Lilaboti

The cold water felt good on his skin. It made him feel numb, something he desperately needed right now. The steady stream coming out of the showerhead washed the soap down his body, forming a creamy puddle around his feet. It looked like it was clinging to him, using him as support to survive the torrent trying to pull it way. He lifted his feet, slowly letting it go. Some things need to fade away before you give them hope.

He looked into the mirror as the puddle of foam started washing away. He wondered if the foam felt any pain as the drain consumed whatever life was left in it. Or was it numbed by the cold water too? He looked for himself in the mirror, for whatever of his youth was left. He cleared the fog on the mirror with his hand to get a better look.

The face of a confused old man stared back at him, almost as it was accusing him of something. He took a step back, afraid of his own reflection. What was he worth anymore? What kept him going?

The five thousand taka he got from his pension was all that was keeping him afloat.

They cut him today. Forced retirement. The new manager felt that he was just too old to withstand the pressure of this sector anymore. He felt like an outdated equipment, something that should have been put out of order a long time ago. He’d never complained about a single thing in the last 20 years. Never left to a company offering a higher salary, never asked for a promotion or complained about one. The only thing twenty years of loyal service had earned him was a retirement party with one cake and a dozen or so balloons. Even then, he was confused whether the people gathering around him were actually there for him or for the cake. And as he got on the 9pm bus for one last time, he tried to contemplate his life, where he’d go from here. How he’d keep her going.

She’d been paralysed for the greater part of the last 10 years. Road accident, major brain damage, lucky to escape death. ‘Lucky’. Ironic word that one. Just ‘lucky’ enough to not die, not to be alive. Is being stuck in a body being unable to move called being lucky? Or is life in itself a gift; however horrible, and painful it may be?

It kept getting harder and harder for him until today. He could manage hard, he couldn’t manage impossible. At least, not anymore. Their only son had just gotten into college. Private uni., six figure semester fee, plus pocket-money for hanging out with friends. His only daughter’s husband had called last week, asking for money. Apparently he’d gambled his last payout away. He threatened to divorce her if he didn’t get it by the end of the month.

He had been trying to find a job, but no one was willing to hire a fifty year old retired press worker. He was worthless now.

The foam was almost non-existent now, they’d faded faster than he thought they would.

His hand reached for a small wooden cabinet beside the mirror. It was worn down. The first thing he felt was a thick layer of mosquito web. Well, at least something found some life amidst all of this. Everything was still as it was five years ago, untouched. Her expired old lipsticks, her eyeliner, even that rose-flavored perfume he’d bought her on her birthday lied there in a corner, covered in dust. 

A teardrop almost escaped his threshold, travelled through the cracks on his face till it melted with the water dripping from his hair.

He didn’t dry himself, instead he put on a pair of ragged old pajamas and dragged himself down the hall to his bedroom. His eyes automatically looked down at the lifeless body lying in his bed. A forty five-ish woman, long and lean in demeanor with the prettiest set of eyes he’d ever seen. She still looked as beautiful to him as she did on day one. A smile covered her pretty face, she almost looked like she was at peace now.

He knelt down beside the bed and kissed her on the lips. It’s been years since she had last kissed him back. And even though she couldn’t say it to him, he knew she was hurting, crying to bite down on his lips for one last time. He wondered if it was selfish to keep her alive like this. The doctors had always been against it. Told him that she was in pain and it was better to say goodbye. But he wasn’t ready to let go, he never will be.

He laid down beside her, slowly, careful not to crumble her dress. He was shaking as he turned towards her, trying to drown his nose in her hair. She still smelt wonderful, he thought. The dimmed light coming from the street in front hurt his eyes. He slowly curled up against her body and covered his eyes with her hair. She felt soft, softer than she already was.

They had no flamboyant romantic backstory, no. They both came from modest backgrounds, never really asking or getting too much from life. Their parents chose them for each other, and they were lucky enough not to hate the guts out of each other. They were a good team yes, good enough to keep going for twenty years. But no, he never thought being in love with her was a possibility.

The first time he felt that she was something special was the night it happened. Office party. She looked wonderful in her matte-maroon sharee and black bangles. He couldn’t look away, not for a second. His sight set on her eyes, even when they got on his bike to get back home.

And then… the usual story.
12 pm, Indira Road, over-speeding car, rich brat drowned in alcohol on a night out with his friends. The case didn’t even go to court. The police filed it as a normal road mishap, with no mention of the boy or his car being there. The boy walked away with a minor warning, nothing else.

He took out all of his savings, did what he could, even loaned some money. Nothing could buy her back, the notes finally felt worthless.

…

It was raining when he came home tonight. His shirt stuck to his body, glued by a mixture of sweat and rain water. He checked up on her pulse the first thing he got home. He has always wondered how her eyes still looked so alive within all that hurt, how she still looked like she’d get up from that wheelchair and welcome him home with a hug. He looked away and opened the drawer to his left. Twenty thousand taka, he counted what was left of his savings. Half of what he owed to loan-sharks. Her meds cost more than ten thousand a month. The one week notice didn’t help.

He turned and looked at her pretty face once more. She was still lying there, peaceful as ever, showing no real sign of life but the slow pulse showing on the heart-rate monitor. In one split moment of desperation, he lunged forward at the lifeless body and grabbed her by the neck. She moved for a bit, her arms threw themselves at him, as if she was trying to escape. But he knew it was just her nerves reacting, trying to fight back. He tightened his grasp until her muscles relaxed and she didn’t struggle anymore. The pulse monitor beeped with one continuous line showing on it’s screen. She didn’t move anymore. He couldn’t look at her, so he quickly escaped into the shower.

…

He glanced at the small spider at the corner of the room, it was busy doing it’s own thing, not giving two fucks about what was going on in the room underneath her. Her face seemed much calmer now. Calmer than it usually did. He gave her a tight hug, almost crushing her in his weary arms. But she didn’t respond, she didn’t push back, her body didn't reciprocate anymore . She was dead. She’d been dead for the last 10 years. But it hadn’t hit him this hard before. And it hurt, like hell. He screamed, he screamed as loudly as he could.

Her body muffled his despair as he held his face in her arms, as tightly as his arms would allow him to. What had he done? How had he done this? Why had he done this?

He couldn’t cry though. He tried as hard as he could, but the tears wouldn’t come out. He felt as if something was ripping out his soul, tearing through it with a butcher knife like some sick medieval torture camp. And that ‘something’ was so fucked up that it wouldn’t let him cry, it wouldn’t let him ease the pain. He wanted to say that he was sorry, he wanted to scream that he loved her. But all he could manage to get through all that hurt was a name. Her name, tearing through his vocal chords,

“Lilaboti”