The Explorer's Apprentice

18:Strange Isabelle

Isabelle Claiborne

 Isabelle is king of the world, so to speak. She sails around the ship like she owns it; chatting with every kind person she sees, head high, and never once tripping on her long skirts. Strange Isabelle – no, Arabelle, that is her name – knows just how to walk in them. Isabelle finds it much easier to interact if she just sits back, relaxes, and lets Arabelle take her along for the ride. She doesn’t question the other girl in her head much anymore. It’s Isabelle’s head after all. Arabelle, technically, is a part of her, and Isabelle trusts her head.

Isabelle watches Arabelle wave to some girls in corsets so tight you can see the outlines of ribs. It is her coma, in the end. And she might as well enjoy it until the doctors wake her up.

Arabelle’s name is being called. Isabelle stops her stroll and turns toward the voice of Arabelle’s mother. There she is, with her unmistakable mountain of curls. Her hair arrives several moments before she does.

“Arabelle!” her mother coos, “You’re looking much better, aren’t you? I told them, I said, she just needs a little air. That’s what I told them.”

“You, did, Mother,” Isabelle lets herself say. One of the keys to excellent conversation is, it turns out, repetition of what the person just said.

“Excellent! Now please, darling, come meet the Bukaters, such a lovely family. The daughter is your age.”

Isabelle has obviously met lots of people in the past hour or so, through her mother’s instructions and even on her own, going over to talk to anyone who looks somewhat inviting. It’s fun. Because of Arabelle, Isabelle has never felt so confident. Arabelle never falters, never crumbles, she never makes mistakes like plain old Isabelle would.  Arabelle is like a super Isabelle—a better version of herself. Because of this, Isabelle has decided to go with mostly everything her other self says, even if it goes against her own instinctive thoughts. Most of the time, though, it really isn’t much of a big deal—or so she tells herself. Arabelle only makes minor suggestions, and it’s not like Isabelle has to listen. She is still the one in charge. Her other self is just a sort of—guide. Perhaps all comas are like this. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with taking her advice.

 So when Isabelle starts to think of how familiar the name ‘Bukater’ sounds, she stops herself from pursuing the thought as soon as Arabelle thinks, of course not. I’ve never met these people. How could I recognize the name?

“Of course, Mother, I’d love to.” And she means it.

She sees the oldest member of the family, a woman, standing in front of a bench. She is well dressed, of course— Arabelle’s mother would never introduce her to any other kind—and looks ready to take on the world. Arabelle casts the woman her most winning grin. On the inside, though, she wriggles with disgust.

Isabelle can’t help but wonder why.

 She looks like a skeleton, Arabelle thinks. There is absolutely no meat on her bones! And her smile looks…fake. She reminds me of Ms. Mavis, the old lady from the vegetable market in Paris. She hardly ever smiled. And when she did, I just knew it wasn’t real.

Instantly Isabelle is filled with the knowledge of just who Ms. Mavis is, and she can suddenly picture the woman so clearly. Gray hair, gray skin, gray eyes, she can see everything as if she’d met with the old woman just yesterday. Not only does she share Arabelle’s body, but she also seems to share her brain, her memories and, sometimes, even her thoughts.

But only sometimes… Isabelle assures herself. I know what’s real and what’s not.

Yes, yes she does remind me of Mrs. Mavis, she agrees. She holds the smile, but studies the dark, cold eyes of the Bukater woman carefully. A small memory comes floating up from her subconscious. But that’s not the only person she reminds me of….