Ascension —Jade Lancaster

Every Sunday, we kiss Mama Glynn’s portrait. One by one, we form a line, hands clasped and lean over to rub our lips on her cheek. The paint is fainter there, where we’d polished off the pigment. I’m still a level one, so I need to drag a stool up the dais and position it below to reach. 

Mama’s eyes are warm in the painting. Inviting and kind. Mama Glynn is kind, but in person her eyes are dull and the skin below them droops. Sometimes, she tells me, with her bony hand clasping my shoulder, “these wrinkles are from the stress of being level six.” And her laughter rings out around the living room, and the room erupts with her. 

When we are level ones, we wear plastic overalls around the house, zipped all the way up to the chin. We eat dinner in the draughty conservatory. Pie. Usually cheese, but on Ascension days like today, fish. When I cut into it, the crust crumbles and sometimes a fish eyeball rolls out, drowning in white sauce. My level one cousins put their heads together to whisper, plastic suits squeaking, until a level two cousin clicks her tongue. “No talking at the dinner table. Mama Glynn won’t like it.” 

“Mama Glynn isn’t here,” I reply and when I look up to meet her stare, I slump in my chair and don’t say another word. I poke at the eyeball. Juice squirts out. On the other side of the door, where the level threes and above eat with Mama Glynn, an aunt cries out. “Oh Glynn! What a fantastic fish pie!” 

“You know, I caught the fish myself.” 

We’re not allowed to see the level fives in person, so they all hunch behind a plastic tarp, their blurred outlines vibrating with noise.

Once everyone finishes eating, Mama Glynn enters the conservatory. She’s draped in furs and her earrings dazzle under the chandelier. Around the table she circles, tracing her fingers along our shoulders and we sit, still as prey, palms flat on the surface. My cousin Nina has stuffed fish eyeballs into her bra and she’s gripping hard at the wood so not to squirm. 

Mama Glynn pauses behind me and stretches out a bony finger to prod the coiled fish guts left on my plate. “What’s this?” 

“I’m so full Mama. I couldn’t possibly.” 

She laughs her sing-song laugh and my dozen cousins do the same. Echo her glorious hoots, cawing like birds. She reaches out and strokes my hair, smoothing it back for a moment before coiling her finger through a strand. “Perhaps if you listened to your stomach more, you might lose some weight and be pretty like the rest of us.” And she leans forward and kisses my scalp. “I only want you to be happy.”  

#

Level two is the same, only in yellow sundresses and plastic smiles. Mama Glynn braids our hair every night before bed and snips off any curls that aren’t perfect when we present ourselves with them unravelled in the mornings. Nina has hair like a hedgehog by now but she doesn’t take the time to coil her fingers through the imperfect curls and moisturise them with oil, so it’s her fault. She only has three left trailing down her back now. 

“Why don’t you just let me fix them for you?” I ask as we clamber out of bed.

“What’s the point?”

“Mama will chop off the rest! That’s the point.”

“Let her! I don’t care what she does.” 

I shove my hand over her mouth. “You’re going to end up outside before your time if you keep up this talk, Nina! You don’t want to be like Nancy!” 

#

When you make it to level five, your picture is hung on the wall of the lounge, in a small but ornate frame. A cluster of them swarms Mama’s. By the time I’ll make it up there with my aunts and uncles gleaming faces, the portraits will have spread out onto the other walls too. 

Wriggling my toes against the mint-coloured carpet, I stare up at the painting of my oldest cousin. I can still smell the paint and the picture has a dewiness to it which looks like it would smear if I ran my fingers down her face. I imagine how that would feel, thick and sticky against my fingers. For a moment, I reach out, stretching open my hand but if it was still wet and I ruined her face, I’d have to go outside. And I’m so close to making it in my family and levelling-up. Outside is where men are dangerous and the air is cold and where there’s no Mama Glynn to keep me safe. Cousin Nancy did something so terrible that banished her to the outside but nobody has told me what. I don’t think I want to know. 

#

Mama Glynn is a charitable woman. On the last Saturday of each month, she hosts a dinner for the ‘Aid for the Unfortunate’ committee. It’s my first day as a level three so, I get to serve our guests, and kiss Mama’s fingers before every meal. And announce how grateful I am for what she provides. 

We wear green dresses and pull the silk hoods over our heads. Just as well, because now, Nina has a bald head. Her eyes are still red with tears from when Mama pressed her bony frame into a chair and raked a shaver across her skull. “We can’t have my friends seeing you with all of this choppy, uneven hair, Nina! You’re an embarrassment to our family.” She’d said and Nina howled whilst her hair fell into her lap.

She has uneven patches that make her resemble an anaemic giraffe and I stare at her head until it’s covered in emerald cloth. We stand side by side with the rest of our newly-anointed level three cousins, waiting for the doors to the dining hall to open. Waiting to finally meet our level five relatives and be accepted into our family as junior members. 

The heavy doors groan as they’re pried apart and I gasp at the decadence of the dining room, lit by the soft glow of a gold chandelier, all oak panelling and crystal dinnerware. Mama Glynn sits at the head of the table in her furs and she’s ripping off pieces of a whole chicken and pressing pieces into her mouth. Her cheeks are smeared with grease and lipstick, and every now and then, a level four, draped in black, hurries forward and wipes away the stains. 

My job is to take the jugs of wine and fill up our guests’ glasses, but they’re all still full so I wait. And for the first time, I spot my level five relatives in the flesh. All their heads are turned, facing Mama Glynn but their eyes, unlike their paintings, are a void black; unblinking. And Nina must have spotted them at the same time because she gasps. 

“Oh Mama!” 

I prod her with my elbow but everyone’s listening to Mama Glynn tell them about how she saved a man today.

“What has she done to them?” Nina whispers. 

We’ll have to wait until we’re in black to ask them.

#

When we are sure our cousins are sleeping and soft snores fill the room, I clamber into Nina’s bed and we lay shoulder to shoulder in case anyone peeks in. The image of our aunties’ eyes, blown wide and empty circles through my head. I imagine the eyes in their portraits, warm brown and filled with soul, exploding like an egg in their sockets, and the juices running down their faces. “What do you think happened to them?” I ask quietly. 

“I don’t know…but I don’t think I want that to happen to me.” 

“Hmm…” I tap my fingers against my leg. “I don’t think we have a choice…not if we want to be like them. We don’t want to be stuck serving forever, Ni.”

She laughs. “I guess not. I’ll ask Mama Glynn tomorrow what the hell that was.” 

“You better not.” 

“I’d better not…” 

The rest of my level-three years are filled with unasked questions. 

#

Slipping into level-four robes makes my chest ache with exhilaration. They’re slippery and smell like Mama and once I’m in them, I rush upstairs to see how they fit on Nina too. We have our own rooms now, and so I knock. But when I open the door, I find her room bare. “Nina!” I call and poke my head further inside to check. But I’m going to be late, and even though my stomach twists, I hurry downstairs to the kitchen. 

Level fours have the honour being trained by Mama. They are the spine of the household and they create. Cooking dinner, running the home, fixing broken things. And they’re allowed to chat with anyone without waiting to be spoken to, including Mama Glynn. So, when I enter the kitchen and she’s waiting, surrounded by a throng of cloaked figures, I ask. “Mama, where’s Nina?” 

She turns to face me and arches her brow. She’s clutching a fish and it’s still alive, squirming and trying to slip to freedom. 

“Nina won’t be ascending today, darling.”

“Why?”

“She asks too many questions…” 

I bite my lip. Nod. I’d never heard of anybody not ascending, apart from Nancy, but with the whole room frowning at me, my cheeks burn. I imagine endless green hills of the outside swallowing me up if I don’t make it to my final level. 

“Now you’ve got our attention, why don’t you begin hm?” Mama says and thrusts the fish toward me. It’s slimy and stronger than I expect and as it thrusts, I scream. A hot burning sensation splits open my palm and there’s bloom of blood across my palm. I lose my grip and the fish smacks hard into the floor. My cousins tut their tongues in unison. 

“The first rule of gutting a fish! Grasp it by the head!” Mama Glynn says, howling with laughter. She snatches it up again. “Go on.” She hands back the pulsing fish and a fillet knife. 

“W-what?” I ask. 

“How do you think fish pie is made you stupid girl. Gut it!” 

I don’t want to. I consider shouting it but my hands are trembling and the words fizzle into my head so I take the knife and slice into its belly. As its blood and guts rush out and into waiting bowl, Mama Glynn strokes my hair and calls me her favourite. 

#

“Auntie,” I say when I pass my first level-five in the halls. She pauses, hand going up to stroke the pearls around her neck. She’s the youngest member of the fives and she turns to smile at me, corners of her eyes twitching. 

“Oh hello. It is a beautiful day, is it not?” She asks and lets out a laugh that rings out around the hall. 

I smile back. “It is,” I say and search her eyes to make contact, but they’re so dark I am not sure if she can even see me. “Auntie, why do your eyes look like that?”

“Your eyes will look like this someday.” 

“I know auntie, but why?” 

Her smile flattens. “What do you mean, why?” 

“What do they do to you in your ascension? Why do your eyes look like that?” I try to keep the frustration out of my voice but anger is beginning to ripple through me in waves. 

She laughs again. Pats my shoulder and slinks off down the hall. 

#

I have to wait for dinner to see Nina again. Her face is swollen and her gaze feels like fire when she looks at me. We’re not allowed to talk when we serve and so I watch her, swathed in her emerald cloak, offering up a bowl of cherries to our guests until the rooms gets loud with chatter and then I take her arm. “Are you okay?” I whisper. 

She pulls her arm away and shoots me a glower before putting down her bowl of cherries. 

“Nina, I’m sorry, this must be awful for you.” 

Nina huffs and turns away so fast, her hood falls off and her blonde bob swings with her. Her curls are perfect now. 

“Please talk to me.” 

She turns again and shrugs. And then opens her mouth wide and in the place of a tongue is a tiny pink nub twitching in the back of her throat, coated in thick black stitches. I gasp and turn away from her. Around us, the room has fallen quiet. Mama Glynn stands from her place at the table and drops her napkin. “I’m so sorry for commotion, dear friends. My darling Nina got herself into a terrible accident. We’re so ashamed and as you can see, some of us are a little hysterical.” She looks at me and I slump. “In lighter news however, we’re raising money for my new charity, Aid for the Prevention of Child Cruelty. This charity meant a lot to our darling Nina, so please consider giving generously this evening.” 

The room shakes with applause. 

#

In the months before I take my level five vows and swear my allegiance to our family, Mama puts me on an ice diet but she coos sympathetically and allows me to flavour the blocks with diet Coca-Cola. Whilst my family eat dinner, I sit with two ice cubes tucked into my cheeks and suck slowly, making sure to suck the drool back up into my mouth before it pools too far out. It’s impolite to hold the ice in my fingers and if I don’t stick both of them in my mouth at once, one will melt too much and last time I tried to suck up the juice, Mama slapped me across the cheek. 

“You’re eating ice.” A level three cousin says, blinking at me. She once had the fire in her that Nina did, until she learned of Nina’s fate. But she knows how to ask questions without asking questions. 

“Yes. Because she’s still a little bit fat.” Mama says. Today is a guestless day and so the threes and up have the honour of eating at her table. “She still needs to lose three pounds by next week in time for her portrait. I won’t have a fat face hanging on my wall next to me.”

“Oh Glynn! What a fantastic pie!” an aunt calls out suddenly.

“You know, I caught the fish myself.” 

As the table erupts, Nina and I exchange a look. 

#

We line up outside the yellow drawing room, hands clasped, waiting to get our paintings done. The line seems to be ordered by Mama’s favourites and naturally, I’m one from the back of the line. Then, there’s Nina, who, now tongueless, has been allowed to re-join us in our levelling up. My legs are trembling with more fervour for each person that disappears into the room. Once we’re painted, we’ll join in the ceremony and then our eyes… I swallow and look out of the window, toward the rolling moors in the distance. It’s been left open, letting in a breeze that ruffles the net curtains. I have to go in that room or out there…where it’s dangerous. I blow out a breath and turn to face Nina. Her face is clammy and pale but she points her finger down and makes a turning motion and so I look away. 

Whitney Houston’s ‘I wanna Dance with Somebody’ is playing in room, muffled and tinny, as if its being played out of an old speaker. As the line dwindles, my heart rises out of my chest and into my throat and I think I might retch. And then it’s my turn. The doors part and I enter the yellow room, where the smell of oil paint and turpentine burns my nose. When I go to sit in the stool opposite the painter, I notice Mama Glynn and my newly-anointed cousins are in the room, standing in the far corner. Their eyes empty but they’re not wearing the smiles I’m used to seeing in a level five. Their mouths are open wide in shock and my cousin who went just before me, her face is still twitching. She’s letting out little whimpers of pain. 

“I don’t want to have my painting done actually. I don’t think I’m ready for this.” I let out an exasperated laugh and step away from the stool. 

“Oh darling, we all get the jitters. Sit,” Mama Glynn says softly. 

I do. The stool creaks but I turn to face the artist and straighten my back. The soft squelch of oil being smeared across the canvas does something to calm my flickering heart and I let out steady, calming breaths. It’s just a painting. I can change my mind about ascending before it’s put up. I give the artist a faint smile and then there’s a bony hand being pressed against my mouth and my screaming is smothered into her sagged skin. Mama’s holding me tight against her chest and no matter how much I try to thrash, her clutch anchors me to the stool. And then she curls her arm and a sharp tool is twirling toward my face. I try to careen my head back, but she’s too fast and she shoves the metal into my eye and I scream. Wet splatters across my cheeks. There’s a dull pop as she pulls my eye from its socket and juices run down my face. She reaches out and a cousin comes with a bowl of freshly collected eyes so Mama can drop it into the pot. I’m screaming into Mama’s palm. The pain shoots all across my head in waves and I slam my boot repeatedly into the ground. 

“Shusssh,” Mama whispers. “It will all be over soon.” I watch my eyeball tumble in with the rest. 

“This is going to be a great pie, Mama.” My cousin coos, rocking on the balls of her feet. 

Mama smiles. “Thanks. I caught the ingredients myself.” And she thrusts the knife back into my other eye and everything goes dark. 

#

The door opens and Nina’s boots make the floorboards creak. The pain has softened into a gentle pulse but my legs sway as I stand somewhere in the corner. The world has vanished into a blur of sounds and vibrations, but there are floods of light pouring out of the darkness from where Mama stands in the room and my gaze follows her movements. 

“Sit down Nina, dear.” Mama says. 

The stool creaks and Mama approaches. There’s a sharp gasp and I beam. Nina is about to ascend with us at last. 

“Nina. Let go of my hair!” Mama Glynn says tersely. And then, she begins to yell but the words get swallowed up by a gurgle and the scuffing of her boots and she splutters out rasping breaths. 

But Mama. The first rule of gutting a fish is to grasp it by the head.

And then a heavy thud as she drops to the ground. 

Nina lets out a pathetic sob then and light radiates from her. 

#

Every Sunday, we kiss Mama Nina’s portrait. One by one, we form a line, hands clasped and lean over to rub our mouth over the canvas. The texture feels rough and grainy under my lips, where the paint is still thick. It smells like oils and I run my fingers along the filigree frame. It’s bigger than Glynn’s. But Mama Nina is after all, a level seven.

AUTHOR BIO:

Jade Lancaster recently graduated from Durham University with a Master's degree in creative writing. As a queer woman of colour, she’s looking to expand her insights and experiences through the lens of fiction. Jade currently lives in Northern England with her cat, Rupert, and finds inspiration in exploring quirky museums and antique bookshops.
Twitter: @Jade__Lancaster