A Woman's Honor.

Originally uploaded by: rosenaldo

He woke up with a start. It was still dark. He had a dream about being lost at sea, engine dead and a storm gathering. As he braced himself to ride out the storm alone, he heard the chugging of another boat. He could not see in the dark but the sound became louder and louder and that was when he suddenly woke up.


The sound was so real. He listened carefully, heard nothing but the sea. Just as he relaxed, he heard that sound again. He jumped out of bed. Before he reached the door, he realized that he was not alone in his house. She was in the kitchen busy preparing breakfast. The sight gripped his heart and he knew from this day, his life will never be the same.


He was not a romantic man. He did not see this woman he saved as the woman he will marry. But for the first time in his life, he felt he should have a wife. Someone who could cook for him in the morning. Someone he could return to after fishing. Someone who could fill the empty spaces and emptiness in the house as she is doing. He will probably look for a simple wife among the village folk, someone who understand the way of life here and who could take the hardship and joy of being dependant upon the sea. An outsider is unlikely to fit in. There would be no shortage of prospects as he had his own house, his own boat and a good reputation. The village headman would be delighted to help him find a match. Maybe, even among one of his many relatives. He was surprised at all these thoughts flying through his head that the mere presence of this woman brought. But she would be the wrong woman for him, why he did not know.


After the initial surprise, he was no longer surprised at further changes in him. He understood the natural flow of things and how useless it is to fight against the tide. It is much wiser to go with the flow and benefited from it. When the currents of the sea changes, he does not waste time pondering why. He just responded to it.


There was economy and effortless grace in her movements. Tenderness settled in the face that was no longer fighting back and it was beautiful. Usefulness trumped beauty any time but there are the rare occasions when they came together to make a woman truly desirable. She was fair, quite different from the dark skinned beauty of the South. That exoticness added an air of mystery but also suspicion that she was somehow weaker despite her portrayer of strength as tough as any local women.


She moved through and used the kitchen as if she had been born to it. How can that be? How can she be so familiar with the unfamiliar? It suddenly hit him that there was something not quite right about his kitchen. She has rearranged it! How did she move that large earthen pot used for storing water closer to the stove? The knives and cooking utensils had been moved to the right side of it and the bowls and plates had been moved to the left. Even the kitchen cabinet had been shifted to create more rooms for movement around the stove which is now the new heart. The bulk of the woods have been shifted to a corner just leaving a few ready to be used nearby. She seemed to prefer to sacrifice preparation space for more freedom around the cooking area. The condiments and ingredients were individually prepared before hand and neatly placed next to the wok.


Like an opera show, he thought. He was always amazed at the vast amount of materials that have to be moved in for such a show. Hugh boxes after boxes of all kinds. Enough to fill a small house. Yet when the performance actually began, all the actions took place on a small stage. With this realization, also came an annoyance. She had no right to shift his things without his permission. Even if it is an improvement. She should have asked him first. In fact, she should not even do that; she should not intrude herself into his life. How can she misbehave like this? It is not proper. His annoyance born out of having no control at the course of events boiled to the surface. He will tell her off. He will ask her to leave.


He will… She turned and looked at him. Her large brown eyes robbed him of his will. He stood there rooted till his anger re-resized control. The anger now directed at himself. Why is he so easily unbalanced by her presence? Her look was steady but soft.


“I’ll leave if you cannot let me stay”.


That deflated the wind from his sail. While he was searching for something to say, she continued “I hope you’ll let me repay my debts. It troubles me greatly to owe so great a debt of gratitude. I cannot be lucky again. Besides I’ve no place to go”. He was not sure whether the last sentence was meant to make it easy for him. But he could understand that part about settling debts of honor. The village headman understood that too. He knew that to say “there is no need” is superfluous because the need is in the other party. But honor is a man’s perspective. A woman usually just accepted it and is grateful to be saved. She confused him. He thought about it for a while in silence. If she believed in honor, then he had to find an honorable way out for her.


“Can you sew?” he asked. She nodded her head.


“If you can do that, you can learn to mend fishing net. I’ll talk to the village headman. He’ll find a place for you to stay. My house is not appropriate even though there is an extra room, for there are only the two of us. You can earn a living mending nets and also doing other odd jobs. I’ve some nets that needed mending which I do have the time for and it is too expensive to get it replaced. Whenever you’ve the time, you will mend my net. When you’ve finished it, you’ll have repaid me in full.”


They both knew that a fishing net do not equate to a human life. They also knew that debts need not be settled in full (for some debts can never be) but the token and intention is important. Honor can be restored in this manner. That will be something the other party can live with. She did not reply to this suggestion.


He sat by the table and allowed her to serve him. He had not had such an elaborate and delicious breakfast since his mother died and almost chocked on it. She looked away and let him finished his meal in silence.


“I’m going now” He felt strange saying that yet elated at the same time.


He picked his crew up from the jetty. They found him unusually quiet the whole day. After trying unsuccessfully to engage him in conversations several times, they left him alone wondering what was bothering him. But they were not alarmed as every now and then, he drifted into such mood. In spite of that, their catch was good that day and the crew was happy.


He had never been so anxious to return yet he did not go home immediately. Instead he went to the evening market to buy some food and condiments. After some hesitation, he borrowed a bicycle to cycle to town where he would be less likely to be recognized. In one of the many street which sells clothing, he approached a vendor to buy women clothing. He was thankful his dark complexion and the fading light did not show up his blushes. Embarrassed to bargain for long and he knew he paid more than he should. He bought other things that he thought a woman may need, a basin, a large metal cup, toothbrush, a towel and a hand mirror. Though he still had his mother’s things, he did not think of passing them to her.


It was dark by the time he reached home. No light was shining from his house. He quickened his steps and sweats were dripping down the side of his face. His heart was pounding madly from the exertion. Had she gone?

To be continued...

Destiny.

Midnight Storm originally uploaded by Nate Weibley

“No, I don’t want to talk about them. I don’t even want to think about them for every time I did, I stir the river bed. The debris safely gathered at the bottom churn up and its’ murkiness depress me like storm clouds on a sunny day. Then, I cannot get rid of their intruding images threading all over my brain. And my heart got acid burns. I want to forget them only sometimes I can’t.”


“So I learned to activate defense mechanisms. I had to or I would have gone insane by now or my heart would have been pounded to mash. I sleep if sleep can come. I exercise to wear me out. I keep myself busy so I don’t have to think. If these don’t help, I think of other things”.


As I speak, my mind wanders to the Fisherman of Snake Mouth. I turn to face Beth but she was no longer there. In her place, sits the Fisherman calmly smoking his pipe disregarding me.


Looking at him sitting there smoking contentedly, I feel a violent stab of envy. Sure, a person can be contented when he knew the person he loves love him in return. He can go to his grave with the smug feeling as if he had achieved something. I loved, and I was loved in return but they all eventually left me and I was left to ponder my failures. Why are my many loves not equal to his one? At this moment, I almost hate him. But I know it is not him I hate. My mind stray to what is fair and what is not. We are never fair to the one who loves us but appeals for fairness from the one whom we love.


The Fisherman could not sleep after leaving the girl that evening (September 2007 Post – “Once There Was A Hill”). He tossed and turned in his bed worrying about what will happen to her. He told himself it is not his business. The world is full of unfortunate people. They will survive, somehow. He had done all he could. But he still could not sleep. So he gave up, got up to look at the sea. That always calms him down. And there will be a full moon tonight.


He swung open the wooden door and as he stepped out, his leg kicked on something soft. He was shocked to see a figure curled up with the knees against the chest outside his door. His heart jumped when he realized it was the girl he rescued. She stirred, forced herself to sit up and looked at him with those unflinching eyes. Concern and pity overwhelmed him. She must be cold and hungry yet he said “You should not be here”. He wanted to invite her in but what would the neighbors think? While he hesitated, she stood up and walked into the house uninvited.


Not knowing what else to do, he followed her in. His chivalrous nature took over “Have you eaten?” She shook her head. He will deal with her after she had eaten. As he headed towards the kitchen, he heard a firm “No!” that stopped him in his track. She walked pass him and surveyed the kitchen cabinet. With deft fingers and a confidence of experience, she began several tasks at once, boiling water, slicing, cutting, seasoning. She was a delight to watch and for the first time in his life, he pondered what it is like to have such a woman for a wife. Before long, a pleasant aroma rose up to mix with the night air. He wondered what her cooking would taste like but was quite sure it would be delicious.


He watched her from the dining table. She carried out a large bowl of rice noodle with slices of fishes and some vegetables. “She must be really hungry. I will have to work harder and catch more fishes if I will to have a wife like this”, he thought.


(As I picture the scenes, I look over and catch a tiny smile that has stole its way up the lip of the Fisherman ghost though he pretends to act nonchalantly and continues his smoking.)


She sat opposite him and surprised him by placing the bowl of noodles in front of him. He had not expected her to cook for him. He looked at the appetizing meal but asked, “What about you?” She just shook her head. He swore he could hear the growling of her stomach. He started to push the bowl towards her but palm placed at the edge of the bowl stopped him. He was afraid to exert any further pressure fearing the hot soup will spilled and burned them both. He stood up and returned from the kitchen with another bowl. He poured half of the content into this bowl but instinctively leaved slightly more in his own. He placed the second bowl before her and in a serious voice, commanded “Eat!” Without looking up, he started eating. It tasted wonderful. He stole a look at her and was pleased that she was also eating her noodles too. They ate in silence, both lifting the bowl to drink every last drop of soup.


A sudden gush of wind slammed the door startling them. He went to secure it and smelt the dampness in the air. It was going to rain soon. That decided it. He could not be chasing her out in this weather. He went to his bedroom and came out with a spare blanket. She took it without a word, her face still solemn and defiant. He had analyzed her character, there is no reasoning with her; she is stubborn as a mule. He lifted the door curtain to his room and went to bed.


He laid there that night with a very strange feeling he never felt before. As he drifted off to sleep, his last thought was – what was he going to do with her tomorrow?

To be continued...

Memory.

Hard & Soft: Originally uploaded by accrama

“I woke up to see you peeping through the curtain. I took my camera and surprised you with a shot. (When I had it developed, it was my turn to be surprised for you had taken a picture of me while I slept). You screamed, rushed over and tried to wrestle the camera from me. When we stopped, your laughter was replaced by tender looks from those doleful eyes. You hang on to me and did not want me to leave for the college. You also did not want to leave the apartment together with me.


I should not have left you alone. What thoughts must have gone through your head? I could not concentrate at the lecture from lack of sleep and a nagging guilt and worry. Despite several cups of coffee and constant washing of face, I could hardly keep my eyes open. I finally gave up and skipped the balance of the classes.


When I opened the door to my apartment, you ran forward to hug me. Sitting at the edge of the bed, you told me you have spoken to your priest. You told me in a rather cheerful voice that he asked you to leave me. This did not seem to alarm me. I felt it was something you had to do and that it is not something that will not come between us. I started kissing the nape of your neck as you continue speaking. It is quite similar to our situation now, one of us talking as if the other is not there. As if talking to oneself. As you continued talking, I caressed you. I slipped my hand inside your shirt and cupped your breast. You gave me a gentle scolding but did nothing to stop me. Now, I wonder why. When you already decided that will be our last moments together and if the reason came from the church, why did you allow me such liberty? Or were you just borrowing strength from the church?


The phone rang. Your best friend Gloria came over not long after that. The two of you talked in low whispers in the kitchen. I got along well with Gloria and liked her but I did not know what her opinion of me was. I did not believe she would steer you in any direction. She would listen and agree with whatever you decide as good friends will do in such matter. You need the strength of her support. I could probably change your mind then, couldn’t I? But I was only nineteen. I was not ready for such commitment. I doubted you were too. Why did we rush so fast into a situation that would force us apart? Had we taken it slow, what would have happen?


But when you left with Gloria that day, I did not expect that will be the end as in The End. I never saw or heard from you again. Not a single phone call. I did not grieve. I did not pine. I just forget. Completely.”


I stopped my rambling. I waited. I dared not look at her. I did not dare to ask any question because I felt I had no right to. I wished she will say something but the silence is not uncomfortable. It wraps round us like a warm blanket. I’m used to silence. I’m used to being alone. Before the ghosts, I was always alone. When I sat with silence, my mind wanders listlessly like a languid river. When it reached the sea, I looked up at her large expressionless eyes that were the most prominent features of her plain oblong face. Did I hurt her again? Can a ghost be hurt?


A sudden chill seized me. If she is here and if she is a ghost, then she must be dead. But how did she die, so young. A fear swept over me and I desperately hoped she is just a figment of my imagination. “Beth, are you a real ghost?” A shadow crossed those eyes and she stands up to leave.


“Please don’t go. I need you.”


“You didn’t need me then.”


“I need you now.”


“What do you want from me?”


“Please teach me how to forget.”


“You seem to be a very good at it.” I feel that cut deeply. But she is entitled to say it.


In spite of my shame, I appeal “I’ve forgotten how now. Teach me how to forget. How did you do it?”


“It is ironic you should be the one asking me. You must be really desperate. It hurts, doesn’t it? You wish the memory would just disappear. But time does not seem to dull the memory or the pain. If anything, it just exacerbates it. Do you know why? It is because you cannot let go. And do you know why you cannot let go?”


“Tell me, please.”


“No. Telling you won’t do you any good. Let us talk about what you cannot forget. Shall we start with a rainy day in a small hut in Thailand or would you rather start it with a bleak autumn evening in the heart of Tokyo?”

To be continued...