The Garden of Roses

Author: Leo

Author Introduction: I'm a writer. That's who I am first. What I am otherwise is not really important! Mostly I write poems, but love to dab in fiction as well. You can find my occasional works at my blog "I Rhyme Without Reason".

Story:

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the handsomest of them all?”

Oh who am I kidding? I used to be. I’m no longer that person. These beady eyes that stare back at me right now, are they really mine? They are cold and unfamiliar, much like the shaggy mane that is falling unkempt on my sagging shoulders.

Just the pale light from a full moon that falls through the glass roof lights the darkness of this night. The halls behind me are devoid of footsteps, the silence as eerie as the wind through the bare branched trees in the courtyard. Only a few days ago, her anklets used to chime softly and her laughter echoed through the hall. Was she happy here? I remember asking each day but she never told it in so many words, and I never thought to press my point further. Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have. If I had, she might have told me. If she wasn’t, I would have moved heaven and earth for her happiness. But alas, she’s gone now. And with every passing minute, I feel like I’m going too. Going away from this world where I found my true love, going away without knowing if she loved me too, and going away knowing my past has come to haunt me.

To this day, those words reverberate in my ears. Those words borne from a broken heart, uttered with pain and anger, pain and anger that I had gifted with my recklessness. I remember laughing it off… after all, who believes in curses? I didn’t then. I do now.

“What have you done, stranger? What have you done, oh stranger in the mirror?”

**********

I never thought I’d live to see the day when a plain white curtain would cover one of my windows. But alas, that is what has happened. I’m away from home for a few months and my sisters make my home look like a hospital. Curse their lack of interior decoration sense. Come to think of it, I’m not sure they have much sense in anything. Thankfully, father doesn’t depend on them at all.

“How have you been, my child? Have you suffered because of this old man’s folly?”  he asks.

I have never thought of that. Have I been suffering there? True, it was my father who gave a promise to the guy but I had willingly accepted that it should be me who returned there and not he, for it was the gift that I had asked that had got him caught. If only I hadn’t… if only he hadn’t gone on that wretched trip… maybe all would be well, and I’d be happily living with my father instead of a stranger.

Stranger… I wonder, after so many months, why he still is a stranger to me… is he? I have been away just a few days, but I miss him. From the day I entered those halls, he has only called me as his princess. Not a day has passed there that he hasn’t asked me of my happiness. He’s taken care of me like a queen, not a servant that had returned to his castle in place of a poor silk merchant who he was expecting. Every night he used to stand at the foot of my bed and utter those five words, those five words that any girl would want to hear from her lover.

“Princess, will you marry me?”

I had denied him every time, for my heart belonged to someone else, someone who I had only seen in my dreams, who was handsome beyond my imagination. But did my heart, unknowingly, fall for the stranger who called me his princess? Was he in love with me? Am I in love with him?

“Heart, oh my foolish heart, what have you done?”

**********

I took to drink from the day my father passed away, leaving me as the sole heir to a rich estate that was far away from the city. I think it was my way of mourning, because I shed no tears as I lit the pyre and watched him burn to dust. Perhaps I even rejoiced that I was alone now, no more voices to tell me what to do. Mother had given up on me years back and left for heaven. I knew I’d never see her again, I knew if there was such a place called Hell, it was destined… it was made… only for me.

I had lived recklessly, and hurt everyone who was part of my life, hurt them so much they couldn’t take it anymore. It was a bet that started my undoing. Drunk and staring at my hostel ceiling, I had no clue what I had said, and by the time I did, it was too late.

“You’re such a wimp, you can’t even make Priya fall for you,” my roommate had challenged.

Priya, the plain-Jane of our class, who stayed away from us and hung out only with herself... who was short, five foot at most and whose eyes were mostly sleepy and devoid of life. To us, her only goal in life seemed to be to get high marks and be the topper of the school. No one saw anything in her, and my roommate laughed maliciously as he was met with my silence.

“You’re a good-for-nothing wuss. I knew it!” he poked at me.

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. It hit my ego hard, and I took the challenge. Frankly speaking, it wasn’t a challenge at all. My friend was left eating his words when a few days later, she and I were the talk of the school.

“Plain-Jane and Prince-Charming together, pigs would fly soon,” they said.

I took it a step further. She willingly gave herself to me, and in the gym room between the boys and girls hostels, we became one.

“You made me a woman, Adi,” she told me happily afterward.

Her bubble broke the next day, when my friend, angry on losing the bet told her of it. If I had only told her it was all a lie, she’d have believed me. But reckless as I was, I laughed at her and said goodbye.

“Adesh Sharma, you’ve broken my heart which I willingly gave you, trusted you to keep it safe. You think just because I’m plain, I’m silent that I have no feelings at all? I curse you, when you find your true love, she’ll leave you and you shall die from that pain.”

I never saw her again after that. Someone told me she had cursed herself for falling for my charm and took her life. I prayed fervently that let that not be true. But her last words held true. After college, I turned into a loner and began to wilt away, far from life at my family mansion.

**********

It was a year back that my father decided to go on a pilgrimage, leaving me and my sisters alone at home. His business had been hit hard by the recent warehouse fire, and his choice astrologer had instructed him to visit as many temples as he could, to solve the ill luck that the stars had forced upon him. He wasn’t one to publicize his sorrows, so much so that he kept it from my sisters as well. If only they knew, they might not have asked for gold and diamonds as gifts from his journey. Then again, they were so conceited that they might well have. I knew my father’s worry, and I asked him just for a rose. We lived in a small town, and the florists only had jasmine or kanakambaram flowers.

It was a rose that turned my life upside down.

**********

It was late last year that I caught a stranger plucking a rose from my garden. I tended to that garden like it was my own child, so the act was, to me, the highest sin. I tore down the stairs and flinging the door open, rushed to the garden and caught the scoundrel by his throat.

“How dare you pluck a rose from this garden without my permission, stranger? They are my life. You took my life, so it’s only fair I take your own!”

He was an old man. I could see that he was tired, but I pushed him against the wall and choked him. At the moment, I thought only of the rose.

“Kind sir, forgive me… please! I am returning home from my pilgrimage. My daughters are alone, and expecting that I shall bring to them jewels and riches, whereas I’m nearly broke and cannot afford that luxury anymore. I took the rose only as gift for my youngest daughter, Radha, for she, the apple of my eye, asked me only for a rose. What a cruel father I would be if I were to deny even such a small request? It is only because of this reason that I plucked one from your garden, for I couldn’t find one elsewhere.”

What a remarkable young lady she must be, I thought, for while her sisters asked for luxury, she asked for just a rose. My stone heart repented a little, and I eased my grip on his throat.

“Old man, I release you. Go give your daughter this rose. I shall give you some jewels for your other daughters as well, but only on condition that you shall not tell your daughters about this, and that you will return here. You have plucked one rose, but you shall tend my garden till a thousand roses bloom. If you do not keep your end of the deal, your daughters shall never know happiness again. This is my prediction, and it shall happen, for I say it with all my heart.”

He tried to convince me otherwise, telling him no one else was there to take care of his daughters, but I didn’t accept. In the end, he agreed, and taking his gifts, went on his way. I knew there was nothing but my words keeping him to his promise, but I felt he would return. I was mistaken. I never saw him again.

**********

When father returned from his journey, I was surprised to see him giving gold necklaces and bangles to my sisters. He also had my rose, which I gratefully took from him. My sisters stood in front of their mirrors and began to try their gifts on.

“My angels, I’ve to stay away from you all for a little longer than I thought. I do not wish to, but my business calls and I can’t not go. I have asked my mother to come take care of you.”

It was even stranger to hear those words, for I knew my father was not on good terms with his mother. My sisters, gluttons that they were, were asking him if they’d get more gifts when he returned next time. I waited for them to go to the market, and then accosted my father.

“Father, what has happened? I know you are hiding something from me, and you know me. I will not let go of the matter till you tell me. Why are you leaving us alone and going away again?”

He tried to change the topic, divert my attention but I stuck to it and after a while, he broke down and told me all about the stranger and his promise. My rose, it was my rose that had trapped him.

“I shall go. You stay here, take care of my sisters. I know to tend to a garden better than you. It is I who shall serve that stranger till a thousand roses bloom in his garden.”

He protested, but I didn’t listen. I packed my bag and was soon on my way. I was adamant that my father not be imprisoned for my rose.

**********

I saw her open the gate one morning as a light blanket of rain covered the garden. I never believed in love at first sight till then. She was dressed in a simple blouse and long skirt, her hair tied back in a ponytail, and a bag slung over her shoulders. She resembled Priya in a certain way. The raindrops seemed to kiss her lips as they slipped over them. Who was this angel sent from heaven? My lonesome heart began to beat faster as I opened the door to see her wipe the drops away from her face.

“I am Radha. My father had promised to return to you and tend to your garden. But he is required at home, for my sisters and I will be alone if he returned. I beseech you, kind stranger, let me take his place. I shall do whatever work is needed in the garden.”

She spoke in one breath before I could utter a word. Was she to work as a servant in my garden? No. She was my true love. I felt every fiber of my being shout those last two words.

“No, Radha. You are the girl I’d been looking for. From the moment I saw you at the gate, my heart has been telling that to me. You are the princess of this castle. Please, stay and be my all. I was happy when I heard few words about you from your father. Now I know why that was. Please, come inside.”

I prayed my words wouldn’t make her run away. She wouldn’t have expected a declaration of love the moment she stepped in. Even I hadn’t thought I would say those words. Thankfully, she entered the house, though she had a flummoxed look on her face.

“Stranger, I cannot be your love. My heart belongs to another, he too a stranger. I am here to serve in my father’s place. I would be delighted to be your friend.”

From that moment, I made sure she had every comfort. I talked with her every day as she, adamant as she was, tended to the rose garden. I watched her cook, and helped her clean. A strange energy had consumed me and my vigor had returned. Every night, I asked her if she would marry me, but she just repeated those words she had told me the first time I had asked her.

Months passed by, and our friendship grew. I prayed that it grow into much more. She never asked anything from me. I was happy. Then one morning, I saw her smile slip and asked her the reason.

“I miss my father, my sisters and my town. It has been months since I saw them. Could I go back for some time? I’ll see them and return. I promise.”

I couldn’t deny her. I remembered the curse, but I didn’t say a word.  I told her she could go for a week, and that she should return after. She smiled and hugged me, kissed my cheek. It was the closest she had come to me. As she went out the gate, she turned back. For a moment she waited, like she was unsure, and then walked away.

“Come back soon, princess, for I cannot live without you.”

**********

“Come back soon, princess, for I cannot live without you.”

I don’t know why I heard those words, or if the wind had carried them to me, but I did. I had stayed a day more than I had promised, acceding to my sisters’ tearful request, saying they missed me a lot. I missed them too, so I thought an extra day might not hurt. But those words hit me hard, and I knew in my heart, it was time I returned.

I wasted no time, and saying my goodbyes, I took the next bus that went past the estate. I had never felt such pain. I was praying that he was okay, that he wasn’t taken away from me.

I threw open the gate and rushed inside, only to see him lying prostrate on the carpet in the hallway.

“No. No. Adesh, wake up. Don’t leave me. I too love you.”

**********

“No. No. Adesh, wake up. Don’t leave me. I too love you.”

I opened my eyes slowly to see her face. Tears were streaming down and falling onto my eyes. She had returned. I heard her saying she loves me too. But would I live to be with her? What if I didn’t? She should know everything.

“My princess, you have returned,” I whisper, as she holds me closer.

“Don’t worry, I shall not leave again. It is you I love. My heart tells me too. Don’t speak too much. Let me take you to your room so you can rest.”

I stop her, and lying on her lap, I tell her my story. She listens to everything, and then smiles.

“But I have returned, so you shall not die. What has happened has happened. Let us not worry about that, love.”

Love! She called me Love!

“Princess, will you marry me?” I ask her again.

This time, she nods, laughing and pulling me to my feet with her shoulder under my right hand. It feels right. It feels like I’ve been given a second chance, one that I shall not leave. My true love is beside me. And that is all the strength I need to begin life again. I decide the future needs me to change, and not depend on just my father’s wealth. I know I will do it.

She tells me I must wait for a while, ask her father for her hand in marriage. I tell her I shall. I don’t mind waiting. We have an eternity ahead of us. A few more months won’t change that.

I look at the garden through the window.

The roses have begun to bloom again. 

The Tale of Troy (Oh Boy!)

Author Introduction: I'm a writer. That's who I am first. What I am otherwise is not really important! Mostly I write poems, but love to dab in fiction as well. You can find my occasional works at my blog "I Rhyme Without Reason".

Story:

 Prince Hector’s ship, somewhere on the Aegian Sea 

 “Haaaaaaaallllllp! Menu, my darling, come to my rescue; these brutes are taking me away!”

 Good lord! What a shriek! Wonder what Paris sees in her that he wants to kidnap this damsel and put us in distress. For sure now, the peace talks are over. And didn’t he tell she was in love with him too? Then why all the drama? I swear on Poseidon, I pity that fool Menelaus for marrying her and getting called Menu. “Helen, what the hell? You’re coming voluntarily. Stop calling for help!”

 My brother Paris is a dolt. A thousand beautiful women in Troy and he goes and falls in love with a Greek Pandora. If only she’d stop opening her box so often, we have half a chance of getting away! “Where’s the fun in leaving without a chase, Parry? We must sail away from flying arrows and angry shouts! Now THAT would be romantic!”

 Yes yes! Absolutely. Soon, they can have their honeymoon at the bottom of the Scamander. And THAT would really be romantic. Stupid dame, shut up. Stupid Paris, nodding his head and agreeing with her every word. I’m glad Andromache is sensible. I’d hate to be married if my wife was a chatterbox like this Greek! “What the! Helen, now look what you’ve done? You got your wish anyways, that’s the first arrow. Thankfully it might be the only one. We’re nearly out of range!”

 Yeah. I’m sure Menelaus would say good riddance to his wife without a fight and hand her over to you, Paris. The winds are favorable, we ought to make good time and reach Troy soon. Thankfully, that’ll give us time to get ready for the Greek army. Agamemnon would love to use this as an excuse to attack us I’m sure. I can’t wait to get Paris alone. I really must thank him properly for his efforts to bring peace.

 ********** 

 Mycenae, Greece The Courtroom of King Agamemnon

 “Aggy! Aggy! They’ve kidnapped Helen. You must help me! You’re my only hope!”

 Huh? Who kidnapped whom? I’m King of Greece, for cryin-out-loud! I want to rest for awhile without people rushing in asking me to solve kidnap cases! Oh… it’s him again. Worthless brother of mine, why can’t you go rescue your own wife? Wait. Never mind. You’re worthless. Got it!

 “Why are you silent? Paris and his brother have apprehended the Queen of Sparta! You’re my brother, the King of Greece and Mycenae! Help me!”

 Paris and his brother? Hector? Oh what joy! The Trojans did it! Hallelujah! I solved the case! Hold on, this gives me a reason to attack Troy. I can conquer that fortress and etch my name in history! All thanks to that motormouth wife of my good-for-nothing brother!

 “The Trojans kidnapped Helen? Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Have no fear brother, we’ll make haste and head for Troy immediately.”

 “But your Majesty, there is no wind at all now. They’ve stopped blowing since two nights ago. Our warships won’t be able to sail two feet, let alone all the way to Troy. And if we’re going to fight, we must have Achilles on our side. Then we’re as good as invincible.”

Nestor’s a smart one, I agree, but sometimes he becomes an obstacle too. Now what to do? “Never mind, Nestor, I’ll find a way for the winds. You and Menelaus get the ships ready. And get Odysseus to convince Achilles and the Myrmidons to fight on our side.”

 ********** 

Ithaca, Greece The Courtroom of King Odysseus 

 “Greetings, you royal stooge Oddy! Heard you had an offer for me?” God! I know he’s one of the best warriors in Greece, but must he make me, his friend, turn red in front of my courtiers? That’s the limit. 

“Achilles my friend, so glad you came. I’ve been asked, by King Agamemnon himself, to ask you to join the battle against the Trojans. You and your Myrdimons can help us and forever be remembered in history as the one who conquered Troy, the fortress made by Poseidon himself!” Now that’s got him thinking. I can almost see his mind ticking. Wonder if he’ll agree. He’s not that fond of Agamemnon, so he could refuse. “Oddy, I’m confused. I’ll have to ask my advisor and get back to you.” 

You must be kidding me, Achilles. You need to ask your mother’s permission to go into battle now? Well, Thetis is wise, so I think the battle has been won and the war can commence. I’ll proceed to Mycenae and join up with Agamemnon and his army. He better have found a way to appease the wind gods. The hot air in his head will not be enough for such a long journey.

 **********

 Mycenae, Greece The ships of King Agamemnon

 “Aggy, how did you get the wind gods to be so merciful? They’re blowing with all their might, and we shall reach Troy in good time.” 

 Don’t ask me how, Menelaus. You don’t want to know. If I don’t die in this battle, Clyte might just kill me. Forgive me, Iphi, my darling, but Troy is a battle worth the price. I hope. “Well, whatever it is, thanks! We’ll just storm Troy, take Helen back and that’s that. Not much time needed. We’re the mighty Greeks!”

 Right right. Hector and Paris, who both know we’d be readying ourselves for battle, will just open the gates to Troy and welcome us with open arms, then surrender without a fight so we can have a cup of tea before we return.  “It’s just a matter of time, brother! We have Achilles with us, have no fear.” 

 Frankly, that is my fear. He might just come back to bite the hands that feed him. He’s not a venomous snake, but he’s a snake nonetheless. I’ll have to keep an eye on him.  “On our way to Troy, we’ll soon kill that Paris boy, then Helen shall be mine, and everything shall be fine. Greeks are the best after all, come the end of the war, we’ll be standing tall!” 

Wonder how Hector manages his brother… could ask him some tips… if it’s the Helen Effect, I’m sure Hector might be feeling that wrath too. “Enough now, Menelaus. The battle is not going to be easy. Ready yourself to fight.”

 Menelaus was right. The winds were strong. Just about a day’s journey and we’re sailing on the Scamander. We’ll be at Troy soon. “Men, get ready to kill.” 

 ********** 

 Apollo’s temple on the banks of the River Scamander

 “Pillage, loot, destroy men! Slay the Trojans! Myrmidons haven’t sailed the Aegean to come to a losing battle.” 

 I hope Mom is right about this. Thetis is wise, or so the people say. She said me to go to battle in Troy, so that people remember me after the battle when I die. Brrr! Couldn’t she have said “if”. Maybe the old lady has begun to lose faith in my skills as a warrior. I’ll show her! “Hold her Patroclus! Don’t slay her!” 

Who is this woman whose eyes shine brighter than the sun, skin is fairer than the white clouds, and voice sweeter than honey? She doesn’t deserve to die. She deserves to be my wife. I shall make her mine someday. “Well done, Achilles! A slave for me, the King of Greece! Agamemnon salutes your bravery!”

What? Slave for him? She’s going to be my wife, you good-for-nothing-on-the-battlefield king! “She will not be your slave. I saw her. I spared her. She’s mine to keep, Agamemnon.” 

 Damn! As if that will change his mind. I seriously need to practice some people skills so they actually listen when I talk. They only think of me as some invincible warrior. Can’t blame them though. I am invincible. I’ll take her back from him once I conquer this puny fortress of Troy. “What’s your name, maiden? Spit it out.” 

 How unladylike! I asked her to say her name, not spit first and then say it. Such a sweet name like Breseis and such a bitter attitude. Maybe it’s Agamemnon’s influence. It can spread quickly. I’ll see if I can hide some of this loot before that stingy king takes it all away from us Myrdimons. 

 ********** 

 The banks of River Scamander Outside the Greek camp

 “Menelaus, you spineless coward, come out and face me one-on-one! How dare you hide behind an army?” 

 Paris is a fool, but he comes up with some corny plans at times. This one just might work. “Hector, trust me, the guy can’t swing a sword to hit a pea. Helen told so herself.” 

 The lovestruck little boy believes his lover now, does he? Oh well, nothing to lose in this plan. Here he comes, and he’s looking redder than a rotten tomato. And there they go, with their cat and mouse swordfight. The way they’re fighting, I think both of them are just trying not to get hit! So far, both are succeeding in that. Clunk! There goes Paris’ pride along with his sword. “Hector, it worked! Now’s the time. Do it, bro!” 

 I wonder why I have to do the dirty work in this family of warriors. Both my father Priam and Paris feel as gutless as anyone I know. Et tu, brute Hector? “Menelaus, noooooo!”

 “Goodbye! Thanks for everything.” Agamemnon’s scream, and Helen’s whisper… I was expecting it to be the other way round. Life’s short, wife’s short, Menelaus my friend, rest in piece!

 **********

 Outside the Greek Camp The banks of the River Scamander 

 “Achilles, wake up. Wake up you moron! We’re under attack!”

He kills a few thousand Trojans and he’s so tired that he’s snoring. Well, he’s the greatest warrior in Greece, and I must not let his name go down in history as the snoring soldier. I, Patroclus, cousin of the great Achilles shall take his armour and fight those treacherous Trojans, cowards who attack in the night without warning! “Who dares attack the camp in this manner? They shall answer to me, Achilles!” 

 Oh no! It’s Hector. I don’t stand a chance. I heard he once cut off a man’s head with his eyes closed. It was the wrong man but come on, who has that good aim anyways? “I never took you to be a coward, heroic Hector, that you attack our camp in the dark!”

 Now I’m sure I am related to Achilles. Who else would make me say something like that? As if I needed to get the Trojan leader more angry than he already is! Ouch. That hurt! That hurt bad! I can see my life flash before my eyes! That was fast. Don’t tell me did nothing that is worth remembering! These idiots have stopped fighting too. Wonder what’s the big deal if I die? “Achilles!” Oh wait. That’s the big deal. They think I’m my cousin.

 “What? You aren’t Achilles?” Yeah Odysseus, tell Hector who I am. It’s his last kill anyways. He’s dying tomorrow. See ya in heaven, Hector. 

 ********** 

 The Gates of Troy The banks of the River Scamander 

 “Hector of Troy, I challenge you. Come face me one-on-one!” 

 That was easy. Here he comes now, battle armour and all. He looks vexed. I guess he knew I’d come seeking vengeance for Patro. “Why should I believe that you are the real Achilles? You Greeks already pulled one over us yesterday with an impostor!” 

 You must be kidding me. One fool puts on my armour and they doubt my word now? I thought I had a rep to protect, but Patro, you ruined that too! “Battle me and find out then!” 

 Yeah. I’ll show you! Take that, and that, and some of this too! Oh, he did and he’s returning it with interest. Admirable moves too, he can be a good dancer. “Ah! You got me Achilles. That hurt, but you win!”

 Yes! I did it! Vengeance is mine! Now back to the camp so I can taunt those critics! Wait, what the hell is Hector doing? Why’s he hanging on to my chariot? Let go! Wait, don’t let go. I’ll show you as my trophy! “Greeks are the greatest! Eat my dust, you terrible Trojans!” 

 ********** 

 Achilles’ tent in the Greek camp The banks of the River Scamander 

 “Greatest warrior of Greece, are you awake?” The voice seems familiar, but I just can’t place it. It’s hardly a whisper. He enters the tent slowly, silently. No. I don’t know him. 

 “Great Achilles, I am Priam, King of Troy and father of the warrior Hector, who you killed and dragged away mercilessly today morning.” 

 “Hold your horses, old man. I never dragged him away mercilessly. The fool held on to my chariot himself. Why would I want another dead body anyways? I have one to take home already in my stupid cousin.” 

 He’s thinking. I’m not sure what. He’s too old anyways. Don’t worry, fella! Achilles will spare you. He has no use for old men. “Great warrior, if that is so, I beg of you to release Hector’s body.” 

 “Sure! Why not? You can take him right now. While you’re at it, take Breseis with you too. I love her, but she’s the only one here who’ll help you carry the body back.”

 “Thanks a million, Achilles. You’re the best!” Oh well, atleast he acknowledges I am the best. A Trojan told I’m the best! Yippeee! Hector, I’ll see ya in the afterlife, buddy. We’ll have some wine and talk things over! 

********** 

 King Agamemnon’s tent in the Greek camp The banks of the River Scamander 

 “You fool, Achilles! You had the King of Troy in your tent and you let him walk away unharmed!” 

Come to think of it, yeah, that was a chance to win this goddamned battle. I haven’t seen Mom in ten years nearly. I miss her cooking. Lentil soup, fasolada and pasteli. Pasteli... YUMM! “Odysseus, this is insane. Can’t we storm that fortress now? They’re mourning Hector’s death! We’ll be able to win blindfolded!”

I wonder why Agamemnon is so stupid. Didn’t he hear Oddy before? Those walls and that gate are put there by Poseidon himself. They are unbreachable! “Your majesty, I have a plan. Trust me, Troy will be ours soon!”

 Now what foolproof plan can this fool come up with? If he wants me to pole vault over those walls, then I’m outta here! “I’ll get a hundred soldiers to hide insde a horse, and trick the Trojans to taking the horse inside. When night falls, they can open the gates and let us in!”

 Wow. What a plan! Doesn’t involve me one bit. Can rest up after my battle with Hector yesterday. Three cheers for Oddy! Hip hip..! “Sounds good, Odysseus. You and Achilles can take ninety eight soldiers and go in the horse!”

 Oh damn you, Agamemnon! What sadistic pleasure do you get seeing me rot?

 ********** 

 The Courtroom of King Priam Fortress of Troy near River Scamander 

 “Hail King Priam, I come bearing good news!” What news does this messenger bear for father now? At this time, can any news be good? Go away, dear man. Come later.

 “What is it, messenger? This old man’s heart cannot bear more bad news, so it better be good.”

 Yeah. I can’t bear bad news either. It’s like I’ve had a dose of bad news for breakfast, lunch and dinner since the last two days. “The Greeks have gone with their tails between their feet! The war is over! We’ve won!” 

 What? After ten years, they suddenly retreat? That’s not right. This is a trick! “Now that is good news! Let me see. Yes yes, the camp is empty but for a big wooden horse!” 

 “Your majesty, that can only be their offering to Poseidon. We must bring it to Troy immediately!” 

“You are right, Archeptolemus! Guards, arrange for it to be brought here!"

"What sort of priest are you? Think you fool! How can a hundred foot horse materialize overnight from thin air! It’s a trap, father! Don’t fall for it.” 

 “Think who you are speaking to before you say such things, Paris. It’s not your place to deny me or Archeptolemus!” 

 Yeah right, now you don’t value me. Hector would’ve said the same thing! On your head be it! 

 ********** 

 The Courtyard near the Wooden Horse Fortress of Troy near River Scamander 

 “Haaaalllp! Prince Paris, King Priam, wake up. The Greeks have returned. We’re being killed left right and center!” 

 Yeah moron! You fell for our trap! The inside of that horse smelled like horseshit, but we’re out now! And you shall bear the wrath of Achilles and the Greeks! Off to find my lover! 

 “Hold it right there, Achilles! This is your end!” As if! Puny Paris and Pathetic Priam in my way. Get out of my way and I shall spare you! 

 “Hey, that’s a cheap shot, Paris! My back was turned. And you aim for my heel? What’s with that huh? What if my heel won’t heal anytime soon? Go take archery lessons again!” 

 Little fella takes a cheap shot but boy that’s some costly pain! Why’s this world getting so dark now? Surely the invincible Achilles is not dying. Thetis, you vile woman, why couldn’t you have told me I’d come back alive. It’s your goodbye that makes me say goodbye to this world. “Paris, I have only one thing to say to you!”

 “What’s that, fallen Achilles? Need a bandage to continue fighting?”

 He sniggers. What a pompous little prick! I’ll show him! “No. Greeks are the greatest! Kiss my ass, you worthless fool!”

A Return

Author: Leo

Author Introduction: What I am by profession does not matter, for I am a writer by choice, and by interest. Without words, there is no passion in my writing. Without passion, there is no hope in my writing. Without hope, I cannot chase my dreams. Without my dreams, I cannot live. Without words, I cannot live. My thoughts, in verse and in stories, breathe at I Rhyme Without Reason.

The story:

The pale, cold moonlight drifts in through the open window and falls on my bare skin as I wake up with a start. My hands go immediately to my neck as I feel the heart shaped pendant that hangs there from an old silver chain.

“Oh Tom,” I sigh, as a tear slides down my cheek.

I remember it was a knock that woke me up - three short raps on the knocker. But I can’t hear a thing now, other than the content little snores of my son Matt through the walls. Even the breeze that usually rustles through the branches of the old oak is silent today.

“Imagining things again,” I whisper.

I lie down again, and stare at the ceiling. Five years… it has been five long years since I last heard from him. They say he’s dead, that he’ll never return to hold my hand again. If only he had called one last time to say goodbye. I had so much to tell him, so much love left to give him, so many memories left to make with him. If only he had called one last time, so I could have said how much I loved him, and missed him…

I hear the sound of knocking once again and jump up, alert. The bedside clock shows 1:11.

Who can it be at this unearthly hour? The news had reported a burglar in our neighborhood. Could it be him? I had latched every door, shut all the windows downstairs. Maybe he’s trying to trick me to opening the door so he can do his business. Maybe I should call the cops. But if he runs off, they’ll think I’m mad. They already think I’m mad. They won’t come. Even Mrs. McCarthy next door will not think anything if I call for help. I’m alone… all alone in this world, except for Matt. Do I wake him? No. He’s only fourteen. The burglar would just push him aside, maybe even hurt him or hold him hostage. What do I do?

I feel beads of sweat hurriedly kissing goosebumps on my arms. Tiptoeing out of my room, I grab hold of Matt’s baseball bat and go downstairs. The knocking is persistent.

“Who… who is it? I… I… Identify yourself now!” I call out.

The knocking stops for a moment, but I don’t hear footsteps going away. Is it my imagination playing tricks on me again? I wait, poised to strike if something happens. The person knocks again… a long knock, followed by three quick ones, and then two more long ones. It couldn’t be. Could it be? I know that knock well, and the last time I heard that was five years back.

My heartbeats race as I open the three bolts quickly and throw the door open to see him standing there.

“Oh Tom,” I sigh, as a tear slides down my cheek.

**********

It has been five years since I last saw my Jenny. I remember sitting together in the shade of a huge umbrella, watching the waves try to touch our feet. Matt was making sandcastles. He loved sandcastles. We had kissed, knowing Matt wouldn’t notice then. I had told her that I was thinking of returning home. I missed her. I missed Matt. I had been in the Marines since before our marriage. I was a decorated war-hero, and I refused to get promoted to one of those high paying positions that had you sit behind a desk and bark orders, or pass on the baton to younger cadets as a teacher. No. I belonged in the battlefield. The smell of gunpowder was like my cocaine. Jenny knew it as well. She used to say I was married to the Marines more than I was to her. I had told her I wanted to change all of that.

When we had returned to the hotel, the receptionist had given me a letter. There was no postmark, and she had said a soldier had delivered it personally. I had opened it to see that I was being summoned for duty. When I had looked at Jenny, she had walked away without saying a word. It was like her world had collapsed. And it was my fault. I had raised her expectations. That evening, she had watched me pack my bags, and kiss her on the forehead. As I had walked away, she had run behind me, hugged me tight, and pleading me not to go. But I had. And it hadn’t worked out for the best.

It's late when I reach home, but I can't wait to see them, so I knock anyways. When I hear her frightened voice call from inside, I know she’s worried. Paul had told me that she was told the worst, and that she spent months in therapy after that. So hearing knocks at night would have possibly scared the bejeebers out of her. I knock how I usually do… a long one, three short ones and two more long. I know that’ll get her attention. Sure enough, the door flies open, and she’s standing there, in a long t-shirt, her hair tousled and eyes glued to me, not wanting to believe what they are seeing.

Jenny glides toward me like a ghost, and with both hands, cups my face. I smile at her.

“No. No. No. I’m dreaming all of this. It can’t be real. He’s dead. Goddammit, he’s dead. He can’t be standing in this doorway, looking right as rain. He’s in a goddamned casket buried six feet under,” I hear her shout, turning away from me, and pinching herself.

“Jenny, I’m not dead. Honey, I’m fine. I was a prisoner of war. I know it’s a shock after so many years, but it’s for the best. I’m back now, and I won’t leave. I promise. Don’t hurt yourself. Please?” I plead with her.

I enter the hall and take her into my arms. She’s crying, and her hands pounding my chest, admonishing me for the many years of pain that she had been put through. I kiss her lips, and hold it for a moment, till I feel her respond too. When I let go, she’s calmed down. It’s like a part of her believes I am here now. She falls into my arms again, sobbing silently into my chest.

I hear footsteps, and turn toward the staircase to see him hurry down.

“Mom, where are you? What’s wrong? I heard shouts… a man’s voice… who is it? Are you alright? Mom…”

He stops abruptly as he sees me standing there.

“Hi Matt,”  I say sheepishly.

**********

I’m woken up by Mom’s gasp.

Ever since the visit from Lt. Col. Paul Porter, Dad’s commanding officer five years back to tell us Dad wouldn’t be coming back, she could never sleep well. It was like Dad was everywhere to her. I remember the alarmed shouts of the milkman one morning and running down to see Mom hugging him tightly and kissing him all over his face, muttering how much she missed him and was glad to see him back. I’d find her slinking downstairs in the middle of the night, with my baseball bat in her hand, thinking there was an intruder. I couldn’t stop her. She was obsessed. I kept an eye on her. I was a heavy sleeper before. After that, I started taking shorter naps.

I think the therapy helped her a lot. She stopped sleepwalking, seeing Dad’s face in other people, and calling the cops at odd hours in the night. Once her mourning period was over, she started to wrest control of her life, and guide mine. She was well-educated, but had given up her dreams of corporate life for another dream – becoming a great mother and wife. She dreamt that dream again, and got a job as a data analyst for a software company. She depended on me not to get into trouble, and I did my part. I never got into those habits that other kids are tempted to try at my age. I was the man of the house after all. I had to take care of her as much as she took care of me.

I’m woken up by Mom’s gasp. It has been resurfacing of late, her insomnia. She refuses to admit it, but I can see it in her eyes. I hear her crying. She still misses him. I know I do too. A minute or two passes before I hear her door open slowly, and her shadow slink down the stairs silently. She has my baseball bat again.

“Take Mom to Dr. Perez tomorrow,”  I remind myself, but I hear the knock soon after, and the door being thrown open. I jump out of bed just as I hear her shouts, and a guy’s voice. Her sobs are getting louder.

I run downstairs shouting for her, “Mom, where are you? What’s wrong? I heard shouts… a man’s voice… who is it? Are you alright? Mom…”

And I see him there. It can’t be him. He’s dead. Or at least, I thought he was. I hear him greet me, a half smile on his face. He’s in a sleeveless t-shirt, and jeans. I can see scars on his biceps, and on his cheeks. He’s still hefty, and taller than I remember him to be. But his eyes are the same. They have seen war, but still have that warmth in them; that old twinkle. I see him break away from Mom, and come toward me. He hugs me. I feel his tears wet my t-shirt. I hug him back. It is only then that I believe he’s back. He’s not dead. My dad survived whatever it was that supposedly had killed him.

“How are you, kiddo?” he asks me, “You have grown fast; nearly my height now, eh?”

“Where have you been? What happened? How’d you survive? Who took you out?”

Mom and I bombard him with questions once we’re past the shock of seeing him again. He laughs.

“It’s nearly two at night. I’m tired, and from your eyes, I’m sure you two haven’t got much sleep either. Grilling me for news can wait till morning,”he says.

Mom and I agree. For the first time in five years, we’re happy as we go upstairs to our warm beds, on either side of a man we thought and accepted to be dead.

“Goodnight, Matt,” I hear him say, and I wish him back.

I open my cupboard and pull out my journal.

“Tuesday, August 3rd.

Life is strange. Tonight, I met a ghost. I knew he’d always be with me, but I never expected him to return in this lifetime. Tonight, I believe in miracles. I believe in hope. I believe that life can be survived. My dad did it. He has scars, five years worth of them in his heart. But my hero hasn’t failed me. I’m proud of him today than I ever was before. I’m glad he’s back. I missed him a lot. I’ll just go tell him that, and that I love him.

Matty”

**********

I awaken as usual with the first cock-a-doodle-doo of my alarm clock. My disheveled hair lies on his face. Some things never change. I pull a sheet around my body, and get up from the bed. I give him a kiss, and he smiles in his sleep. It has been five days since he returned. Matt had holidays, and we went back to the beach, where we had last said goodbye. Three days of fun, but Tom keeps muttering in his sleep. I hear him say “Please, not the flame again. My wounds aren’t healed. I beg of you,”, and getting up alarmed. Matt doesn’t know. Even with Tom’s nightmares, I feel the happiness which our family once lost has now returned. I don’t want it to end, but I have to get to office today. Mr. Harwood called to say there is an important meeting with our clients, and that if I miss it, he’ll fire me. I get my morning chores done in a couple of hours and leave for work, telling Matt goodbye and to tell his father.

Yesterday was a mostly forgettable Sunday. Tom made a fuss about going to church. He reluctantly tagged along with us though. Matt wasn’t happy at all. Mrs. McCarthy let slip that I had a job now. That didn’t go down well with him either. He’s kind of old fashioned, my Tom.

“No wife of mine needs a job as long as I, Tom Trueberry, am alive!” he declared when we reached home after.

I didn’t want to remind him that until two days ago, we all thought he was dead.

**********

“Sunday, August 8th.

People change. My dad certainly has. Today being Sunday, Mom and I told him to come to church. He made a scene for that, shouting that he doesn’t want to, telling us it was none of our business to ask why. Mom was nearly in tears. When he finally agreed to come, I saw him load a pistol and put it his coat pocket.

Everyone in our congregation was happy to see him back amongst us, quiet hardworking Tom Trueberry, a hero to them too. All of them greeted him, asked him if he was well, but he didn’t say a word. Holding our hands tightly, he pulled Mom and me inside the church, and sat at the very last row. I couldn’t see love in his eyes then, just fear. His beady eyes hovered around the church, one hand placed precariously inside his coat pocket, as if he was expecting the pastor to start a morning mass massacre.

Afterward, he didn’t let us linger at the Church Bake Sale or even eat a piece of Mrs. McCarthy’s chocolate fudge cake (which used to be his favorite). In the afternoon, he threw to me as we played ball in our backyard. When Mr. Falkman’s Chevy backfired, he shouted and dived into the bushes. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. When I turned around, my friends were pointing at me and laughing. Dad went to Mr. Falkman and made a scene, telling him to get his fucking car fixed. When Mom questioned him, he yelled at her too.

I was happy he came back. But this is not him. I accept his scars. But he’s lost the love he had for us. Yesterday morning, it seemed like all was back to normal and nothing had changed in five years. But from the evening, he seems edgy. Just when we were beginning to accept that he was gone, and would never come back, he came back. I’m beginning to wish that he hadn’t.

Matty”

**********

It is noon when I wake up. After five years of not sleeping much at all, it seems a shame to just wake up early. I think Matt and Jenny understand that. I wish they understood that yesterday when they made me get up early to go to church. I can’t understand why God matters to them so much. I didn’t see God help me in those five years. It was me. I had the will to survive. God didn’t give me that. He only watched as I was tortured.

The house is silent. I call for Jenny, but I don’t hear her answering me. I go down, looking in various rooms. No one is home. There is a pot on the table and a note beneath it.

“Didn’t want to wake you up. Am off to school. Mom’s at work. Brunch is in the pot, your favorite sweet corn soup and freshly made croutons. – Matthew”

Why does she not listen to me? She doesn’t need to work. I can earn for our family. I should be the one doing that, not her. It’s like I’m invisible now. They can’t see me, or hear me or obey my wishes. When I was a captive, I used to think only of them. It was their voices I heard, telling me all would be okay when I was screaming as their blades cut me shallowly. It was their faces I saw smiling, telling me not to give up on my smile. When they told me that my country thought I was dead, and wouldn’t welcome me back, it brought down my morale. In the dark dungeon where I was held, every blood-curdling scream I heard broke my will, and I began to wilt. But I told myself that Jenny and Matt wouldn’t have believed I was dead. It took me four years, many attempts at escape before I finally succeeded. But my own kith & kin, the Marines, handed me to the government. They held me for another year, questioned to see if I had betrayed my country. They sent me to therapy after that. I waited to see my family. But my family can’t even spare some time for me in their lives. They seem like strangers.

I sit down on my old rocking chair. The soup spills over as the pot falls to the floor with an almighty crash.

**********

When I return from work, I find Tom seated on his favorite rocking chair near the dining table. I’m surprised to see he hasn’t washed up, or changed from yesterday’s clothes. The pot of soup is near the kitchen door, its contents all over the floor. His eyes are red and he stares vacantly at nothing in particular. He brushes my hand off when I place it on his shoulder.

“Darling, what’s the matter?”

He’s still silent, but I bend down and give him a hug. He pushes me away again.

“Why are you acting so difficult? Don’t be so angry, Tom,” I tell him softly.

“I was captured by merciless terrorists. I was cut open, my fingers exposed to flames, hung upside down. But it was you and Matt that I thought of. When I return, I find you are working and won’t give that up for me. He doesn’t have exams, but Matt can’t take a few days off for spending time with me. Can’t I be angry for that? If I can’t understand that, is it difficult for you to understand that?” he yells at me.

“But honey, we have lives too. We want you here. We’re happy you have returned, but we can’t be with you all the time,” I pacify him.

“Ha! Don’t try to convince me, Jennifer. I know you don’t. Matthew doesn’t. I can see it in his eyes. He’s waiting to pick a fight with me. He’s embarrassed to be with me. He wishes I never returned.”

“How dare you?”

I turn around and see Matt standing at the door.

**********

“Ha! Don’t try to convince me, Jennifer. I know you don’t. Matthew doesn’t. I can see it in his eyes. He’s waiting to pick a fight with me. He’s embarrassed to be with me. He wishes I never returned,” I hear him say, and I know he’s done it. It makes my blood boil.

“How dare you?” I spit out, locking eyes and approaching him.

“How dare you read my journal? You’re my dad, but my journal is off limits to anybody. They are my private thoughts. If I wanted the world to know, I’d scream it out loud, not write it in there.”

“I’ve not done anything like that, Matthew. Don’t you dare use that tone with me,” he says.

“You can’t know I’m embarrassed by seeing my eyes, Father! You can’t know I wish you hadn’t returned by seeing my eyes either. Don’t try to hide it. You want my attention, you have it. You had it from the moment you returned. I was happy. I was proud of you. But you know that too. It was there in my journal, right before yesterday’s entry that you read. Right before you broke the trust I still had in you, the trust I still had that you will change again to being the fun, loving dad I once knew!” I tell him, unable to stop the tears.

“What you do IS my business too. You’re too young for secrets. Kids are of your age when they begin to go astray. I don’t want my son to be one of them. Look into my eyes, Matthew! I’ve seen sights you cannot even imagine. I’ve seen children shot dead inside a church, hardened men turn into jelly, beg for mercy as they were hung over crocodile pits and put nude in glass cases filled with fire-ants. I’ve been drowned in pools of water to within an inch of my life, brought up till my energy returned and then put through that again. I’ve been force fed bread filled with fire-ants and cockroaches. I can’t be the old happy-go-lucky soldier I once was. I nearly died, but I returned for you. But you don’t want me here. That makes me wish I had died,” he says.

He’s not shouting. I can feel the sadness in his voice, but I can’t agree with him. I can’t agree with the way he has judged me. I can’t agree with the way he’s stolen my privacy.

“Matt…”  he calls as Mom watches on silently. She’s crying as well. It was she who taught me not to hide my true feelings from anyone.

“Dad, I too wish you had died,”  I hear myself say as I walk away from him.

**********

“Dad, I too wish you had died,”  I hear him say.

Was I wrong in reading his diary? Why can’t he understand that life isn’t as rosy as he thinks it is? I only want to protect him. The young man who guarded me in that dark dungeon lit by torches, he was just fifteen. I couldn’t imagine Matt turning into one of them. I risked my life to get out of there, so I can return and guide him away from any wrong paths. But he wishes I was dead.

“He doesn’t mean it dear. He’s just angry,”  Jenny says, holding my hand, “I’ll take a few days off, we can be together. We want you here.”

But I know Matt means it. I could understand his tone. I sink back into my chair, as Jenny starts to clean up the mess I made earlier. Hours pass, but Matt doesn’t come downstairs. I hear the phone ring and Jenny’s footsteps as she comes downstairs to answer it.

“Darling, it’s for you,”  she says, and I wonder who it can be.

“Trueberry speaking, who is this?” 

“Tom, this is Paul. How are you now?”  I hear him say, addressing me like old friends.

“Fine, Paul. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Captain Trueberry, you are the best I know. There’s a mission afoot, and I need you on it. Will you come?” 

He’s never been one to beat around the bush, Porter. I don’t think twice.

“I’ll be at Gremington within the day,”  I tell him and keep the phone.

“You don’t have to run away from this battle here you know,”  I hear Jenny whisper and turn around.

“This is a losing battle I feel, Jenny. I’m just making things worse. Besides, the battlefield is where I belong, remember?”  I ask her, and she gives a half nod.

I go upstairs and stuff my clothes into a duffel bag. Perhaps it is for the best. I take the picture of Matt and Jenny from the bedside table, and put that there too. As I descend, I see Matt at the foot of the staircase. I hug him, and I’m happy that he hugs me back.

“Take care of your mother okay? She’s fragile,”  I tell him, and he nods.

I hug Jenny too, as she cries.

“It’s for the best,”  I tell her, and walk to the door before I can change my mind.

“Dad, will you return again?” 

********** THE END **********