written on 03.02.2010
translated on 04.25.2013
=
"John I have something to say."
So you say, and come in, without bothering to knock or anything.
"What's that."
What is it then that you couldn't say to me back then?
I asked you, you know.
"You took my ice cream, didn't you?"
Yes sure I did that.
"I like it with coffee. You didn't plan to finish it off on your own, did you?"
I remember. Her period is due pretty soon.
"You shouldn't eat stuff like that, you should eat solid food, you know.
What can you do without me eh?"
"Then cook me something. I'll eat."
You say that as if it requires a great deal of courage. You must have stayed at home the whole day, not saying a word all the while. Perhaps that's why.
"Got it."
I almost wanted to say that I need to finish reading this, but her face looked like it was almost sad enough to cry a little cry(but why?). That made me get up.
I almost left her there standing, but I got this feeling that if I leave her there she would really end up standing there like that until I come back for her. So I went back in and walked out of my room holding her hand. Her hand feels cold. That is unusual for her.
Our bare feet made slapping noises on the wooden floor, out of rhythm.
So we arrive at the kitchen, and I see her immediately walking towards a chair. She sits on a chair, hugging her knees. Miserable and pathetic, in one picture.
Oh, why is she like that, why?
I start cooking for Mai.
I light up the fire and boil away some chicken. I grab few vegetables from the fridge. I have a good feeling that I should feed her some rice, so I poured some rice into the soup. Maybe this soup will magically transform itself into a pot-full of risotto, but I shall see.
I turned around to ask Mai to wash some vegetables for me and I saw her
crying.
Not making a sound, not making a face
it was only her eyes that did the it,
tears fell, they just
fell.
There is a girl sitting in my kitchen
Doing crying.
The sight of such a girl crying in such a way stunned me,
so much so that I almost dropped the carrot I was holding.
Her eyes, red and soundlessly they
but
hey,
hey
hey,
what's wrong,
what's wrong.
She sort of laughed, maybe I looked funny, a carrot desperately held in my hands and my voice
stuttering. Or maybe she found herself funny.
That's too sad.
I didn't say anything though. I just stood there, my back to the boiling chicken things and in my hands, a carrot.
It was she who gestured to me to come closer. She smiles and she smiles shyly. That's what happens when you smile after crying.
"Come here, will you."
I put my carrot down and walk towards her and see her arms, stretching out towards me.
She looks like a tiny little girl asking her father to lift her up.
So I lifted her up, like a father holding up his tiny little girl.
Her eyes look down on me. This is new. Not bad. Her eyes are semi-open, which makes her eyes appear longer, filled with liquid. I see that her eyelashes are not dry yet.
Maybe she is done with crying or
maybe she is trying to keep it in, I am not sure. The moisture is dangling on the edge of her eyes.
I can see everything, looking into her from below,
I see you.
A pair of slender arms enveloped my neck.
I could feel her cheeks on my neck, wet.
I heard tiny whimpering noise, sort of trembling.
Now she is too close.
She crosses her legs around me like an animal climbing a tree.
What is wrong with you, because you say nothing, there is nothing that I can do for you.
I feel stuffed by that nothingness.
I feel stuffed,
stuffedand stuffed.
"What are you going to cook for me"
Her voice was low. So low it cracked. She does coughing for some time and then tries it again, what are you going to cook for me?
"What do you want to eat?"
".....something with soup."
"Chicken soup?"
"Yes. Without cream."
"Okay."
She looks satisfied with my simple answer. Her face is looking at me now, all exposed, not hiding at at.
I like that.
So you like my simple answer, my lady?
Well then you should try that yourself too, sometime.
"Sorry, I am heavy."
"Sort of killing my arms."
"I'm sorry."
"So tell me, what was it? Why were you doing that."
That question made her thoughtful for some time. She went why am I doing this why, thinking aloud, looking stupid. I cannot figure her out. Whether she is old and wise or simply
young and stupid.
"Why were you not there when I needed you?"
What is she saying,
telling me nothing.
"If you were always there, for me, it would be simple. I could simply believe that you will continue to be here, always here, next to me. It is hard for me to believe in it now. All of a sudden. It is hard to make a decision to believe in something new, you know. And I keep thinking that you could simply go away. But I want..."
I don't know what to say.
For still, she is not telling me everything.
There's pieces missing. But I know that I cannot put my fingers into her pockets and forcefully take things out. the missing pieces.
She needs to find time. She needs to find courage to finally let her own fingers turn the pockets inside out.
And finally get rid of all that, weighing her down.
I won't let that happen. I won't let her drown, but
All I can do now is to fold her in my arms and say I will stay. I will stay.
And make her
a bowl of chicken soup.
=
It's always more pleasant to write it in John's perspective.
He has an attitude that is neat and tidy. His mind moves carefully but not slowly.
I like that about him. I think this is a mode of thinking that I am trying out these days.
I changed the ending.
In the original text John was planning to ask her again, what it was that was troubling her.
He was determined to do so. But now he is not sure.
John grew into a patient man, in my head. Maybe he has grown a little, during that three years of time.
:-)
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