Braga And Rishi

To begin at the beginning…

This past January, in between jobs and not feeling an ounce of guilt (this was what I told myself) I discovered a heap of things. Things like-

Life is better when you take action (we all know this, right?).

The world is mysterious and, to partially refer to a lovely quote from Mr. Neil Degrasse Tyson, it is under no obligation to make sense to you. But don’t let that get you down. Go with it.

Winter is dark and cold, great for cooking and moody nights.

Treat yourself as you want others to treat you, like, don’t be a doormat or an asshole, man. And pay that shit forward.

Sometimes the thing you want to do is very hidden, it’s covered in excrement and filth. Buried in six feet or more of the most rotten substance; the smell is indescribable, but it’s there. Somewhere, in the deep, lurking. Occasionally, a boney hand rises to the surface and knocks you on the melon, or in the words of my dear friend, Swede, which in my language would be known as a rutabaga, and gently reminds you it’s still festering in the world below.

It has not gone, but would maybe like to rise to the surface. Maybe sometime soon.

Anyway, my corpse is still a bit buried, but I sense that it has begun to drift upwards.  The powers that be, the universe, or having a few months off of not needing to be anywhere, made it so I tapped into a place that makes me feel fine.

Strange as it may be, I discovered my lifetime hatred and fear of dolls destined a need in me to create them.

Ok. Of course I had loads of Barbies (Barbie parts), stuffed animals, even my beloved American girl doll now housed in a plastic box in an undisclosed location in the remote hills of West Virginia, but that doesn’t mean I really dig dolls. I was a kid!

Those bastards scare the shit out of me. I am almost positive during the nights I spent in the WVA house on summer vacations I could hear the gentle tapping of dolly footfall as they made their rounds about the house. My exhausted attempts to explain what was happening to my lovely but not-down-with-that-sort-of-thing, now deceased, grandparents (hello to wherever you are now!! And love you lots!!) were dispelled by “house settling” explanations and so forth. I can tell you, I became a Tetris pro on my Nintendo Gameboy for at least a few weeks out of the year, I’d be happy to sing the theme to you now if it wasn’t for the neighbors and their cat (for some unknown reason I have an uncanny ability to infuriate cats with my singing).

Suffice it to say, dolls were my enemy. Yet, here I am.

I think what I find so interesting is that these things, these replicas, symbols, toys - they remain very important to us even now.

One day my friend and I had a little wander down to the Petrie Museum of Egyptology and what a cavern of delights! And even there, settled in a glass cabinet on a little glass shelf were the remnants of a doll.

I don’t know, but somehow I found this truly impressive. Something about it made me think, these people were just people, and we are just people now, and in a thousand years, they will be just people (maybe with robots for brains? Will they carry dolls too?).

For me, when I think about dolls they represent escape, or pretend, imagination and creativity. A world enough like ours, but not. A twisted reality where we can shape the outcome, for better or for bad.

Also, I really love clay, and faces, and all sorts of doing things. So, I guess, it just makes sense. I’ll do my bit and send it off into the world, maybe in a few thousand years if the earth continues to do its dance around our star, a distant relative may find buried in the deep remnants of a once loved thing that captures their imagination. Or not. I’m sure it will have all gone to dust by then. And it’s no business of mine.

So again, to begin at the beginning, on a darkened January eve I was thinking. Musing, really, over things that caught my eye, things I loved, and all at once- I decided I would try. A fleshless hand had risen above the dirt long enough to knock my skull and silently scream. This time I took notice, perhaps.

 A week later Braga and Rishi had been born. Maybe they were always there waiting for me, maybe I made them. But through them I have begun something that feels right and feels congruent. Somehow I feel stronger and more open, lighter, in fact. This could be down to a caloric deficit, I’m not so sure. I think there are other things at play.  A sense of freedom and letting go and not worrying about what is to become of it all. It doesn’t matter. Doing something that is pleasurable and seeing where it goes. One step that leads to another.

Subsequently, my beautiful and wildly creative mom also became rather enthusiastic in my new endeavor and promptly wrote a tale depicting my newborn creations on one of their nightly excursions.

Below is the story of Braga and Rishi, get a copy.
I rather think it suits them. In fact, I suspect now, it was they who were waiting. They were always there.

May the journey the continue.

-J

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Braga & Rishi

Braga woke with a start.  Sitting up suddenly, she grabbed the twisted sheets promptly propelling her from the bed.  She landed hard on her side on the thin rug beside the bed. It was as if the ancient highboy bed expelled her deliberately.

Her familiar, Rishi, loped over to her side, peering closely into her face as she attempted to disengage her body from the tangle of sheets.  One hand freed, she pushed her blowsy black hair from her face. 

 "If you can't help me then remove yourself from my sight", she hissed irritably.  

"Something is amiss, Rishi".  Finally free from the sheets; Braga sat up and pulled herself to her feet.

She walked around the foot of the bed and looked out the window.  The sky was gray, the sun hiding behind heavy dark clouds.  Small lawns appeared brown and sparse, the trees bare.  It was a dreary desolate day, Braga smiled at the sight with great satisfaction.

"What could possibly be wrong on a beautiful day like today?" she mused out loud, turning slowly to her familiar.  

Rishi offered no answer, his expression unreadable.

“I'd like my tea now, Rishi.”  Her familiar turned awkwardly and hopped to the door, intent on alerting the cook of Braga's request.

Braga dressed quickly in front of her ancient full-length mirror.  The distorted image of her frighteningly severely pale countenance softened by a gray-blue mist surrounding her.

She required no corset or like-minded undergarment, her figure bone thin. After dressing in her severe outfit of black and white, she began piling her unruly hair on top of her head.  Holding the loose top bun in place with an ornate hair clip shaped like a bone.   

Night had fallen hours ago.  Braga looked out the window, ensconced in her favorite chair in her favorite room.  A fire crackled in the massive fireplace, flickering flames causing the inlaid gray stones to glisten.  She turned her head and gazed above the mantle.  Two black candles illuminating the strange family portrait.  The images appeared to enlarge and pulsate emitting a dim light; as if the painting had a life of it's own.  

Braga exhaled deeply, set free from her pensive unrest.  Comforted and reassured she made her decision-

"Rishi come, we must leave now."

The driver pulled the small black Brougham carriage in beside the private entrance.   Hidden from the street, it leant discretion to the nighttime excursions necessary to Braga.  Clad in matching black cloaks, Braga and Rishi entered the carriage with the assistance of the silent driver.  She told the driver where to go and they were off.

There was no moon visible, the stars obscured by the heavy mist.  The air was damp and chill.  Braga stared straight ahead in deep contemplation.  If Rishi wondered at her unusual disregard of the landscape, he said nothing.

They arrived at the appointed destination.  The carriage leaving immediately after the occupants embarked.  Braga noticed a hansom cab located not far from the cemetery gates.  It appeared to be waiting for a specific occupant. She smiled to herself, her unsettling countenance and glittering eyes hidden by the hood of her cape. 

"It appears our midnight stroll has been interrupted, Rishi".  She looked down at Rishi and winked sardonically.  Rishi chuckled with a raspy retort.

Entering the cemetery through the heavy iron gates, Braga veered from her usual path, taking the path to her right.  Moving along the stone path with a leisurely gait, admiring the stone monuments along the way, Rishi loping and hopping behind her to keep up.   Following along the cemetery wall, she stopped suddenly and smiled.  Directly ahead she heard voices, male and female, one pleading and the other mocking.  Braga motioned to her familiar to follow her and she moved forward until she found what she was looking for.

There a man in a dark overcoat and bowler hat was standing over a woman of indeterminate age.  Her body bent awkwardly against a monument, obviously trying to get away.  She was pleading and trying to push him away, desperate and terrified.  As Braga moved closer she could see the woman was a prostitute.  The man stood up, suddenly aware of Braga's presence.  He had a scalpel in his right hand, his left engaged in holding the woman hostage against the stone monument.  

"Be gone or you will be sorry", the man ordered Braga.  She smiled moving the hood of her cloak away from her face. 

 "Good evening, Doctor", she greeted him with a pleasant nod of her head.  

He stared at her in horror; his eyes appeared to be bulging from their sockets.  Such was the effect of her appearance on him. 

 "It's you!” he gasped.  Braga cocked her head in a terrible parody of coquettish interest. 

"Now Doctor you know we have never met before in the flesh".

Braga’s ghoulish appearance alone was enough to cause the woman to faint.   But the man seemed frozen in time, his eyes locked on the sight before him.  Rishi hopped up and stood beside Braga, pushing his cloak back with his head, exposing himself.  

"God in Heaven" the man called out in terror, dropping the scalpel.  He fell to his knees as if his legs had given out.  

"It has come to my attention, Doctor, that you are avidly interested in experiments.  That is fortunate because I, like you, have that same type of curiosity."   Brava nodded and smiled, folding her gloved hands against her abdomen. 

 "So I have decided that you will be my experiment and your experiment will also become mine…In fact you will become the very person you were about to experiment on", she clapped her hands together as if pleased with her idea.

The man tried to speak but could only manage desperate mouth movements, as if he were a fish.  

Slowly Braga removed her gloves. 

 "You will become your victim and she will become you.  With no memory of this night or what led up to this night.  A new start for both of you, I wonder what will happen."

She lowered her head and began chanting, while Rishi circled the two throwing grains of a dry substance from an urn in his mouth placed there by Braga.  A dim red light surrounded her and expanding farther and farther.  She raised her hands and her head exposing the source of the light from her hands and eyes.  Words so ancient as to be unintelligible spewed from her mouth.  An intense ray of red light moved from the man to the woman, connecting them with a powerful pulsating of the light.  And then it was gone.  

The two lay there, unmoving but still alive.

Braga put on her gloves and pulled the cloak hood up to shroud her face, as did Rishi.  They turned in unison and strolled leisurely back to the cemetery gates.   Braga stared at the hansom cab driver with a wordless message to leave and return in two hours.  He immediately obeyed and left.   Her carriage arrived promptly.  On the way home she could tell Rishi was curious about what occurred.  Braga smiled with great satisfaction and explained. 

"In two months the prostitute will jump off the bridge and kill herself, in two years the good Doctor will open a hospital for the poor, get married and eventually have many children.   He became her and she became him.  It's quite a riddle."  Rishi chortled and she giggled at his mirth.   It turned out to be a most satisfactory day after all.  

The End