The Blind Heart

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
This story shows the true nature of human. Please share your comment about this story.

Submitted: August 27, 2019

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Submitted: August 27, 2019

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The Blind Heart
By Mohammad Mahdi Askari

"Do you hear me?"
"Do you hear me sir?"
"What can you remember?"
I could hear them. I could clearly hear them, but I had a feeling of, I don't know, maybe abomination or alienation that stop me from answering. Or maybe I would have gotten information that they wish to conceal if they had thought I became deaf as well.
"That was marvelous that he walked away."
"To what extent can you see? None?"
"Why is his radiograph with him sir?" I grasped it as strictly as I could. "Somebody blindfold him. His eyes ought to rest and be kept away from heavy light." I felt cold and dry in every bone. I could hardly move and my bones, like matches, were ready to burn every single moment. The whole world was dark in front of my eyes. I had my ears and fears as the only way to communicate with outside world. 
"He will be blind for at least 20 hours. That's how the news goes for him." a man said. He seems to be the head of that group. "Let's head out if we don't want to..." And his voice was cut by deafening slam of the door as if any moment the door was left open would infect the whole world. It seemed to me that I was the only person in the room. A room that I didn't know how big it was. "Do I have any relatives here to talk to? I have a lot to do out there." I wondered, without having the least idea. All I could hear after the slam was beeping. Continual beeping of a machine or something that I think was designed to strangle me as easily and quickly as my dread of 20 hours of blindness.
There I was blind and motionless. As motionless as my grandfather, Blake, was while we were to take care of him by turn after the death of my grandmother, Traeh. I could clearly remember all of this. If there was one thing in the world I could remember, it was those days. However, I could not remember when it was. Years ago? Weeks ago? I do not know. I had no conception of time.
That pungent, bitter night everyone was in the their house, and the smell of presents and the presence of the beloved ones sweetened the air. The Christmas breeze was shivering the trees slightly and the streets were empty of any moving creature. There was a slow shower of snow ,and lights, flashing in the silence of the night, were dancing. Sitting by the fire, I was watching all this beauty from the window of a big room where my grandmother's bed lay. Thankfully, She was recently back from the hospital, and I, near her in the room, was enjoying the blessing of her presence, regardless of all fuss that was made in the other room. When I looked back from the window to the room, I saw her carefree, silent, and calm, calmer than ever I had seen her before.
After her death everyone was amazed by Blake’s severe mourn since there was not a day in which we had not hear the sad complaints of my grandmother. She was literally bitten by nonstop cursing of his. It was just maybe weeks before her death that she was crying, explaining how he found pleasure in mocking her and how he talked to her when she was back to home after only one day. "Why didn't you stay there? You will soon be needing to go and to sleep next to you stupid daddy." he would say, making her cry. "Remember how once I beat him in hand wrestling, proudly saying 'God gracious, A kid beat you, old fool, again!'?" He knew what words to use to simply sadden her heart. But she was like her father, once my parent told me, as quiet and as patient. Yet, after her death my grandfather sat on a dirty, yellow armchair, with his hand in the air complaining to God why he had taken her away. I can remember that he even questioned the entity, tearing a white, languorous gladiolus into pieces. Every tear that dropped his pale face bespoke a deep hidden bond that he didn't reveal to her all life.
I was more astounded by seeing some of my relatives trying to show their eyes wet. Who knows? Maybe a cousin of mine was attracting the other or an aunt trying to take another down a peg. But one should not prejudge. It is to judge oneself that is difficult. Even harder than understanding why one of the neighbors, who may only saw the deceased once, passed out, and I had to function the cooling system, with my drops of tear on my chick which I try to keep as long as possible.
Anyway, Traeh's assessment was over, and it was time for her children and us to be examined. In Mansuetude alley, everyone was acquainted with the term "Blake therapy". It was a special time, a way to pay more attention to what you took for granted! You were sentenced to stay in a house one 24 hours every week. Not in a normal one and not with normal people. It was a very age-old house with two narrow but long rooms with a kitchen in between_ The kitchen connects the two rooms_ and that was all. It was like an enormous U If one was able to see it on the clouds. Nevertheless, the thing that was good about this structure was that whenever they had an argument, almost three times a day, poor grandma would go in the other room and set herself free of Blake's sharp tongue ,and after utmost one hour she would not bear it any longer and, crying, would come back and apologize although Blake was the reason of all that controversy and actually he picked on her.
Due to the house's antiquity_ reportedly 80 years _ approximately all of the lamps were out of order. Even one of them would suddenly start blinking and make everything worse. Whenever I complained about this matter to my parents, they would answer "That house is doomed to be dark after the death of your grandmother, Traeh." Then they cover their mouth and leave the conversation incomplete. Anyway, the lamps were annoying except the one in the kitchen which was so big that if the doors were left ajar, it could illuminate both rooms thoroughly. We were told that the kitchen is the heart of every house, but about this house, it goes without saying that it really is the heart. However, the house was spooky, for me at least, even if all the lamps were on. I didn't know what it was that obliged me to feel this way. I could just feel it but not explain it.
I could clearly remember that on a Thursday afternoon it was my turn to take care of Blake in one of those rooms where an instant of remembering emancipated ghosts in Thursday would fill me with horror. The cracks of the walls would remind me of house of Usher. It was precisely alike. My mind was confined to this nightmarish thoughts when a very loud laughter broke the silence out of the blue. I jumped to my feet and broke for the room in which, this time, Blake's bed lay.
And you never can gauge my amazement when I saw him once laugh_ not a normal laugh but those which you may have only few times in your whole lifespan_ and once cry_ again not normal, a cry as loudly and impatiently as a newborn does_ having a papery picture in his hands. I asked about the picture and the content of it. "What's the matter grandpa?" I demanded. "Is there a way I can help you?" He was infuriated. "Mind your own business son. Live and let live" he retorted crossly. I was not surprised with this usual presence of reproaches. "Heavens… Time will soon prove it to you fool folks ,and I will get my treasure back." he murmured under his lips, swallowing the picture with his eyes. Then he folded the picture subtly and slowly put it under his pillow. "Treasure?" I said to myself. I felt a big change was about to come to my life. But then a thought struck me: "What if he's going crazy? Yeah he definitely is. Ah, What if he's right?" I had ambivalent feelings. "I need to learn more about this picture."
He would rarely move and leave the bed alone so that I had no opportunity to steal and examine the picture, and these behaviors and circumstances was virtually a pain in the neck. As soon as my turn was over, I would go back home with an artificial sullen face and would say "He is definitely going insane and we need to have a family meeting to discuss this issue officially!" with the hope that my parents transfer him to old folk's home or whatever. "That's not as bad we think it is. They adore and feed him." I told them. The case of elderly rest home was always on the table for me. You know, it was a good way to usurp the treasure. But, again, I thought that maybe there is no money and he's really crazy. So then I would lessen the elaborations of my sermon abruptly.
Every weekend that I was there, he would do the same and my curiosity about the unknown picture grew stronger and stronger. This matter remained secret until the day which I longed for a lot arrived. His white eyes had no longer radiance and hence, I pondered, future was calling me under the pillow. I ran to the room and put the picture in my pocket. Afterward, heartbroken and depressed, I went out, seeing the very faces as I did on the day of grandmother's death. But now you know the differences. Everything had a fresh flavor. Running out of the house, I brought the picture out. What I saw quite perplexed me. It was pure blackness on one side and whiteness on the other, and on the black side it was written very, very faintly: " My Nevaeh, my heart." And no more! "Are you kidding me?" I asked myself. "What am I? Nuts? All the while I was planning for my grandfather's unspoken affair?" A cold shiver ran through my spine and caused me to descend on my knees. I felt a very deep grief in the bottom of my heart, and the fact that he was no longer breathing I then realized. "Ah, grandpa. But...why did you leave me such a big secret? Who is this girl? What kind of godforsaken treasure is that?" I had lots of questions to be answered. 
And the secret of the lost treasure had not been revealed to me, and the questions had remained unanswered. I kept the picture with me everywhere, all the time. Absurd as it seems and as it is, I even have it here, in the middle of nowhere, after a so-called lethal accident with only one survival. For I don't want my treasure to be neither decoded by somebody else nor stolen. You know, adulthood's cruel and humanity's dead. More to the point, opportunity makes the thief. I don't know. It might not even be anything but a reminiscence from a fool, fickle old man. However, one should not risk in "Matters of consequence." If it is merely a piece of paper, well, no problem. Discretion is the better part of valour. 
I heard two vague voices approaching. The door creaked. "That's the end buddy. Remove his blindfolds." said a familiar voice. I was so happy by this news, but suddenly I felt my paper snatched out of my hand. "Give it right back to me!" I exclaimed. "Good to have your speech back. You must have a nice wife. Don't you?" a woman said. "Give it right now or else." My patients was about to be exhausted. "Relax sir. Relax. First I thought it is your radiograph." she continued. I could not bear any more word out of her mouth. So nervously or better to say cowardly, I asked "Wife? What do you mean, wife?". "No way. Have you not seen the small letters on the paper? Men are neglectful, absentminded creatures." My heart was pounding. Haven't expect a woman to discover the secret of my half-treasure. "Give it back you..." this time I shrieked. "How fun it is that you haven't got it from reverse colors." she said, slightly laughing. "It is written 'My heaven, my Traeh'." Another shock struck me exactly as powerful as the one as I opened the paper on the day of Blake’s death. My eyes were staring out of my head in wonder, and an impenetrable sorrow seized me, remembering all my cupidities and plans I had for my visionary treasure!
"Oh, Grandpa. Now I came to understand what a fool I was. I prejudged you. For hours the picture was your only companion and amusement. Now I understand your sad black-and-white life." Small drops of Tears were coming, but this time I didn't try to keep them. "Sweet couples. Stay put sir so that I can remove the blindfolds. Here we go..." she said. "Oh, lovely tears! you must miss her a lot." she continued, smiling gently and went out of the room. I was alone in the room again. The sun was in my eyes. Then room in which, this time, my bed lay was damp and small. After some moments, I looked around. Right beside my bed was a gladiolus, white and fresh. It reminded me of the blackness and whiteness of the paper and my stupidity. When I looked out from the window, straight ahead of me was written in calligraphy "Nursing home".


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