Coming home

Jeannette CABRAAL

The old man reclining on an almost thread-bare easy chair camouflaged with a kind of quilt dozed off now and then only to be startled up by a burst of crackers, even though his hearing was now not too keen, nevertheless, the endless noise and bustle the screaming and laughter of the house jarred on his ears and nerves.

Used to the quiet atmosphere of the Elders’ Home from which he had been brought for Christmas day he was unaccustomed to the noise. Nevertheless a smile caught up on either side of his thin lips and spread across his wrinkled sunken cheeks for it was the eve of Christmas and he was home; back in his old room, now transformed beyond recognition. It was the dumping ground for all the knick knacks that had to be put out of sight for the season. However, half the room had been neatly arranged for him with his easy chair, a bed and a table.

He arose and toddled up to the door stumbling on the footstool, balancing himself in time. He parted the fresh smelling curtains and peered down the coridor to the drawing room at the further end. The gleaming floor reflected the light of the chandeliers sparkling in its crystalline beauty. The Christmas tree twinkling invitingly was all he could see from his end.

He dragged himself along the corridor drawing his hand over the surface of the wall to steady himself. The room looked glamorous; gossamer lace curtained the windows; sleek comfortable furniture beckoned him. He looked around at the tastefully decorated room. He dared not step in. But the crib in the corner with its tableau of the birth of Christ and the glowing lit up star that guided both the shepherds and the Magi was irresistible. He toddled on carefully and gazed down, tears filling his eyes and pouring down his sunken cheeks. With clasped hands he stood there.

“Ammi see where seeya has come” screamed his grand-daughter who was just on her way to switch on the stereo at full blast. The daughter-in-Law Mala came running with an answering scream which died down tolerantly as she saw the earnestness with which he was gazing at the scene. After all, he came but once a year. “Come thatha go back to your room,” she said gently. “But how did you come? I hope you did not sprawl over the walls and leave ugly finger marks.”

“He must have. He must have,” echoed the teenager “and my friends are coming tomorrow.”

“Duwa can I come for the mid-night mass with you all? I’d love to. I won’t receive Holy Communion. I won’t trouble you that far. But can I sit in the corner of the pew and hear mass?

“What nonsense. Who’s going to take you? You can’t go in a sarong and those trousers are much too baggy for you now. Moreover, it’s best that you keep the trousers and coat safe. No, thatha you stay at home. It is no sin for a feeble old man not to go to church. You can watch the mid-night mass on TV.

“No, no” screamed the grandson.

“The TV room is arranged for tomorrow”. So there was no room for him really. Just as there was no room at the inn for the babe of Bethlehem. He was now a babe too; an old dotard just stumbling along.

A trishaw drew up. An equally old man though not so feeble and helpless was helped out by a woman. It was the old man’s old crony Stephen Silva. The woman apologised.

“Father so wanted to come and see his old friend Sebastian when he heard from his son, Gamini, that he had come for Christmas. We didn’t want to come tomorrow, being Christmas day; so I brought him today. Please excuse us for troubling you at a time like this. But I hadn’t the heart to refuse father. We won’t step in. If you could bring out two chairs they could chat in the garden. Then it won’t be troublesome to anyone.”

Mala gratefully complied and led old Sebastian to the garden. But a sense of shame overwhelmed her. Here was another woman like herself but tending her own father-in-law so lovingly even though her husband was dead and she was hard put it to it to provide for her children.

The old friends chatted long and hard and the woman sat patiently, biding her time in the trishaw, not even asking the old father to hurry up. Later, curiosity prompted Mala to inquire. “Is the trishaw driver known to you?”

“No, no” the woman answered “I have to pay but it’s the old man’s happiness isn’t it; to meet the old friends he had not met for a along time. From here we proceed to church. I will drop him there and get back home to accompany the children. The trishaw was hired for him.”

This struck Mala’s heart. She felt rather guilty and ashamed as she contrasted herself with the woman. Later, when her husband returned, she said “Gamini, father has expressed a wish to go for midnight service. Shall we take him? We could perhaps between us manage that. Perhaps he would like to receive Holy Communion too. If we speak to the priest before the service he might bring Communion to him.”

Gamini was astounded. Was this the woman who gave him no peace until the father was safely installed in an Elders’ Home and was also reluctant about this annual visit home preferring to visit him at The Home any number of times.

Just after Christmas lunch, as usual, the old man anticipating the return, got ready to make his preparations to leave. But Mala announced that he would not be going there but would remain with them. The old man in turn was astounded. He asked several times for reassurance to make sure he had heard right and a ghost of a smile hovered around his lips. Tears came unbidden to his eyes and glistened there as he looked around, at his son’s family.

“I’m so sorry to trouble you” he murmured.

“I hope it won’t be for long.” It was a perfect close to a perfect Christmas day.

The following day late in the morning, after the enjoyment of the previous day, Mala entered the old man’s room with a cup of coffee. Peace reigned in her heart and a sense of satisfaction prevailed. He was stretched out on his bed, a serene expression on his face and a ghost of a smile touching up the corner of his lips.

Please restrict short stories to 1,500 words

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