Tomi looked up at the portrait. The lady in the painting stared down at him. Her eyes were soft. Her mouth hovered in an almost smile.

“She’s coming today,” he said to Isti, the taller boy next to him.

Isti snorted. “That’s a lie.” He punched Tomi’s arm. “Hurry up. We’ll be late for recitation.”

As they turned, Tomi trailed a backwards glance at Saint Kinga. Her eyes seemed to follow him. He slowed for a moment.

“Come on!” Isti’s voice made him wince. Tomi hurried after. They ran through the boarding school hallways and were just taking their seats with the other boys when Mother Zsuzsa entered the room. She clapped her hands.

“Settle! Settle now.” She waited until the boys were all facing forward. She nodded. “Stand, please.”

The students stood, folded their hands, and sing-songed the morning prayer.

Only Tomi said the words with real intent. He looked at the portrait above the blackboard. Saint Kinga stood before a huge crowd of faithful pilgrims. The radiant painted faces looked up at her. Tiny pigmented eyes shown with inner wonder. Mouths were frozen in permanent ecstasy. Rays of light burst from her face, bathing the rapt audience with bright yellows and oranges. Tomi pictured himself among them. “I would worship you, too,” he thought. Out loud, he carefully enunciated the last words with the rest of the boys, “…and I’ll not fear, for Saint Kinga, whose pleas found the ears of the Lord, has promised unutterable joy to those who wait for her blessed appearance again. Amen.”

Ever since he learned about Saint Kinga during his first year at school he felt a special connection to her because of her compassion toward the poor. He remembered his father’s words to him when he dropped Tomi at school at the beginning of the semester. “You’re here on others’ pity. Their generosity should prod you.”

The morning prayer ended, and the boys all sat. The rest of the boys took out their grammar books, but Tomi kept looking at Saint Kinga. Finally, he dropped his eyes to his desk. He took out his Book of Saints and turned to Kinga’s page. He traced his finger along the words, “…promised unutterable joy to those who wait for her blessed appearance again.”

#

In the playground, Isti hopscotched with the other boys. Tomi sat on one of the benches looking up at the sky.

“She’s not coming,” Isti said.

Tomi looked at him for a moment, but then fixed his eyes on the sky again.

“What’s he doing?” Domo asked.

Isti walked over to Tomi, broadening his shoulders like he did when he wanted to appear bigger.

“He believes the prayer. That’s why he can’t stop looking up.”

Tomi looked at him. “She’s coming,” he said.

“Stop it!” Isti said, louder than he intended. “She’s not. It’s stupid to wait.”

Domo picked up a pebble and pretended to throw it at Tomi. Tomi flinched. The boys laughed at him. Soon they were all swinging their hands through the air with imaginary pebbles. They chanted, “Where’s Saint Kinga? Not here! Not here!”

Tomi stared at the ground. The boys finally grew tired of their taunting and went inside. Tomi looked up again. Clouds darkened the blue sky. A chill breeze blew across the yard. Tomi closed his eyes. “Please come,” he whispered.

#

The dormitory was dark. Here and there a boy snored. Tomi stared out the window. Clouds still studded the sky. Occasionally the moon peeped through, sending dim rays of light through the window onto Tomi’s face.

He tried to close his eyes. They wouldn’t stay closed. He thought about snatches of stories Mother Zsuzsa told them about Saint Kinga.

She was chaste. Those she touched were healed. She walked the halls of the hospitals, sprinkling salt.

Tomi’s eyes popped open. His nostrils shriveled. The air around him had gone dry. Tomi looked around the room. Everyone was still asleep. He listened.

Quietly he crept out of his bed. He pulled on his slippers and trotted to the end of the dormitory. He was just opening the door when Isti grabbed his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you feel the air?” Tomi said. “It must be her. She’s coming!”

The other boys heard the commotion and woke up. Domo hopped off of his mattress and jogged over.

“What’s all this then?”

“Hurry!” Tomi was dancing from foot to foot. “She’s coming. I know it. We must go to the chapel now!”

Domo’s mouth was a thin, angry line. “There’s no saint coming,” he said. “Get back in bed.”

Tomi stamped his foot. “I’m going down!”

Domo stuck his finger in Tomi’s face. “No, you are not! In fact, let’s find out where we put boys who don’t listen.”

He grabbed Tomi’s arms, pinning them at his sides, and lifted him onto his shoulder. Tomi beat against the larger boy’s back, crying and wailing. “Stop! Stop!!”

By now the rest of the boys were awake. Domo had Tomi above his head. He carried him to the janitor’s closet in the back corner of the room. Domo opened the closet and pushed Tomi inside. He slammed the door shut and leaned against it with his back. Tomi’s hands beat against the door.

“Stop it!!” The voice echoed through the dormitory. The boys turned. Mother Zsuzsa stood in the doorway with a lit torch in her hand. She started to walk toward them.

There was a bright flash. In the center of the dorm, between the rows of beds, a column of white appeared. Salt stung the air. The boys winced. Mother Zsuzsa shrieked, dropping to her knees.

“Down! Down!!” she cried to the boys. Everyone fell to the floor.

Above the column appeared a woman’s figure. Her hair was bright white. Her skin was like snow. Her eyes were blue ovals. Light beamed from her hands, illuminating every corner of the dormitory.

Domo fell on his face. Isti cowered against a bed. The rest of the boys stared with trembling lips.

The blue eyes of the lady looked down, passing over every cowering figure below her. Finally, her eyes came to a rest on the door to the closet. She reached out her hand and the door opened. Tomi peered out, his eyes wide with wonder.

The lady beckoned to him. He walked forward, boys parting on either side.

When Tomi reached the pillar, he knelt down, his head bowed. Light from the lady’s face played around him on the floor like snowflakes. Then she reached down and touched his head. A glow of radiance lit the room.

A crack like thunder filled the air and the light vanished. The boys slowly peered out from behind their hands. The room was dark again, lit only by the moonlight which streamed in from the cloudless night sky. The parched smell of salt lingered in the air.

One of the boys gasped and pointed at Tomi. They all looked and then shrank to the walls.

Tomi’s face was white. His eyes were glowing blue. A pool of salt was spreading beneath his feet, slowly filling the room. And he was floating above the ground.

Zary Fekete… …grew up in Hungary …has a debut chapbook of short stories out from Alien Buddha Press and a novelette (In the Beginning) coming out from ELJ Publications. …enjoys books, podcasts, and long, slow films. Twitter: @ZaryFekete