He knew she had only a little time left with her. He sat beside her bedside, staring at her hollowed cheek. The doctor had told him yesterday that she would not last long. He had pocketed his fees with almost an apologetic look, as if he did not want to take the money but was forced to. “Professional”, he thought with a grim smile. “They perhaps teach it at the medical school, how to collect money even from dying people”.
The light was dim in the room, curtains drawn. This was how she liked it. Dark and comfy. Only that she was not comfortable. He put his hand on her brow. She was feverish. He gently wiped the sweat from her brow, smiling at her. She in turn smiled, despite her pain. “I torment you too much” she said weekly. “The world, for you”, he replied, gently holding her hand which were crossed across her chest, fingers entwined as if in prayer.
Though their years together as a married couple had been marked with poverty, their love for each other had never dwindled for an instant. She was content in his company, he in hers. Every evening, when he returned from work, they would sit and look at the evening sun, talking to each other or enjoying the silence being exchanged. It was a custom they never broke. After dinner, every night, they would sit outside their small home, gazing at the stars. It was always him who felt sleepy first. Then she would let him place his head in her lap for a while where he would lie, almost like a child. She would caress his head, ruffle his hair a little, and take away his tiredness.
“Would you do a little something for me?” she asked him presently, trying to get up balancing her frail body on her elbow. He made her lie down again, straightening the pillow. “Anything. Absolutely anything”. She smiled and he knew that smile. He had seen it many times, especially during the summer months. “Lemonade?” he asked, smiling to her, almost grinning. She closed her eyes indicating a yes.
He got up and went to the kitchen. She loved lemonade, especially when he made it. In all their years of marriage, he was the one who always made it. He found a lemon, hiding among the vegetables and fished it out. “Come now”, he said, talking to the lemon. He sliced it neatly into two and took a glass. In went sugar. She did not like it too sweet. A tablespoon full. Another tablespoon. And then came the final amount. A little more than half a tablespoon. It was this last bit that was the tricky part for it made the difference between making it just right or tad bit too sweet. He squeezed the lemon halves into the glass, over the sugar, letting the pips fall in. Then he took a bottle of cold water and topped the glass. Then methodically he stirred till the sugar crystals dissolved, leaving a slight bit lingering towards the bottom. Just the way she liked it. Finally he took a spoon and fished out the lemon pips, swirling in a little whirlpool he had created. He took the pips out and placed them in his left hand.
He came back to the room and stood at the door as tear drops started to fall down his eyes. As he stood, he could feel the slippery lemon pips, sliding in the palm of his hand, like strands of treacherous Hope. She was dead, her hand crossed across her chest, fingers entwined as if in prayer.
- Parekh, Pravesh
May 19, 2013; 03:55
PM
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ReplyDeleteBeautiful imagery sketched in your words. Loved it.
ReplyDeleteNusrat
Its awe inspiring, the way you include those small details, each beautifying the relationship between the characters. Each paragraph..a world of emotion, of compassion, of the containment of belonging to each other, and of course the knowing of reality, the touch of sorrow. Nothing remains untouched, the picture you create is so touching, so complete, has so much to be read into. Reading once is never enough! The lemon pips.. amazing!
ReplyDeleteLoved it, through and through! Brilliant! :)
Good one my boy!
ReplyDeleteIt is nothing short of beautiful. The ease with which you have portrayed the couple's bond,their tryst with destiny and yet caressing the little joys like a glass of lemonade. The 'Come On' to lemon is such a crisp tinge to freshness,underlying hope with all that it offers along with the sweetness of sugar with emphasis on the right amount conversely depicting how essential it is to strike just as much as needed in life and be content,after all it's the secret to happiness. Like it was for the lady,just how he made it. Like how he tried to maintain it for her. Rhyme and reason. Commendable feel,incredible essaying.
ReplyDeleteThe last lines captured me,I stared and took it in from words to imagery and back to her calm and the pips. I almost witnessed the setting from where I read it as if I was a part of it. And that seldom does happen and when it does I am mostly reading your work. Thank you for such experiences.I am truly grateful.
Also,the second to fourth paragraphs leave me yearning to remain in that setting perhaps just to see them,the bond,all the emotions,take in the air around them. Very positive and yielding to a reader.
It was a delight to have experienced Lemon Pips.