Sunday Short Story By Gloria Jennifer Gomes

Unspoken Words

The taxi stopped in front of the same Iron Gate of my childhood, leading to the front porch of the house. I paid the driver, and got down. My pants was all crumbled up from the long tiring journey from the Kolkata airport. I opened the gate, and simultaneously dragged my heavy suitcase. The lane leading to the porch looked dry and was cracked in places. There used to be flowers and grass on both the sides of the lane. On Saturdays I would find baba in this very garden, tending to the vegetation, talking to his precious flowers. I used to get jealous of the flowers, because baba used to give them all the love that I rightfully deserved.
I climbed the steps of the porch and rang the doorbell. I didn’t hear anything from the other side. I went around, the house and peeped through the window. I saw the Grandfather clock, and the old sofa, collecting dust. Suddenly the door opened and there stood baba, staring down at the suitcase I left, while I went to check the window.
“Baba!” I exclaimed climbing up the stairs.
Baba looked at me from head to toe, his spectacles, on the bridge on his nose and his hands ink stained. His body had gotten thinner and he had more grey hair. He was wearing a vest and drawstring pyjamas.
“Rohel?” Baba asked unsure as if he was seeing a projection.
“Yes Baba, it’s me. I am here.”
It was then that baba face turned to surprise. He stepped forward and touched my cheek. Then his hands swiftly shifted to the suitcase handle, and he tugged at it, to bring it inside the house. I took the handle from him and brought it in and baba locked the door, from the inside. I stood in the hallway, smelling the familiar yet nostalgic smell of the house, I lived in twelve years ago.
“Your room is upstairs, and no one has been in that room for years, so it might have cobwebs.” Baba said.
“It’s okay, baba I can dust the room.” I said and climbed the stairs, with my suitcase.
I opened the room and saw that none of the things have been removed, or shifted. It was like time had never passed. The shelves still has the action figures I collected or got as gifts as a child. The bed was covered with thick layer of dust. The window still has the bar, which baba nailed to the wall from the outside as I had the habit of sneaking out at night. I opened the window and stared down at the bare lawn. I got the broom from the kitchen and got all the cobwebs out and then pulled off the bed sheets and put them in the washing bucket. I unpacked the suitcase, and put my present clothes in the cupboard, and took out all my teenage clothes, and folded them carefully, as I wanted to donate them to charity.
By the time I got the room organized, it was already dinner time. I took a bath and went down to see baba, setting the table for two. I came to the dining and helped him with bringing the food, to the table and both of us sat down. We ate in silence, and once we were done I offered to wash the dishes. He didn’t reject the idea, and left me in the kitchen to clean up.
I walked in the hall room and saw seated in his easy chair, watching 24 Ghanta. I sat beside him, on the sofa, staring at the television. The silence was deafening. Finally when baba switched off the television, he looked at me,
“How are you?”
“I am fine, baba.” I lied
I looked at the grandfather clock chime 10 o’clock.
“It’s getting late baba. You should sleep.” I said
“I haven’t had a good night’s sleep, in ages” he said
“Baba, you should at least try.” I said getting up and took his hand.
He jerked his hand away from mine.
“Just go to sleep.” He said to me in irritation.
I looked at him for a moment and climbed up the stairs.
I could still feel the tension in the air, next morning. Baba barely made any eye contact, with me. He wore his shirt and trousers, which he had been wearing for the last 25 years, as he had been teaching in a government school for as long as I remember. I saw him pack his tiffin, a chore which usually was assigned to her. He went out of the house, as silent as a cat. I came down and washed the dishes and started cleaning the house, because frankly speaking the house looked like death, unused, and was rotting away as both the bathroom commodes weren’t working. The floorboards of the hallway was eaten by moths. The Iron Gate needed fixing, and the lawn which baba so loved looked like a desert.
I fixed whatever I could, and made a call to the plumber, as I remember she used keep all the secondary staff contact details in the hallway drawer. I also contacted the iron-smith because the Iron Gate was falling off, its hinges because of rust. By evening Baba came back, and took of his shoes, and went to his room. I made tea for him and brought it in his study, where he sat working.
I kept the tea, on the side table.
“Do you want me to leave?” I asked
Baba turned around astonished.
“Why would you think that, Rohel?” he asked surprised.
“Baba… I… never mind.” I said
“Rohel!” he said in a quite tone. I froze in my place.
I remember that voice. I remember when I was a teen, I got newly addicted to cigarettes and alcohol, and I often went with some seniors, but one day, baba’s favourite graduate student Ranjan Daa saw me smoking and complained to baba. As I returned home, he was waiting in the porch, with his long thin wooden stick. He was trembling in rage and I realized that I was caught. But before I could run, he voice just uttered my name, and I couldn’t move anymore. He thrashed me, on the spot in front of the neighbours, but I stood where I was, out of shear fear that if I try to run, the beating would be much worse. That night she came in, and tried to put balm all over my body, but I shoved her away.
“Rohel!” baba said again and I was brought back to the present.
“I am sorry, baba.” I said and waited for him to get up, to hit me, but he stayed seated on the chair.
“If you have to say something, say it, now.” Baba said
“I was married, baba.” I said
Baba was dumbstruck. Then as if carefully his words he said,
“Was married?”
“Yes baba, was.” I said
“What do you mean?” He asked
“She left me,” I said
There was a long silence.
“Why did she leave you?” he asked, soundly borderline angry.
“I messed up. You know she knew and she was right. She was right all along.” I said
The tea had gone cold. I picked up the tea, to take it to the kitchen, when baba grabbed my hand and the tea fell on the floor.
“Why did she leave you?” Baba asked.
“The same reason you left maa.” I said and baba let go my hand so suddenly, it was as if my hand suddenly caught fire and at the very next moment, Baba slapped me, hard right across the face, my right cheek stinging in pain.
“I left your maa because she was sick, and she was cheating, on me Rohel.” He said.
“No baba, maa left you and I am glad she left you, because otherwise you would have killed her, like you did with Nirmala and all because she knew about your secret.” I said half-hurt and half-angry
“I did not kill your step-mother, she died of a heart attack.” Baba said fiercely
“Baba you have to wake up from this illusion. You have to admit what you are and what you did?”
Baba sat down and I kneeled in front him.
“Remember baba, it was raining and you told Nirmala that you have a party from work and that you’d be late, but she waited for you that night, and when she heard the taxi engine in front of the gate, she took the umbrella and went outside, and saw you kissing Ranjan Daa. She went in, and closed the door, and slowly tiptoed back to bed.”
Baba looked at me.
“She wasn’t the only one who witnessed it, I saw the entire thing from the window. After that rainy night, you started coming in late and she started getting more and more depressed, and that is one of the reasons, why I started acting out, to divert her mind, from you. And it worked, because even though I never liked her, I didn’t want to see her get depressed like maa. Bab if you had just told Nirmala about your sexual orientation, instead of me, she would have still be alive, because regardless of what you are, she would have loved you.”
“Nonsense, no one can love a person like me.” He said finally tearing up
“Is it because you killed her?” I asked
“Who gave you the idea that I killed her?” Baba asked
“A letter, baba. I got a letter from her. She knew you were giving her the wrong pills instead of her thyroid pills, yet she kept on taking them, thinking that one day you’d stop, but you didn’t. Nirmala was harmless and probably the only person who understood you. And you killed her.”
“Where is that letter?” he asked
“My wife threw it in the fire in anger.” I said
“Why?” baba asked
“Because baba, that letter didn’t just consist of your mistake but mine as well”
“What do you mean?” Baba asked
I took baba’s hand and took him to where the grandfather clock was and pushed it from its place. I bent down and picked up a photograph of Ranjan Daa, hugging me, his hand on my delicate sixteen year old hip.
“You are not the only one Ranjan liked. He liked me too. So, Nirmala kicked me out was the night she saw me having sex with Ranjan. That time I frankly did it to spite you, but she really loved you and that is why she kicked me out as she hated the fact that I was having sex with your beloved.”
“Oh my God!” Baba said
“So when my wife saw the letter she asked if I was gay. I said yes. And within the next day she filed a divorce and left me. That was two years, around the same time Nirmala died, I believe. But I couldn’t bring myself to come here, but now I can, because you see baba, I am dying. I have testicular cancer, Stage five.”
“Yes, I killed a woman who loved me.” Baba said and now I am killing you by making you say all this. I am so sorry. I am so sorry for what Ranjan did to you, I really things difficult for you, didn’t I?” Baba said finally admitting his crime.
That night Baba had the most peaceful sleep, and slowly drifted of the other shore, like a child being sung a lullaby. The very next day Baba cremation ceremony was organized and as the only living son I had to burn him, so as I held the burning wood in my hand, and led the funeral pyre on fire, I saw him, staring right at me. As the crowd departed, Ranjan finally made his way to me.
“I am sorry for your loss.”
“Are you?” I said looking at the remnants of the pyre.
He hands touched mine and I curled my fingers around him, finally letting the tears roll down my cheeks, for the first time in twelve years.