Repeating Emma

I gently lifted the tiny body from the bowl of oil where it had soaked for days. The skin had become suppler, smoother, if not a bit slick. She began to feel like herself again, my precious little Emma. I would need to bathe her, remove the excess oil and the makeup, give her the color she had four years ago when she had first come. I placed her gently in a small bath, warm and soapy, and washed her little arms and tiny toes. I could see her beauty though distant and arid. She would be as wonderful as when I first saw her, the moments before they rushed her from the delivery room. It would not be long now, and I would have my Emma back, and God would see her, how well I cared for her, and finally give her a soul. He had denied me many times before, but this time it felt different, he would finally see the love I have for my child, and allow the soul to find the body I had prepared for it.

Paul had not understood, and called me names, accused me of loosing my mind. I knew different, I knew God, and he just wanted me to have a healthy beautiful baby before he gave her a soul. That was not hard to understand, but seemingly beyond my husband who took his disdain with him to wherever he went. If he had given me just a bit more time, I would have made Emma as wonderful as she needed to be. After all, I am the mother; I made her once, and many times after. When Emma did finish her journey, I would find him, show him he was wrong, and deny his pleadings to return and reject his pathetic apologies. It was a moment I looked forward to greatly.

I took the Almost Emma, and wrapped her in a warm towel, gently patting her dry. I had to be careful, the first Almost Emma had broken much too easily, and I was shattered. Destroying my own child, I mean really. A mother should know how fragile they are, and how to handle their little bodies.

Using a small pair of scissors, I gently opened Almost Emma’s eyes. I was elated to see the dark blue underneath, dark because of the lack of a soul. That would change soon enough. I covered the skin with makeup; she had to be presentable after all. When I was done, I admired my work. It was awful that they were about to take this poor child away. Just a little work and she was as good as new. Now when God saw how precious, how alive the Almost Emma looked, He would undo his mistake. Soon, he would come for his visit, he came every day, no more then a face in the window, inspecting my work, grading my child, judging… This time it had to be different.

I dressed the child in a lovely little dress, with matching shoes and knee high socks. I brushed out her stiff hair, and cradled Emma in my arms, wrapped, as an infant should be in a pink blanket. I hummed a soft lullaby to her, and watched her sleep. This time, it would happen, this time I would have my Emma back, and then they would all know. They would not leer at me, hiss cruel lies between themselves while watching me. This would be the one.

****

        “Doctor, what is the purpose of the knotted rag?” the suited man asked as he moved from the small window, the medical staff’s peek-hole into the world of the lost soul known as Jane Wilson.

        “It is supposed to be her child; Emma I think is what she calls it.” He flipped through the papers held tightly by a clipboard. “Yes, Emma. A stillborn child she had many years ago. It’s what triggered the psychosis.”

        “Will she recover?”

        “Not likely. She actually stole the real Emma from the morgue and cared for it for some time. She could not understand the child was dead, and her husband had to call the
authorities; had the women committed.”

        “Shame…”

        “Yes, well, can’t save them all I guess. Off to the next, it’s almost time for lunch, and I know you’ll like the improvements we made this year in the cafeteria. Now this patient we are making progress with; this way Commissioner…”