home Short Story The only solace being, the secret remained

The only solace being, the secret remained

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Mrs Breganza passed away in her sleep quietly without making any nuisances. Rather she has been a person whose life had been guiltless. Now she was lying in her bed peacefully with her eyes closed. Her dyed hair were lying neatly as if they had been done some moments ago. The smiling expression on her face meant she had died happily without any burden of soul.

Stooping beside the bed, her son and her daughter, were crying with their hearts out. The children were bought up with a strict ethical code, and responsibility without concession. He, the man, had become a police officer and handled the law as a weapon with which he smack the weak ones without disappointment. She, the girl was still undecided on her future ambition.

They had hardly known their father. But they knew that he had caused their mother more problems hence they were deprived of any other particulars about him.

A knock on the door caused the two weeping kids to look up, and the priest, who had just come from another service, dropped early instead of morning. He made his face look sad for customary service since death souls service was his bread winner. He approached with his qualified dialogue “Dear children! Your damage is irreparable. May god bless her soul. I have come to help you pass these last unhappy hours.” But the son suddenly arose. “Thank you” controlling his emotions he continued “we want to be alone with her for some time. This is our last chance to see her, and we desire to be together”

Anguish and cries stopped him from uttering further any words. The priest acknowledged in a composed tone “As you wish.” He prayed, and then went out silently, babbling: “She was a noble soul!”

They remained alone, the dead woman and her children. The clock sounds hidden in the hall, could be heard noticeably, and through the open window flowed in the sweet smell of hay and of woods. No other noise could be heard except the sporadic grumbling of the frog or the squeaking of some insects.

Both the adult kids where no more adults now. They were grieving with their head buried in the mom’s bed. Both of them were shaken by a grief blizzard as they continued to be puffed and dismayed. The catastrophe gradually soothed down and they began to weep quietly with sweet memories flashing back.

A rather long time passed and they looked at their sleeping mom. Those distant remembrances, which were so dear to heart yesterday were torturing today. The little intimate familiar details bought back the mom in their thoughts’. They recalled to each other situations, frowns, pitches of the mother who was not able to them anymore. They remembered things like thrashing time, which she often used when stressing something significant.

The sister said to her brother: “You recall how mom used always to read her old letters; they are all there in that locker. Let us, read them and live her whole life tonight beside her! ”

Out of the drawer they took about different packages of letter tied with care. They opened the letter on which the word “Father” was written and read it.

The first one started “My beloved,” another one “My loving little daughter,” . Lost in the memories of those letter, she started with a whisper and then slowly began to read audibly, to read over to the dead mom her whole life past, all her loving recollections. The son, resting his head on the bed, was listening with his eyes secured on his mother. The son, interrupting her sister, said suddenly:

“These should be cremated with her; they should be used as a covering” She bowed and took another letter, on which no name was written. She began to read in a firm voice: “My worshiped one, I love you madly. Since yesterday I have been suffering the agonies of the past, haunted by our memory. I love you, I love you! You have driven me mad. My entire soul and body screams out for you.”

The son straightened himself up and snatched the letter from sister. He looked for the name. There was nothing, but only the words, “The man who admires you,” the name “Richard.” Their father’s name was Brad as they learnt. So he guesses this was not from him. The son then quickly searched through other letters, took one out and read: “I can no longer live without your love.” Standing erect, he looked unaffected at his dead mother. Then he spanned the room slowly, went to the window and stood there, staring out into the dark night. He whispered slowly “I guess mom must have thought -The only solace being, the secret remained-” before that smiling death.

When he turned around again his sister was still standing near the bed with her eyes dry now. He stepped forward, quickly picked up the letters and threw them back into the drawer. Then he closed the curtains of the bed. Without looking again at the mother upon whom he had passed a comment he felt had severed the tie that united her to them, he said slowly: “Times up sister. She needs rest now”

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This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

 
Brilliant Disguise

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0 thoughts on “The only solace being, the secret remained

  1. Reminds me of “The bridges of Madison County”. I did not read the book. I enjoyed the movie starring Meryl Streep and Clint Eastwood.
    Your prose here is captivating and I really enjoyed the style of your narration. You are a very good story teller Amar!

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