(Note : This story was first published privately to my alumni group circa Aug. 2006.... Posting here for the first time..)
THE MAID
She was only nineteen
when it happened. She met the man from her dreams, at a small nightclub on the
outskirts of Manila
The first night
together, in a small hotel room on the beach, was even more beautiful…. The
moonlight streaming into the dark room, covering the satin bed-sheets with a
gentle glow, the deep kiss, so deep that she gasped for breath, and then she
was transformed into a woman, leaving her girlhood behind forever…. It was both
painful and exhilarating, an extremely passionate moment, extremely fulfilling,
something to be remembered for life.
Dreams brought more
dreams with them, breaking apart and melting into each other, like billowing
clouds on a windy afternoon. Or the unmindful strokes of a master painter’s
brush. Everything around was so pleasant and beautiful to look at.
Then three months later,
he was gone. Just that. Gone. No inkling of the impending separation, no
forwarding address, no numbers to call. It tore her tender heart apart. She was
pregnant.
A numbing pain only
served to steel her resolve to go ahead and have the baby. It would be something
to live for, something to look forward to. The economics could be taken care of
later.
Her parents struggled
to run the family with earnings from a small road-side restaurant with four
rickety tables and a dozen aluminium chairs. They were god-fearing Roman
Catholics, steeped in tradition, trying to bring up their four daughters the
Catholic way. Money and food were always limited, although the place was never
short of customers throughout the day. She was the eldest daughter.
Her parents were
shocked, but supportive. They were always with her throughout her confinement,
and very practical about things. Money was important, if the child was to be
brought up properly. The desire to provide a good life to her baby and start
dreaming again, helped her through the repeated waves of despondency during the
long months of her wait.
One year later, she
was in Brunei
The couple was just
two years into their marriage. Whenever they were at home, they would get lost
in each other – a gentle caress, a soft kiss, exchanging smiles, cooking
together, quite unmindful that there was someone else in the house. Someone
with feelings, as well. Then there were those muted shrieks of passion from the
bedroom at night. Her sleep would be disturbed.
She felt a searing
pain in her chest sometimes, a few uncontrolled tears would lighten the burden.
The baby was always there beside her. She hugged it and felt pacified, and then
it would come back like a sledgehammer – this
one was her job, she had left half her heart back home.
No man had ever
touched her since that fateful day. The anger, the revulsion against the betrayal,
had begun to mellow over time. She was still very young, and started to long
for a man once again. Afraid to move forward, she was reluctant to hold back.
Sometimes, on a lonely night, on a lonely bed, she would hug the pillow,
imagining it to be the man she wanted to love. The image, always, had no face.
The searing pain and the tears would return. She would fall back to sleep.
They held parties,
there were many single young men around, but she was always busy with the baby.
His smile made her smile, his cry made her desperate, he demanded complete
attention. Always. At fourteen months, she taught
the baby its first word, and wept…. She asked for permission to call home. She
did. Her Mom answered. Her baby, she was informed, had already learnt quite a
few words. But she could not speak to him. He was not interested.
Yet again, on a
single, windswept, rainy day, her world changed. Her employer would have to return
to his country, his visa had not been renewed. The baby was more comfortable
with her than with its own mother. They would have to part.
***
The body wracking
sobs woke her up. In the dim night-light of the room, this little baby girl was
sleeping peacefully beside her. Her new employers were quite gentle – but she
would have to wait another two months before she could go home to see her
two-year old boy. Her pillow was wet with her tears, and she was sweating. The
dream had drained her completely.
Would it always be
like this ? Another household, another baby to take care of, with people leading
normal lives and she lurking in the background, with a smile on her face and
suppressed emotions, fractured dreams ? The past continuously fading
into a hazy chiaroscuro of shapeless images ? She wanted
to cry again, but the tears refused to come.
The baby woke up with
a start as babies always do, and began crying. She picked her up, held her
close with the intent to sing the soft tune she always had for moments like
this. No sound came from her. She felt her heart, like a lump, choking her
throat.
The baby fell back to
sleep in her embrace. She put her gently back in her cot, and moved to the
window. It was a quiet night, with the pale glow of a sinking half-moon over
the horizon. In the distance, the odd car silently whizzed by on the highway. The
trees outside, an ageless assembly of sentient beings, were waiting, she felt,
to hear her voice. All she could do was gulp.
Two months later, she
would have to start all over again to get close to her child – her own flesh
and blood. She would have to laugh and sing and cry with him. And she would
have only one month to do it.
She looked out of the
window again. It was pitch-dark now. It was the hour before dawn.
***
