The Hope We Have

By Reedhima Tyagi

The rain muddles with blood pouring down his body. He limps down the sidewalk with his hand pressed deeply into his stomach. He stops to pant a breath out and then. The rain has rendered people under the glowy light of a café. Customers are flocking to the cashier and waiters reel around tables; their movements agile and practised. He stares longingly into the faces of people before a terrible pain seizes his shoulder. His shoulder bleeds, trailing through his arm and dropping like little pearl drops on the ground below just to be washed by the rain.  It seemed like the littlest of gaps present in the city- between the bricks, the cracked wooden fences of houses, the hollow lines drawn in the footpath-all bled like him. The rain, with its thunder and ferocity, deafened all listeners. His attempt to grab his shoulder was futile because the wound on his stomach struck loose from the stretch began bleeding again profusely. Muttering a few obscenities, he limped his way to their house. 

He heaved heavily in front of the door. The wounds had receded into the feeling of thousands of pins pricking into them then an overflow of just pure pain. He shakily lifted his hand to ring the doorbell, hearing the familiar buzz of it. The door instantly swings open in a hurry. A 30 year something woman stands. Her hair is picked up into a tight bun with soft clothes ballooning her figure. He tiredly glances into his wife’s hands; the nails are short and crooked with blood slowly pulsating from the skin around. They stand looking into each other desperately trying to commit each other’s lines and curves into memory. After what he had done tonight and what was going to follow, this might be the last time they have the courage to look into each other’s eyes. She gently laces her hands into his wet, bringing him inside. Her hands came stained with smears of blood.  

The room is damp. Beside the old ragged sofa a lamp is perched on a small antique table, hardly emitting light. The woman picked up a mushy green towel hanging on the headrest of a rocking chair. She, with extremely gentle movements, patted his face- furrowing her eyebrows deeper with each cut on his face. He knows he shouldn’t have done it and knows how hurt she was. She would, ultimately, have to sacrifice her integrity to deal with the consequences of his actions. He stood imagining himself bent on knees apologizing profusely or handing her a knife and asking to do the same to him. He could think of million ways to kill himself if it meant keeping her with him. But it was already done. She raised his palm upwards, dabbing at it with the tip of the green towel turning dirt brown from the blood.  

“Please say something”, he desperately asked her. 

She showed no signs of hearing him. Grit and blood had crawled with him from the doorstep. She attempted to unbutton his shirt trying to physically relieve him out of his pain as much as she could, but he laid a rough palm on her hand. Her fingers shivered under the coldness of his hand. “Please talk to me”, he begged. She closed her eyes helplessly trying to control the tears that were brimming.  

“I have nothing to say to you”, she whispered.  

He felt something sting in his chest, A needle being pushed into his heart.  

She tried to ruffle her hand free from his hold, but he steadfastly held onto her. Finally, when she looked at him and saw the scars on his face she unraveled.  

“How can I say something when there is nothing else to be done” she croaked.   

He shuddered. There was nothing to be done. There was nothing he could do anymore.  

“I am not able to stop the blood in deep wounds. We have to go to the hospital,” she said. Even though she knew what it meant to go to the hospital. Even so she wanted at least one of them relieved of the pain and the burning.  

“Okay.” They both wanted the other to be out of the misery even if it meant stepping deeper into it, alone this time. 

Her shoulders drooped. The edges of her soft mouth stretched, trying hard not to falter under the weight of a smile. 

He hopelessly searched her face. But she gave him nothing   

She grabbed a coat from the hanger beside the door, digging deep into the pocket of the coat for the keys. Shuffling a damp umbrella from the stand she walked up to him, knotting their hands together tight. They pushed open the door. The rain had slowed down into a steady shower. She saw him glance behind her shoulder for the last glimpse of his blue jacket hung onto the chair beside the sofa.  

She wrangled the umbrella open with one hand stretching it high above their heads. Carefully they cascaded down the slippery steps, their knuckled white from holding onto each other’s hand tight. For a second, as the rain pattered above his head on the umbrella, he felt no pain instead, just the soft pulsating of his heart. 

A cat scurried into the shelter of a thorny bush as they stood standing alone on the pavement patiently waiting for a taxi. With each drop of rain that fell, they felt further away from reality. For now, it was just the two of them. 

A yellow taxi almost slid past them before she leaned her body to stop it.  The car braked hard, bonking the driver’s head. The driver had hurried past two other customers trying to reach home. The rain for days had cut his wages short because he had to be extra careful when driving. So, when a woman had tried to jump out of the car, he could see the last strand of hay flying out the window. With an angry bump forming he aggressively rolled down the passenger window to send very detailed profanities in her way. Instead, his eyes rang with alarm. Before he could have said something the woman slid past bringing a man in direct view. The man's shirt was drenched in a dirty red colour. His face was shockingly white, and he trembled uncontrollably with every sway of wind. He peered back to the woman who stood helpless, her stance almost leaning forward again to stop him from rushing past them. The driver sent a small nod in their way. The man slipped uncomfortably on the seat, groaning loudly as he hit the rough seat. The woman carefully raised his feet and placated them on the floor of the ground and rushed along the back to sit from the other side. The driver started the car. He did not feel the need to ask their destination. 

He tried to swerve the car smoothly on turns taking note of the ragged breath of the man in the back. The woman looked out of the window inching restlessly away and, then closer to the man with each bump. As they neared the hospital the rain became harsher, the roof thumping loudly in the paused silence of the car. The driver squinted his eyes as luminous lights flashed inside him. He screeched the car to a halt outside the emergency sector. The woman thudded the car door open before the engine died, swinging open the first door she saw. A moment later a stretcher was carried out from the other side followed by people hooded with cheap plastic raincoats. The driver passed through his door to the man’s side. The man looked paler than before. His upper lip glistened with a mixture of sweat and redness. The driver achingly bent forward, his back creaking. He held his shaking stoop before slowly putting his hand under the man’s armpit and inching him up from his seat. The people rushed around the driver sliding the man away from him in a stride. He was laid down on the stretcher cautiously and wheeled through the door. The driver stood with the open door watching the doors close from a distance. He squinted to see the moving shadows inside. The driver standing there, in the rain, thought of following the parade almost. Pain seized his neck. He shut the car door loudly and walked across. He plunked his wet self on the driver seat, his coat squelching under him. He shivered from the cold and the pain. He drove the car away as fast as he could. 

Bright lights pierced through his vision. The man shrunk his eyes in his head. For a minute he thought he was alone. No footsteps, no voices and no interruptions. He felt a hand lace with his hand. He struggled to open his eyes again to the light but gradually regained control as he heard the onflow of voices and beeps around him. Just for a second his vision puffered again under the lights before finally dissipating the hollow darkness. His eyes rolled around trying to find her. She was nowhere to be seen among the hurtling figures dressed in blue and white. The sensation on his hand repeated and this time he looked straight at her. Her face was pale and looked hollowed out under the lights. She stood still and waiting, gazing back at him. The corners of her lips smudged into a tight smile. The two bodies hung patiently onto each other, for each other. 

He felt the warm sensation on his hand return. Then a slight burn somewhere below. Slowly he propelled into feeling the consciousness of his body. He lay still on the crisp white sheet of the hospital bed. No machines whirred. Only silence. With the warmth of her hand still lingering he blinked awake. A second later a chair squeaked, hitting the bed on his right side, and she stood towering over him. Her face was still scrunched with worry. She said something. He heard it but couldn’t understand her. He felt his throat catch up when he tried to speak. Feebly he offered her a curt nod. Her face sprang with delight, and she frisked out his vision before patrolling again this time with someone.  The doctor leisurely tapped a chart somewhere above the bed while talking to her. She was nodding earnestly to the doctor’s words when the curtain behind them wavered, and two tall officials stepped inside. They adorned smart and crisp police uniforms, and the female officer had her hair tied in a high ponytail which swung behind her with each moment. The policeman, pale and strict, handed a paper to the doctor. The doctor stared at the man lying on the hospital bed and then at the officials. He read through the paper again this time holding it just a few centimeters away. The woman clunked metal cuffs around the laying and tied the laying man to it. In a soft but authoritative voice she said, “Mr. Kam you are under arrest for the physical assault and murder of your wife’s killer”. The man lay staring blankly at the ceiling not having the courage to face a world without his wife again.  

By Reedhima Tyagi