All Night Anna walked in the house and also out in the yard. The clean, naked sky had no spots of even one piece of cloud in it; and the coquettish stars and planets were twinkling to her. She sat on a chair in the gazebo with her ashtray, cigarette, a bottle of brandy and a shot glass; contemplating tomorrow. But it was tomorrow already. It was one, two, three in the morning. Those numbers were all tomorrow that she did not want to see and she was staring at them. The ticking of the gazebo clock seemed to her dividing time into separate atoms of energy, each of which was too morbid to be borne.
She remembered the time that they were going on a vacation and she had stayed up all night being so excited. She loved to travel; or better yet she used to love to travel. On that holiday, she was so overwhelmed for being a child. How wonderful was to be a child, to have an older brother who pretended was her age and gave in to her whims, to have parents that had done anything for you to protect you. On those days, gone days which never would return since all the players were dead except her, she had looked forward for the tomorrows, she wanted more of them; now she did not even want to live to see tomorrow.
Joseph, in bed, was aware that his wife was not in bed. In his delirious mind which pain had hurt and changed it so much, he all of sudden understood the position he was placing Anna in. He had gotten to the point, he thought, that he had outlived his love, humanity, but he had not outlived the consequences of his recklessness. The wheels were in motion; and nobody could stop them any more. He knew where she was, their favorite place on earth, the gazebo. He wished he could join her, or had the strength to call her. He recalled their intellectual discourses. He had found the perfect wife, friend, partner, and now he had to put her through this! Didn't she have enough of her own? He felt guilty for requesting such thing from her; but at the same time, he did not have the courage to do it himself. He knew how to do it; he knew it all along, but how could he? He was not a Roman soldier to fall on his sword. At this point he wondered if he loved her more than she loved him! If she said yes, tomorrow, it meant that she loved him more. That would take courage, love, loyalty, all the things she had. He was not a brave man. He thought what would he do if it was him that had given such promise to Anna! He thought hard about it. The conclusion was ugly. He most likely use his legal power to take her to the hospital and to leave her there. He came to understand that Anna's upbringing and her father's teaching had taught her to be an honorable woman no matter the consequences. What an exceptional woman she was. He thought if he had the chance of living not dying, he would write about her and put her in the history book as a historian that he was; for courage like that was not found only amongst the bravest soldiers but a woman like her.
*
Anna came inside at six in the morning. She was sober. She had not had even a sip of the brandy; but she had smoked two packs of cigarette. Joseph was awake. In fact, he was awake all night. Anna looked pale and gloomy. She walked to the bedroom. They both looked at each other like two strangers.
"I thought I give you some breakfast first." Her voice was hushed up by the affect of smoking and crying too much.
Joseph's eyes were welling up with tears. Anna swallowed hers. He wanted to tell her that it was very cruel of him to request such thing from her; but she had already left the room and gone to the kitchen.
In the tray, there were toasts, orange juice, and coffee for both. She sat on the bed with the tray at her side and gently and calmly cut the toasts in small pieces; put some butter and strawberry jam on them, and began putting them in his mouth slowly and deliberately one by one. Then she wiped clean his mouth with a wet cloth. Then she gave him his daily bath, massaged his feet and legs, changed his pajama, and then left the room. For a moment Joseph thought that she was not about doing what she had promised. Why had she done all the routine things that she always did in the mornings? What did it matter if he had a clean pajama on or not, or he had breakfast or he was bated!? He was happy that she had changed her mind; on the other hand, he was angry that she had proven herself wrong. At this point he was ready to go to the hospital with less respect for Anna.
She returned to the room after five minutes which seemed like eternity to Joseph. She had a glass of water in one hand and the the bottle with the reminder of the morphine in the other hand. In his calculation there should be nine morphine in the bottle; enough to kill a man in his condition.
"Are you ready?" Her voice was hushed as though was losing its last vocal cords to talk. It seemed so emotionless. There was no compassion in it; Joseph thought. He held her hand.
"Are you mad at me? We don't have to do this. Just take me to the hospital."
"Promise is promise. That is not what you said yesterday. You were very adamant to remind me of my promise yesterday. I rather do this than taking you to the hospital. I don't want you to think that I am not an honorable woman. Nobody can say that to me. I want you to die peacefully in your bed, in your house, and next to me. Aren't these what you wanted?"
"Thank you. I've always love you."
She thought for a moment and said in her speaking mind: "You've always loved yourself." But to him, she said: "No tears. You're going to die happy. I am here next to you. I love you, too." All her muscles were tightening and she had the strongest desire to scream and to run away. But it was too late for any of those. She was determined to end it no matter the consequences. Joseph took the pills one by one and drank the water, all nine of them. Anna sat next to him, holding his hand; to be the good wife until the last moment. To do her duty always. Why was she like that? She looked intensely at him. She was also holding her first cry for the later. After a short time, she saw his muscles were stiffening in her hand. She squeezed his hand hard. He responded back.
All of him, pain, sickness, hatred, all of his remaining energy were tightening in front of her eyes. She actually could feel the condensation of his muscles. Everything was an absolute concentration for a rush, for an attack, for a movement. But it was silence. "Oh, my God, what have I done?" She screamed; but her voice would not come out. She put her hand inside his throat to help him vomit; but no that did not happen either. Then suddenly all the muscles in his body relaxed. She could hear a man in the street was talking; and she waited; gathering all of herself into a readiness for a charge, for an attack as soon as the man in the street would talk more. Why did they interfere with her solitude? And then suddenly in the midst of his death, it was beauty, it was peace.
Anna let go of his hand; and kissed his closed, lifeless lips that were still warm. Tears finally found a way to rush down her face; her first cry ever. She looked at Joseph once more, sleeping so silently and peacefully at last there; and walked out of the room to the living room. She sat on the sofa, started a cigarette, and gazed into the morning brightness through the window. Tear flooded down her face; and she started another cigarette.
Was it worth it? She was not sure. Was her life worth it? She was not sure. Was forty seven years, everything she had done, everything she had not done, her loving too much, her giving too much, her dedication too much, were all those worth this moment?
The phone was in her hand the entire time she was sitting on the sofa. She started another cigarette and then dialed the three famous number.
"911, what is your emergency?"
THE END
To all my readers, I am greatly appreciated that you all took time from your busy schedule and read my novel, THE FIRST CRY. I hope you enjoyed reading it and leave me your comment about it.
Now I will start to present to you another novel of mine, ODYSSEY OF THE MIND. This one again has the two cultural dimension in it; and it is the closest to my heart among my writing. This one has more extensive description of revolution, the cultures, and the lives of people before, during and after revolution. Many characters in this book are the people I know. There are times that readers even myself think that the hero of the book is myself. Like most writers, I get my inspirations from an article here, a story there, and incident in my own family, and then weave them all together and make them a novel.
I hope you enjoy reading this second book.
With my greatest gratitude,
Ellie Kamran- Belfiglio
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