Era Emilia

1 It was the twentieth year of my life and the tenth anniversary of my one-soldier war. The 3395th day, since they disappeared as suddenly as they appeared. They called me Era. However, I distinctly remember how Mom kissed both cheeks of her ‘little Emilia’ every morning. And I called them Heavens because there was not a single day when they all did not freeze as they were, raising up their bald heads with narrow-eyed pupils skyward. Those were the funniest thirty-two minutes of a day – you could check your watch by them – because for me, a little girl, every time, every single day, it seemed that every one of the seven Heavens emanated up to the farthest point of view an aigrette of coloured rays. When a random dull bird flew through it, its feathers shone with a green light for a while! Or blue, or red! But none of the Heavens shared my admiration – no sound was heard from them, no slightest movement was visible, their breasts did not raise with breath, and even the pouring rain could not make them shut those miraculous deep eyes of theirs even for just an instant. Later, while all seven aigrettes of my now vanished forever Heavens were still visible after rain, I ran to look for them and never could find them. Then I returned home to cry out my distress and take care of my fresh wounds. I remember how after my clumsy children’s games Mom took care of them. She got up from behind the table, leaving Daddy alone, washed my scratched knees, applied something thick and smelly from a white tube on them, dressed them with a bandage and then returned to the table. That table was a big mystery ... My parents sat at it as if charmed, during in the long evenings. When they sat down, they were sad and kind, and when they got up, they were already jolly and wicked. Sometimes, I spent the whole afternoon at that table, when nobody was at home but did not understand why my parents’ eyes became blurred, and their words were muddled. “My little Emilia... You do not need so much... And that is why you are so strong, my little one… And your father and I are so weak... Weak...” And in half an hour, with a sharp and powerful mother’s voice, she commanded me to go to bed. Until the sun went down, I invented names for the clouds outside the window and counted new voices in our kitchen. How many of them could such a small house hold? When the clouds and roars of laughter had disappeared in the dark, calm, soothing dreams came...