How do you solve a problem like Maria?

WordSmith

Gerard Smith

It was a difficult decision to make, but I made it: I had to shoot my sister.

Two weeks before all was different, or more precisely, all was the same. Maria and I were in our favourite woodland spot scheming and dreaming. My sister dreamt of growing up to be Maria Von Trapp; and as the sun dappled through the trees she grabbed my hand and pulled me to the edge of the woods, which led down into a sweeping meadow. On the verge she said, “Are you ready?” When I nodded my yes, off she ran: twirling, swirling, and singing, “The hills are alive with the sound of music…” My sister Maria was the most amazing musical I have ever seen.

Now, things were different. Maria had stopped singing, she’d become silent and insular. The smallest things caused large, uncharacteristic outbursts, “NO – I DON’T WANT A TOFFEE,” she shouted, when I offered a strawberry bonbon. The fact was, Maria’s heart and mind were befuddled by a boy, she was in the throes of an unrequited first love – her needy brother was becoming a burden.

But I didn’t know that. Feeling hurt I withdrew into my horror comics, and therein found reason for Maria’s shift – she’d succumbed to possession by a demon.

This fact was corroborated by lyrics from a song in The Sound of Music: How do you solve a problem like Maria, “When I’m with her I’m confused, out of focussed and bemused, and I never know exactly where I am, she’s unpredictable as weather, flighty as a feather, she’s a darling, she’s a DEMON…”

The demon developed rapidly, for hours later came the manifestation. That morning I woke bleary-eyed from too little sleep. Then through a sleepy-blur I heard Maria’s raised voice downstairs. I jumped the stairs, following the sound of Maria’s angry chant into the kitchen. She was arched backwards over the sink while Granny leant over her, cradling her head. I homed in as Granny gently opened Maria’s eye with her thumb and forefinger while ignoring her incessant cry, “What is it…?” Granny pondered before pronouncing, “You have a stye in your eye.”

Maria stared at the stye in the mirror, her face gnarled with revulsion and worry. Me, I stood and glared with her. The white of her eye was vivid red, and in the corner of her inflamed eye-rim, a small mound lurked. Although no bigger than a facial spot, I knew it harboured a menace, a malignant manifestation of the demon within. I was the only one who could help Maria, by shooting her – in the eye. I immediately set off to procure the gun and ammunition.

In a local shop I found what I was looking for…I took the gun, showed the shopkeeper my cash and asked, “Take this, is it enough?” It was. Then off I went to buy the ammo. In Cavan Cathedral, I popped a penny in the candle box; but instead of paying for a candle, I filled my pistol with Holy Water – the ammunition I needed to purge my sister of her possessor.

Strolling back to granny’s house, strategies for ‘Mission Stye’ tumbled through my mind. I decided the best option was to pretend I was playing with my new toy – then – “KERPOW” – shoot Maria in the stye. Satisfied my strategy was water tight, I put the pistol in my pocket and set off, full of demon-slaying confidence.

I pounced through country-granny’s door, mission ready. But the brother stopped me, a look of revulsion on his face. He stared at my nether regions, “Our kid, you’ve pi**ed yourself!” I shot to the bathroom with my inner voice pleading, ‘Please God, let there be some left.’ My heart sank when I retrieved the gun from my sopping pocket; not a drop of Holy-Ammo remained. Maria-Mission-Stye: aborted.

Later that week, Maria went to see a woman with the ‘cure of the stye’ it worked. When I told her my ‘mission-stye-story’ we laughed for Ireland. That was the summer Maria and I transcended siblinghood to become lifelong confidantes.

Spring marks the time my dear sister departed our world, many moons ago, now. Over Easter I returned to our meadow to pause and ponder awhile. The day was breezy with a chill in the air. But I felt warm, for in the distance came her echo on the breeze, “The hills are alive with the sound of music…” and from my mind’s eye Maria’s glowing spirit returned to me: twirling, swirling, my Dancing Queen – she will always be the greatest light show I have ever seen.