"In my village," she says, placing two more candles another foot closer to the door, "every New Year we cleaned the houses." She lights two more candles and puts them still nearer the door, a bit farther apart. "We shook out the carpets and washed the walls and swept the street."
"Starting the New Year clean," Rafferty says.
She places two more candles, then makes a small adjustment in the two she had put down last. Rafferty can't see any difference, but she cocks her head to one side and studies it, then leaves it alone. "At the end of the day, we lit candles in paper bags and put them along the street and then off across the fields to the forest."
"And the point was…?"
"It was a path," she says. All the candles are in place now, illuminating a strip of carpet that begins at the wet spot and gradually widens to the door. "Come here," she says. She sits on one side of the wet spot and slips a fingernail beneath the rubber band that seals the bag of water. Intent on the task, which she is doing slowly and very deliberately, she lifts her head a fraction of an inch to indicate the place on the opposite side of the spot. "Sit."
He sits. He can feel the flesh on his legs shrink away from the dampness beneath his knees.
She has worked the rubber band free of the bag now, holding it carefully by the open end so not a drop of water spills out. She lifts her face to his. He can see the tears standing in her eyes.
"We couldn't leave you alone with her," she says. "Miaow and I. We both love you. And we know you. We know you'll just go on stepping over this spot. Waiting for it to dry. And it will never dry. And you won't know she's here."
He wants to say that she's not here, but all he can really hear is, We both love you. He nods his head, uncertain of his voice.
"Tell her you're sorry," Rose says.
For a long moment, a moment subdivided by the flickering of the candles, Rafferty isn't sure he can say it. Then he whispers, "I'm sorry."
Rose's eyes never leave his. "Tell her you don't blame her for the karma that trapped her, that made her do such terrible things. Tell her you know she had light inside her. Tell her you wish her spirit well."
Rafferty gets through it somehow. When he says he knows she had light inside her, he realizes he is crying.
"Put out your hands," Rose says. "Over the bowl."
He does as he's told, palms up, and she slowly pours the water over them. She puts down the empty bag, picks up the small Buddha, and holds it over her heart. She closes her eyes. "Now tell her she's free."
In the hallway outside, Mrs. Pongsiri steps from the elevator and pauses at the open doors. She sees the shoes beside the door, the path of light, the two people kneeling at the end of it, the water being poured. Then the man, her neighbor Mr. Rafferty, says something, and at the same time the candles flicker as though a window has been opened, and something cold blows against-no, through-Mrs. Pongsiri. She takes a step back, feeling the skin pucker on her arms.
At the end of the path of light, the man and the woman bend toward each other until their foreheads touch. Their eyes are closed.