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.