The Dinner Party

Four years later, humanity had started to come to grips with the changes in their world, even if they weren’t entirely comfortable with the situation yet. A great deal of scholarship had happened: exchanging histories and language with les volants, finding a way to fit them into the legal system, and so forth.

The changes they brought to Aile’s life were perhaps even more profound, on a personal level. If others in her life had known that she’d wished for wings from a young age, they might have understood some of her quirks. They probably would have also taken her to see un psychiatre, which is why she learned very quickly not to discuss the matter with anyone. And anyway, it was fine to dream and stare longingly at fantasy pictures of angels, fairies, and other winged people. But “winged” was one adjective that, in spite of the terrible irony of her name, would never be applied to Aile. In her inner self of inner selves, she had felt that she was one of the winged people. But back then, they simply weren’t real.

Actually meeting the bird-woman outside her home had seriously shaken Aile’s world. On the plus side, here was proof that it was possible. On the minus side, here was something she would be condemned to live beside for the rest of her life and yet could not be, so close and yet so far away.

Aile could stare at the window for hours, watching them fly around, watching them walk down the street with their beautiful feathers in all different shades, watching them hug each other using their wings in what seemed a uniquely intimate gesture. It was a world of which she wished could be a part, and she would wish until tears came. Eventually she had to look away.

She herself could not have explained why she needed this so badly, or why she thought she should be winged in spite of her lack of wings, any more than any other person could explain why they should have a head or two eyes. It simply was.

Over time, though, her love of les volants began to turn to a touch of resentment, jealousy of what they had, what they seemed to take for granted. It was during this time that the dreams started. And still, she held in her pain and persevered.

Everything changed in Aile’s world once again at one of what she had come to think of as her parents’ inane dinner parties. Monsieur and Madame Trepanier were visiting that night, and the wine had already made several rounds. These days, many tried to avoid conversations about les volants, as it seemed like nearly everything that could be said about them had already been said. But the topic was still never far from the surface of anyone’s mind.

Aile had been tuning out the conversation and only responding as needed, and as minimally as possible, but her attention was always drawn back for this topic.

“I don’t know what all the fuss is about, anyhow; it seems rather inconvenient to carry those giant wings around and have feathers falling everywhere that have to be cleaned, and so on and so forth,” M. Trepanier said in a show of bravado. For in reality, many people were more than a little envious of the grace and beauty of said wings, even if they didn’t covet a pair for themselves. “Though I do have to admit that it would be convenient for skipping rush hour traffic!” That brought a round of laughs from the table.

“Would you believe,” Mme. Trepanier said with a slightly condescending smile, “that there are people who worship them? Who believe that they’re the angels of the Bible, for all that they have told us that they’re not. I’ve even heard,” she said in a quieter, conspiratorial tone, “that there are people out there who wish they could become one. The very idea!”

In that moment, it felt to Aile as if the entire universe had contracted to a point, centered in her brain. Time had stopped. The bottom of her stomach fell through the floor, and she almost became sick.

She was not alone! It was almost too much to hope for. When she returned to the world, the conversation had already moved slightly onward after some shaken heads, at the very absurd idea of it. But Aile interrupted them and brought the conversation back; it might be her only chance to find out what she might do.

“How would they do it?” she said, slightly confusing everyone else. “Become Ka’aulele,” she added, causing another moment of confusion as everyone tried to remember what the strange sounding word meant. She grimaced inside at her use of the word that showed that she knew more and was far more interested in the subject than she wanted others to believe, but she was not about to be turned away from the topic now.

Mme. Trepanier, however, merely made a face and shrugged.

Aile’s parents gave her warning looks, remembering her fey days in the past, and hoping that this was not the beginning of a return to those times. She acquiesced ungraciously, but kept the thought in her mind.

Later, as the Trepaniers were leaving, Aile gave it one last try. She cornered Mme. Trepanier on her way back from the toilet.

“Please,” she begged as nicely as she could. “I need to know whatever you know about it.”

Mme. Trepanier gave her an appraising look and said, “Why ever would you want to know?”

“I have a school project about les volants,” Aile said, improvising on the spot and making sure to use the right words this time. “It might be interesting to add.”

Mme. Trepanier paused for long enough to make Aile wonder if she’d said too much.

“Okay, sure. I’m always one to help with schooling,” Mme. Trepanier said. “But I still don’t know much. Just that there are rumors of an insane one among les volants who is trying to help people with their silly fantasies. A doctor, a magician, I haven’t really heard for sure. But please, young Aile, let us talk about this ghastly subject no more.”

The guests were shown out, niceties were exchanged, and Aile’s interruption during dinner was forgotten. But she sat in her room that evening in a state of manic need. Her dreams were perhaps not in vain after all. Who knows, perhaps, she said to herself starrily, I could one day live among them myself.

She tried not to give herself so much hope, because she still had no idea who this doctor was or how to contact him, or if he would even consent to help her, but it was impossible not to be excited.

That night, Aile had a dream.

She is standing in a dark place; all is darkness around her. There is a floor under her feet, and light coming from nowhere.

Rustling sounds like silk come from different directions, sometimes echoing, sometimes almost as if the source of the sound were nearby. She turns her head to look for it, and then the sounds stop. When she turns to face forward again, she is not alone.

A young adult, perhaps in her twenties, is standing about two feet in front of her. Her head is in shadow, but her hair is black. Huge, beautiful wings rustle lightly on her back as she breathes. The wings are some indeterminate, shifting color and shape.

The woman speaks in a melodic language that Aile doesn’t understand; but she understands the meaning of the words: love, friendship, compassion.

Somehow, Aile trusts her completely. She reaches up as if to touch the woman, and the woman reaches out to touch Aile as well. Their hands meet in a little electric spark. The woman’s hand is warm, so very warm. And Aile feels her emotions like thoughts.

Come with me, they say.

Become with me.

Become me.

Aile shivers at the enormity of the offer, the promise of rest.

Let go of your pain and join my light.

Aile and the woman start to walk toward each other at the same time.

And she wakes to the sounds of Paris outside her window.