. She was so lonely, and had taken such a big risk, defying her mother, and she had nothing to show for it. Nothing to sustain her now but her own boundless solitude.
But then, she did hear something faint. A mewing, like a cat or a puppy. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. And there was a length of the satin bridal train, peeking from beneath a the large plumeria tree, seeming to glow in the moonlight.
The bride was curled up with her face in her arms. Since she wasn’t looking at Saranya, she felt free to stare as much as she wanted. Her heart was beating wildly.
“Are you OK?”
The bride raised her head.
“Are you OK? Why are you crying? Did you get hurt when you landed?”
She went over closer to her, knelt down, and softly touched her arm. The bride was very pretty beneath her white veil, with wide, dark eyes and lips that were a blackish red and painted into a tiny bow. The crescent moon painted on her forehead was red, with another tiny dot underneath. The moonlight made her skin look weirdly drained of color, a little bluish, like a newborn baby before it takes its first breath. She looked up, but not at Sarah. She did not seem to be looking at anything; her gaze seemed turned inward.
“My name is Saranya. I won’t hurt you. Here, I’ll help you up.”
She took the bride’s hand and it felt very soft and very cold. She slowly stood up, and Saranya helped to untangle her train from where it had gotten stuck in the plumeria tree, whose blooms emitted a smell that was so sweet and spicy that Saranya felt a little bit faint.
And yet the bride still did not speak. She looked fretful and troubled, touching here and there the white satin gown, the veil, the tiny pearls sewn onto the collar and sleeves.
“Are you lost? I will help you, I promise. Can you tell me your name?”
Now the bride was looking at the girl with her dark liquid eyes that were unblinking. She did not seem to understand the words spoken to her, but simply gaped at her in amazement.
Saranya decided right then that she wouldn’t be afraid of anything, not anymore. All good things were equally possible and equally likely. And how could she know if love was real, unless she could see it and touch it? How could she know if anything was hers unless she was brave and did what had to be done?
“You’re with me now. We can run away together. We…we can make a boat and sail away.” She imagined a little boat made of coconut husks; a sail made from the white satin wedding train swelling full in the wind. “Please, let’s go!”
But the bride could only make the smallest little sound, a questioning little cry. That’s when Saranya understood that someone had taken her voice away. It made her seethe with anger. But she saw that the bride was swaying on her feet a bit, she might fall, so she led her to sit down together on a large flat piece of rock near where the waves lapped.
They sat in silence, and the bride made breathy little noises that sounded almost like music as she looked at Saranya with her strange, staring eyes. And it was the first time in such a long time, maybe ever, that anyone had truly seen her. She reached over and gave the bride a quick, shy kiss on her cheek that felt cold as marble.
The bride blinked at her, a sad smile trembled about her lips, and she reached down to tug off the gold wedding ring that she wore on her left ring finger, and dropped it into Saranya’s cupped palm.
Holding it up to the moonlight, Saranya was able to read the engraving inside.
Kashvi and Oliver 1945. Strength and Valour.
The girl squeezed it in her hand and leaned into the folds of smooth white satin, closing her eyes, and they sat together at the edge of the huge and impervious ocean of time, both of them wild and mute.