ONE COLD SUNSET
He had to walk through the snow to reach his home. He didn’t know why Oedipus wanted to talk to him suddenly. He had known Oedipus for twenty years, and he knew that he is not much of a talker. Now that the poor old man was spending his last days of life in bed, he was getting more hysterical than ever. It was the second time that he begged Marcus to come, and visit him over the phone. He knocked at the door, and heard the weak sigh of Oedipus, which meant “come in.” He was lying on the bed, and facing towards the little window, which was his only connection with the real world. The poor man looked weak, but the sickness never affected his deep blind gaze to far away. "What’s the matter?”, Marcus said, while Oedipus didn’t even bother turning. “Marcus, you are all that is left for me in this world. I sense that these are the very last hours of my life. Believe me, I am an expert in predicting the unexpected. I want to reveal something for you, something that I suffered from all of my life, something that ruined my fame and fortune, something that…” He ran out of breath, and failed to finish the sentence. Marcus, who thought that this was one those delusions, went, and dragged the blanket over him, and quietly said, “You need to think less. You are destroying yourself. Rest more; this is the only way that you can get better.” Oedipus turned, and grabbed Marcus’s hand tightly, as he tempted to break it. He started talking desperately without even waiting for his breath to come, and help him speak. “I was weaker than them. I was destined to misery and to misfortune. I never knew myself, and my roots.” Marcus surprisingly watched him talking, and murmured, “What on the earth are you talking about? Although you never talked to me about your past, I never expected you to do so. You were always a good listener.” Oedipus started crying out, as he never heard Marcus’s sentences. “No! You don’t understand. This is serious. I had two choices; a life in denial and fame, or a misery in consciousness.” Marcus tried to calm him down, while Oedipus was mumbling quietly with himself, “Man! Did I ever reveal that for myself that now I am trying to convince someone else about my hideous past?” He released Marcus’s hand, and made him sit on the bed. His voice was low, as it was coming from far away, “I tried to escape all of my life. escape from something that was in front of me every single second; my weakness. I was nothing, as I am now. I tried to compete with my predestination. I never did anything terribly wrong; I was just stubborn enough to look for truth. That was all I had done.” He couldn’t continue. The inadequate words could no longer express his deep pain. He felt unexpressive, and defective. Seemed like, the more someone’s grief wounds the soul, the harder it becomes to express. During all these years, the little window and Marcus were the best friends of Oedipus; both of them were quite when he spoke out after a long time, and never able to respond to it. He chose not to talk any more, and then he awkwardly got back to bed. That night Oedipus slept peacefully, without any nightmares. Yes, he slept, and never woke up. Later on, when his corpse was being removed from the bed, Marcus found a piece of paper underneath the pillow. He opened it: “Life begins, where it ends. I escaped from my illusions, and I was trapped in reality. Life is darkly strong.” Sun was setting gently, and sky had a fascinating color. Marcus wondered the rest of his life what made Oedipus say that. He probably never realized. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to realize, as the Thebans never did. The sun disappeared behind the mountains, and Marcus walked home through the red snow.
photo: arash ashoorinia... www.kosoof.com
