thering

The Ring and the Finger Women

Kathline made her way to her favourite exhibit - The Ring and the Finger Women. The gold ring carved with the ornate, spiralling carvings, and the small stone statues each showing a human finger tipped with the face of a woman.

The exhibit showed the ring encircling one of the tiny statues, just as it was found in the 18 th Century, washing up on the Cornish coast, in a carved bone box. The Cornish Council had wanted to keep the exhibit at St Ives but the artefacts had been acquired by the British Museum. Kathline stared at the bone box. The sea had washed away most of the carvings, but Kathline could still identify a web of tentacles mingling with tiny carved faces. The same tentacles spiralled around the ring, encompassing the Finger Woman.

Since Michael died, she'd taken to visiting the Finger Women more and more. She'd tried to keep herself busy, she'd tried to make new friends and take on new hobbies. She'd been attending Plumbing for Women this morning at the Worker's Education centre in Camden. She felt the weight of her tools pulling down her bag.

Plumbing for Women. What was I thinking? But the women on the course seemed pleasant enough. Perhaps I'll make some new friends .

She'd been so happy with Michael, over the years, that she'd let her friends slip away. When he died, she realised that she was alone. And now, here she was sixty years old, trying to make friends with the other women plumbers.

Every day she made her pilgrimage here, to stare at the tiny statues and their precious ring, they spoke to her, somehow, gave her loneliness a meaning.

Further Provenance Unknown , the museum card said. Kathline respected the British Museum, it never felt the need to elaborate, and it had the gravitas to state the unknown. The British Museum didn't need to speculate - but Brenda did. She would entertain herself by staring at the tiny faces of the finger women and imaging their stories. It was becoming an obsession, but there was no-one in her life to worry about her now. If she wished to grow into a strange, lonely, old woman then she was free to do so.

She walked through the quiet gallery. The British Museum could be so crowded, but many visitors came only for the famous exhibits, the Mummies, the Parthenon Marbles, the Rosetta stone. Walk up the grand stone stairway, travel to the upper levels and the Museum became a centre of peaceful isolation.

As she reached the exhibit she felt a sense of peace settling on her. Here was the familiar, the meaning she had created by her constant visits. She took in a deep breath, in expectation of her release. It had an almost spiritual meaning to her, these visits to the Museum. They were a sanctuary of constancy in a life that death had so wantonly changed.

But there was change here too. As she approached she noticed something strange. The museum case was open. The display lights were off, leaving the exhibit un-illuminated. Perhaps, a curator was changing the lights and had carelessly left the case open.

Kathline didn't think of herself as a dishonest person, but when she saw that the museum case was open, she reached in and took the ring. She looked around. The gallery was deserted. She slipped the ring onto her finger. The case looked forlorn - the statues surrounding the ring seemed to look upon her accusingly.

She walked quickly, looking neither left nor right. The security guard in the next gallery barely glanced at her on her way out. The Finger Women remained without their centre piece – no one noticed.

Kathline walked down the stairs, the museum was crowded here, the ground floor swelled with the weight of many visitors. She walked through the Medical Gallery. Down through the museum stairs and out the Montague Road exit. No alarms sounded. No one raised their voices and shouted “Stop.”

She walked on, through the park. It was a rare day in London with a hot August heat. Children shrieked and shouted as they ran through the fountain in Russell Square.

Kathline entered the tube at Russell Square station. She managed to get a seat - for once. The carriage was busy, but not overcrowded. A group of teenagers laughed in the end seats, and a business man read The Metro . A harassed mother tried to control her over-excited children. Kathline settled herself and began to think about what she could eat for tea.

It's so hot , she thought. I wish I'd bought some water.

Like most of the London Underground, the Piccadilly Line was not air-conditioned. Londoners and tourists alike braved the extreme heat. The underground was old and sadly out-of-date.

Might as well do some reading, she thought. She opened into her bag. She looked for her plumbing text book, moving aside her new tools. She saw the ring on her finger. I'd forgotten that I'd taken it. How could I forget that I've stolen a ring from the British Museum? What is wrong with me?

Kathline felt faint. She rubbed her finger along the ring, feeling the spiralling engravings. The ring was tight; the flesh of her finger looked white and swollen. It's not the type of thing you should wear on the underground.

She looked at two women, standing by the door, who had gotten on to the carriage at Kings Cross. They were chatting to each other, but then they turned their pale, sleek faces towards Kathline. Were they staring at her? Kathline looked away, and she started to pull the ring off her finger. It was so hot. She really needed some water. And the porcelain crabs ran at her feet.

What? What?

For a moment she thought that she'd seen something scuttling along the platform of the carriage.

Must be a mouse, she thought. Mice were common on the underground. She'd often see them running under the rails. But she'd never seen one inside the carriage.

The women were muttering in some foreign language, harsh and guttural to Kathline's ears. She pulled at the ring again, it wouldn't come off. Her finger must have swollen in this heat.

She began to read her book, hiding her ring finger under the cover. The carriage swayed and a music arose from one of the teenagers, his faces was hidden by his hooded sweatshirt. The music droned on, some sort of chant, Kathline didn't understand modern music.

Perhaps I should tell them to turn the music down, she thought. Outside the window she could see dark reeds swaying in the current.

I always want to tell them but I never do. That's been my problem all my life. I never do what I want to do.

And one of the foreign women turned to her and said, “But you did today. You took my Master's ring. You wanted this. You crave the silence of the Master's touch.” Then she turned back to her friend and seamlessly continued her conversation. Had she spoken to Kathline?

It's the heat I'm hallucinating.

The music intensified a droning prayer to the Master, Lord of all the Seas.

I'm so hot, I must have water, thought Kathline . The terrible music. Can't somebody stop the temple music.

Beating.

Into my head.

I've got to pull the emergency cord . Kathline stood up, and the music rose and rose, deafening now.

Why was nobody saying anything? The porcelain crabs ran amongst her feet, and the sea reeds tapped against the window. Within the current that Master's tentacles swayed and beckoned to her, drawing her to his watery embrace.

I must get help. I must stop this , she tugged at the ring on her finger. I must take this ring off.

She reached into her bag. The carriage was swaying now. The other passengers were unaware. She reached into her bag and her hand found a pair of pliers.

The Master was calling her. She felt the stone beginning to form around her body, confining her, drawing her it into her essence. Her time had come. She was becoming what she had yearned for - a stone Finger Women, encircled by the Master. To become still, to lay aside the cares of life, and rest immobile in his undying embrace.

No. I do not want this. My life is my own, and I will live it.

She screamed but no sound came. The water entered her lungs.

And then she crushed the pliers onto her fingers and tore away the flesh and the ring.

The pain drove away the illusions. She fell to the floor screaming and screaming, one mad woman on the London underground. The other passengers rushed to help her. The ring lay in the corner of the carriage, a gruesome relic, gold shining with a skein of flesh, and blood, and skin, until a porcelain crab emerged and took the Master's ring away.