Working the Bell

                                                              image:pexels.com

It has been six years that I have been working the bell.  At first I started in this kitchen, cleaning pots, sweeping the floor, going to the shops on errands. Then one day, and I don't quite know if it really was a fortunate day for me, I was promoted to working the bell. That is, answering the call of the madam. Two of the others had not come to work, so I suppose it was necessary for me to take over. They gave me  a new shirt so that I would be presentable in front of guests. And every year since they have given me a new shirt on Eid days, so now i have a total of thirteen. I consider myself lucky.

My tasks are very simple. I am in search of taking tea upstairs and bringing the dishes down afterwards. I also let the dogs out to the garden or call them back again. This is what I do all day.  I have been doing this past six years; it is modeled so clearly in my mind that I do it without thinking.

Bell rings. He leaves, scrambling quickly into his sandals. He returns with a tray in his hands, it has two tea cups on it.

As I was saying it is very easy job, but you know it gets disturbing. The same things again and again. Up and down, down and up. This vigor began to build up in  me.  But it was a bad kind of vigor' an angry sort. I started to pray a lot, and as I lay my forehead on the ground, I would mash in some anger. But the burning in my chest kept getting worse until it was so uncontrollable, I would feel like stretching right out of myself. But now I carry it close to my chest.

Bell rings. He runs up again, and returns quickly, panting a little.

 That was for the dogs. As I said before, I do consider myself fortunate. For outside these doors life is hand to mouth. And there is hardly anything from our soil worth eating any more. It is bad that I am so ungrateful for a full bell, but sometimes about the bell just disturbs me.

Sometimes in my sleep I twitch randomly, as if to respond to the bell. Any sudden sound makes me think she is calling me, so it is difficult for me to lie. During the day I run on a wide eyed energy that has been burning me up.

I often feel this sharp pain pierce my chest, as if someone was poking me hard, and laughing. It is this person that I want to confront, and leave dead. And the burning is spreading through my body. Scorching its way to the very core of my bones. The most severe of sorrows, it has even seared my tender memories and charred them black.

Bell rings. He leaves only to return for a glass of water. He runs up again. 

At times I feel as if the rage in my body will implode, simply collapse in on itself. It would condense itself to hot iron that could pierce my soul clear through. The only way I can avoid this by cooling my fury out, patiently. I need to do this alone because if anybody fell in my path, the hit would burn them silly. Sometimes I am so full of anger that I am afraid to touch my own body.

And when they say you have a choice, they lie, because a true choice gives you somewhat of a fair alternative. Cause just when you think you've got everything together,  when everything's neatly in place, someone comes along and knocks  a single thing out of line, and everything starts tumbling  down, falling apart-and no matter how hard you try, you can't pick up the pieces fast enough, you just can't.

But I once knew love. A love that filled my lungs with pure air. She was the kind of woman people couldn't help loving. Something that made you need to live. She should me how real dreams could be; reached into the valleys of my heart, and healed my soul in places I didn't know were hurting. She showed me how wide heaven was. A  woman that cushioned my world; and made me want to jump up and spread my arms, because I was that close to flying. But I lost that love. She married while I wrestled with my private demons.

I cried when I lost that love. And it is very difficult for me to cry. But there is still a part of me however, that is a child; that wants to laugh out loud just because the world looks so interesting. Because everything looks so golden. But it is difficult now; the days move slowly. Things have little rhythm.