MEMORIES from the EAST

by Abdulla Kazim

  The married life of my parents continued smoothly till after my birth, but then the secrets my mother had sealed started to crack little by little, revealing her past lifestyle, her shameful affairs even while she was chatting with Father, and the lies about almost everything she had told him about herself. Father just accepted all this and wished to move on with his life with her and his son, me. And they did move on with their family life, but the month prior to the crime, Father was informed of Mother’s affair with a police officer. It turned out to be true, but still Father wished to save the marriage for the sake of his love for her and for the sake of the innocent life of their son. That affair ended as a result of a small quarrel between my parents, only for mother to start a new affair with a mysterious guy. Nothing worked well, and father lost it all upon mother’s declaration that she was planning to move away with that new guy.

  That’s when the crime came into the picture.

  3

  Now an orphan, I was taken on a journey to the United States, where Uncle Eugene was eagerly waiting for me. I recall that I shed a river of tears when I saw him and he took me in his arms. He welcomed me into his family and gave me the real kindness and tenderness that had been given to me previously by only one of my parents, my father. His wife Elizabeth was so good to me, and I became the son that she could never have. I loved her and respected her more than I had ever loved and respected my real mother.

  The day after my arrival, my uncle and his wife accompanied me to the family psychologist. Uncle believed this was very necessary for the healing of my wounded soul; he strongly believed in finding a remedy for whatever disease one suffered from—in heart, soul, or physical body. But my poor uncle couldn’t find the right remedy for his wife’s inability to make a baby for him.

  The psychologist consulted with me and held sessions with me for about a week. He spoke to me at the level appropriate for my age, and I still recall most of his lectures. However, he just couldn’t grasp what I had been through. Uncle Eugene didn’t get it, and Mother Elizabeth (if I have the right to call her so) didn’t either. I acted dumb in front of the poor psychologist, and he did believe that I was carrying no pain in my heart whatsoever about watching my mother covered in her own blood, with her chest ripped open and her heart in the fist of my father.

  How could I forget such a hideous scene? How could I forgive the loss of my parents? How could one forget and erase from his memory what was engraved in blood?

  Uncle Eugene and Elizabeth, the most loving couple I have encountered in my life, have been cheated of finding the magic balm for my wounded soul, but they didn’t know that the poison was in the wound, and the wound remained ever open.

  Father didn’t ever hurt me, but the wound he left in my heart the last day I saw him went very deep and opened all the doors of hatred within me.

  4

  My interest in toys ended at this time. Uncle Eugene bought me toys from time to time, but they only lay in my room, untouched and intact. I stopped watching anime cartoons, and I stopped caring about cartoon characters. I didn’t even know what happened to my character collection back in China, nor did I care to know. That passion for toys was dead in me forever.

  Instead I focused more on reading, writing, and thinking. After I turned seven, I started having different sorts of thoughts about death. I used to sit with my uncle and watch the news on the television. I would hear about a suicide bomber over and over. The word “suicide” bothered me at the beginning. While studying one evening in my room, that word became stuck in my mind. Out of curiosity, I went to the PC and searched for the word. I was surprised to learn that suicide is not always about hurting others around you; it can be limited to hurting one’s own self. Afterwards, that word never left my mind for more than a week at a time.

  Uncle sent me to schools, and some weekends he brought in a tutor at home to help me use my time. My passion for roaming around with others no longer existed; my entire focus started to fall on my inner sight—what I could feel rather than what I could see with my physical eyes. I didn’t have any close friends at school, and Uncle could see that I didn’t like it to mingle in with other lads. That was the reason why he started bringing in tutors at weekends.

  After my twelfth birthday, I began to hear comments from the girls at school about my physical appearance—that I was handsome and cute. I was always whistled at admiringly by girls, even those older than me and in a higher grade. Some started calling me “Prince Charming”. I didn’t see myself a special boy then, nor do I see myself a special man now. I acted normal even on the occasion when a girl ran towards me and planted a quick kiss on my cheek. I was walking back to my class at the time after the break, and all the students in the yard started staring at me as if I had done something wrong. That girl was Fang Zhang.

  Fang was a new girl in my school at the time, as I found out later, and she joined my class. She and her parents were also new to the United States. Her father got a job in the engineering field, and her mother worked as an aroma therapist.

  I didn’t deny the soft effect of Fang’s kiss, and I did not avoid thinking of it, but I didn’t wish to show its effect. Among all the girls, Fang was the only one who pushed herself towards me in an innocent way, without imposing herself on me. Others would send me dirty notes or brush their bodies against mine. Gradually, I began to feel a little closer to her. By the age of thirteen, I held her hand for the first time. By fourteen, I invited her to my home. Uncle Eugene and Elizabeth were very happy for the slight positive change in me. They knew Fang to be a good girl, and she truly was a good girl. But I wasn’t a good boy.

  Fang got to know about my passion for reading, painting, and writing and my curiosity to learn and try new things. She kept telling me, as did my uncle and his wife, that one day I would become a special person. They were correct about my many interests, but I couldn’t understand what they meant by becoming a special person.

  By the age of fifteen, I attempted to kiss Fang, but I couldn’t. What prevented me was the image of my father saying, “This is the heart of women” with his blood-dripping fist.

  If kissing a lovely girl is a pleasure, then that pleasure was denied to me by the thought of death. The image of death accompanied me always and stood as an obstacle that prevented me enjoying real life. I had lost some essence of my humanity. I couldn’t understand any of the things rolling inside my heart, but I could vividly see my depression.

  There is no point in living if what you see and feel is death. It is true that I had my many interests and my passion for doing things and learning things, but none of those put an end to me thinking and dreaming of death and the gravity of my depression. As I was about to celebrate my eighteenth birthday, I had made a vow—not to God, as I didn’t believe in God. I had made a vow to myself that by the age of twenty-nine I would kill myself, commit suicide.

  5

  By the age of eighteen, I started publishing short stories. This started with school publications. I was one among the few at the school to publish short stories in the monthly magazine published by the school. My writings were always shadowed with pessimism and death. I wrote about love that was followed by betrayal, about peace that broke into war and ruin, about brotherhood that was accompanied by jealousy and envy, and about life that was curtailed by death. On one occasion the school editor called me to his office.

  “You are such a good writer, Gerald,” he started.

  I looked at his face to read his expression; I saw lines of nervousness.

  “I do expect a good future for you as a writer,” he continued over his thick dark moustache. “But why do you write in such a dark way? Do you… understand what I mean?”

  I nodded, and my eyes were still calmly focused on his face expressions. I could read what he was saying and what he was asking of me.

  “Will you consider it for my sake?” he asked in a friendly way.<
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  I nodded.

  He shook my hand then, and we separated. What he was asking of me was to write in a brighter way—about love that ends in love, about peace that spreads all over the world, about life that ends in life, about things I couldn’t see as true. He was trying to kill my creativity with rules that I couldn’t see I should follow. I didn’t stop writing, and yet I didn’t see myself obliged to abide by the school’s rules for publishing. For the next month’s publication, I wrote another short story about killing ambitions. The story wasn’t published, and the school refused to accept any of my stories any more. I didn’t care about it—and I didn’t even give a shit!

  I was a good athlete. I liked gymnastics, running, playing football, and tennis. I brought home several medals in competitions involving my school and even in national competitions. Uncle was very proud of me. Elizabeth was very proud of me. Fang attended all the competitions I participated in; she didn’t require or even ask for any invitation. I just concealed the feeling of comfort that seeing her brought me.

  I participated with my classmates and schoolmates in some plays, such as A Woman of No Importance and An Ideal Husband by Oscar Wilde and Macbeth by Shakespeare. Elizabeth spent a lot of time with me rehearsing those plays. Everyone who watched the plays commended my acting, and many said that among all the others I was the best person characterizing his role. Although all this talk drew a big smile on the faces of my uncle and his wife, it failed to produce even the tiniest feeling of pride in me.

  My hands were very delicate for drawing, and it just came to me naturally. While my other classmates were attending special classes to improve their drawing skills, I was better than most of them because I had perseverance and a stronger will. I was asked by a local children’s magazine to join them temporarily in a project involving creating a new creative set of characters. I did so, and I learned new skills there. Later, I started making my own comics; I invented some characters and scenarios for their stories. I used to send them, with my signature, to some of my classmates, including Fang of course.

  My art teacher kept asking me to join in art competitions and kept repeating his old-fashioned words of encouragement. I refused at the beginning because I was busy at the time learning to play the violin, but when he persisted, I finally agreed. Out of three competitions I participated in, we won two. My uncle asked me to get back the garden picture I had drawn for the second competition, in which we lost. I went to the room of my art teacher and there it was; the picture was hanging on the wall just behind his desk, but underneath was signed his name. How filthy he was and how low-spirited, that stupid teacher! I wrote him an angry letter upon my graduation. He tried to reach me several times on my mobile phone, but I didn’t reply.

  All my other interests did not affect my excellence in my studies. My grade sheet always carried A and A+ grades; I had never seen B in my school days nor in college. Elizabeth, my beloved mother, allocated one section at home for my medals, trophies, and certificates. She and Uncle were more proud of me than I was myself. They just enjoyed looking at my extraordinary results in every field I attempted. They enjoyed talking of me to others—neighbours, friends, and guests. I was their son.

  Everybody looked at me as a genius, something I didn’t welcome very wholeheartedly. People always look at the output and ignore the details lying beneath. People ignore much and live with a low-spirited will towards achieving something, either because they are not running after any sort of achievement even at the personal level, or because they think that they still have a long life ahead of them. If today is missed, there is tomorrow, and thus days pass without being counted. But this was not the case with me. I had the desire to try out things of interest since no life was awaiting me after of my twenty-ninth year. So, whatever desire I might have, I had to fulfil it within the time limit of time I had placed on myself and my life.

  I am no genius, you see. I am just someone who tried to satisfy his lust before meeting his planned destiny. If whatever I achieved—if it was to be called achievement—brought a little happiness to the beautiful hearts of Uncle Eugene and Elizabeth, then I am just glad.

  The reader might ask why I didn’t just discard the idea of suicide and live a normal life like any normal person. The answer is that you can pour the most tantalizing wine in the mouth of a dead man, but he still remains dead. We don’t feel much once half our soul is already out of our body. I did try to step into life, but I failed. Since the day my father put me outside the gates of life, the gates remained locked in my face.

  6

  Fang Zhang kept following me like my shadow. I didn’t know really what she wanted of me. Sometimes she stood like thorns in my way. I did like the physical looks of girls, and I loved feasting my eyes with the sight of slender fit girls. There were many cute girls in my class and at school who admired me, or just my physical properties, but I couldn’t have my way with any of them because of Fang. Everybody started to think that Fang was my girlfriend just because she was close to me always. What made it worse was the rumour Fang started distributing that we had made love a few times. I don’t know why, but her words seemed to be believed without question. She hindered the satisfaction of my lust.

  At the age of seventeen I joined some of the girls at school in arranging a craft and origami festival. I got this interest in handmade things when Fang invited me one day to just stand and watch her and her girlfriends work on some stitching, card designs, handmade necklaces and earrings, and gift-wrap boxes. I was really taken by the works they produced. Soon enough, I started mastering many of the things I had seen the girls work on. Fang was very surprised when I showed her some of my handmade gift-wrap boxes and origami flowers. She asked me to join her and her friends in the school handmade festival. I did so and enjoyed the experience.

  At the time of the festival, we used to stay at school till four in the afternoon. Since I was the only boy among ten girls, I was asked, especially by Fang, to use the girls’ washroom instead of walking all the way to the boys’ washroom. Six of the other nine girls, excluding Fang, were really hot. I used to enjoy watching them slyly adjusting their clothes and bending over to pick up their stuff.

  Uncle asked me to bring in Fang home for a visit after the last day of the festival. I didn’t like the idea, but I couldn’t come up with any objection. I obeyed his suggestion, and Fang was extremely glad to receive the invitation. I think that she thought it was more than an invitation from my uncle; she took it as an invitation from me.

  Thus, at the end of the festival, the girls started going home one by one. Fang was standing by my side, but when I had finished cleaning the tables, I couldn’t find her. My mobile phone rang; my uncle was waiting for us outside the gate in his Volvo XC90. I couldn’t find Fang anywhere, but when I walked into the washroom, I realized she was there because of the sound of the locker. I stepped in and I could see her. She was naked except for the thin pink panties she had on. I could see the split of her ass and its shape with the panties slightly absorbed in. The image liquefied the solid water in my throat. She turned at me, and now I could see her hand holding her rainbow-coloured bra.

  “Uncle is outside waiting for us,” I said in as calm a voice as possible.

  “I will be done in a minute. I was just taking a quick shower,” she said.

  I walked out and stood a few steps away from the door.

  “Let’s go.” Her sweet voice came from behind me.

  Before I had the time to even turn to her, she walked past me. She had on a knee-length brown linen flared skirt and a simple black tank top. At home, Elizabeth prepared us lunch. After lunch, there was homemade cake and cookies and tea. Elizabeth talked a lot with Fang, but I kept silent most of the time except when I was asked a question. My eyes fell on Fang’s chest and legs; I recalled seeing her naked. I enjoyed recalling it, but it was stiffening my nerves.

  Elizabeth asked Fang to
spend the night with us, and Fang said that it was fine with her since tomorrow was Saturday, but she said she would ask her parents first. She picked up her mobile phone and walked outside as she dialled some number. I turned to Elizabeth.

  “Why?” I whispered.

  “Because she is a good girl. There is no harm, is there?” Elizabeth said with a smile. “We have a separate room for her.”

  Fang returned in a minute to say that her parents had no objection. I could see the happiness on her face as she said that. I just wanted to be away from her at that moment.

  Dinner time came, and Fang helped Elizabeth prepare the meal. I was watching television, when my uncle sat next to me. He asked me about my ambitions in life. I answered frankly that I didn’t exactly know. I was just a couple of months away from finishing my high school, and my uncle wanted me to choose a major of interest so that he could help me search for a proper college.

  To be honest, I frequently had a dream of visiting China. I couldn’t explain it to myself, but I could hear my heart requesting me to arrange a journey to the East.

  “I might like it to go abroad,” I said, without turning to uncle.

  “That’s good. Where to?”

  “China,” I said, and then, drawing a fake smile on my face, I turned to him. “I would like to study programming.”

  “I am happy hearing this from you, son. We will discuss it with Elizabeth.” He paused for a while. “You know… your… was a…”

  At this point Mother’s voice came, telling us that dinner was ready. It saved me from hearing what Uncle was trying to say. I knew that he was trying to say that my father was a programmer. I knew it, but I just didn’t like hearing anything about Father.