Secrets, Chapter one

Jacob's mind was intoxicated by a sensation of euphoria. It disguised his consternation for not being able to transform the dazzling mental images he had into words as the arias from Verdi's La Traviata soared around the house. Lowering his head, while his hands supporting it so as not to drop on the desk, he stayed silent. His father had taught him that men should not cry and they ought to be tough; even though he had not lived by that philosophy himself. He had seen his father cry. Nevertheless, Jacob, he thought, was tough enough not to cry, and stifled enough not to talk about his feelings. He considered all these as a tempestuous overstatement, the conflicting contradiction of his personal despondency.

The music stopped. Jacob brought his hands down on the desk and raised his head. He saw Diana who was pulling the vacuum cleaner from the hall way to the living room. "Now she is going to start that dreadful machine." He whispered to himself. Shortly after, she showed up in his study. She had an old blue short with a white tee shirt on. Her hair was pulled to the back in a form of pony tail. She stood there hesitant and observed his devastation.

"Can't get it right?" She mumbled.

Diana's eyes were always watery and it seemed as if they would overflow with knowledge and everlasting endurance.

"I have it here," He touched his head. "but I can't put it in words." His voice trembled with emotion.

"Why don't you quit for a while. Don't think about it. It'll come to you; besides you need to marinate the meat."

"What time is it?"

"Ten, and we haven't had our breakfast yet. I thought we have some toasts for breakfast now and then I clean the house and you get the stakes ready."

"What time are they coming?"

"Six, don't you remember?"

"I don't feel like having company!" He said with distaste.

"That wasn't my idea. You invited them." Diana retorted.

"I know, I know. Don't give me a hard time, please. What else are you cooking?"

"First of all, I am not giving you a hard time. I just reminded you that you invited them. I thought to make salad and pasta, perhaps marinara sauce, it goes well with stake. For the desert, I bought ice creme and French pastry."

"Sounds good. Let's have our breakfast."

~*

To Be Continued