Dolly's Angels

No.357 in 'A Story a Day for a Year'.

DOLLY’S ANGELS

Dolly said she could see angels caught in the sunlight, caught like flies in a spider's silver spun web, or like blown dandelion clocks and floating like seeds carried on the almost breathless, scarcely moving air. And from the look on her face I almost believed she could see ‘em, ‘cept when I looked there was nothing.

‘Don’t you be so soft in the head, girl,’ I scolded Dolly. ‘Don’t you be looking so, or the world will think you simple and fool.’

She kept on looking, though I tried to pull her away. And soon enough and sure enough people was noticing and they was shading their eyes to see what was so captivating of Dolly’s attention. Like maybe it was a summer balloon high up, or a strange visiting bird, or a daylight firework glittering the clouds.

‘What is it?’ said this boy and he came and stood close to Dolly. Close enough his hand lightly touched hers and he put his head next to Dolly’s and he might have kissed her then, ‘cept he turned to look where Dolly was looking.

‘Is angels,’ Dolly said, her voice small as whispers.

And I thought the boy would laugh and call her stupid or mad and he’d point his finger so all the world could see who was this person that was mad and stupid. And I wouldn’t have blamed him if he had. But he didn’t. He just kept on looking, and his face was all lit up like Dolly's and maybe it was the sun and maybe it was something else.

I looked again in case I’d missed something, but there was nothing but empty sky and sunlight breaking through the clouds.

Then not just the boy but an old man, silver in his beard and his back bent and all his buckled weight leaning on a wooden stick that he held in one hand, held so tight his knuckles was white. And he stopped and craned his neck to see what was what. And lo, he was just like the boy – transfixed he was, like he was witness to something. And his lips was moving, all his mumbled words like he was praying in church; and the light was on him or in him – I could not tell which.

‘Angels,’ said Dolly again.

‘What is they like, girl?’ I asked and my own voice was shrunk to breath and small sound.

‘They is pretty as film stars, mama, and theys wings is made of golden feathers and theys dresses is all floaty, like they is under water. And theys eyes is as blue as the sky – as blue as ever the sky can be. And they is all of ‘em smiling so theys faces is all goodness and kindness and blessing.’

I could see there was a number of people gathered now and some of ‘em making a fuss. There was 'em as could see and 'em as could not. I quietly pulled Dolly away and when we was a way off, I told her she was not to tell no one what she saw. On no account, I said. Not if she didn’t want to be taken for daft or dull-witted.

‘Did you see ‘em, mama?’ she said.

I did not look at the girl but kept my head high and facing forward. ‘Do you think angels would make 'emselves known to you and to only you, girl?’ I said; but the truth is I saw nothing, even though I made my eyes sharp as pins.