The Promise
She put a cigarette between her dry lips and glanced at the sky, the white clouds were moving east and she observed their serene journey towards new skies and different countries. Sara wished she could join them, let her spirit fly and be liberated from the darkness that she had inside. Her right hand touched the unlighted cigarette, broke it into two pieces and let them fall to the ground while she watched them gliding, as in slow-motion, through the air before they reached the gravelled road. She lifted the head and the hand at the same time to knock on the small door that was in front of her, a door that was a heavenly passage to everything and to nothing, but she could not proceed. Her hand was suspended in the thick air and her heart was beating – exploding – in her trapped body. On the other side of that door there was a devil in disguise, a frumpy woman that listened to the name of her mother. It was all she got; a devil with a mask that sounded and looked like her mother – and who loved like her mother. And deep inside she knew that it was her mother; that elderly woman who sometimes did not recognise her was the same vivid woman who used to look her in the eyes and tell her how special she was. That woman was not old, no, she was far too young to be transformed into an adult child, and yet she was her mother. Yes, it was without doubt the same woman to whom she had made a promise six months ago. The one who had wished to be saved by an angel…
Suddenly she felt the warm caress of a tear on her cheek and she realised she could not wait anymore; she had promised herself many times not to cry, so she knocked on the door and then she opened it, simply because she knew that no one else would.
The small house smelled of loneliness and fear and her heart was beating faster, joining the rhythm of the pulsating air and she could almost see them dancing together before her worried eyes. While she tried to get past the solid barrier of agony, she could hear her mother’s broken voice from the bedroom.
“The cat is on the roof” it said, over and over again, exactly as it had done three hours ago. And then they came again - the tears - and like small raindrops on a transparent window in summertime they created their own path on her soft skin and then disappeared. As always, her legs were as heavy as lead, and it took her several minutes to reach the bedroom and once she got there she was so tired that she had to sit down. Her mother stared at her; there was no sign of recognition in her eyes and her mouth was formed into a circle.
“Are you here for the money?” she asked suspiciously.
“Mother, it’s me…” Sara answered and moved her chair closer to the bed. She made an attempt to touch her mother’s hand and searched for some life inside her beautiful brown eyes, but there was nothing inside them except total emptiness. She wanted to scream and to break something; she could not stand this pain anymore. In that dark moment she remembered her promise and she closed her eyes, she could almost hear her mother’s voice when she had asked her to sit down on the sofa, exactly six month ago. Then she had told her about her diagnosis, about how their lives would have changed within a couple of months.
“I’m going to disappear inside myself, and when that happens I want you to do something for me. You have to promise.”
That promise had been the beginning of a nightmare; her mother had given her four instructions: Do not call the doctor. Do not cry. Burn me and the house to the ground. Run for your life.
The first thing she had done when she had discovered that her mother did not recognise her anymore was to call the doctor. She had felt so lonely and afraid and her fingers had dialled the number on their own, but when the doctor had told her to bring her mother to the hospital she had felt panic and consequently dropped the phone. Then she had cried; for many hours and for many days and afterwards she had filled the car with her mother’s belongings and taken her to the house in the forest. And there they were. In her pocket she could feel the box of matches that she always brought and never used, she even had bought a packet of cigarettes so the matches would have a purpose, but she did not smoke. She never had.
“I don’t have any money” her mother said.
“Mother, I don’t want any money. I only want to ask you if you remember what you told me six month ago…”
She knew she would not receive any reasonable answer, but she longed for a sign, anything that advised her how to react and for the first time in many months her mother looked at her with her old eyes. Her beautiful mouth was half open and she began to talk with her wonderful voice, the one that always sounded so comforting.
“I remember the waves”, she said, “and the sky and the trees and the sun. Will you take me to them?”
Then her mother’s eyes turned dark again. Sara observed her while she disappeared into her own world, then she wiped away her tears and searched for the matches in her pocket.
When she finally opened the door and breathed the fresh air she was convinced she had made the right decision. In her hand she had a petrol can and some matches, her eyes were filled with tears and she could barely see how the petrol touched the walls of the small house. Her heart was filled with something she could not put a name on and when the can was empty she took a deep breath before she continued.
Ten minutes later, when she sat in her car and watched the house burn down to the ground, she felt nothing but relief. Once the house would be gone, the air would be easier to breathe and the pain in her chest would not seem so insistent anymore. She glanced at the sky, the clouds were gone and a splendid sun was looking down at her. She started the car, smiled and put her sunglasses on.
“Let’s go home.” she said.
Her mother, whose body she had carried outside before she had started the fire, answered something about the cat on the roof.
“I promise I’ll take it down.” Sara said and caressed her hand.
But as with all the other promises, she never did.
