The Statue

We stood on our tip-toes, on the very top step of our school building's back enterance, to peek over the wall. The wall was old, the red brick now mossy, cracks running up where ants made their busy homes. On the other side lay an empty house; according to legend, a palace- it was certainly large enough; and we could see a little courtyard, and the back of a statue of Buddha.


The statue was the fuel for our fervid imaginings. Perhaps it came alive at night, and wandered the empty halls in moonlight. Maybe on some special night, solstice or equinox, it revealed the enterance to some hidden treasure. Such an interesting statue, in such an interesting place, could not be for any common purpose. Perhaps it was the meeting place of a princess and her lover; maybe they were killed on that very spot, and the statue wept tears of blood, and the palace stood empty forever.

There were only a few of us allowed to share in the secrets of the statue. We lunched daily on the steps behind the school. The back door was always closed, the bolt outside was drawn and rusted over. I was not an original member of the girls who lunched there. I'd wormed my way into that select coterie determinedly, and then lent my fantasies to the group with the passion of the convert.

It wasn't simply at lunch that we discussed it. We conspired throughout the day, talking of events that were happening on the other side of that wall, which we would foil or aid. Other girls, caught in the mundane world, regarded us jealously, wondering what we spoke of, that allowed us to escape the world of geometry and composition.

Sometimes they would lean and try to over here, at which we would exchange speaking glances and fall silent. "Fine", they would say, "Keep your stupid secrets." But they didn't believe that they were so stupid, or they would not have tried so hard to find out.

The death of fantasy is one who shines too bright a light on the pleasant shadows, and somehow, one such managed to get into our little group. We took her to the back of the school and showed her the statue and the pool in front of it, overgrown now with lack of tending, We peered through the trees that shrouded the house and pointed out the porticos and the locked doors, and whispered that ghosts in white saris walked there at night. She listened wide-eyed, and declared she wanted to see.

"Have you seen?" she demanded.

"Of course" We replied.

Any decent friend would have left it at that. "I want to see too." she declared.

"Alright." We replied. "Wait in your bedroom tonight. We'll come and pick you up. And then we'll show you."

Naturally, we all went to our beds at the normal hour. None of us were prepared for her to say, the next morning, "I waited and waited and nobody came."

We exchanged startled glances. This was not how the game was played. Clearly there had been some miscommunication.

"We'll come tonight" We promised, caught.

And of course no one came that night as well.

And on and on... until she declared. "I don't believe there's anything special about that statue." And we looked indignant. "Maybe its you who isn't special enough to see it." I snapped. But we grew more secret after that, closer and yet more apart, until the secrets of the statue were only in our minds, not even shared with others who had known it.