The Women in Black

Those women always came at midnight. I saw them fly down from the sky, their waist-length raven hair billowing in the night air; their black eyes were wide open and alert. You can hear their whispers across the city channels, but it only happened when the city was asleep. When it was noontime, they would stay hidden from our sight.

I watched one of them land near my apartment. She came straight to the bridge and stood right at the edge of it. The woman talked in an indecipherable language. Later, I realized she was calling for the dolphins. It sounded funny and alien to me. Nonetheless, the sound itself was the one that brought the dolphins out from the depths of the water. We never saw dolphins swimming around in the afternoon, and the sight of them playing in the water was remarkable.

My father was a merchant; he often traveled around the world. He would bring gifts for us, something rare and unique that not everyone could easily find in the market. One of the items was a camera; it was so old that its body had already been discolored. It was my favorite plaything when I was still a child. Once I got the camera, I got the idea of capturing their pictures using it.

Since these women were so intelligent in blending their appearance with the shadow, I had to find the right time when they passed a lamp to get enough light. I also had to sneak around them since they were too shy to be around people. One midnight, my camera flashlight surprised them that they shrieked loudly. It woke the entire neighborhood. One of them flew upward right away, followed by her sisters. I thought that they might not be human. Maybe they were "banshee" or "harpies" like in the folktales. Or witches.

Nevertheless, years later, I successfully captured one of them. Her face was quite taken aback when she heard the clicking of my camera, yet she didn't scream at my face. She only flew away like her sister before, leaving me a perfectly captured face of a mysterious woman whose clan had made me curious.

By Christmas, I got many pictures of the women in black wings. I mostly took them in secret. This photo was when they played with the dolphins, this one when they were talking to the statues of the angels, that one when they rode gondolas, and that one when they magically dematerialized the trash. I sold the pictures to the Venice tourists. Surprisingly, they appreciated my simple art, calling it unique and asking me who were the women in those photos. I couldn't tell them. I said they were my siblings modeling the costumes displayed at Venice Carnival.

I used my money for school and to learn more about photography. I thought somebody must have noted down the women's appearance, at least once, in Venice's history. I barely found a trace: I only came with a little story about a group of women who gained black wings after a curse they had to endure. Who might curse them or what possible things these women had done, even if all of that was real, were vague. The true history of these women, apparently, would lie in secret forever.

Time flew by. I worked as a photographer once I graduated. Around the world I flew, making myself famous through my photos and exhibitions. I never looked back at Venice. I have no family left there, anyway. Thus, the memory of the women in black wings also faded as time went by.

Somehow, someone discovered my photos of the women in black wings. He was a wealthy American collector. I realized much later that he also owned a circus. "Not the usual circus with elephants playing balls or a group of silly clowns. It's a freak show," he explained.

I did not understand his words, yet I agreed to go with him to America to see his freak show. He also showed me his collections at home: rare paintings and statues from The Third World, insects, fossils, books, gems, pieces of wood cut from trees that did not exist in the New World, and photos. He owned everything.

"There is still so much more that I want to have," he admitted while we went for lunch. "But storing them all in my house would be a huge burden to me. I'm thinking of opening a museum and—I have to be honest, Sir—because I'm a huge fan of your work, I want to dedicate one section of my museum for your photos. Especially, your earliest works."

We walked to where his freak show was still showing after lunch. From the outside, it looked like an ordinary circus show. Only, I did not hear the sound of the animals. We went into the main tent at the center of the field without purchasing tickets; we got the uppermost seats, the furthest from the stage.

Even from afar, I could see them clearly. On the stage, the women in black I had left a long time ago now appeared in very front of my eyes. Their hands and feet were chained. They could not fly too far, although they still retained their wings. Somebody must have pulled some feathers that helped them fly and escape. Their faces looked glum; they were so much older. It was like traces of happiness I saw in their eyes when they played with the dolphins had long disappeared.

"These creatures with wings, they are the most wonderful living things I've ever seen by far. It is thanks to your photos that I can trace them back to Venice. I intend to display some of them in my museum, next to your photography section."

I turned my head to them. Their eyes were now full of hatred, as my eyes were filled with remorse and guilt.