Manesa

Chapter Three: Manesa

As my eyes fluttered open, I took in my surroundings wearily. The room was dark and the only source of light was seeping through the thin white curtains hanging on the large windows. The room had very simple but luxurious furnishings. There were dark wood furnishings everywhere and aside from the large bookshelf beside the queen-sized bed, the room was bereft of other furniture. This did not look like our town's hospital and it was obviously not my home. Mine and Mama's home. By that single thought, the pain- like the force of a speeding twenty-tonne truck- came crashing into my heart again. I did not have the tears to cry anymore. No way to let the pain out but to feel it pulse through me.

Not entirely certain how I had gotten here or how much of the events I had dreamt, I sat up slowly. My head was swimming and I felt the onset of a fever coming. I tried to move my legs so I could get up from the bed, but they felt wobbly and I couldn't trust myself not to fall. I didn't know where I was, but there was an impending feeling of dread and panic. I had been so caught in the moment of seeing Mama's body being taken away for the last time, that I had not paid any attention to where I was being taken to or more importantly, who was taking me away. I stayed in an awkward half-sitting half-lying position and I had the strange urge to call out but I was afraid of who would show up.

I lay back down and pulled my knees closer to my torso and I don't know if it was exhaustion or grief but I felt my body shake again and wetness around my eyes. My eyes felt sore from crying and I was sure I looked terrible. But I had lost my mother. The only family and friend I had left. She's really gone. I won't come home and see her sewing or watching her favourite telenovelas or talking loudly to the neighbours over the garden fence. There would be no more sunlight in my life again. It wasn't the first time I had lost a loved one. When Papa left us, I was still very young and though I had gone through all stages of grief, losing Mama felt different. There was now a large abyss in my heart and I doubted it would ever be filled again.

I lay there crying quietly as I always did. I hated to see the looks of pity from our neighbours and friends when Papa died. I hated that people had to be extra understanding and kind because I was a fatherless child. Our town was small and close-knitted so whether or not you wanted it, your news would travel fast. I didn't want to get out of this place- wherever it was- because though it was very unfamiliar and I was scared, I just couldn't go out to face the real world now. As I lay there, I tried to picture Mama's face before she had died. I tried to picture that she was smiling and enjoying gardening as she always did. She loved planting tomatoes and all my favourite vegetables and herbs. Our kitchen window had every sort of herbs you could imagine: basil, peppermint, parsley, lavender and rosemary. The rosemary were my favourite. We had many bumblebee visitors and they used to scare me as a child and I would try to trap or kill them but Mama told me that bumblebees were our friends because they helped our plants to grow. She said they came to visit because they loved to see our plants and herbs as much as I did and that next time they come, I should just stay still and they will fly away. I did as Mama said and gradually the kitchen windowsill became my favourite place to sit. And after Papa died and Mama grew sick, I took care of her little farm and herb garden. I could finally see why she loved being there. Being surrounded by the sun and stillness of the day took away all my thoughts and worries. The blended scents of all the herbs and vegetables dancing in the air, filled my soul with such delight that while I was in the garden, I was content and bereft of all my grief.

Mama did get better back then. She could move about the house and her friends who lived by came often to visit her. I hadn't realised how tense I had been all those months until I heard her laughter. It was a strange moment, as if everything had slowed down to a halt and the only thing I could hear and feel was her laughter. I had been in the garden that morning and since her friends were having tea with her, I had been content to harvest our cucumbers and aubergines. But I had heard a familiar laughter coming from the windows in Mama's bedroom and I had thought I had imagined it. But walking into the house silently and up the stairs to her bedroom, I had heard the laughter again and it was until a drop of tears fell on my T-shirt did I realise that I was crying. My heart immediately relaxed and I felt the first embrace of happiness. The following weeks became easier and Mama would join me in harvesting the vegetables. She decided then to grow Papa's favourite flowers too, dahlias. That was Mama's name and he used to buy her dahlias every weekend and on her birthday.

The day the dahlias bloomed, Mama sat in the living room by the window looking out to the garden and sang cielito lindo while hugging Papa's photograph. He used to sing that song to me every night and it was their wedding dance song too. Their love was so powerful and inspiring. It was a love akin to Hades and Persephone, dark and strange as that might sound, he was a god that would burn down the Earth for her and that was like Papa. He was kind and gentle to us, but he was a force to be reckoned with in our town. And if possible he would have destroyed death to be with his love, Dahlia again.

I must have drifted off into the sunlight of our garden again because when I was abruptly woken up by a click sound, my body felt warm and light. I opened my eyes and pulled the blanket instinctively over my torso. Someone had come into the bedroom but I couldn't see who it was yet because I was lying facing the window, away from the door. But I didn't dare move. I waited for what seemed like hours but was only seconds before the figure came into my line of sight.

He walked towards the window first to draw the curtains. I could make out that the source of light from earlier was the full moon floating outside the window. It seemed that he had not noticed me yet because he stood there gazing at the window for a little while. I found myself observing him, trying to make out his identity and racking my brain to find any pictures of him in my memories. But, nothing. He turned around as if he could feel me staring at him and his eyebrows drew together in a look of concern before almost immediately softening. He smiled at me, the apparent worry in his expression melting away.

It was then I recognised him.

The stranger from the house.

"Are you okay?" he said gently, inching towards the bed.

I flinched and tried to move towards the edge of the bed, eyes fixed warily on him. He seemed to understand my panic and stopped at the foot of the bed. Then he walked back towards the window, with his hands up as if he was about to be arrested.

He smiled reassuringly and when he spoke, there was a slight tremble to his voice. "Hello, we met earlier at the house," he paused as if to give me time to remember him, "I am Soran and this is my home. I brought you here after you collapsed earlier. I couldn't take you to the hospital in your state because I wanted you to be somewhere warmer and with someone who you can trust." My eyes widened and there must have been a puzzled look on my face because he paused again and sighed.

"I knew your mother. She was my mother's best friend and also took care of me growing up. I thought you would have heard about me? Soran Wren?" I shook my head, "I am sorry for your loss, I have lost both of my parents so I can empathise with what you are feeling now." He was so kind and his voice so gentle that I wanted to cry again, but I didn't have the tears to cry anymore. Relief that he seemed honest about his identity and connection to Mama washed over me and exhaustion found me again. But I did not want to fall asleep again in front of him, no matter how honest he seemed to be. Instead, I stayed sitting looking at the bright moon watching me closely.

He inched closer again and when I did not flinch or try to move away, he sat on the bed away from me. "Would you like something to eat?" I shook my head, finding it hard suddenly to speak out. "Oh, do not worry, it is a plain rice porridge. There is only salt and a bit of pepper for taste. This used to comfort me after-" he hesitated but I knew what he meant to say. After his parents died. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and I could imagine him battling with his own sorrow. I wanted to ask about it but I did not have the confidence to listen without breaking apart. I had the impulse to accept his offer of food so that he also would not fall apart.

"Yes, I would like that. Thank you." I muttered, trying and failing to smile at him. I could not even recognise my own voice. It came out whispery, without any strength in it. He looked at me for a while before responding.

"It's okay Manesa. You do not have to smile or do anything that you don't want to," he stood up and walked around to my side and offered to help me up. I let him because I was too tired to walk. "Can I take you to the kitchen or would you like to eat here?"

I shook my head and asked to go to the kitchen. I hadn't been here long but I knew that staying in this room would make me drown in my sorrow.