That his smile had faded was not a trick of the light. The photograph which Mrs Christus was looking at had also lost one eye. Perhaps it had something to do with the blanching of the photographs, but Mrs Christus was having trouble remembering her husband's face. That evening, when Angelita had left the house with Lazario, to see a film, and Samuel had been put to bed, Mrs Christus had sat at her bedroom window, alone. As she looked out into the darkness, hours went by and not one of her thoughts was marked by the memory of her husband. He had entirely slipped from her mind. The moment of forgetting had arrived.
Mrs Christus was unaware of the change, but Mr Christus saw it in the slackening and dulling of the strands which connected him to her. A gentle wind was pushing him down the passageway. It sighed as it swept across the floor. He knew it had come for him. Warm and damp, it surrounded him then slipped ahead, darkening the wall with its breath. The wall shivered and a corridor appeared. It circumvented the house, winding and moving further and further away. He spent days, weeks, exploring, yet he never discovered a door or window by which to gauge his position. Mr Christus realized that the world of the living was crisscrossed by innumerable unseen corridors, paths, and all of them exits. Where they led, he was not sure, but he knew they were paths of the dead. In that very house was one such path, an exit used by many like himself. He heard them, but, as yet, he could not see them.
A month later, he was exhaled back into the house. A single silver strand, hardly visible, was all that connected him to the people he had left behind. He was all but forgotten. The silver strand gently drew him towards the front of the house, to where Angelita slept. It was rare that he was drawn to her room, but when he was, it was always at the same time; at the moment when the sky prepares itself, with the faintest blush of pink, to receive the warmth of the sun. She lay curled on her side, arms and legs relaxed. Between breaths, small tears fell neatly, dampening her pillow. Covered in a lace tablecloth, the brocade curtains glinting in the gloom, her smooth, round face appeared transfigured. He tried to listen to her thoughts, but the threads she was weaving were not accessible to him. So he watched her and for an hour her tears fell from between eyelids that trembled just slightly, the rest, her face, remained as polished as a river stone. With the opening of her eyes, the web she had woven dissolved and he was free to wander for a few more moments alone. He was amazed that the corridor which had opened in the wall was still there. It punctured the wall and reminded him of the translucent interior of a conch shell wedged in the sand. Pink and lilac, the colors of dissolution.
It also mystified Angelita why she cried on days which appeared no different from any other. She sensed that the tears were the residue of a recurring dream, but she could never remember what the dream was about, yet the feelings stayed with her, and for the whole day, everything she saw or touched was tinged with sadness. That morning, however, something had changed because she remembered. She recalled following her mother through the rainforest, and from each imprint of her mother's foot in the black earth, a small green shoot appeared. When she looked behind her, the shoots had turned into a forest of small flowering trees attended by hundreds of hummingbirds and butterflies. She recognized the tree by the bunches of tubular, orange-red flowers and deeply veined, bright, green leaves. The plant was known to her as Guardian of the Forest or, as her mother preferred, Ix-canan. As they walked, her mother pointed out all the healing plants, telling her their secret names, and then, unexpectedly, she turned and asked her why she was running away. The dream began to fade, and she heard her mother whisper, "Come home."
It had not occurred to Angelita that she was running away, but now that the thought was there, she knew that that was exactly what she had been doing. Running away. The dream had been so real and now she wanted her mother, wanted to tell her that she was engaged to be married but most of all that she missed her. She had not seen her mother since she had left home. In the first year, she had sent letters but received no replies and then she fell pregnant and decided she did not want to add to her family's troubles. She did not want them to know.
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The House Of Mr Christus
सामान्य साहित्यFor the first time in her life, Mrs Christus is unable to dismiss a maid. She finds herself locked in a mute struggle with the girl, who has not only begun to lay claim to her house but now her husband. Every morning she wakes to the same sensation...
