When the devil takes over
Why can’t we manage in a little less money? Why can’t my parents tell each other the truth about their feelings?
“I can’t arrange the funds!” Lucifer said curtly.
“Maybe later?” His wife, Delilah, spoke softly, but firmly.
“Can’t promise you anything.” His face disappeared somewhere in the smoke of the cigarette.
“You loved me. I mattered to you. Once.” Her eyes had a covert, but profound temper.
“Once, everything was different. You weren’t so materialistic, once.” He glared back at her.
“Materialistic? All that we have ever had is a physical relationship – that’s all. Isn’t that materialistic?” Her voice was sorrowful.
“And still you stick around. You know why? Because of the money that I had.”
Her husband replied spitefully as he bent down, and held the arms of the easy chair that she was sitting in.
She looked back at him as if she had nothing more to say. Her deep-set, black eyes firmly fixed upon the violent, distorted, once handsome visage of her husband. She could feel his tobacco-filled breath on her face. It had been a long time since she had felt him this close to her.
Lucifer turned around and left the bedroom without another word. She kept looking at the closed door for some time before closing her eyes. A few tears painfully fought their way out of the closed eyelids of her burning eyes.
I could hear everything. I could hear the sobs of my mother, the low humming sound of her heart beat, and even the thoughts and dreams that she had. It was strange. Her every dream was about my father. Her heartbeat said a name that I knew was of my father, but I could not really discern what it was.
I wished I could sleep at times, but sleep never came to my eyes. Sometimes it was the altercations between my parents, and sometimes, the weeping of my mother that kept me awake. And whenever I did get an opportunity to get some shut-eye, my mother would cringe in pain and move into unusual postures for hours and hours making it difficult for me to adjust.
Even at nights, when she would be sleeping peacefully, I could hear my father making odd sounds. Sounds that I wanted to make; sounds that only a weeping person could make.
“What is it that’s gone wrong between us? Everything was so perfect. I loved you from the very depth of my heart and nothing will ever change that. Has it all changed because of the wealth that I lost? I must get an answer. This thought is killing me from within.” Lucifer wept beside his sleeping wife.
This is so weird!
Sometimes, I could feel my father’s hands stroking the strange wall around me, but only partially. I always wondered why he wept only in the nights and not during the day so that I could sleep peacefully. Once, I spoke to the strange, heavenly voice that I could hear in my head.
“What is all this?”
The reply was less than satisfactory, but I did not probe further as I was soon to find out myself.
I wondered about that for a long time though, and the more I thought of it, the more it made sense. The next time when my parents argued, I felt a bit agitated.
Why can’t we manage in a little less? And why can’t you two let each other know about your feelings?
Thankfully, this confusion did not last for a very long time. One morning I heard a loud cry and then everything turned upside down. The thud was followed by the sound of rushing footsteps and I felt my mother’s body being lifted.
The next thing I remember was the nurse speaking to my parents.
“He is beautiful Mr and Mrs Jones.”
And there they were, holding me together, smiling, despite the grief on their faces - smiling. They were beautiful people who had turned into Lucifer and Delilah due to foolishness just like the voice had said.
Well, I had to set that right.
I tried to lift my father’s finger and pull it between my mother’s fingers. It was heavy. But I tried again; failed; repeated my effort; failed again.
I think he understood. He held my mother’s hand and said something to her that made her turn red. I did not completely understand why that happened, but the smile on her face depicted that now everything was going to be just perfect.
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