Tell it to the Walls (a Tamil Folktale)
Mirror, mirror on the wall, what is the heaviest weight of all?
Heavy. She felt so heavy.
She would finally fix that, today.
She deftly plaited her thin, oiled hair. One more twist of the rubberband now, her hair was a forest eroded by time. There. She threw the plait back over her shoulder and looked at herself in the mirror.
Despair stared back.
Even the shiny glass could not make her eyes seem alive. Maybe when she was dead she would lose all this weight and float too.
Float with him.
Why did he go? She sighed, tumbling into a familiar dark groove. How could he leave her here, with their two tired sons and their busy families? They didn’t really want her here, but what could she do? Bless-and-curse this society, with its sense of duty. Nobody felt it anymore, but everyone just kept doing it, rubbing people together as if ‘home’ was a machine that needed them all to function so it could progress, crushing the people-cogs. Crushing her.
They would be insulted if she left. The only decent thing to do was die. She felt the odd jolt of satisfaction at the thought of being efficient and useful again.
She brewed herself a cup of tea. Water…beeeeep…cardamom…beeeeep…ginger…beeeeeeeep…milk. The high-pitched screaming raged on at the back of her head. The sound of that terrible, final, flatlining ECG. It had been there since the day he left, honourably demanding no great expenditure of anyone’s money or time.
Unlike her.
She settled down to drink her tea with her constant companion. “Drink of death, eh?” She chuckled to it, but the scream never responded. It was a terrible listener. Nobody could talk to it. It consumed one’s brain.
The day he’d died and the scream had begun she’d seen flash of light illuminating the dark tunnel she had to walk alone the rest of her life, and then the darkness swallowed her, the intense, barren, terrified loneliness that eventually just dulled her into…heaviness.
The door slammed faintly in the background, she was now alone physically as well. She stared into her the debris left in her cup of tea. Wishing half-heartedly that she could be happy, but just so… heavy.
The wind whistled through the crack in the window, licking her brow. She closed her eyes. It felt like the cool press of his fingers…calling to her, caressing her cheek, her lips, cupping her chin, gently touching the tendrils of hair on her temple…and something moved deep inside her stomach…a spark flared…
The wind called to her…
It was time.
She set her cup down. Grabbing her shawl, she followed the wind’s beckoning fingers out of the house.
The barren land moaned and whispered as the wind stroked it, bending tall trees backwards in its arms, whispering in their branches. The wind gusted at her skirt, leading her on, almost throwing her forward into the dirt. But…she was still too heavy. Too heavy for the wind. Too heavy for happiness. Too heavy for her bones. Too heavy for life.
What was life, anyway? Breathing and heart beating and walking and eating? To what end? She had done everything she was supposed to — been a good mother, a decent wife, even borne sons. It was done. So what was her life now?
She walked and walked and walked. Maybe if she walked, the heaviness would pour out in beads of sweat. Maybe if she screamed, the scream inside would exit her body. Maybe…
And then she saw The House. It was old, abandoned, its tin roof had flown off. Its walls were crumbling. It looked just the way she felt — roofless, but standing. Crumbling and decaying. Uncared for, unable to speak. Surviving needlessly.
She walked into the house and saw the peeling paint, the childish drawings fading on the walls, an old table lying on its side. A family had left this house, after it had spent so many years loving and protecting them, quietly giving them a surface to scar and the best years of its life. And now here it was, decaying in the wind.
It’s not fair, a voice hissed, paper-thin, echoing between the four walls.
She was startled to hear her own voice, scratchy and rasping — when had this happened? But it was her voice, above the scream.
Had the scream gone? Or was it so loud it had become the very air around?
“It’s not fair,” she whisper-croaked again, “It’s not FAIR!”
And she bent over and wept, kneeling by the wall in front of her.
“My first born never even looks me in the eye,” she said, her voice frail as paper, “I gave him everything, everything. And he can’t even spend a moment with me.”
CRRRRRASH!
The first wall moaned, swayed and crumbled to the ground.
She crawled back, sagging against the wall behind. And she felt The Thing move inside her again…
It felt like fire.
“His wife…thinks I’m fat and useless,” she said slowly, biting into the bitter words, “A pain. A drain on their happiness. I try to let them be independent… but… what do I do with my time… what do I do??”
And as her voice rose, the second wall crashed down!
Her eyes lit up, her brain frothed, her stomach heaved: lungs, guts, heart and all. And now she was berserk…an animal…now the pent-up anger and hurt came pouring out, in racking, heaving sobs. Sobs for her husband and the light in his eyes forever gone. For all she had wanted and done and how little meaning had come of it. Now there were more memories than things to look forward to. Her body was failing her and soon her mind would too. Now she cared about nothing at all.
“If I died, my family would know…but nobody would feel anything…except relief! Hahaha…relief for everybody in the world…what a great life!”
And as she spoke…the last two walls came crashing down…
And she wept happily, surrounded by the debris of her life.
Slowly…her tears ran dry… a shaft of light fell into the destroyed home…the heavy tarp of darkness that was smothering her lifted in one tiny corner…a small part of her heart grew lighter…
She stood up in the ruins, surrounded by brick and rubble. She felt lighter….lighter…lighter in body…lighter in spirit…her wretched weight taken by the walls…by her words…
She stood up and floated home.
Finally free of the terrible weight of words unsaid.
