Chapter 21

The blinds were pulled down. The lights were turned off. People inside that room stopped talking. The expectation rose.

A beam of light from the opposite wall was projected to another one by a small device—a picture formed on the screen. A name was written and the topic. Then a young voice broke the silence.

“My name is Valerio,” he said with confidence. There was no breaking in his voice.

“I’m afraid at this age, this is all I know,” he said with a charming voice. Some chuckled at his joke. “However, it doesn’t stop my teacher for asking me the difficult question of what I want to be when I grow up,” he said with a sarcastic voice. It made people chuckle more. “The difficulty of the question isn’t about my dreams. What is my dream job or life? The difficulty of the question comes as to how much I know about myself. What kind of experience I had outside the school made me a person? What do I have to help me on this road? What kind of tools do I need for it? What do I like or hate? Do I like to interact with people or not? How curious am I on different subjects?” he said like a storyteller. He was calm and collected. “To add more challenge, our teacher asked to write it in one page,” he said sarcastically. People laughed at his joke, and in their memory, they had those same questions themselves.

Then the picture changed. It showed a handwritten sentence.

It was just one line. “I don’t know.”

There was a tick mark in a red pen and an F in a circle.

“This is what she gave me for all that hard work,” he said charmingly. The audience burst into laughter.

After people got quiet, he said, “This wasn’t the end. She pulled me aside and asked me the reason I wrote that. I gave her the same answer as I told you earlier,” he continued.

“You see, to understand my answer, first you have to understand someone else,” he said Calmly. Then he showed a picture of her sister and then her mom. “This is my sister and my mom. These people are the reason that allowed someone like him”—he showed a picture of me smiling—“to enter into my life,” he said. And without a hitch, he continued, “I see some of you fell for his charming smile, as my mother did.” Some audience laughed. “I will tell you the reason why I introduced him like that.” He showed some pictures on that screen—a painting, a music note, some furniture, some mathematical problems. In a slide, there were multiple pictures of the front entrance of companies and museums, then in another one, it showed pictures of landscape animals, insects. Then he showed a car and, lastly, shelves full of books. “These pictures can only show you who did all these just a bit, but I left out many other things he can do, since all this presentation would be me showing what he does and is capable of and nothing more.” The audience didn’t get the joke. “After all that, even when he was younger than me, he tried everything that the world could offer, or at least tried to.” He paused for the suspense. “I asked him the question that my teacher asked me. Do you want to know what he said?” He paused for pondering. “‘Where is the fun in that if I knew the answer?’ When I showed him the failing mark, he laughed and told me, ‘You lost a battle, but you won a war.’” He stopped for effect. “He told me that if I’m that bright to understand that question this well, then I’m way ahead of my time. See, he has a bad effect on me. The thing is, when he came into my life, I didn’t like him much. He didn’t try to win me over either. He didn’t try to convince me that he was a good person. He just lives his life the way he likes. If I were childish and didn’t eat what he cooked, he wouldn’t try to convince me to try it at least once. Instead, he made enough for those who wanted to eat and left me out of it. He never told me to do this or do that. Meanwhile, my sister enjoyed his skills in many different things. He would talk to her about science, which was taught to her that day. Much later, when I accepted him as a member of our family, the discussion about my subject went to another level. For example, If I agreed to any of the facts in a class that I was taught, he didn’t care if it was true or false. He usually asked my sister or me why we agreed or disagreed with those facts. What was our approach to the problems? If we got it right, there was a reward for us. If we got it wrong, he would tease us for it. This kind of approach was time-consuming and brought down our marks in school. The best part was, he didn’t care about marks. He said, and I’m quoting in here, ‘The universities are overrated.’ That was coming from someone who studied in Cambridge and left it to do many other things. Before anyone in here starts protesting and telling me that he was wrong, he also explained the reason behind it. Since he was a kid, he didn’t feel that he needed to go to the prestigious school to study with other smart kids. He learned that either the answer is in a book in a library or he had to find or solve it himself. In his opinion, the university or school job was to lead every student to that conclusion, but unfortunately, too many of them failed the students. It could be for various reasons, like political interference, the religious bias toward some subjects that made authority in power to cherry-pick facts, or the lack of negligence toward the teacher and the list continues.” He stopped for the people to absorb what he said. “The best part was, he was teaching my sister and me this way without us knowing what he was doing. I thought he was a strange individual for asking those questions. What was the point of all these questions? Why did he care so much about our approach to the problems? It took me a while to realize that he was training us to be critical thinkers or show me the joy to explore beyond what I was taught in school. For example, if I showed interest in video games, he would show me how to make my own video games, even though they weren’t as good as those commercial ones. If I wanted to check my answer in math, he showed me how to do it in a spreadsheet software. If I wanted to take a picture with a camera, I had to read a whole book and have the usual discussion about the Camera and how to do it. The next thing I know, I got one of those professional cameras to take pictures without any promise that I would get it. Everything that I wanted had to be earned. I couldn’t believe how little time I had for anything. The length he went for us to have a good education was unbelievable. He told us, ‘What do you think about going to another country to study?’ My concern was that he was trying to get rid of us, but he explained that if we, My sister and I, agreed to it, he would convince my mom to come with us as well. The best part of that country was that we didn’t have much homework and we could do whatever we wanted to do after the classes. Based on that premise alone, we agreed. However, he and my mom had a huge fight over it. As much as they tried to hide it from us, we knew it, and it was obvious to us. I felt so bad and guilty for it for a long time. I was afraid that they would break up at some point because I didn’t want to do some homework. Fortunately, they never got to that point. When we moved to another country, he went to a different country to attend his companies.” He showed the entrance of those companies. “It was difficult for me, my sister, and my mom. We felt so betrayed that he took us from our home and friends, only to leave us alone in another country.” He stopped for the dramatic effect. Then he continued, “One day, when he came for a visit, I confronted him in front of everyone. I asked him why he did that. In return, he said, ‘I’m trying to live my life as well and do the things I like to do.’ Then I asked him why he brought us to another side of the ocean if he wanted to live his life. He casually explained to us that it was the last intervention he would do. He put everything on the line for that, for my sister and me. The rest was up to us, what we wanted to do with our free time after school. He allowed us to shape our lives according to our liking, and he would be there just enough to guide us. Then my sister asked him how he will guide my sister and me if he isn’t there to do it. He told us that he believes my sister and I were ready for the next stage, which is to learn by observation, and that is a skill we need for our future. However, our question didn’t end there. We didn’t forget our mother. We asked him why he left her there. He answered that he believed we were ready for the next step, but our mother wasn’t. If she wanted to be with him, she could come with him. After the horror of what he suggested, when I thought about it, what he wanted for us was to be independent, and if we made a mistake, he would fix it through his guidance. That was doable before we get to an age that we think we are too old for that or we no longer need his guidance. Again, he tried to help us by showing us some firmness, and we should learn to navigate through life without him or my mom telling us what to do all the time. You see, it wouldn’t be possible for me to understand his motive if he didn’t teach me enough to see the big picture. I would be more like another kid that would think he had a personal grudge against my sister and me. He was right about being ready to take the next step.” He stopped and showed another picture. “I wasn’t interested in science, but I liked taking pictures, and that was the thing I focused on. When I said I wasn’t interested in science, I meant that I wasn’t interested in doing extensive research. Nonetheless, I enjoy reading about the different scientific subjects without worrying about writing a paper about my finding. It is like I don’t have to paint something beautiful to enjoy a beautiful painting by someone else. How long do you think it took him to make us like that?” he asked the audience. When there was no answer, he continued, “It took him two years. In just two years, he turned my life upside down. I knew where I was headed, but I didn’t know what I wanted. You see, earlier I mentioned that I like photography, but I didn’t know what kind. Do I like to take pictures for leisure? Do I like to take pictures of wild animals? Do l like to take pictures of injustice and war? Or simply, do l chase celebrities and get them in their awkward situation? I also found out that I’m interested in computers, not to that extent to write software or design hardware but enough to enjoy various tools in it for my purpose. Understanding some tools and their functions would guarantee my career at some company. Yet there is so much software to learn. Some of them are useful for my photography skill. Some software I picked up by observing this man.” He showed my picture again. “All that while I was ten years old.” He stopped again. “Yes, he wanted me to be independent at age ten.” He stopped again. “Some would think what an outrageous act he did. However, I want to defend his actions,” he said. “You see, he didn’t throw us in the world and forced us to go to work and study. We were financially supported. What he wanted from us was to make an independent decision early on about our future without his or my mom’s influence. He showed us how to read a map, and where to go was up to us. He would follow us some part of the journey, but not the whole way. Saying this, sometimes I really needed grown-ups’ help. For example, how to approach the girl I liked in my class.” He stopped and showed a picture of a girl with black hair and green eyes. “That was the girl that stole my heart.” The audience made an Aww sound for him. He continued, “The problem was, I didn’t know how to talk to her. First, I thought I should ask my mom how to do it. She just told me to be myself and then go and talk to her. That answer made this man”—he showed my picture again—“laugh uncontrollably. When my mom asked him why he was laughing, he told her that she forgot how they met. It was like a joke between them because both of them were laughing now. After their laughter, he told me I went to the wrong person for advice, which my mom took personally. She told him who was the right one because she wasn’t impressed by his approach when they met for the first time. He called her my homo something that made my mom laugh again. He said, ‘I didn’t mean you are bad at giving advice, but what you missed was that he was asking you for a skill in communication, and your advice wasn’t that helpful.’ He said to my mom. ‘What is your advice?’ my mom asked him in indignation. ‘I won’t tell him. I will show him,’ he said to my mom.” He showed all that conversation like a comic book story, which made it funny. “My mom asked him what he meant by that. He answered her the same. There was a back-and-forth between them, but at the end, my mom agreed to let him teach me how to talk to that girl.” He stopped there. Then he continued his narration, “He took me to a park and pointed to a random person and told me to go and talk to that person. I had to go and start a long conversation with him. I didn’t know that guy he pointed at, and I was timid to talk to that person, So I informed him about the task’s difficulty. He said to me that he would be there if I needed his help. I was hesitant at first, but I went through with it. My first conversation went bad. Then he pointed me to another stranger and told me to go and talk to that one. It was bad, but not like the first one. We continued doing that for one hour every day. I had to go and talk to random people. Men, women, old people, and the list continued.” He stopped. “I know what you think. Every parent is teaching their children that strangers are dangerous, and he was teaching the opposite. But here is the thing: I was allowed to do that under either his or my mom’s supervision. Meanwhile, I was getting frustrated to see when he would allow me to talk to that girl I wanted. I talked to everyone but her. Every day for three months, I went and talked to strangers. He was in another country, but he kept encouraging me to continue doing what I was doing. The girl that I liked a lot was talking to her friends, and I envied them for that very reason every day. For me, I thought I was ready, but I was waiting for someone in another country to tell me that I was ready. One time, the girl that I was interested in noticed me. She smiled, and the whole world seemed to be good. I smiled back. Then I noticed someone behind me came and went to her. He was the popular guy in our class, and she became her girlfriend.” He stopped and listened to the other people’s sound of empathy. “I went home and cried my eyes out. I was angry at everyone. I shouted at my mom. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, especially this guy.” He showed the same picture of me. “He was the reason that I wasn’t with that girl, and you know what he did after finding out about my misery? He didn’t call me anymore.” He waited for the people to get outrageous or made them curious why I behaved like that. “When he showed up two weeks later, he still didn’t talk to me. One day I had had enough. What was the reason he wasn’t talking to me? I asked him, and he told me he wouldn’t have anything to say until I made up with my mom. He made it sound like I was the one who messed up, not them. Was it firmness or stubbornness? I don’t know the answer, but he stood his ground. Every day that I was going to school and seeing the one that I loved with another person made me more desperate. I cried a lot, but he didn’t relent. One day I was tired of this injustice. I went to my mom and asked for her forgiveness. Remind you that my mom wasn’t the issue. She talked to me. She sympathized with me. She was kind to me, and she didn’t mind my outburst, but he was the one that didn’t give in. I went to my mom and apologized to her for my bad behavior. I felt guilty for that. No credit goes to him. A few hours later, he came to me with a victorious smile then asked me the reason I was rude to my mom. I wanted to yell at him, but I was too sad to do that. I told him the reason behind my outrage, even though he knew about it. Do you know what he told me?” he asked the audience. “He said, ‘It doesn’t matter. You are going to get her.’ He asked me if I continued my one hour a day of talking to strangers. As if it would solve anything. Anyway, I answered him honestly. I told him that I didn’t, so that afternoon, he took me out and asked me to go and ask out a girl close to my age.” He waited for the shock he thought he had given the audience. “Me too, I was really shocked, but I asked him why. He said he wanted to see how I would handle it. Anyway, I followed his advice and went to ask that girl out. Then I realized that I wasn’t afraid to ask her out. I was confident, and a few times, I made her laugh. I couldn’t believe what I was doing. The fear was still there, but it didn’t make me freeze. I could talk to her easily, and in the end, she was happy to be my girlfriend. I was so confused that time to realize what I had done to that poor girl. I knew that I would never be his boyfriend. Nonetheless, I asked her out. I didn’t feel bad until I became wiser than I was before. When I went back to him, he was all smiles and welcoming. I told him everything, and when I finished, I was out of breath and word. He then told me that I was ready to go and talk to the girl I liked.” He stopped for the gasp the people made. “I asked him what he meant by that. And he answered me if I was fine with letting someone else be with that girl I liked. My answer was obvious. He then explained that I should go to her and convince her that I was the better choice, not the guy she was with. That time, I was too shocked, too happy, and too confused to question him. The next day, I went to her, and as usual, she was with her friends. It didn’t stop me. I went and started talking to her. The fear inside me was tremendous, but somehow, I channeled that fear to something funny coming out of my mouth. I didn’t mention that I wanted to be his boyfriend though. I waited for her to come to that conclusion. I went home and told the story to my mom and him.” He showed my picture again. “He told me to capture her heart is easy, but if I wanted to be her boyfriend for a long time, I should keep the practice. Every day I had to spend that amount of time talking to a stranger for the rest of my life. He promised that when he was around, he would be the one to supervise me. The rest falls to my mom. My poor mom, for my happiness, agreed to let me do this until I grew enough to protect myself. Anyway, to fill that hour, I went and started talking to other students in my school. That way, my mom wouldn’t have to take me out for practice. Unknowingly, that expedited the decision-making of the girl I like so much. I became as popular as that guy in school by just talking to other students. It was unbelievable what I had become. I became comfortable talking in front of a whole class, and yes, as you can see, I became comfortable talking to a whole auditorium of people without a drop of sweat. He”—he pointed at my picture again—“taught me all that not only to be with the girl that I loved, but he also made me popular in school.” Then he stopped for a few seconds. Then he showed a picture of a certificate. “He became my father way before this certificate. He taught me a lot, and I’m still learning from him. I’m not his biological son, but he treated me like one.” He changed the certificate’s picture to my picture. “When he found out about the problem my whole family developed, he dropped everything to come to be with us. My sister and I developed cancer because some company near our old house dumped its poisonous material in the ground long ago. That company hasn’t existed for decades now, but we became sick because of it. If we didn’t move to another country, we would be sick much earlier. We came back here, but to his old house, so my mom could be close to her friends.” He waited for the audience to breathe, some to wipe their eyes, and a few to clear their throats. “He doesn’t pity us. He wanted us to continue what we were doing before we knew about the disease. He pushed us forward.” He pointed at my picture again. “He wants us to live our lives fully.” He stopped for a few seconds. He continued, “Now I’m going back to the earlier question. What do I want to be? I still believe that I don’t know. Not because I have a short time to live but my dad never knew, and I, as his son, don’t know either. I feel lucky to have him as my father. He supported us without asking anything in return.” Then there was a tremor in his voice, which he tried to hide. “So that brings me to the end of my presentation. I hope someone learned something from this presentation and the little experience I had.” He finished his presentation by showing an artistic painting of him, his sister, his mom, and me. There was a signature on the bottom from everyone, including me. A bold text appeared on top of it that said thank you. The lights were turned on. The people started cheering and clapping, and the camera started shaking.

The movie went black. I closed the camcorder and looked at my watch. It was eight minutes after one in the morning. The hallway was empty of people. The lights were toned down. The smell of sanitization and cleaning products was as sharp as ever. A nurse with a red uniform and running shoes passed by me; I guess she was done doing her routine checkup. It reminded me that I should also go and check them up.

They were lying down on separate beds. The ventilators were going up and down. They were rhythmically breathing with their patients. The vital monitors were doing the same. Calysta was resting her head on Meleta’s bed. There was an empty chair beside Valerio’s bed. I went and sat there. I was thinking about the past—the way he looked at me, thinking that I knew everything. Those eyes were closed now. The needle in his arm was taped by some small Band-Aid. A tube that was delivering medicine was dripping one by one. It still had some left in it before it ran out. The memories of the past were awake—the conversations we had, the joy in his eyes when he got the girl he wanted, the pictures he took and showed to me for my approval or critique. I remember the time we talked about many subjects, including love.

“How do you know that you love someone?” he asked me.

“You are asking the wrong person. I can’t answer that question,” I said honestly to him.

“Don’t you love my mom?” he asked me in front of Calysta. I thought to myself what a little brat he was.

“When I don’t know what it is, how can I say I have it or not?” I replied.

“Are you a psychopath?” Calysta asked me in response. The hurt and anger in her voice were obvious.

“That question isn’t as easy as you think it is. What notion you have about love is the world of princesses and princes kissing each other and waking them up from poisoned apples or a long sleep or something close to the movies they show these days. They tainted the word for getting some money,” I responded.

“If it isn’t that, then what is it?” she asked me.

“Well, that is my question as well. What is love? Is it simply what these movies are showing? Is it limited to the human? There are too many unknown aspects to it to think that won’t make the answer as simple as that,” I answered with patience.

“Maybe it’s just an excuse for not saying it,” she said stubbornly.

“A mother sees her home is on fire. She rushes in, disregarding her life to save her children. Do you think that is love?” I asked her.

“Of course, it is love. What else is it?” she answered in disbelief. It was like she was talking to a crazy person.

“What do you say if a stranger rushes in to save them? Or when other animals show the same response? Are we going to call it love or bravery or insanity? Is it a trick done by our brain? The neuroscientist believes that some levels of Dopamine, Serotonin, and Oxytocin are responsible for that feeling. Is that it? All that feeling sums up in some chemical reaction in the body and dismisses all the poems or stories written in the name of love. So back to the question, what is love?” I asked all of them.

“Oh, that’s so romantic. It is every girl’s dream to hear this explanation rather than that simple sentence,” she said sarcastically.

“Do you want to hear a story about true love?” I asked her.

“I thought you didn’t know what it was?” she responded.

“I don’t, but someone tried to tell it through a story. Do you want to hear it?” I asked again.

“Okay, let’s hear it,” she said at last.

“There was a caravan that started a long journey. In it, two families were traveling together. They didn’t know each other, but they stayed close during the travel and set up a camp. One couple was mooning at each other. The husband was a good-looking man. Not only that but he was also really charming and well-spoken. He was attending to his wife’s needs all the time, from massaging and washing her feet to cooking foods for her. He was treating her like a princess, he as her servant.

“Then there was another couple who were the opposite of their neighbor. The husband wasn’t good-looking. He didn’t talk much and did none of what his neighbor did. For him, it was the opposite. The woman was attending to him dearly and treated him like a king. That bizarre behavior of the neighbor made the wife of the handsome man curious. She asked her neighbor the reason behind it. The neighbor responded to her that her husband loves her dearly, and that is enough for her. However, the wife of the handsome man didn’t get a satisfactory answer. Why was she putting up with a lazy and ugly person? The wife of the lovely husband thought that that woman was strange. If it were up to her, she wouldn’t put up with it for a second. Why should she care? He wasn’t her husband, and they deserve each other.

“They continued traveling together, and nothing about their lives changed. One night, when they camped in the open, a group of bandits attacked their caravan. The handsome husband was nowhere to be seen, and his wife was running in the camp while screaming for her life. Meanwhile, the ugly man stood tall and fended off anyone who tried to come close to his family by his sword. It didn’t matter the number of bandits who tried their best to break his defense, but it was for nothing.

“After the carnage, when the bandits left, they found that the handsome guy was hiding in the animals’ stall. Not too far away, his wife’s dress was torn apart, and her throat was cut open. The family of that ugly man was among those few who survived that fateful night,” I finished the story.

“What are you trying to say?” Calysta asked after a few seconds.

“That love isn’t as simple as what you think it is. Often, the answer to that question is scary for me. I’m afraid I won’t know the answer until it is too late. I fear to find to that question ends with some kind of tragedy,” I replied and went deep in thinking. Calysta didn’t ask any other questions.

I remember the first time he called me dad, the joy and mountain of responsibility he dropped on my shoulder by saying that little word.

I remember the time when we found out about their condition, the fear in his eyes. He was looking at me as if I knew what to do or how to solve it. My shirt was damp with his tears. I remember his concern for his mom and his sister, such a Valiant character at such an age. He went to learn first aid in order to be ready when the time came so he could help his mom and sister.

His skin was too pale even in the semidarkness.

I touched his cold skin. The disease made this teenage boy lifeless.

He opened his eyes. When he saw me at his bedside, he smiled.

“Dad . . . ,” he said with difficulty. He held my hand with all the power he had. He was looking for assurance. It was like one of those moments when someone woke up from a nightmare and clung to the person he knew or trusted could calm him down.

I pressed his little hand gently. He smiled again.

“Dad, you can go and get some sleep,” he said while struggling for air.

“I already did,” I lied. He nodded his head. He turned his head to look at his mom and his sister. Then he looked back at me.

“I know you don’t believe in the afterlife . . . ,” he said with great labor, “but can you tell me something more assuring than just dying?”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Do you hate sleep?” I asked him. He smiled. He looked at his sister and mom to see if they woke up.

“You don’t want to answer me?” he said and sounded hurt.

“You didn’t answer,” I persisted.

“No, I don’t hate sleeping,” he responded.

“Then do you have a problem getting more sleep than before? What is wrong with going to sleep and knowing that you don’t have to wake up again? Would you miss those moments in the morning that you have to wake up and go to school? You have done it more than a thousand times. What makes that one special?” I asked him kindly.

“Do you think it will be like that?” he asked with a bit of surprise. It was difficult for me to say it out loud, so I only nodded.

“If it is like that, why are people so afraid of it?” he asked me with great curiosity.

“The problem doesn’t come from those who died. The problem comes from the people who they left behind. The people left behind miss those moments they had together. Those memories will be there until they go to sleep as well. Anything that made us so angry at that time will be so trivial and insignificant, and the good memories live longer that way, making us miss them more. We cling to anything to see that person again. Even a made-up fantasy world would make much more sense than the alternative for some people,” I said and held back my tears. I didn’t know how much of that I believed myself. It was an observation from my own experience when I lost my parents. Their memories were as fresh as the time I lost them.

“Will you be sad?” he asked me with concern.

“I know that I will miss you a lot. You were the dearest friend that I ever had. Do you remember the time when you said goodbye to your best friend? It would be the same for me, but a little harder,” I said with a broken heart. How could I tell him about the sense of loss when he never lost anyone? How could I talk about death and not cry my eyes out? What could I say to show or hide my pain? He was just a teenager and saw nothing of this world.

“You . . . ,” he tried to say. “You are the best, Dad,” he said with a lot of effort. He pressed my hand again. The tears were welling up in his eyes. I tapped his hand gently. I tried to comfort him, but I think it was him who was comforting me.

A screeching beep rose from a monitor. I looked up. It was coming from Meleta’s. I pressed the assistance button for the nurse and the doctor to arrive. I let go of Valerio’s hand and went to Meleta’s bedside. The electronic vital sign monitor was screaming for attention. Her heart rate was below average and was dropping fast. The beeping changed to something else. The urgency of the beep became more painful in the ears. Calysta, who woke up by all those sounds, looked at me for an answer. I anxiously watched the front door and counted the seconds for the nurse or doctor to show up, then the beeping became a flat and constant screech.

I didn’t wait for anyone anymore. I just started doing the CPR. I pressed her delicate chest down in the hope she would come back. No change. I pushed again, and her lifeless body refused to come back. Her closed eyes were still closed. I was trying to save those memories. I wanted to make more of it. I pressed down again. Those moments of her sweet laughter filled my ears. I didn’t hear anything else. I was in a trance. I pushed down and lost count of how many it was. I wasn’t ready to lose that sweet face of hers. I didn’t want her only in my memory. I wanted to see her grow old. I wanted to see the things she wanted to be. At that moment, I didn’t care what but just wanted more time with her.

Then I felt some people trying to pull me away from her. I wanted to continue doing that no matter for how long. For the rest of my life? I didn’t care. I wanted to do it. They took me away. They pleaded that I stay away. I went and sat beside Valerio’s bedside. I felt so defeated. I took the small hand of Valerio for my own comfort.

A continuous beep started from Valerio’s monitor as well.

Calysta’s condition got much worse after that day. I couldn’t tell it was days or months after that awful night. What could I say? The cries she made was like a rainy day that would’ve softened rocks and stone. Those who went through it know how it is. They know that it doesn’t matter how much I write about the departed people; it wouldn’t be enough. The magnitude of sadness or hole the departed made can only be understood by those same fate-driven people.

She kept herself devoid of everything. She would feel guilty if a smile came to her lips. All the foods became poisonous to her, and she did not eat. However, if it were the actual poison, she would take it in a heartbeat. The amount she took in by the constant begging from me and everyone else, her body wouldn’t accept that betrayal and vomit it out. She didn’t have much before she became so sick. During that ordeal, even when she tried to stay strong for her children, she lost much and became hollow of what she was. After her children’s departure, she became the definition of a walking corpse. All the nutrition she was getting was only through the serum. She was walking with a stand that held that serum all the time. Her life became like a broken record, a continuous loop of doing the same thing all day, every day.

When she woke up, she was disappointed that she was still alive. She wouldn’t come out of her bed. She only moved out of her bed to go to the bathroom or to be with me in another room. More often, when she came to me, it was only to continue her sleep in my arms. She would sit on my lap and rest her head on my chest, and there, she would dream of not waking up again. I don’t know which one was the brutal one, the disease or her. Why wouldn’t she fight for me even a bit? Just enough to give me a little hope she would defeat it. I witnessed how her eyes became lifeless. Those eyes that had me under her spell for so long were empty of life and happiness. The smile became a stranger to her lips. A ghoulish voice replaced her soft and delicate voice when she tried to speak. Her body was either too hot or too cold when I touched her skin.

She rested her head on my chest. I could feel her warm breath on my chest. She was sitting on my lap. It brought tears to my eyes to see her in that state. She sounded sleepy, but now and then, she was coughing. Her head moved a little bit; her head fell back a little bit the way that her lips were angled toward my neck. Now I felt her breath on my neck. My left hand was like a supporter for her back, and with another hand, I was stroking her hair slowly with such care to not wake her up. She liked it. She always did. She told me that it helped her with her headache. Now her lips were touching my collarbone. I could hear her heavy breathing on my neck. With each breath, there was a whistling sound coming out of her. I was sitting on the bed and sitting back to the wall with her on my lap. She cuddled herself in me. She was like a bird that was shaking from the cold. Her skin turned to a ghostlike white. I was sitting on the bed and not even able to see her. My tears blocked my view. I have to be strong. I have to be strong for her. I can’t let her see my tears. She had had enough of that, I thought. I stroked her hair to distract myself so I could stop crying. I tucked myself a little so that I could pamper her more. Then with a lot of care, without waking her up, I put my right hand under her knees. That way, I could lay down her feet on the bed while she had her head on my shoulder. I lay down with her carefully by having my arm as her pillow. She didn’t wake up. Now her forehead was toward my neck, and she was breathing to my chest. I knew the time was coming. I wanted to cry, but the cry was locked in my throat. I wanted to scream, but I didn’t have the breath for it. I was hopelessly lying down and watching her. I could hear the heavy breath she was taking. I kissed her forehead and felt how hot her head was.

One second, I was watching Calysta sleeping, and another second, my eyes went black.

I was woken up by the cell phone ring.

“Hello?” I answered the phone.

“Hello, is this Mr. Adalbert?” a female voice asked me on the phone.

“Yes?” I answered and was curious who she was.

“I am calling from the hospital, and I am afraid I have bad news for you.”

“WHAT?” I shouted.

Calysta opened her eyes to see what had happened. Her eyes were tired, even though she just woke up from sleep.

I sat on the bed, and my ears were in complete focus.

“Do you know Mar . . .” My ears blocked the rest of the sentence. My brain was racing to full speed.

I was dazed by the news, like a boxer who got knocked out and didn’t know where the up was or where the down was; everything was cycling around my head.

“Hello? Hello? Are you all right?” she asked. What kind of stupid question was that?

Was it adrenaline or curiosity? I don’t know, but it made me stand up and leave the room. I left Calysta in her bed. I went to another room and closed the door to muffle any noise.

“All right, tell me, how can I help?” I asked.

“We need you to come here,” she said. She then proceeded to tell me which hospital they were in.

After I hung up the phone, I called Bernadina and told her to meet me there.

I went back to Calysta and didn’t know what to do. There was not much life in her. Any bad news or stress would speed up her end. When I walked into her room, she looked at me with curiosity. It had been such a long time that I saw anything at all in those eyes.

“Is . . .” She coughed. “Is . . .” She continued coughing. I went and lay down beside her. I started caressing her head and back to relax her. In the middle of coughing, she still tried to tell me something.

“I know. I know. I’m here. I know what you are trying to ask me. As soon as I know it myself, I’ll let you know as well,” I promised her. I didn’t know what to do. The news was bad enough to make me sick; it would end her.

The decision itself was like one of those paradoxical questions that philosophers were trying to solve in centuries, such as, Can God create something so heavy he can’t lift it? If he does or doesn’t, it wouldn’t matter. His absolution would be questioned.

Now I was facing such a question as well. Should I tell her or not? If I put the question out there in the world, it will divide the world into two groups: those who wanted to share that news with her for many reasons, including the important one, that it was her right, and those who wouldn’t like to share for the apparent reason that it would make her much sadder than she was. It wasn’t right to do that to someone who was at her end as well.

In the end, it was my decision to make. She didn’t have much left in this world. I believe the only thing she had left was her trust. Was it the selfish or kind part of me that didn’t want to share the news? I don’t know, but I didn’t want to take away the only thing she had in life, her trust.

“Do you like to stay here until I come back? Or do you want to come with me?” I asked her gently. I still didn’t tell her what had happened. I hoped she would find out by herself.

“Come . . .” She coughed. “I’m coming . . . ,” she said through all those coughs. I nodded my head and started patting and massaging her back.

It took us a while to change her into new clothing. I used a wheelchair to take her to my car. I put her in the front seat and tucked her wheelchair in the trunk. I hooked her serum to the hook in the car’s doorframe.

“What . . .” She started coughing again. I put my hand on her shoulder to reassure her and nodded my head to show I understood what she tried to ask.

“I prefer not telling you. I just want you to find out yourself,” I said with a sad tone. She was still coughing but nodded her head to tell me she agreed or understood me. I patted her back a little more. When her cough eased, I drove to the hospital.

She put her hand on mine while it was on the manual gear shift. Even though it would be logical that she would be the one on the receiving end of the comfort and empathy, she was the one giving it.

I shook the tears out of my eyes’ side, those that didn’t know the right time to show themselves.

We arrived at the hospital. I untucked the wheelchair and installed the stand behind it so that it could hold the serum. I wheeled her toward the hospital entrance. Using the special ramp for the wheelchair, we went inside. At the reception, I didn’t know what to do. If I said the names, she would know what happened to who.

However, I made my choice.

I looked back at Calysta. My heart broke for what was about to happen.

“I’m looking for Marshal and Aiko. They are here for the accident,” I told the receptionist. She directed me to another section of the hospital. I looked back to Calysta to see her in tears. Her coughs became more severe. I went on my knees so I could be at her level.

“Please, I know it isn’t easy, but control yourself. We don’t know what happened and how they are. You don’t need to be worried now,” I begged her. Her coughing and tears didn’t stop. I knew it was a mistake; I knew how she would react to the news, yet my punishment continued. I turned to the receptionist and asked her to call a doctor or a nurse. The disgusted look she gave me for bringing a sick person like that in a hospital to share that kind of news stayed in my mind to this day.

A doctor came and gave her a sedative to calm her down. The doctor made sure to point out how stupid I was to share that news.

When they took her away from me to lay her down on the bed, I went with them to the room. They laid her down and transferred the serum from the wheelchair stand to the bedside stand.

I felt miserable.

After staying beside her bed for a few minutes, I went to the section where the receptionist had directed me earlier. There, I didn’t need to look for Bernadina. She ran to me and started crying in my arms. She hugged me tightly and didn’t lift her head from my chest.

“They . . . they are all gone,” she managed to say. Whole new tears and cries came to her. My eyes didn’t need any cue from me. We forgot that we were grown up. We were crying like two children who fell on the ground and, for the first time, saw blood. We were crying and cursing this unfair world. We cried because there was nothing else to do. This unjust world let the guy who drank his fill and disregarded the safety of others and caused a chain accident, which sandwiched Marshal’s car, to walk out of it but killed Marshal and his family and many others.

This is the kind of world we are living in.

We sat on a bench. I lent my shoulder to her head. After all that crying, the reality set in.

We became lonelier than before. Our group reduced or would be reduced to two.

“How is Calysta?” she asked. She still refused to raise her head from my shoulder.

“She is here,” I answered her. She raised her head and looked at me in disbelief. She knew Calysta didn’t want to stay in the hospital. She wanted to come home with me. Even worse, she refused to go through chemo.

“What is she doing here?” she asked me, and the worry in her eyes told me that maybe her condition had gotten worse. She didn’t suspect that I was that much stupid to bring her here for the news.

“She is in one of those rooms. Do you want to go there?” I said and gave up thinking altogether.

“Don’t you want to see them for the last time?” she asked me curiously.

“This universe turned every good memory of mine to sour. I don’t want to tarnish theirs,” I responded.

I was pulverized and crushed in every way. I gave up. It didn’t matter what I did; the universe showed me that it could hurt me more. It was such a messed-up game the world likes to play. On the other hand, I thought it was absurd to believe that the whole universe revolved around me or humankind, but how could I not take it personally? It seemed to me that it set out to torture me personally. No wonder there are so many religions around the world. Even the most isolated tribe in Africa or Amazon found themselves believing in something. How can we see such brutality and callousness and not blame anyone for it?

I gave her the room number where Calysta was and left her there to say goodbye to her friends for the last time.

I went back to Calysta and took a seat close to her bed. She was sleeping peacefully, but now and then, she coughed in her sleep.

I took her hand in mine and put my head on it. I needed someone to comfort me, to let me be a human. I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders.

I don’t know how long I was like that, but then I heard the footsteps behind me. I knew who it was, so I didn’t rush to lift my head. I felt her hand on my shoulder.

“Is she okay?” Bernadina asked. I lifted my head and kissed Calysta’s hand.

“I don’t know. I don’t think she will survive this news,” I said with great pain.

“Are you going to tell her?” she whispered in anger and surprise. It was more like yelling.

I came clean to her and told her how she insisted on being involved. I didn’t care about the look of disappointment she gave me. How could a beggar be more humiliated than he was?

I ignored her questions and her anger. “Come and sit here. She would be happy to see someone else than me,” I said to her.

“Are you going somewhere?” she asked. I noticed her eyes were full of tears.

“No, I’m just staying here,” I said and went to the window.

“You didn’t answer me. Are you going to tell her?” she asked persistently.

“Until then, I don’t know. I hope she figures it out by herself or not at all. Until that time, I don’t know,” I responded.

She looked at me with revulsion. “How could you be such a heartless and an ass? When did you become like this?” she asked. She was angry at me. She needed to be mad at someone; why not me? She felt alone, and for that, she cried. For me, I was giving up on everything. How could I taste happiness and know that it would be crushed to dust? How could I just cry it out like Bernadina when I knew it wouldn’t solve anything? It wouldn’t bring back my parents. It wouldn’t get back those children full of lives—Meleta, Valerio, and now Nadine and Albert. Those tears only trick me into thinking that one day a smile would replace it. How could I be like Bernadina and, at the same time, envy her for handling the problem better than me? I didn’t want her to be like me.

I went to her and kissed her on top of the head.

“Just be more patient with me. Right now, I don’t know if I’m making the right decisions. You were close friends to each other. What do you think Calysta wants now? Does she want us to deceive her in the last moment of her life or to be honest with her?” I asked her in a way that didn’t sound condescending.

“I don’t know. It won’t change anything if she finds out but bring more distress to her. I don’t want to see her crying when . . . when . . .” Her sobbing was obvious what she tried to say.

“Just like a soldier in a battle that is dying and looking for someone to tell him that he will be all right, isn’t it?” I agreed with her. She nodded.

I kissed her on top of her head to thank her and went back to the window. It had a depressing view. All those lights from the darkness of night were indicating that many people stood awake. How many of them were staying awake for their loved ones, like me? How many of them were taying awake to comfort a child from the nightmares they had? How many of them were staying awake to be wasted on working? What was the benefit of me working so hard just to make the departure of a loved one easy? How many of them were staying awake because they couldn’t sleep when they were thinking about or awoke from the hunted memories of dear ones?

How many?

“Berna, you are here?” She started coughing again.

“Don’t, just don’t,” Bernadina begged her not to stress herself out. Maybe she was telling that to herself out loud.

“Marsha . . .” She coughed. “Ai . . .” She coughed more severely.

“They are all all right. It was just a minor accident. You know Aiko. She will you herself if she finds out that you are stressing yourself out like this,” she lied beautifully and naturally. Calysta’s cough didn’t stop though. I think she was trying to laugh.

When did her coughs become like a Morse code to me?

She turned and looked at me while coughing, but it became milder. When her eyes locked on me, it became accusatory. She dared me to lie to her. I would rather die and lie to her now.

“She is accusing you of lying,” I said to Bernadina. Her look changed to a person who had just been betrayed by the most trusting person she knew.

“You dare that. I never thought you had it in you,” Bernadina said as if she had been hurt for the accusation, but she went and kissed her dying friend’s cheek. The watery eyes of hers started a new set of tears.

“Berna . . .” Her cough continued.

“I know. I know,” she said while crying her eyes out. Sometimes she looked away to hide her tears from Calysta, but she looked back again to see her friend and make sure she was okay. Calysta put her hand on her friend to comfort her.

“Marshal would say that this is hot,” I commented. Bernadina was laughing and crying at the same time. Calysta had a smile on her face while coughing, which became her laughter now. Bernadina looked at me with eyes full of tears to thank me. I only nodded.

A few minutes later, the doctor came to give her another dose, but Calysta shook her head and then looked at me.

“She wants to go home, and she doesn’t want another one,” I said to the doctor like a translator.

“Are you sure?” The doctor tried again. She nodded her head for confirmation.

“All right,” he said and looked at me as if I had something to do with that decision, then he left.

I brought the wheelchair with its stand to take Calysta home.

“Do you want to come with us?” I asked Bernadina.

“No, I don’t,” she said apologetically.

“Are you sure? I’ll let you two sleep in my old bedroom,” I asked. I thought maybe she felt that she was intruding on us by being there. Calysta laughed with her cough, and Bernadina smiled. After all the crying, she had a genuine smile, but it turned sour. I guess Bernadina felt guilty for having that smile. She looked at her friend and then at me.

“Are you sure?” she asked me.

“Are we sure?” I asked Calysta. Her coughing laugh and nodding were our answers.

I drove us home and left behind our friends. It was a quiet drive. I let Bernadina make the call to our friends’ close relatives at an appropriate time. I didn’t have the heart to talk to them. If I did, Calysta would know something was up if she already didn’t guess. We arrived at our destination. I handled Calysta, who was featherweight, and lifted her and put her in the wheelchair. It felt like I was lifting bones rather than a human. Bernadina followed us and opened the door for us. I wheeled her to our home.

Then as I promised, I lifted her to take her to my room. She looped her hands around my neck. She rested her tired head on my chest and coughed softly. Bernadina was following us by holding up the serum. I laid her down on the bed behind that shelf. She looked at me appreciatively. I just nodded and left those two friends together.

Later that night, I went to check up on her. I saw both of them hugging each other like sisters. Bernadina had a trace of tears on her face, while Calysta was coughing smoothly and had a smile on her lips. Her eyes were still closed.

It was an unintentional good thing that Bernadina came with us. She smuggled out my black suit.

As I predicted, Bernadina handled their relatives. She helped them organize the funeral, and as usual, the close relatives to the deceased left the grave with a heavy heart, and the rest were there for courtesy. Marshal’s and Aiko’s relatives each found my embrace to cry on. They were old. They were ready to leave this world with a big smile knowing that their children would be fine, and now they were leaving with a broken heart. They were going to be tortured by their memories longer than my Calysta.

“Do you know why I chose the name Aiko for my daughter?” Aiko’s father asked me.

“No, but it was a beautiful and fitting name for her,” I answered.

“The irony is that it actually fits her now. Before I met Aiko’s mother, I met a young girl in another country. I was a young captain back then. We fell in love, and I had a thousand dreams. We dreamed, and we planned. One of those plans was, in the next trip back to her, we would go and get married. When I came back, I found out that she had died in a car accident. Her Name was Aiko. Every time I called her name, my good memories from the past would rise from the ashes. Even though she had the look and temper of my wife, but that name was the only link that I had to the past. I was selfish to think that her name would outlive me, but now . . . ,” he said to me and broke down. I only could offer my sympathy. I don’t know why he shared that with me. Maybe because someone close to me was dying as well.

It was true when someone said, “The whole life is two days: the day that passed and the day that hasn’t come yet.” We are living in the memories of the past, and we waste today for fear of tomorrow. Is this it? Is this what being a human means?

I couldn’t spend more time with them. They understood why. I had to get back to Calysta.

I borrowed Bernadina’s home key and went there to change into regular clothing before going home.

She imprisoned herself in the room and couldn’t see me in black, but I didn’t want to risk it. I would leave the key under the vase for Bernadina.

I went back to Calysta and dismissed the nurse after thanking her for taking care of the most precious person in the world for me.

I went to Calysta and lay down beside her. I didn’t care what tomorrow would bring; I wanted that moment to be with Calysta. I thought I was smart, but it took me a long time to learn that lesson. I wanted to treasure every moment with her. She breathed heavily and sounded asleep.

It was in those precious moments of the day and night that I was hugging her, and it was in those moments that I didn’t hear her suffering for breathing any longer.

Her eyes were closed when she left me.

I became too familiar with this place where those dear people close to my heart left me behind. I came back again with the black suit. The girl who stole my heart and broke it to pieces, she came back and gave me a short moment of euphoria, only to tarnish it to nothingness again. I looked at the Casket that was holding her in.

The priest who was only different in facial feature was reciting from that black book. I had Calysta’s mom on my left side, and on my right, Bernadina was sitting.

“Is there anyone who wants to tell us about this wonderful mother and daughter?” the priest said and ignored the history I had with her. I took out a piece of paper and went there to replace the priest. The priest gave himself a self-acclamation and gave the spot to me.

“We had a tradition for our celebration. Instead of buying a gift for any occasion, we had to do something else. Grow a flower from its seeds to its blossom and give that flower as a gift than buying a neckless. I bought her jewelry, of course, but it wouldn’t be for our anniversary or birthday. My excuse to buy anything for her was because I saw it and she came to my mind and I had to buy it. That way, our gifts had more meaning to them. I don’t want to bore you with details of the past. This piece of paper that I’m holding is one of those gifts that I first gave to her on our anniversary, then she had the audacity to gift it back to me on my birthday,” I said to the crowd. It wasn’t for them though. I just wanted to recall that moment in her memory. Some of them laughed though. “She also told me that I topped my gifts by giving her this one. She also said there wouldn’t be any gift in this world that could be an answer for this present. She begged me to exchange this gift for each other for the rest of our anniversary or our celebration. As usual, she would get what she wanted.” I stopped so people could grasp what I just said.

“Now a little background about this gift. I had a colleague in university who teaches the Persian language. One day, when he was trying to tell one of his students the author’s intent was different from what it seems to be on the surface, it made me curious about that conversation. For example, when the author talked about love, he was referring to his love for God or nature, but earthly love could be there too. The beauty of that kind of poem is like a painting. In its original language, it had rhythm in it like music, and inside of those beautiful words, there are many references and meaning,” I said with a calm voice.

“He had me in painting. It made me curious enough to ask the name of the author and which poem he was referring to,” I said and smiled at those memories. “This was my gift for her. I had to learn a different language to understand that poem and translate it for our anniversary. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth every bit of it. You may not understand what I’m reading, but this is the best I could do to capture the meaning and the rhyme. I guess you all should have that journey yourself to understand it all.” Then I cleared my throat and started reading it:

One night when I couldn’t get a bit of shut-eye,

I heard the conversation between a candle and butterfly.

“That if I burn, I am the lover, and that is meet,

but why do you weep and greet?”

The candle said, “O’, my poor marra,[1]

I lost my sweet gabba.[2]

Since Shirin abandoned me,

Like Farhad, grief’s flames scorched me.”[3]

As the candle said with a flood of soreness,

Her pain was coming down on her yellowish face.

“You aren’t a lover

since you can’t give yourself over.

You ’scaped from a tiny ardor.[4]

I stood to burn my whole body to the core.

If love put your wings into ignite,

look at me, from my feet to head is on light.”

All night, it was this conversation.

Till dawn, it made a congregation.

Not much left from the darkness,

That a Pari[5] face killed her eagerness.

As she was saying and dying, a smoke on her head was retiring.

“Young man, this is the end of my yearning.

You’ll learn that the time when you are caring.

Don’t shed tears on the grave of an admirer, be smiling.

That this has been accepted by that darling.

If you are infected by the love, don’t cure it.

Like Sa’adi,[6] give up on it.

A true lover isn’t afraid of his goals.

He accepts a storm of rocks and arrows.

Don’t go to the ocean, be warned.

If you do, giving up to storm is owned.”

Slowly I closed the paper and went down on my knees to get a fist of dirt. Then carefully, I went forward and put that paper on the casket and poured the earth on top of the paper and the coffin.

“I guess you’ll be the one to receive this gift after all. You always had it your way.” The tears were there. “Goodbye, my Homo pulcher.”

----------------------------------------

[1] Marra means “friend.”

[2] Gabba means “Companion.”

[3] There is a pun and double meaning here. Shirin is a name, and it means “sweet,” which implies the fact that a candle loses sweetness or beeswax when it burns, but it also implies the name of a heroine in old Persian Stories. When Farhad loses the heroine of the story, in sorrow and misery, he jumped to his death.

[4] Ardor means “fire.” In here, I changed the pronunciation from /ärdər/ to /ärdôr/ for the rhyme.

[5] The Pari, in Persian mythology, is a description of fairy beings but malevolent. They fell from the grace of heaven and are banished until they redeem themselves for what they did.

[6] Sa’adi is the name of the person who wrote the poem.