You wouldn't think a ghost would choose a studio apartment for haunting, would you? Especially a new, never before lived in studio apartment. What would be the attraction? Don't ghosts in general prefer much more space than this? Doesn't anyone, living or dead? Don't they prefer winding staircases, darkened hallways, gloomy nooks and cubbyholes? Attics! Dimly lit cellars! Places to hide, shady corners to inhabit. Or maybe those are just the European and American ghosts. I mean, Henry James' Turn of the Screw ghost had its own island, right? The ghost in Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House had its own damn mansion, right? Could pop up anywhere, lots of room for wandering.
But this ghost, the ghost which hangs out in the wall garden area of my little apartment, is an Indonesian ghost, an old, old woman ghost moreover, and perhaps more accustomed to the smaller living spaces of Indonesia--and this area, my wall garden area, is about as small as you can get. There she is, at night only, skimming uncertainly among the bamboo shoots, like a leaf caught in a weak, fitful breeze, and then stopping occasionally to peer in through the windows of the sliding doors--old, bony shoulders hunched, knobby, skeletal fingers to her face, thin grey hair drifting about her head like wisps of fog, looking, looking …
For what?
And why doesn't she come in. She has never come in, even though the doors are most often open, even throughout the night. Not that I want her to come in, mind you. I would distinctly prefer that she not. I would frankly prefer that she not hang out around my house at all. But there she is. Not always, of course. Ghosts are never always. Ghosts are never stable, reliable--or if they are, we ourselves are not able to see them in this manner. We see them in a glance, we see them when we are thinking of something else, we see them through the front window when we enter the house, we see them while we are watching a movie on the TV. They catch your eye and then suddenly there they are, and then gone.
Maybe this ghost is lost. But aren't they all? Isn't that what we think? Maybe this looks like a little garden she had in life. Maybe she saw it from above and floated down, thinking that she had finally found home. Or maybe she has from the beginning been in the right place after all, some place that used to be where it is now, and I am the misplaced shade, the intruder.
But this ghost, the ghost which hangs out in the wall garden area of my little apartment, is an Indonesian ghost, an old, old woman ghost moreover, and perhaps more accustomed to the smaller living spaces of Indonesia--and this area, my wall garden area, is about as small as you can get. There she is, at night only, skimming uncertainly among the bamboo shoots, like a leaf caught in a weak, fitful breeze, and then stopping occasionally to peer in through the windows of the sliding doors--old, bony shoulders hunched, knobby, skeletal fingers to her face, thin grey hair drifting about her head like wisps of fog, looking, looking …
For what?
And why doesn't she come in. She has never come in, even though the doors are most often open, even throughout the night. Not that I want her to come in, mind you. I would distinctly prefer that she not. I would frankly prefer that she not hang out around my house at all. But there she is. Not always, of course. Ghosts are never always. Ghosts are never stable, reliable--or if they are, we ourselves are not able to see them in this manner. We see them in a glance, we see them when we are thinking of something else, we see them through the front window when we enter the house, we see them while we are watching a movie on the TV. They catch your eye and then suddenly there they are, and then gone.
Maybe this ghost is lost. But aren't they all? Isn't that what we think? Maybe this looks like a little garden she had in life. Maybe she saw it from above and floated down, thinking that she had finally found home. Or maybe she has from the beginning been in the right place after all, some place that used to be where it is now, and I am the misplaced shade, the intruder.
3 comments:
Perhaps it’s the ghost of Portland, that once beautiful city that is being defaced, charred, burned nightly by anarchists with the blessings of the mayor. The once free city, bustling with businesses, now boarded up, trashed by looters and rioters. Rioters with no respect for the small business owners and residents living downtown. Many minority owned. The smoke curls up around balconies, choking black smoke. They are not protestors, but people bent on wanton destruction. This went on for 45 days before the feds ever showed up, yet the mayor let it go on, never stepping in. Then the mayor declared it’s the feds fault. What an incredible lie. The liar laughs. The liar by nature doesn’t tell the truth. Yes,the ghost is the collective voices of the people of Portland mourning the loss of their small jewelry shops, cleaners, small ethnic eateries, calling to your heart to finally acknowledge the truth. Violence is wrong. I know you’d probably like to see the feds and cops back off. Portland would be torn down and burned down to the basement if violence won. How sad would that be?
Anonymous--Although I find your interpretation of my ghost inventive, I'm not inclined to agree with your conclusions. I guess this all largely depends on who ones talks to and listens to--and what I myself am hearing from Portland's leaders and Oregon's senior Senator, as well as from my own family members and friends in Portland, is quite different from the picture you paint. To be sure, social unrest can be unpleasant and inconvenient, and good causes are often in danger of being poisoned by small groups of interlopers. Nonetheless, the good cause remains good, and a better day is coming. In any case, I appreciate your colorful prose, and I can sympathize with your frustration.
Not onghosttopic but interesting story in NYT about Bali today during pandemic.
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/07/20/world/asia/bali-tourism-coronavirus.html?campaign_id=9&emc=edit_nn_20200721&instance_id=20482&nl=the-morning®i_id=96944472&segment_id=33942&te=1&user_id=17731c4f89e5611f78c526c104fbd4c0
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