The Door

02 / 03 / 2008, 15 : 03 PM

The Door

By: Talaat Skairek

Before the door I stood.. there was some darkness, shot by a feeble twilight ...The features of her face were reflected in both my eye and my heart..
I imagined, beforehand , how she would hold me closely to her breast, embracing me with all her love and tender yearning while her tears fell like ceaseless rain. I was eager to the warm, affectionate touch of her hand. I was eager to her attempts to satisfy me with every possible way. How I have tired and wearied her !
At the end of the day , she raises her hands in
supplication to heaven, begging God to protect me for her. She smiles whenever I talk to her about my adventures. She feels happy now that her boy was approaching the world of manhood.
Despite all this, despite all her attachment, her worry and anxiety, I carried my belongings and departed. I moved from one place to another.
I was absent for two whole years. There were no news about me; nor did I learn anything about her. I sent no address at all. I simply left her to my brothers to look after her.
The door is still the same as I have left it. Nothing seems to have changed. Two years ago I used to push it with my foot, and it opened at once.
My mother used to insist that I ring the bell, but in vain. I used to push it with my foot , and its right half would come forward , screeching, till it hit the wall. A thousand times she said, "O, boy! Please have mercy on that door and on us!".
But I showed no mercy.. As if I wanted to avenge myself of the wood of the door.
I laughed, and began to stare at the cracks, searching. In the past , I used to scratch , dig and engrave things, words, memories with 'a sharp tool, like a knife or a nail. Thus , this door carried part of the history of my life.
I love this door, after all. I was furious when my brothers thought of changing it one day. They were pulled up short, flabbergasted and fully astonished. They turned their heads, licked their lips and left the door alone when [FONT='Haettenschweiler','sans-serif']my [/FONT]mother stood by me.
O door! She will be inside now, or with one of my brothers. I cannot bear the atmosphere [FONT='Arial Narrow','sans-serif']or [/FONT]the smell of the house without her presence.. I have missed her movements, her eager tenderness, the smell of the jasmine she always put in her breast. Now I feel how wonderful she is. I will tell her a great deal about my vagrancy and roaming in the wide world. How she has implored me to stay near her! But I had a head as stubborn as [FONT='Haettenschweiler','sans-serif']a [/FONT]rock. I wanted to leave, and leave I did; I left to her tears and departed. Before this very door she used to wait. When I was late at night concern and worry began to eat at her heart, she found no way to appease it except waiting before the door. She would open it, and send her glance at the wide street, making that glance linger longer with every footstep.
Then she would withdraw , yawing nervously. Sometimes she put on her clothes to go from house to house, asking friends, neighbors, relatives, tensely rubbing her hands, enquiring about the boy whose lengthy absence agonized her.
And when I finally came back, she would only embrace me and weep. I used to laugh , feeling so important! She would shake her head helplessly and go to bed, weary, fatigued and exhausted. On the table in the kitchen, however, I would find my dinner, ready.
I laughed.. Now, I'll push the door with my foot as I used to do.. I shall go into her room very quickly, and she will fly with happiness. _
She will embrace me and I'll make her the happiest mom in the whole world. I'll apologize and swear that I shall never leave her again!
No , I shall not push the door . I'll ring the bell instead. I've never carried a key. I was always like that I'll wait before the door till she comes to open it. I'll wait for a whole life; I know the sound of her steps.
I approached , raised my right hand and pushed the button. The ringing was very sharp and sudden. It filled my ears. But suddenly it turned. into steady humming when I turned my head to look at the other side. On the left half of the door, there was a knell on a sheet of paper; and despite the darkness and the dying dusk twilight, the name was clear. "The late Mrs.." The door began to swim and tremble all of a sudden, and I put my left hand on the sheet of paper glued to it.
I closed my eyes; and the humming and vertigo began to eat at the heart , the core of life , the soul , ever slowly, but steadily and deeply.