Secrets<><^^^^ Chapter Seven

Tim reached into his pants pockets for a poem he had written about his death and he had planned to read it for these people after they would hear about his disease. In a way his plan was to make his deadly secret more dramatized by reading the poem. Ha had not known that by the time his turn would come, like most of the people inside, he was also a changed man. His meanness would be gone. Now he did not want to read it for them. But he just wanted to read it for himself. By nature he was not a poet, he was a researcher of old English Literature; but he did write poetry every once in a while. He read it to himself:

"My death will come a day

Of a spring full of sun ray,

Or a Winter far and dark,

Or an autumn empty of spark.

*

My death will come a day

With sweetness or dismay.

My eyes will be filled with sunset.

My cheeks will be cold and wet.

Suddenly sleep will rob me.

My pain leaves me, and I can't see.

My hand will creep on the page.

But magic of poetry has left it with rage.

Then I remember a day that my hand

Blazed poetry, bled with my command.

Now earth calls me into it.

They're coming, it's time to quit.

But maybe, maybe at midnight

A lover comes to my grave with a light.

But I know after my death

The shadow of my life's breath

Will come to existence by

Someone who looks at my poems with sigh.

They will search my small room

When I'm gone to the womb.

Without remembering me, they see

A few strand of hair next to my poetry.

In earth, my cold body and face

Are squeezed in this strange place.

Without you, far from beating of your heart

My body deteriorates, it falls apart.

Later, my name will be erased;

By rain and wind, it will be disgraced.

My grave will become unknown.

Stories of fame and shame will be blown."

After reading the poem, he folded the paper and put it back in his pocket. He started a cigarette and looked around as blowing a circle of smoke towards the sun. He thought to himself as a man of protest, an educated man, who had not been morally sensitive, who had not been able to find a desirable place for himself in this world, who had been responsible for all his fantasies, selfishness, and dashed hopes, and who had not been able to find his true center! Why the effort, the schooling, the working, the perpetuating? What was the sense? And he knew that such a man would often end up in self ravage or submission.

He knew people inside the walls were feeling his pain, if not for their own well being, but for their characters; but he also knew that Ed's feeling at that moment was mixed with some sort of revenge, like saying: "Now we're even."

He was thankful that no one had followed him outside. Perhaps they all realized that he needed some time alone after a full night of being in control of everyone like a play in the theater. The curtain had fallen. The main character was dead; but very soon he would get up and bow before people who were all clapping and hurrahing for the beautiful roll he had played. As he was reflecting and thinking about others, he heard a footstep. He turned his head and saw Rosa approaching him.

She sat next to him, being afraid to offer her hand in case of rejection. Tim looked at her; and found her even more beautiful than ever. He thought Rosa was in a season of her life that most women suddenly begin to bloom.He handed her the poem he had thought earlier to keep it only to himself, and asked her to read it. Rosa began reading it in silence. He asked her to read it aloud. He enjoyed hearing her voice.

"Why?" Rosa asked.

"I like to look at you when you read. Your eyes shine so bright when you read aloud."

After Rosa finished reading his poem aloud, he asked her if he could kiss her. She said yes. He prolonged the kiss on her neck and renewed it for a few times. Rosa dared to hold his hand. Tim kissed the tip of her fingers, while his face showed an uncontrollable contraction of pain.

He knew that now Rosa was close to Jacob and Diana. That thought before perhaps would had made him jealous; but not now. On the contrary, the thought of Rosa's closeness to her father and Diana brought a light to his somber face. He was overcome to look at this beautiful woman, soon he would be part of her past forever. And he showed that in his gentle manner. Rosa understood everything.

"All these times we were together," Tim began: "I thought you were an arrogant girl, who had no intention in loving me, but only despising me for my selfishness!"

Rosa reflected for a moment. What Tim said was partially true. However, she did not feel that way any longer.

"Honestly, I was and I wasn't. It's hard to say. I always admired you. That is a fact; but at the same time I despised you. Now everything is different, I feel..." She stopped.

"Why don't you finish? You wanted to say that you feel sorry for me now. I'm not offended a bit. That is a natural feeling." He concluded.

"I think it's time to end this party. I'm staying here so we can call Vickie and and go after her. I'll call you later."

"You're right. It's time to go, my time to go!"

"Don't talk like that. Have fate." Rosa murmured.

"I don't believe what you've just said, fate? I've already told you many times that I don't believe in anything. You told me that you don't believe in anything either, remember? Anything that people hang on to because of their own mortality is only abstract. Theoretical religion or fate doesn't exist, can't exist!"

Rosa pulled her hand from his and picked a cigarette from the table.

"I didn't know you smoke!" Tim said.

"I'm just starting." Rosa responded.

"Can we stay friend until...?" Tim asked.

"Sure, but I must say that I can't deny to you or myself the insecurity I will face without you."

"Thanks, sweet heart. That felt good. I feel insecure without you, too." Tim said with an obvious pain in his face. "Let's go inside."

They both rose and went inside. Ed and Thui were gone. Jacob and Diana were sitting next to each other, in a very intimate way. Jacob's arm was around Dian's shoulder, her head was on his chest. They looked at Tim and Rosa as they entered the room.

A symphony of Mozart was played on their tape recorder. Rosa and Tim sat hand in hand. Tim wanted to hear that music before leaving. He knew it very well; and he knew what this music could do to him.

He waited, waited. Suddenly he was seized by the part he was waiting for, the last part, the part that enchanting frolic of the music which was up to now was exhilarating, all of a sudden was changed to a storm of deplorable sadness... He reflected... He was inspired... And he was ready to leave.

*****************************THE END****************************