Sunday, April 22, 2007
short story: Forgive Me Not
Forgive me not
The door flew open, and a folder fell to the floor softly, its papers flying out in disarray. "Tom."
"Crap!" Tom cursed and quickly pulled up the sheet around him, covering his nakedness. "It's not what you think, Becks. She, she..." He turned around at the long-haired brunette next to him, pointing a finger at her.
"Save it, Tom," Rebecca replied quietly. Her face appeared smooth and unnerved, the glass surface of a calm sea. But it was the eyes that broke Tom--they reflected inexpressible hurt, hope that had been dearly clung to for years, splintered to a million glittering pieces.
The next morning, she was gone, leaving behind striped black-and-white bits of a sweater in various places. Tom found a sleeve beside the piano, another on the sofa, and a half-knitted torso on the dining table. There was no note, but Tom understood her message well enough. Becks didn't have to say anything. The brunette was one too many times; the third, to be precise.
Each time, she had forgiven him as he sought her with repentant words. His heart remained unchanged, warming up only at the sight of a new challenge, often wrapped in sexy long hair and a coquettish smile. He didn't think that she would actually leave him one day. Now, he realized that he actually loved her; a realization that came too late. With that, he began to weep.
The cool air was sharp against his cheek. But Tom hardly noticed it as he swayed gently back and forth, a bottle in his hand. After taking another swig, he started shouting the lyrics of a soppy love song, its melody rendered tuneless with drink. Soon, the bottle ran dry, and Tom irritably threw the bottle away.
A leaf crackled, breaking the silence. Tom jumped, staring wildly around him. He was in the forest. Although he had been living next to the forest for years, not once had he ever stepped foot in it. Lurid tales of a horror that dwelled in the forest, whispered by townspeople in genuine fear, scared him off.
Tom gazed around, but all he could see were shapes cloaked in shadow. They started encroaching upon him with naked menace. Scared stiff, Tom burst into a run. Finally, he stopped, catching his breath.
A snake slithered past, its diamond eyes peering inquisitively at Tom. He recoiled instantly, his heart starting to pump wildly. Suddenly, the snake was gone, and in its place was a little red being, about the size of a small boy. There was a small tuft of black hair on its head. Intelligent eyes stared back at him as it fingered a golden necklace around its neck.
"I'd have thought 2000 years of civilization would have produced better manners," it said, crisply. "Or is it polite to stare in these days?"
Too stunned to reply, Tom only continued to stare agape. He definitely had one too many drinks.
"I take it you are just too surprised at the moment," it said, a grotesque smile curving its lips. "But, let us not waste any time. Here is the deal."
"Excuse me? What deal?" Tom said, rubbing his eyes, hoping that the hallucination would disappear. "You haven't even told me your name yet."
"My name is Gene, djinn from the clan of Ifrita, land of Persia. Pleased to make your acquaintance," it (he) replied smoothly, extending his hand.
Tom shook it, feeling a sudden hotness in his palm. That could not have been his imagination.
"So, here is the deal I would like to make," Gene continued in a business-like manner. "I will give you immortality, so you will have forever to procure your wife's forgiveness. When she has forgiven you, she will be cloaked with immortality as well. If--"
"Hold on,” Tom interrupted. "Don't I get three wishes or something? You're a genie, aren't you?"
"Djinn," Gene corrected. "Djinn of the Ifrita clan. Please do not mistake me for an insufferable guardian spirit." His eyes flashed bright orange.
"Sorry," Tom replied quickly.
"So," Gene continued, smoothly. "The second option you can choose is a shorter life. In return, you will have the power to receive the love of anyone you choose. Not to mention riches and fame."
Tom paused. His mind began deliberating over the two options. Images of his wife trailed through his mind, her beautiful smile like a solitary candle in the blackest darkness. Her familiar scent filled his nostrils, evoking a dozen memories; dance of love, color of passion. Feel of warm flesh upon his skin, trembling with desire.
Suddenly, his wife's broken face appeared. She was walking away from him, leaving behind bits of a sweater like the mangled parts of a raccoon. "I hate you." Words spat out like poison. The heavy sorrow that engulfed him was suffocating, impenetrable. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing for the relief of tears that would lift the darkness. None came.
"Perhaps the second option might be more desirable," Gene said, sympathetically.
Tom opened his eyes, and nodded.
"Good. In exchange for what you will receive, I will obtain your soul at your deathbed."
"Whatever," Tom said, flatly.
"As you wish."
It was morning. Tom stretched luxuriously, and turned to his side. She was still sleeping. He got off the bed, and started dressing.
"Going off so soon?"
"Yes, dear. Got a dreadful board meeting."
The blonde walked towards Tom, placing her hands around his neck.
"Oh Tom, you're just so beautiful," she breathed. "But I look like an old hag compared to you." She frowned at her reflection in the mirror. Tom lifted an eyebrow in surprise; he saw a beautiful young blonde standing next to an aging man. After reassuring her, he kissed her obligatorily, and left.
When work was over, Tom decided to take a walk. He idly thought of how fast the years had flown by. Success was pervasive in his life. Yet, he would not be sorry if he died right there and then. Despite a seemingly perfect life, there was a black spot within him, which no amount of money or love from strangers in bed could rub out. Around him were streams of people in black suits, a sea of grim unsmiling faces as if they were in a funeral procession.
A flash of brown amidst the black caught his eye. Tom turned around in a whiplash. "Becks!" he yelled.
A woman stopped, and turned around to face him. Everything else froze as they stood opposite each other, two lone humans in a courtyard of statues. The passing seconds slowed for what seemed an eternity.
"Tom."
In a café, Tom discovered that Becks had already found another man. "Becks," Tom began. "Please come back. You don't love him."
"You pompous jerk!" she spat, angrily. "I'm not some widow waiting by the sea, pining for your return. I've found someone else, and he doesn't cheat on me!"
The pain in Tom's heart deepened. Gene had tricked him; he could not obtain the love of the one woman he really cared about.
Tom received a phone call the next day. It was Becks, sounding distraught. He rushed over to her place immediately. She opened the door, her eyes rimmed red. Hatred darkened her pupils, but there was something else as well. Without a word, she began kissing him, her lips salty with tears.
And so it had gone on. The love (hate?) they shared was a sea wrecked by storms, alternated with brief periods of calm. She could be utterly loving one moment, and horrifically cruel the next. The bed of steel that drew blood would turn to a carpet of rose petals that soothed those very wounds. The years zipped by, and Tom grew exhausted. Yet he continued to stay with the only woman he loved, believing that this was the boon in his wish--the piece of trickery in Gene’s seeming kindness.
Soon, Tom began to feel that his end was near. As he lay on the bed wheezing, his breathing labored, he called her to his side. "I'll be gone soon. And I just want to tell you how much I love you, and how I've never stopped loving you."
Becks held his hands. All of a sudden, her face grew soft, free of the bitterness that once hardened her face. "Dammit, Tom," she whispered. "Why do you have to love me so much? Even after everything I did, you never left me. Not once. God, you're just making it so bloody hard for me, Tom!"
"I'm sorry, Becks. Before I go, I just need one last thing--your forgiveness. If not, I will not be able to leave this world, not until I have received your forgiveness..."
"I— "
"I have come to collect my debt," a deep voice interrupted.
"Gene. For crying out loud, can't you just grant me this one last thing before you take me?" Tom wheezed.
"No. A deal is a deal. The last crystal of sand in your hourglass just fell. It is time," the djinn said, a twisted smile on his face. He drew out a sword, indecipherable symbols engraved upon its bronze handle. Lifting the blade above Tom’s neck, he brought it down hard.
"No!"
Tom touched his neck. There was no blood or cut on it.
"This cannot be..." the djinn whispered.
"You can see him?" Tom asked, in surprise.
"Yes Tom, I can. Hello Gene," Becks greeted the djinn, coldly.
"Hello, Rebecca," the djinn said, a malevolent smile curving his lips.
"I know why you can't kill him."
"Pray tell me why."
"You've forgotten the wish you gave me. I wished that Tom would never find peace. If you kill him and take his soul, he will be at peace. He will have no soul, nothing. But, nothingness is peace."
"How astute of you," the djinn remarked. "Do you really think this will last? You cannot stand to see him suffer like this, living in your hatred. You have finally begun to love him. But, there is no love without forgiveness. So, you long to forgive him. And the moment you do, he will die in peace, and his soul will be mine."
Her lip trembled, and Tom knew that the djinn spoke the truth. "Becks," he whispered. She drew near, her cheeks wet with tears. "Everything will be all right. I forgive you, for all the hurt that you've done. I don't need your forgiveness. Your willingness to forgive is enough." The beautiful sight of his wife's face lengthened the few seconds he had left to a sweet eternity.
Tom closed his eyes, a peaceful smile upon his lips. He breathed his last, and was gone. "Noo!" the djinn cried out in anguish.
Rebecca wiped her tears away, a soft sad smile on her lips. "I forgive you, Tom."
~
Written at 5:08 PM
