The Grey Space by Ekolian Hamdan (ereader with android TXT) 📖

Popyeni’s Children

Popyeni lies comatose on her cold, hospital bed where she had laid, bedridden, for the past eight years. Her two sons look on, as she painfully suffers from the ruthless snare of the unforgiving hospital bed.

“Why can’t she just die and set the poor children free? Her bedside has almost become their second playground.” One of her rude and cold-hearted aunts once asked.

Family members had flocked to her bedside; devotedly at first, but when the first drop of rain licked the warm sands of Omaputu village, nobody wanted to visit her, except her two sons. The elders chose rather to tilt their mahangu fields, tirelessly from dawn to dusk.

This year, Popyeni’s boys will again miss the captivating chore of strewing beans and watermelon seeds all over their grandma’s field. They must be at the hospital, by her bedside and tell her about the rains, their emerald green mahangu fields and the promising bounty harvest for the season. Their grandma would otherwise go herself to Popyeni but her feeble legs can no longer carry her that far.

Helao, her youngest child, stands further from her bed donning a heavy smirk across his face. He is very angry, angry at the hospital, its white walls, and its beds that enchain his mother.

A kind nurse walks in and turns Popyeni on her sides so that she can lie facing her two boys, who are now total strangers to her.

“Why bother yourself with routines Sisi? That woman is a lunatic.” says a plump nurse who is passing by.

Helao carefully studies his mother’s face and her unkempt hair, this time a bit deterred by her stillness. Her face is weary, but she is still beautiful, she is his mother, he thought to himself. The thought of his arts homework where he scored a six out of ten points crosses his mind; and he cannot wait to share his joy with her once she is able to talk again.

“What is lunatic?” Helao asks his elder brother Nekwa, who immediately responds, “Don’t worry about it.”

He releases her feeble hand which he has been clasping between her tiny hands and looks at her face again.

“Does mommy still loves us?” he asks his brother again, who this time around looked away, because for the first time, he does not have an answer for him.

“If she does, she will certainly get up from that bed and talk to us, don’t you think?” Helao continues while still studying their mother from head to toe.

To distract him, Nekwa, takes out a dog-eared exercise book from a plastic bag, which serves as his schoolbag. He wants to show his mother his 100% score in his arithmetic test. He pauses for a moment, once realizing that their mother will not be able to respond to him or pat him on the back for a job well done. Quickly he turns his back on Helao, hiding his face away from him, as he blinks away a tear.

The room is filled with silence for a moment while he stands like a ghost, facing the small window.

After a while, he hands Helao a lunch box which contains a portion of mahangu porridge and two marathon chicken wings, which he initially set aside for their mother.

“We have to eat it up ourselves again.” He says to Helao.

“At least she’s now able to move her eyes.” says Helao with a mouthful.

“What does that help? She can never talk to us. It’s been many years now and I think that is the mommy we will always have.” Nekwa snorts, no longer able to harness his anger.

“Papa is still there. He gave me a dollar coin that other day.” remarked Helao who saw their wayward father only twice since his birth.

“What does that help? Papa will never come to us, he does not like us.” says Nekwa.

Helao squats by the bedside and cries, “Don’t say that about my Papa...”

“…he is my Papa too.” Nekwa replies instantly.

“He loves us and he would be hear with us one day.”

“No he doesn’t, if he did, he would be here with us, going through this with us.” Says Nekwa who looks away, but his brother’s cry was too poignant to ignore. He begins to cry himself, for the first time in many years.

After a while, Helao feels a hand stroking his forehead.

“I will always be with you.” stutters their mother, who closes her eyes again.

© Nailoke Mhanda, 2017

Publication Date: 06-13-2017

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
This short story is dedicated to those dealing with mental insanity of one form or the other...there is hope. Somebody understands.