Ambrosia

It was new year’s eve. Sulking in the dark corners of her cell, she saw the sparkling lights and glittering fireworks, through the window on the opposite wall. Indeed her one room flat in the poor lanes in the outskirts of the town was no better than a cell. The poorly, yet neatly furnished room had damp walls that had been hit by the rains last night. The plaster had also come out of the wall at several places. The floor had many a cracks and it sounded as if the ground had been hollowed by the rats. The fan hanging by the ceiling made more of sound than it cooled. She just had enough of everything just for her own self. An old kerosene burner of the 18th century, perhaps; a few jars. That was all. But she had a whole line of rich and fancy outwear in her wardrobe which she didn’t wear though but only at night when she would be at streetwalking.

Whether it be Christmas or new year-nothing held any importance for the poor ever. They were just the festivities of the rich. Santa never came, jingling to them. The new year brought no hopes. They counted days as cold when the weather was chilling or cold when they were ill-treated, beaten up or thrashed. The life of the poor was devoid of any warmth.

For the hookers it was even harder, for they were not accepted in the colony of the poor either. Yet each night the market at the outskirts would be at the boom. The ‘queans’ would become the ‘queens’ of night. The men who would despise even the sight of them during the day, would be caressing them like princesses during the night; would be bringing them flowers and sweets. All in for the session they want to have. Each woman would have a price. The young and pretty one would go for hefty prices. The older ones would be like ‘take away left away for less.’ Since she was getting old herself, she was nearing the same creed too.

She hadn’t gone for the trade that night. In fact she was cooking for herself. Though she cooked each night, but that was just for the requirement to live. But tonight she was cooking for herself. She was making something out of the nothing she had for she didn’t had much of spices or flavors to add. But at the moment she had joie de vivre to add. As she was sautéing the contents of the pan, she heard a gentle knock at the door.

‘humph…it must be the kids’

Kids were left home all by themselves or by the elder kids when their mothers went on ‘work’ at night. The ill-stared kids would belong to the same mother but they could never know who their fathers could be. The mothers would tell them that their father was in some other country or died in war or something of the like. The kids though were too young to understand all this.

She kept sautéing. But she heard another gentle one over the door.

‘This must be Sophia’

‘Sophia, is that you? Sorry girl I am not coming this night.’

She didn’t invite her in. for if she would have invited her, she might have to share her food and she didn’t want to. It was ‘all hers’.

‘No ma’m I am Roger. Roger Cliff. You might not be knowing me, but I recognize you.’

‘Is he some maggot? Looking for flesh? No, he can’t be. He’s so humble and his voice seems like of an adolescent yet. He couldn’t have come here to ‘hook up.’ she ruffled up her old tattered apron and moved to the door.

She saw a boy of seventeen-eighteen at the door. Simple in texture. He was perhaps from the colony of the commoners from the town, but what was he doing there if he wasn’t up there for game?

‘Yes, boy. What brings you here? Who are you?’

‘Ma’m, I am Roger. I live in the town and work in the clock shop, down the street to the monastery, as a helper boy. Last night I just noticed from the shop onto the street that while you got into the cab, this scarf( producing a white scarf with violet polka dots before her) fell off your shoulder and perhaps you didn’t notice that but I did. I ran after the cab for a while but you were gone. I enquired much about you and then I could get your address from the women there.’

‘Ma’m wouldn’t you let me in? I am thirsty. Can I have a little water? I came running all the way to return this to you. This looked costly. Thought you must be worried about it.’

She was puzzled. No one had ever come to her earlier and talked in such a benevolent tone.

‘Look boy, don’t know who you are but you belong to perhaps a respectable society. Don’t come inside And rather don’t stand at my door either. You go the way you came. Your parents wouldn’t like that you came here, if they got to know. You know who I am?’

‘Yeah, you are a hooker as they say. But I don’t understand this. For me, you are just another woman. Perhaps of the age of an elder sister.’

She couldn’t find an argument to it. Rather she hadn’t heard any one talk this way before ever. She was feeling good about it. She was not used to such a feeling. She could not let this little conjurer just let go without he being quenched. She let him in. And brought him water to drink in a brass tumbler, only two of which she had in total. Making himself well seated on the only small stool and bringing forward the beautiful scarf, he said- ‘Here ma’m. Here is your scarf.’

‘I didn’t even remember I had this scarf with me last night. Thank you kid. But I can’t believe that you took so much of pains to return a mere scarf to a slut and are sitting in her home and having water too from her. Most men wouldn’t like to have anything from the hands of a whore.’

‘Yet they would come to you for game, won’t they? So what? They take you as a promiscuous one, but I see you as a lady elder to me and hence respectable’, argued the boy.

‘Who are you? No one would have ever thought this of me. Are you some saint? But then why would they come to any of us here?’, asked the woman.

‘Who are you?, I ask, for no woman would take up this profession of their own free will.’

‘Why you want to know? Are you some creepy journalist or playwright, who just keep fagging in search of realistic lines to sell?’

‘I am none. I am just an ordinary helper boy at a store at the street. With no family of my own, I live just for myself. Yeah, I do like to talk to everyone. Perhaps that’s where I think I justify your queries.’, the boy said.

‘But then why should I be telling you all this?’, the woman argued.

To this the boy took her hand and said, ‘Trust me.’

The mere touch of the boy had taken her under some spell. She hadn’t had such a tranquility in years. Men had been all over her every night usually for the past seventeen years. She never felt this good ever. Rather alcoholed mouths had always been such a nuisance and that was what she always had. But today this touch was all together different. Today it was serene rather. She couldn’t resist but ask, ‘No one ever asked me this. They just asked for my price. And today, don’t know why, I feel like telling this to a boy who is half my age young to me. Tell me are you some magician?’

‘No ma’m I told you who I am’, the boy said.

And hence she began.

‘I was fifteen when my father died. And my aunt and her three little kids were who ever I had. My aunt was a nice lady. She loved me even more than her own kids. Since the only earning hand was gone, it was too hard for us to make a living. Aunt started working as a domestic help. But still she couldn’t meet the requirements of food even. The following winters, she had been taken ill. And we didn’t had money to pay to the doctors even. Whatever scanty my father had left us, had been used till yet. I could still survive, but the kids were still young to withstand hunger for days together. The youngest one starved to death. Aunt died the following night too. We didn’t had to grieve their deaths either. It seemed like death was knocking us all down: three gone, three left.’

‘I couldn’t have let my brothers to starve. I took up a job as a domestic help. The lady used to beat me up. But still the children could make a living of it. She was an ‘angel’ in disguise. But as if the trials with destiny were not over yet. That one day we heard that the war had broke out. The Germans had captured the eastern frontier and may break into the city as well, very soon. The life of the poor was going unaffected. But one day eventually, the Germans broke in. there was curfew everywhere. Streets blocked, shops shut. Everything came to a standstill. People didn’t even dare to open their windows even. I too couldn’t move out of the home even. We were starving again. I couldn’t resist seeing the two boys starve to death. So one day, stepped out in search of work. I went door to door, but none opened. Work I didn’t find but an army van stopped in my way. Taking me for a whore, the soldiers tore off my clothes and undraped me on the war hit naked streets. They were fifteen or twenty rather. I kept screaming for help, but no door opened. I kept pleading that I am not a slut but they weren’t interested. More they were interested were a poor lamb to feed upon. They ravished me, and left me unconscious lying naked on the street.’

There was silence in the room. The woman was sniffing, in tears perhaps. No one had ever seen the scars on her soul. Never had she let the pain come out. The boy was silent. Silent as sea dead.

‘The next morning, when I regained senses, I was shivering, my legs lying lifeless, blooded. I gathered the tatters which just the previous night were my clothes. I was hating myself. But I couldn’t have died even for I still had two kids to live for. I went to home, falling each time I would stand up. Somehow I made it to the flat. I couldn’t relate myself to the world anymore. I was feeble. I was bleeding. I was shivering. I was numb. I entered home only to find the younger one dead. Again had nothing for funeral. Neither me, nor my brother had the strength to take the corpse to the graveyard. I couldn’t have grieved for my own, for I still had the other one to support. Now he had none of his family except me. I had to pull up my nerves.

‘Cut the corpse into pieces, we’ll bury him in the forest ourselves.’, I said to my brother.

‘Jesus! How could we? He is our brother’, the only surviving brother of mine said.

‘Brother is gone. This mere a corpse and neither of us has the strength nor the money to take it to the graveyard and get it funerated.’

‘But sister cutting the corpse into pieces is a sin.’

‘We don’t have any other alternative, do we? And what is sin to the poor when there is no good.’

The body was cut into pieces and was taken to the woods in shifts and was buried there under an oak. My further searches for job all went in vain. I was rebuked everywhere. They called me whore, promiscuous, bitch.

All my grievances went vain.

My soul was crippled. I was reduced to just a living corpse. I couldn’t have let the only surviving son of my aunt to die starving too. I had to market this corpse. I used to die many a deaths each night.

Brother went into army. The purpose of my life was perhaps over. But I couldn’t let myself just pass away still. I lived. I lived by the hope that someday perhaps I will die in honor. That I will die under the silver lining someday.’

The boy took her hand into his and said

‘amen’

‘You will attain the highest order of calm and joy. The kingdom of heaven will take you with their open arms..’

As if a spell was cast by the these words. The woman felt the calm of the spring and the joy of the river. The joy was such that she didn’t even ponder what the boy said and where he left. She just kept sitting in the same position motionlessly. A smile had come to her face. She hadn’t smiled ever since her father died. She felt the elixir of life trickle down her throat tranquilizing her guts. Her stomach was fed and the soul quenched.

She had the best sleep of her life that night to which she never woke up. That was her last sleep: an end to all her miseries. She had risen to a new dawn; a new horizon. Her corpse was buried by the women of the neighborhood but her soul had risen to the heaven. Her soul was now pure at last. As pure as the water from the first rain.