Abeer Elgamal
The Stain- Revising character
Hala did everything she could to remove the stain but she failed; she
did everything to relieve the pain at no avail too.
The dream she had the night Salem burned her diary recurred day in
day out and the stain in the sink remained to tease and torture her every tiher
she went into the kitchen to prepare
three herals a day. She could not even
tell the difference between what happened in the dream and what happened in
reality.
Mornings were the worst part of the day; she woke up terrified; her
body felt like a big sack of wet sand and her head had a buzzing fan that kept
rolling until felt dizzy. She tried to
pull herself out of bed but could not move a limb. She stayed there defeated
and betrayed by her own body. The smelll of smoke still invaded her nose and
lungs; she could even hear the hissing of fire.
She did everything to remove that stain; that sooty misshaped stain
bothered her like no other, not even the ink stain on Salem's pants that
triggered the first 'good wife sermon' only four days after their marriage. He
had forgotten to place the led on the pen in his pocket and she had to pay the
price. The stain in the corner of the kitchen sink brought all the incidents
back to her mind; She had used every detergent, Clorox, steel wool, thick and
thin; nothing removed it. She never knew stainless steel could get stained;
sometimes she was afraid the stain was only inside her mind, insisting to
appear in front of her whenever she came into the kitchen, some kind of visual
hallucinations.
The smell of burning of the plastic pink cover still invaded her
nose from time to time, and the hissing of the burning paper, fading away, page
by page, line by line, word by word made
her feel her whole being was deteriorating, little by little; bits and pieces
of herself were falling down, separating from her. The flood of humiliations, the
accusation that SHE was hiding things from him; keeping her life to herself and
not sharing it with him were fiercer. She never tried to hide that diary; it
was always there by her books. She was sure he had seen it before, and read it
perhaps; he likes to go through her stuff ever since they were engaged. She wanted to defend herself but could not;
it would have made things even worse.
Her whole body shook with fear as Salem darted into the kitchen
with her diary in his hand in the same manner her mother made her entry into
the balcony years ago with her old diary.
He was furious; She could hear him breathe heavily as he walked towards her
with threatening eyes. She had just finished the dishes and was still cleaning
the kitchen sink; she turned to face him, leaning her back against the sink.
Those dizziness attacks had already started and she could anticipate one coming
so she leaned to the sink to support her. He approached until he almost
touched her shaking body; she had to stretch her neck up to look at him as he
shouted at her while waving the diary to her face: "how can a married
woman find the time to write such stupid stuff? How can any respectable wife
say she feels lonely? What else do you need more than me? Am I a piece of shit?"
He stopped to take a deep breath before he resumed:" Of course, who
am I to compare with your highness little princess?! Of course, I am no match for the heroes of
your damned books! Are you still an adolescent? When will you grow up and act
like a respectable wife? How can I trust
you to bring up my children if you ever had the time to get children"?!
Her tongue got stuck in her dry mouth; she could not utter a word; she
wanted to tell him that she had always kept a diary, ever since she was twelve; she wanted to defend herself; she
wanted to tell him writing was her only way of combating stress; she wanted to
go as far as telling him she has no one to speak to because he hated her
friends and did not allow her to see them , or even to talk to her himself
unless it was an order or reproach or sarcasm. But SHE just froze there,
feeling cold to the bones and dizzy and wet. He kept showering her with his accusations and
then he started to tear the notebook
pages to pieces and throw them in the sink behind her. She felt relieved that
he threw the diary in the sink, not on the floor. Salem had two favorite
insults: the first was the word "stupid" which he used to describe
anyone or anything that did not live up to his expectations, the second being
throwing stuff on the floor when he got mad . Then she would have to take
things away, and put them back where they belonged.
What came next she did not expect; he pulled her by the hand away
from the sink and turned her around to face it; the sudden move hurt her elbow
and it was swollen for two weeks. It never crossed her mind then he would
go as far as burning the diary, sheets and plastic cover and all.
The flames raised above the kitchen sink
and she could not take her eyes away; she kept staring at them until they faded
away. Why did she stay in the kitchen glued where he left her and took in
all the toxic fumes of plastic burning? Why did not she open the window or just
went out of the kitchen and close the door behind her? Why did not she turn the
water on to stop the smoke that filled her lungs and the smell that poisoned her
soul?
Later, it hurt so much not to be able to remember what she
wrote. The thing that Salem never understood was that her mind functioned
in a totally different way from his; she was wired differently, her memory and
feelings and reasoning and all. Or maybe he realized it and tried to re-wire her
to satisfy his expectations! He had
re-shaped how she dressed and talked and dealt with people, why not change how she
thought and felt too? No matter how important, happy or traumatizing an event
was, she might forget all the details, but never the emotion or the wound it left
behind. She kept asking herself what was wrong with her memory and wondered why
it failed her at the age of 24? Memory
is such a funny thing; some incidents slipped away instantly and she could
barely recall them an hour later. Others held tight, lurking in a hidden corner
of her mind and popping out when she least expected them; fresh to the extent
it could reproduce the same feelings, sounds and smell. Her body had a memory
of her own, stored in the muscles, bones and skin.
This is the revised version of "The Stain". I changed the form too and attempted to show
more of the physical- psychological make up of
Hala. I appreciate your comments
and look forward to your constructive criticism. Thanks for reading.
