Tuesday, June 02, 2009
In life and in death
They had sunk their ballooning bodies on the bedside of Michael, trembling, shuddering and aghast. Life was breathing out of him, the limbs had been broken, the head had been bandaged and the beddings were blooded.
He uttered a word but his voice faded like a faint echo from distant hills. He carried in his soul not only his voice but his and the voice of Miranda. Mr. and Mrs. Yotamu exchanged glances as rivulets of tears flew out of their eyes. They looked at their son in the eyes again; they were lifeless and lusterless and seemingly pupil less.
Michael had not slept at home for three days. The last time he bombarded his parents’ house, he had snaked in shouting, the hairs on his head standing erect with anger. His wounded heart was cursing the days and the hours and the bitter moments which seemed to lengthen and lengthen.
“You don’t understand what it is to love Miranda,” he shouted.
Mr. Yotamu’s face thickened as anger exploded through his bushy mouth. “You are not grown up enough to understand love. Look at my bald head, my life has seen and known more than you.”
Michael rolled his shirt as his glance clashed with her mother’s face. She knew they would not agree anything. As long as Michael was their child they would never succumb to his emotions.
“We seek the best for your life. We raised you up and we would love to see you happily married. Not to that lunatic…”
Michael had his hands elevated in the air. “God forbid. She is as human as papa and you.”
Life had been rosy until the moment Michael arrived with Miranda in his parent’s house. It was time he was grown up enough to have a matrimonial ring on his finger. He had walked in, hand in hand with Miranda. Her other hand was striking the walking stick down as she was searching for where to step her foot next.
“Meet Miranda,” Michael had said as they were seated. “We have been in love since the days of our college and I am pleased to say that we have resolved to get married.”
Mr. Yotamu did not answer. Mrs. Yotamu looked at her son with disgust.
“We are all teaching at the same secondary school,” he continued, unmindful of their displeased faces.
Mr. Yotamu took a sip of cold water, angrily gazed at his son. His voice, like thunder, roared: “She is blind, isn’t it?”
“Yes dad.”
“You are marrying a blind girl, isn’t it?”
“Yes dad.”
He cleared his throat. “We have never had a blind person in our clan and I swear, you should not be the first one to bring this bad omen amidst our people.”
Miranda’s heart thundered as tears trekked out of her sightless eyes.
Mrs. Yotamu added more salt on the fresh wound: “I think something is wrong with you my son. Of all the girls, why a blind one? What is there in the blind that is so special that the sighted do not have?”
Michael felt the bricks of pride being demolished. Miranda was not just any ordinary woman. She was a woman full of love. Thrice, girls with sight had duped him for others. He wanted to tell them that back at the college when he was admitted at the hospital Miranda was on his bedside.
Michael wore a mantle of courage on his shoulders: “She is blind, yes, but her soul has eyes that can see love. You are sighted but in your sighted eyes you are unable to see love. To me, as blind as she is, she is not just a breathing living thing but the Miranda of my dreams. If only you had eyes that could see what lies in oceans of love, you would have smiled at Miranda. She would not have been shedding tears…”
Mr. Yotamu bashed the table. “Out of my sight.”
With his meaty hands he rushed at the girl, grabbed her on the wrist and muscled her out. Michael could hardly believe the action of his beastly father. Miranda fell on the veranda as Michael walked slowly towards her. He held her on his bosom as her tears rained on his chest.
Michael stormed into the house lazily in the evening like a cat fished out of the bowl of oil, disjointed, restless and tired. He looked at his mother as tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Do you know what you have done mama…”
They were both looking at him.
“Mama, Miranda is at the hospital. Her blood pressure shot high resulting into stroke. I have seen her being oxygenated…”
Mr. Yotamu banged the table. “If you have nothing to say you better retire for sleep.”
Michael changed his shirt then stood before them. “If it was a blind man marrying a sighted woman you would not complained. It now seems a crime for the opposite to happen.”
He banged the door behind his back, dragging his feet slowly like an impregnated chameleon on the way to the hospital, leaving behind a tiny cloud of dust. The image of Miranda was before him, ricocheting his mind over and again. In the hospital his eyes caught a glance with those of Miranda: they had lost the sparkle and were looking more distant. She felt her hand in his then felt a cold chill down his spine. Blood had stopped flowing. It was all over for Miranda.
“In life and in death I will always love you,” with a tearful face Michael said as he was throwing soil in her grave that had welcomed its new tenant. He saw the soil closing her from the chapter of the living. But not to him, together they had written a painful chapter that could not be thrown away. From the disordered chamber of his brain, Miranda had not departed and she would never depart.
Mr. and Mrs. Yotamu were shaken when the police called them with the shocking news that their son had been hit by a speeding track. He had been walking on the road, unmindful of the direction. Witnesses had said that several cars hooted at him but he kept walking until a truck hit him.
“We should have let him marry Miranda,” her voice was sorrow-stricken as her hand firmly rested on Michael’s chest. He coughed, blood gushed out of his mouth.
“Our only son…,” her voice died as she got lost into sobs. She looked at the husband in the eyes; they were red as his countenance sombred.
The doctor pressed Michael at the chest and blood gushed out again.
“Our records show that he was absent minded as he was crossing the road,” the doctor tried to sooth them. A stethoscope was hanging down his chest as he was gazing at them through the spectacles that were hanging on the edges of his nostrils.
“Mama,” his voice labored to be audible.
“Speak my son, speak.”
Michael coughed, parted the blooded lips open then distantly said. “You…you see what you have done to Miranda…”
They looked at him; his face was drenched in tears. “I have no reason to remain alive in this world where others have power to deny others love. When Miranda was alive I was happy but you killed my happiness hours…”
The doctor pulled a thermometer out of Michael’s armpits as he labored to speak.
“Death is kind mama. I will meet Miranda in the world of the dead where love can blossom regardless of blindness. Love, ma…loves…”
His mouth remained agape as the eyes stood still. The doctor punched him on the chest then spread his arms in the air.
“I am afraid we have lost such a wonderful young man.”
She fainted.
He uttered a word but his voice faded like a faint echo from distant hills. He carried in his soul not only his voice but his and the voice of Miranda. Mr. and Mrs. Yotamu exchanged glances as rivulets of tears flew out of their eyes. They looked at their son in the eyes again; they were lifeless and lusterless and seemingly pupil less.
Michael had not slept at home for three days. The last time he bombarded his parents’ house, he had snaked in shouting, the hairs on his head standing erect with anger. His wounded heart was cursing the days and the hours and the bitter moments which seemed to lengthen and lengthen.
“You don’t understand what it is to love Miranda,” he shouted.
Mr. Yotamu’s face thickened as anger exploded through his bushy mouth. “You are not grown up enough to understand love. Look at my bald head, my life has seen and known more than you.”
Michael rolled his shirt as his glance clashed with her mother’s face. She knew they would not agree anything. As long as Michael was their child they would never succumb to his emotions.
“We seek the best for your life. We raised you up and we would love to see you happily married. Not to that lunatic…”
Michael had his hands elevated in the air. “God forbid. She is as human as papa and you.”
Life had been rosy until the moment Michael arrived with Miranda in his parent’s house. It was time he was grown up enough to have a matrimonial ring on his finger. He had walked in, hand in hand with Miranda. Her other hand was striking the walking stick down as she was searching for where to step her foot next.
“Meet Miranda,” Michael had said as they were seated. “We have been in love since the days of our college and I am pleased to say that we have resolved to get married.”
Mr. Yotamu did not answer. Mrs. Yotamu looked at her son with disgust.
“We are all teaching at the same secondary school,” he continued, unmindful of their displeased faces.
Mr. Yotamu took a sip of cold water, angrily gazed at his son. His voice, like thunder, roared: “She is blind, isn’t it?”
“Yes dad.”
“You are marrying a blind girl, isn’t it?”
“Yes dad.”
He cleared his throat. “We have never had a blind person in our clan and I swear, you should not be the first one to bring this bad omen amidst our people.”
Miranda’s heart thundered as tears trekked out of her sightless eyes.
Mrs. Yotamu added more salt on the fresh wound: “I think something is wrong with you my son. Of all the girls, why a blind one? What is there in the blind that is so special that the sighted do not have?”
Michael felt the bricks of pride being demolished. Miranda was not just any ordinary woman. She was a woman full of love. Thrice, girls with sight had duped him for others. He wanted to tell them that back at the college when he was admitted at the hospital Miranda was on his bedside.
Michael wore a mantle of courage on his shoulders: “She is blind, yes, but her soul has eyes that can see love. You are sighted but in your sighted eyes you are unable to see love. To me, as blind as she is, she is not just a breathing living thing but the Miranda of my dreams. If only you had eyes that could see what lies in oceans of love, you would have smiled at Miranda. She would not have been shedding tears…”
Mr. Yotamu bashed the table. “Out of my sight.”
With his meaty hands he rushed at the girl, grabbed her on the wrist and muscled her out. Michael could hardly believe the action of his beastly father. Miranda fell on the veranda as Michael walked slowly towards her. He held her on his bosom as her tears rained on his chest.
Michael stormed into the house lazily in the evening like a cat fished out of the bowl of oil, disjointed, restless and tired. He looked at his mother as tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Do you know what you have done mama…”
They were both looking at him.
“Mama, Miranda is at the hospital. Her blood pressure shot high resulting into stroke. I have seen her being oxygenated…”
Mr. Yotamu banged the table. “If you have nothing to say you better retire for sleep.”
Michael changed his shirt then stood before them. “If it was a blind man marrying a sighted woman you would not complained. It now seems a crime for the opposite to happen.”
He banged the door behind his back, dragging his feet slowly like an impregnated chameleon on the way to the hospital, leaving behind a tiny cloud of dust. The image of Miranda was before him, ricocheting his mind over and again. In the hospital his eyes caught a glance with those of Miranda: they had lost the sparkle and were looking more distant. She felt her hand in his then felt a cold chill down his spine. Blood had stopped flowing. It was all over for Miranda.
“In life and in death I will always love you,” with a tearful face Michael said as he was throwing soil in her grave that had welcomed its new tenant. He saw the soil closing her from the chapter of the living. But not to him, together they had written a painful chapter that could not be thrown away. From the disordered chamber of his brain, Miranda had not departed and she would never depart.
Mr. and Mrs. Yotamu were shaken when the police called them with the shocking news that their son had been hit by a speeding track. He had been walking on the road, unmindful of the direction. Witnesses had said that several cars hooted at him but he kept walking until a truck hit him.
“We should have let him marry Miranda,” her voice was sorrow-stricken as her hand firmly rested on Michael’s chest. He coughed, blood gushed out of his mouth.
“Our only son…,” her voice died as she got lost into sobs. She looked at the husband in the eyes; they were red as his countenance sombred.
The doctor pressed Michael at the chest and blood gushed out again.
“Our records show that he was absent minded as he was crossing the road,” the doctor tried to sooth them. A stethoscope was hanging down his chest as he was gazing at them through the spectacles that were hanging on the edges of his nostrils.
“Mama,” his voice labored to be audible.
“Speak my son, speak.”
Michael coughed, parted the blooded lips open then distantly said. “You…you see what you have done to Miranda…”
They looked at him; his face was drenched in tears. “I have no reason to remain alive in this world where others have power to deny others love. When Miranda was alive I was happy but you killed my happiness hours…”
The doctor pulled a thermometer out of Michael’s armpits as he labored to speak.
“Death is kind mama. I will meet Miranda in the world of the dead where love can blossom regardless of blindness. Love, ma…loves…”
His mouth remained agape as the eyes stood still. The doctor punched him on the chest then spread his arms in the air.
“I am afraid we have lost such a wonderful young man.”
She fainted.
