The Cold Heart
I heard he was a ‘postman’, a tall, graceful and handsome man. That his smile could light up a moonless night. That his skin was so beautifully dark little butterflies could land on. That he had strong arms that could carry us all. That his eyes shone when he spoke; when he spoke to his loved ones. Well, sometimes they did for everyone. For they could almost suspect he loved everyone. That the sound of his voice could change the seasons, yes his voice could tame a wild soul.
Is it true frugality wasn’t a part of his game? that he was always full of gifts? He was a gift himself. Could that be why people clustered around him like houseflies on freshly exposed feces? I was told that he was so diligent and dedicated to his work as a postman; always so punctual and present and ever so careful. That he marched to work with a smile on his lips and pep in his steps. You see? He was filled with so much charisma, he could tell the birds to sing at night; so many birds were drawn to him, the strange birds, and the good birds, yes the bad ones.
Now you would think he was a saint. He wasn’t but I was told no one could stay mad at him, he wouldn’t let you. He would coax you and tease you till your smile was as broad as his. You see? He was a smooth talker, every flaw in his character felt like a joke. A pleasant joke.
Days slipped by, years of happiness and bliss tumbled closely one after another. One day he went to work and didn’t come back by his usual time. They waited and waited then he arrived. Something had gone wrong at work, the funds didn’t add up. He was on the first line in a war front to safeguard his honor. They say his eyes changed, it didn’t shine as usual. That he became silent. He spoke only to himself in hushed voices.
The next day the sun refused to shine, strange men in uniforms came and carried him away, and no one could stop them. Days turned to weeks then to months; he couldn’t be seen. He was away so I heard. He could only be seen behind bars; some iron bars or seated surrounded by those strange men that took him away. No one was allowed to touch his face.
After a great while he returned, you could tell he left part of himself behind the bars. He could never smile; it didn’t dance across to his face right to his eyes as it had done before. His arms had grown weary. I heard you could find him at the corner, some dark corner engulfed in his thoughts and staring through the walls. Had he forgotten he was back? The walls probably had eyes that stared back.
When he collapsed one day, he was rushed to the hospital, then another and another. Special people in white didn’t say much about him. Well, he didn’t look much. They said it was the cold, his heart was cold. Could it be the cold had seeped from the iron bars to his fingers then his heart?
Days stretched by but he couldn’t stretch. He could only afford a cold smile; I guess that’s what happens when one has a cold heart. I heard you couldn’t easily understand the words he uttered, almost as if his mouth was sealed. Yes indeed days passed and it was so, his mouth and heart were sealed forever.
They say I look so much like him. That he loved me very much, called me mother, his little mother. That I could be seen wherever he went (in his arms). That those gentle graceful arms rocked me to sleep with lullabies that still murmur softly in my heart. That he taught me songs, the ones I can’t recall, those very ones that will always be in my heart. They say he made Mama smile, she rarely smiles. She lost her smile when she lost him.
I miss those smiles I couldn’t see, that voice that I heard but didn’t hear. Yes, I miss him. Why didn’t I get the chance to see him, really see him? Why did I have to lose him even before I had him?
Thank you B.C for that little chat at the bakery.
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