Cease – A Somewhat Short Story
©February 8th, 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram
The rain had not ceased during the night. The trees in the backyard stood, soggy and dripping, while a couple of squirrels semaphored on the back fence, and a single cardinal sat on a branch, impassive as a statuette.
The woman in the kitchen was tired. Her husband was in the hospital, dying of cancer, and she was catching a breath of air and alone-time, keeping grief at bay with a much-needed cup of steaming coffee.
She had had to return home to let the dog out, feed it, check in on her canary (named Admiral Stockdale, because it looked forever as if it was thinking, “Who am I? Why am I here?”), cook some rice and lentils, make a pot of coffee, and take stock of her life.
Everything was in abeyance. She didn’t know what she felt, in some sense. Occasionally, sunlight dripped from leaves washed with rain before the clouds gathered again. And for those brief golden moments, she was grateful.
She was a creature of the senses. She loved the rustle of the breeze at the tops of trees in the woods, loved the pine-needles under her feet, the scent of forest and animals, flowers, incense, the fresh fragrance of ground coffee, the feel of silk against her neck, the touch of a soft hand, the bumping of her dog’s snout against her flank when she sat on a chair. She loved the sound of traffic, even the smell of gasoline and kerosene in some places (reminding her of the place she had come from), the taste of spices in her cooking, the muted clinking of metal wind chimes. When she looked at a thing, she became the thing she was looking at, so she chose what she looked at carefully, avoiding ugliness. Yet, even some kinds of ugliness had charm, and she found herself gazing sidewise at it.
Today, however, her senses were also in abeyance, except for the grateful cup she was drinking and the slipping of sunlight on rain-washed leaves.
Her husband was dying. He had been her best friend and love for over forty years, and now he was dying.
He was alone in the hospital, where she’d left him for a scant three hours to come home, cook, shower, walk and feed the dog, feed the bird.
So, why did she feel relief, instead of guilt at leaving him alone there for three hours?
And why did she feel guilt at the relief?
She had no children, thank the gods. When her husband died, she’d be alone. Perhaps, she could start over. Perhaps, she could take a long hike into the mountains of New Hampshire, and never return. Perhaps, she’d sell the house, give away the dog and canary, take the money, and go to Iceland.
Yes, she thought, yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll deal with the paperwork, and then, get the hell out of here.
The phone rang. It was the hospital. He had just died.
She swayed. The floor came up to meet her. The coffee cup fell first, hot liquid spilling everywhere, and the jagged shards cut into her neck.
And what was this? Her coffee? Why was it sticky? And why was it red?
Her eyes closed.
When she opened them again, she felt nothing. The room was fading away. The smell of coffee receded. The dog stood at her feet, sniffing, tentatively licking the liquid at her neck.
She got up then, tried to shoo away the dog. The dog sat back on her haunches and howled. The noise pierced her to the bone. She felt a cold breath at her shoulder, and turned. Her husband was standing next to her. She touched him. He was gazing blankly at her.
“No!” Her outburst surprised her, for she didn’t hear it. It was an earthquake deep within her … self?
Terror washed up like waves, but receded just as rapidly, and she felt her ground under her feet being sucked out from beneath her.
Then the sucking sand at her feet began to lose its grip, and the rushing waters receded completely, and the kitchen began to fade, and she found she didn’t care, didn’t care about anything anymore. And that thought gave her a burst of grief. And she longed to grieve more, to live, to feel, to savor being alive.
Her husband reached out his hand. She felt herself grasping it. He smiled at her, and she smiled back uncertainly. The room vanished.
The phone was swinging from its cradle, and a voice was saying, “Ma’am? Ma’am?”
The canary sang loudly in its cage.
And the dog howled and howled.
The rain ceased.
________________________________________________