Sophia   von Gary
                                (A shortstory)
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                                   The girl
                                   --------


For several years, Mrs. Smith had lived alone in a pleasant apartment (two rooms
with a kitchenette) in a remodeled brownstone near East River. She was a widow:
Mr. W. Smith had left a reasonable amount of insurance. Her interests were
narrow, she had no friends to speak of, and she rarely journeyed farther than
the corner grocery. The other people in the house never seemed to notice her:
her clothes were matter-of-fact, her hair iron gray, clipped and casually waved;
she did not use cosmetics, her features were plain and inconspicuous, and on her
last birthday she was sixty-one. Her activities were seldom spontaneous: she
kept her two rooms immaculate, smoked an occasional cigarette, prepared her own
meals and tended a canary.
Then she met Sophia. It was snowing that night and Mrs. Smith was sitting in her
living room, reading for about the fiftieth time Agatha Christie’s The Shadow
on the Glass. Even if she knew the story all by heart she enjoyed those special
nights, herself basking in her favourite chair next to the chimney, warming her
cold, bony hands at the fire and reading one of her favourite author's police
stories, while it was cold and snowing outside. It wasn't as if she would have
went out if it had been warm and dry, but she knew that William, her deceased
husband, would have preferred for her to go out and meet some new people. That
is why she enjoyed such wet, dreary days, she didn't have to think of an excuse
for staying at home, but told herself: “See, Sophia? The weather is bad,
nobody who has the choice would possibly go out. Even William would understand
that. So why don't you go read some good old book?” 

That night ran the same. It was february and Mrs. Smith, deepened in her
reading, once more forgot the time. She wasn't a fast reader and because of her
decreasing visibility it always took her some time to finish a book, but she was
stubborn and proud, that is why she often read the entire night just to finish 
a story. It however happened that she fell asleep, sitting in her chair and
because there was no William anymore to wake her up or to call her into bed, it
became a habit to sleep sitting in her chair next to the fireplace. The hours
passed and Mrs. Smith's eyes began to feel heavier and heavier, to book starting
to slip of her hands. Soon after, it fell to the ground, making a dull sound
that resonated in the silent room and as the fire slowly went out, all that was
left was the steady breathing of the widow.
Mrs. Smith would have slept through the whole night, if something hadn't
disturbed the nightly silence and roused the old lady from sleep. At precisely
five, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Smith startled and remained numb on her seat, she
didn't know what to do. She was still dozy and confused. She had had no visits
for about a year, so why should somebody come for her now, in the middle of the
night? The doorbell rang again. “Who could that be?”, she asked herself.
“Must be someone who is mistaken...” She waited and listened. A third time
the ringing clanged through the apartment and Mrs. Smith finally decided to
stand up and look who was disturbing her sleep. Wearing her grayish nightdress
and rosy slippers, she shuffled to the door, unlocked several locks and pressed
the door-handle down, to find herself in front of a blonde little girl, soaked
from the snow and chilled to the bone. She was trembling and she looked like she
had been running around in a snow storm for the past few hours.
Mrs. Smith, too surprised by what she was seeing, didn't know how to react. She
looked at the girl and tried to say something, but all that came out of her
mouth was a weary “Hello?”.
“H-Hello, ma'am!”, the girl stuttered. “I... Could you let me stay
overnight at your place... please...?”
Mrs. Smith's eyes opened wide. What did the girl ask? It all was too much, too
early and too unusual for her to understand the situation.
“Little girl, what are you saying!”, she replied appalled. “Where are your
parents? What are you doing here all alone at an hour like this? You should be
at home, in your bed!”
The girl looked sadly at her black old-fashioned shoes and answered, that she
had been lost near East River, where she had been wandering with her parents. A
sudden snow storm had separated her from her family and made her lose her way.
She had been searching her parents for hours, but couldn't find them anymore.
“And I am so tired and so cold, I just can't handle all this anymore! Please,
ma'am, please! You've got to help me! Please let me stay overnight, only for
today! I'm so...”
She couldn't finish her sentence, overwhelmed by unimaginable fatigue, she
collapsed and fell into Mrs. Smith's arms, who sighed and carried the young girl
into her bedroom.
“Poor thing...”, she said and looked at the little body laying in her bed.
“She'd better take off those soaked clothes, otherwise she might get really
sick. And she will drench my bed too.”
The widow started to undress the child, feeling the icy skin of the girl under
the drenched clothes. She shuddered. How long had the girl been running around
outside in the cold? It was a miracle that she survived at all, Mrs. Smith
thought. She swiftly dressed the body with new, dry clothes – much too big for
the little girl, but at least warm and tender – and fetched a hot-water bottle
to warm the child. 
After having done everything to make the girl's body reheat quickly, Mrs. Smith
finally came to calm down and took a precise look of the girl. She was about
twelve years old, her medium-long blonde hair surrounded a pale face with a tiny
nose and a small mouth and her lips were a bit blue and chapped from the cold,
it looked like they bled recently. All in all she looked rather pretty, and in
some strange way she felt familiar to Mrs. Smith.
She was wearing a silver necklace with a pendant forming the letter “S”.
Mrs. Smith wondered what the “S” could stand for, but soon stopped trying to
find it out, considering that there would be too many possible answers. She once
had a similar necklace, her “S” standing for her first name, Sophia, but she
had lost it a long time ago – she couldn't even remember how. After a while
she thought, she shouldn't bother herself with questions whose answers are not
hers to know and regained her seat next to the fireplace. She would have loved
to continue reading her book, but admitting that she was to tired to do so, she
folded her hands, laid back and closed her eyes to fall asleep once more. The
next day, she thought, she would find out more about the girl. At those
thoughts, she dozed off.

The next day, Mrs. Smith was awakened by some snicker. Confusedly she opened her
eyes and looked around in her living room, feeling that something was different.
She was almost scared to death as she saw a little girl standing in front of her
canary's cage, until she recalled the past night's events.
“His name is Charlie.” Mrs. Smith said.
Frightened, the child turned around and looked shocked at the older lady. “I'm
sorry! Did I wake you up, ma'am?”
Mrs. Smith, finding the unsettled look of the girl amusing in a cute way,
started to laugh for the first time in the past few years and shook her head.
“What's your name, dear?”, Mrs. Smith asked after re-pacifying.
“Sophia.”, the girl answered.
The widow looked surprised. “Why, isn't that funny, my name's Sophia too.”
“Really? That's funny!”, Sophia giggled and danced through the room, humming
a children songs melody.
Mrs. Smith didn't know why, but she had liked the girl from the first moment,
even if she usually didn't get along well with strangers. But she felt like she
had met the girl before, it was like they had known eachother for years. The
widow was jolted out of her thoughts by the young girl's voice.
“Do you like the movies?”
Puzzled, Mrs. Smith looked at the girl. “The movies?”
“Yes, ma'am.” Sophia smiled.
“Uhm... I don't go out very often, you know?”
“Oh...”
The girl's face turned a bit sad, but she picked up courage.
“I like “Some Like It Hot”. It is so funny how the men do as if they were
women!”
She giggled again and didn't realize how Mrs. Smith's face grew stiff. That
girl, she thought, who is she? She is simply a child and shares the same name as
me, but how does she know a film, that was turned in the late 60's? What was the
meaning of this?
“Ma'am?” Sophia bent foreward and looked worried in Mrs. Smith's face.
“Are you okay?”
The widow looked in a pair of ocean blue eyes.
“Yes, my dear.” The widow answered and smiled at the little girl. What was
she thinking? Sophia was just an ordinary girl, like all the others. Sophia
still didn't look convinced and kept an insecure expression on her face. Mrs.
Smith didn't want the girl to worry, so she tried to change the topic.
“I have a surprise”, she said and stood up. She walked to the commode,
opened one of the drawers and took a bronze box out. It was decorated with
trees, apples, cherries, all engraved into the metallic square. “Look into my
box”, Mrs. Smith told the girl.
Unsure Sophia approached and looked at the box. “What's in it?”, she asked.
“Open it, if you want to know”, the older one replied.
Led by curiosity, she opened the box and found a cameo brooch laying in it.
Fascinated she took it out to have a closer look.
“How beautiful...”, she whispered.
“Isn't is?” Mrs. Smith smiled. “You can have it, if you want.”
Sophia's eyes became big. “Really! I mean... Is it okay?”
Mrs. Smith nodded, stating: “When I was young like you, an old lady offered it
to me. I have no use for it, so you can have it.”
The little girl squeaked happily and turned the brooch in her small hands to
examine it from all sides, while Mrs. Smith was looking outside the window. The
weather had calmed down, it was a cloudless day and the sun made the snow
sparkle like white silk. 
All of sudden the doorbell rang again. “I'll open!", Sophia called and ran to
the door.
“It's all happening here”, Mrs. Smith said sighing and raised an eyebrow.
She couldn't hear much of the conversation at the door, but once thought hearing
a woman's voice saying: “You're that little girl!”
Shortly after, Sophia came back running and excitedly stating: “My mum and dad
are searching me! They are not far from here!”
Mrs. Smith looked at the agitated girl and softly said: “Then don't let them
wait. Your clothes are in the bathroom on the radiator. Hurry and don't forget
anything.”
Sophia nodded and quickly prepared herself, Mrs. Smith however felt sad,
thinking about the fact that she would be alone again.
Five minutes passed until the young girl, fully prepared, stood in front of Mrs.
Smith. “Thank you for everything, ma'am!”
“You're welcome, my dear. And now hurry,  I'm sure your parents are worried
sick about you.”
She nodded again, turned around and was about to go, when suddenly the doorbell
rang for the third time that day. Sophia, standing closer to the door, opened
and exclaimed in delight. “Grandpa!”
A little time passed, while Mrs. Smith was sitting on her chair waiting and
thinking about how her life would continue, with the girl being gone. It would
probably go back to the usual routine. She sighed and remained sitting, staring
into space, when suddenly Sophia and her grandfather entered the room. She saw
the man, an old man, and became deathly pale, her mouth running dry and herself
feeling dizzy.
“Thank you for taking care of my granddaughter”, the old man said.
Mrs. Smith couldn't say anything, she felt too shocked, too frightened, she just
stared at the two people standing in front of her.
The others started feeling uncomfortably in the silence. “Ma'am?”, Sophia
asked worried. “Are you alright?”
Mrs. Smith shook the head. “Go now”, she said soundlessly.
“But ma'am...”
“GO!!”, she shouted.

Frightened, the little girl hid herself behind her grandfather. She couldn't
understand the sudden mood swing of the older lady, was trembling and had tears
I her ocean blue eyes. Why was she being so mean all of a sudden?
“Come on, Sophia, let's go”, her grandfather said. Then he turned towards
Mrs. Smith. “Madam, I don't know why exactly you treat us that way, but I
still am thankful you took care of my granddaughter. You don't have to worry,
you won't see us again. Farewell.”
Then they left.
“It's impossible... Impossible! He is dead! There is no way he could have been
that man, no!”, Mrs. Smith shouted. She ran into the bathroom to wet her face.
“Calm down, Sophia, calm down”, she told herself and looked up into the
mirror. A pair of grayish-blue eyes stared at her, tired and used, having lost
their ocean blue colour a long time ago. Thin, gray hair surrounded a pale,
wrinkled face with a tiny nose and a small mouth. It was her.
“I see.” Mrs. Smith's expression became calm and understanding.
“Hello”, said Sophia, to herself.

[END]

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