Chapter 10: Chapter 10
The enormous pain in Helen’s heart congealed into hatred as she stared at Monica lying helplessly and motionlessly on the slant bed like a scarecrow. She imagined the pain she must be going through, and how broken she had become. And it made her wonder if Monica would ever regain the fervour to live, to smile, and to love again. Scalding tears trickled down her eyes as she looked at the fruits, the tins of milk, and the chocolates that littered the table, and she feared too if Monica would ever eat again. It looked like her food from now on would be grief and tears. And that everything that would ever enter her mouth would be tasteless, bitter and briny. Fear clutched her throat, as she thought of Monica looking like a scrawny pale figure and dying of grief and starvation.
She thought of the text again and imagined the ruthlessness and heartlessness of men. Melvin was a perfect schemer and swindler. His plan to rip-off Monica had been methodical and consummate. There was no better schemer and mathematician that she knew than Melvin. His calculations were perfect, and he definitely picked the fine time to leave Monica. In his hands, Monica had been like the tasty meat that had been stripped of its juicy flesh, with the bone sucked dry and dumped into a smelly bin. And so, at hindsight, looking at how everything played out, she could say without mincing words that she too had been foolish and unwary. She would readily agree that she and Monica were outthought, outfoxed and outran by Melvin; he was far cleverer than they ever imagined. Indeed, the things of this world are not always as they appear. There would always be a difference between appearance and reality. Shakespeare was brilliant when he said: ‘Fair is foul and foul is fair.’
She touched her arm and Monica remained limp and speechless; her red eyes staring vacantly into space. When she spoke to her, it only brought tears to her eyes.
‘It’s all right my poor child. It’s going to be all right,’ she mumbled to her. ‘I wish I can take your place and spare you of all these sufferings. My heart cannot stand your pain and torment.’ Monica closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, tears welled up in them and splashed on her disconsolate face. She was racked with unspeakable pain.
‘I am so sorry I did not protect you enough. I had been carried away by your happiness. I was blindfolded by Melvin’s theatricals. I failed in my job as your mother and stopped being wary of the dangers that stared at us in the face. Forgive me, my daughter, forgive me,’ Helen groaned, sobbing and clasping Monica’s lifeless hand, her hot tears splattering the floor.
Monica stretched her hand and wiped her mother’s tears. She made to speak, but her words were weak and muffled. She lay again on the bed and closed her feeble eyes. Helen trudged out of the intensive care unit, far determined to nurse her daughter back to health. She would do anything it would take, she would go to the sun if need be, to bring the elixir that would make her daughter whole again. Monica was her only palm fruit and she would not fold her arms and watch while she gets missing in the fire. She would rather have her hands burnt by the fiery fire than let that happen.
Few days later, Monica was removed from the intensive care unit and placed in a spacious ward. The walls of the ward were lined with the pictures of pregnant women showing the stages of fetal growth, and cardboards with health tips. The dusty ceiling fan was whirring slowly, as Helen stared at the table decorated with flowers and the ‘Get Well Soon’ cards that were now coated with thin layers of dust. Monica was still silent. She had not eaten any food. She would only drink a measly sum of water and she was losing weight alarmingly. But Helen had expected it would happen, so she did not push her to eat food. She continued to hold her hands, sing to her, laugh with her, and pray for her. She showered her with the motherly love from the depths of her heart. She did not feel it was important to talk about Melvin with her, or ask her about the money she gave him. That was a touchy subject that would irritate her and cause her more grief. She felt it was wise she forgot totally about it, until the time when it would be right to talk about it and learn from it.
That decision helped Helen enormously, as Monica soon began to make a slow but steady convalescence. She became less moody and sullen and slowly began to eat, drinking a half cup of tea and eating a thin slice of bread. The young, handsome and light-faced doctor, whose fine auburn, Monica would have loved was greatly chuffed at her auspicious recuperation. He gave Monica more time and smiled more often with her. But his cute and lovely smiles never moved her. Instead, it clogged and hardened her heart even more, and made her think that all men were a pretentious bunch of heartless and prowling beasts. But of course she knew in her heart it was utterly wrong and vengeful of her to think in that manner, to see the good and caring doctor as the same as Richard and Melvin. That it was wrong of her to toe the path of personal vendetta on all men. Yet her heart cleaved stubbornly to it. The wrenching grief, the deep-seated bitterness and rawness of the sheer pain she was passing through, made it all justifiable, moral and tenable. It made her feel that all men were the same. And, what makes the doctor different anyways? She asked herself vacuously, each time she stared at him.
After staying a week in the hospital, the doctor recommended that Monica should be discharged. She was now ready at least, to go home and stay there to receive medical treatments. As the constant smell of the hospital and its nose-filling antiseptics and the piercing screams from patients in their wards were not very helpful to a patient’s speedy recuperation. Helen was delighted to have the chance to take proper care of her daughter at their comfy mansion. She paid all the bills pronto, and Monica was wheeled into the car the next day. As their car sped past people and other cars on the busy roads, Monica felt a renewed strength to get well again. She shook at the backseat of the car, gritting her teeth, as wild thoughts filled her mind.
The gold-like and clumsy gate of the mansion creaked open, as the roaring car screeched into the spacious compound. The maids and the bodyguards sprawled around the car as Monica and her mother climbed down the Range Rover jeep. The air of the compound smelled differently and the bluish water in the pool looked like blood in Monica’s eyes as she was wheeled into the living room. In the living room, the television was making a rattling sound, as the maids gave Monica mild bows, saying: ‘Welcome Madam.’ Helen wheeled her to a corner and threw her handbag on the plush chair. When she returned to hold the sturdy handle of Monica’s wheelchair, she noticed how Monica was staring intently at the chair at the extreme of the wall. It was the same chair she was sitting and talking and sipping her juice, the day she received Melvin’s text. Monica felt a sharp twinge in her heart, as tears filled her eyes; with the harrowing memories of Melvin’s grotty text flooding her mind again. She gripped the wheelchair tenaciously, as tears seeped from her eyes.
The living room was silent as sadness spread helplessly through Helen’s body. She stared at one of the maids that was sobbing at the corner and blowing mucus out of her running nose into a white handkerchief. She wiped the tears in her own eyes quickly, and remembered she needed strength and not weakness if she must help Monica get back on her feet. She wheeled her away from the corner and asked the guards to take her to her room, which had been redecorated with flowers and littered with plenty of the ‘Get Well Soon’ cards. Monica lay on the bed and Helen sat by her, cuddling her slowly and methodically, until she fell asleep.
However, the days that followed after Monica’s return were unpleasant. She still talked less, remained unsmiling and ate clumsily. She drank more wine and ate less food and played strange music, whose lyrics were full of angst and the gloomy stories of love and heartbreaks, violence and death. The thought of Monica’s faithlessness and gloom, continued to eat Helen up, filling her with despair and sleepless nights.