by Cheenu Tiwari
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I’ve already cried several times, but today, the day when everyone else is in tears, my eyes are dry. Everywhere around me, people are dressed in white, or at the very least, something simple for the occasion.
Maybe it’s seeing everyone else in the courtyard sobbing around me, or silently weeping, that is keeping my own tears in check. I feel strangely distant from all the grief, but at the same time, my heart is right in the middle of it all, feeling every emotion, picking up on each individual nuance in the crowd and donning it--not as a piece of clothing, but as a shield.
Even as I join my family in bringing the torch down on the pyre, I feel distant. I feel the strength of my father’s grip, the quivering of my younger brother’s hand, the pulsating of the fuel buried deep inside. All of this--the emotions, the sensations--are affecting me, but that very effect is numbing the feelings buried inside my chest.
I watch the flames rise up. They lick the logs like canines savoring the vestiges of meat on bone with their tongues. The body is mercilessly consumed; I can barely see it through all the wood, but the cloth wrapping it is already black. The flesh turning to ash means nothing to me. It’s the person who was inside, the one who knew every facet of me from my youth, and guided me at every turn, that I mourn. But that life mentor is already gone.
Once we have set it ablaze, I step back, quickly moving to an empty space in the crowd, close to my relatives, where my view is unobstructed, but where I am close enough to catch every detail. I am mesmerized by the flames and their dance.
A touch. I look left, startled by the sensation on my arm. My wife looks into my eyes. She knows we both were close. I realized very early on in our marriage that she wants to emulate that bond. But there is a difference. The person who occupied that body is watching me--and accurately predicting every thought and reaction I am having. My wife can sense my disposition from moment to moment, but she cannot understand the underlying currents influencing my state. My problem? I cannot understand the currents. The one person who could is now gone.
Then, over her shoulder, I see a child, hardly two years of age, watching the body burn. She is standing, her mother’s hands on her shoulders. I see the look in the child’s eyes, that look of innocence.
I burst into tears. My legs give way.
My wife holds my head close to her body. Stroking my hair, she murmurs, “Let it out; let it all out.”
The words form on their own, and between sobs, I say them through the folds of her cloth.
“She doesn’t know! She doesn’t know! She has no idea!” I’ve lost control over my voice; the pitches bounce up high. Each moan and sob grows hoarse. Each breath I take is a desperate gasp, me clawing inside for purchase.
Around me, everyone watches in awed silence.
In the hours that follow, I am silent, avoiding glancing at the little girl. But even though my head is down, I see her in my mind, and silent tears flow as I swallow that raw lump rising up in my throat. Through the rest--the words of advice from relatives, the condolences from friends, I keep subdued, numbly nodding and embracing.
Several hours pass. We return home around midnight. My wife doesn’t say anything as I sit on the bed next to her. But then, without turning her head, she says, “You still miss her.”
I nod.
“You have to be strong.”
“I don’t know, I--” My voice is so pitiful. “I am tired, and I need to sleep.” I am utterly broken.
This time, she senses it: the exhaustion in my voice, something more than simple tiredness.
She places a hand on my chin, and turns my head to face her. For a brief moment, her eyes water. She takes a shaky breath, and says, “Then sleep.”
After that night, I become a grim man. I no longer want to feel my emotions; they are too powerful. Everyone sympathizes, of course (my wife included).
Nothing is mending. Perhaps all the energy for healing the fractures is being channeled to my wife’s growing burden. Regeneration is turning to generation.
And then, several months later, when I hold my newborn baby girl in my arms, for the first time, her eyes unexpectedly open. They lock onto mine.
That look, it--
Everything comes back. But even as my breaths grow shaky, and the world grows blurry through the tears, two clear pricks of darkness pierce the opaque shroud bathing my eyes.
My tears trickle down my face, tearing away the watery canvas. We gaze at each other.
Slowly, something seeps into her stare. She takes on a new countenance.
I breathe, “I am so sorry.” Placing her in her mother’s arms, I sit next to the bed. My wife holds her close, and comforts her, fearing that the experience of being born might still haunt the girl’s mind.
But as the night progresses, and everyone in the hospital falls asleep, my daughter is silent. She looks at me, and I look at her. Expectations are forming.
Her demeanor doesn’t change, no matter how much I beg in my head.
Finally, I yield.
Our contract has formed.
Critique
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I enjoyed this! You really worked to capture emotion, and as in your other piece I’ve reviewed, it’s what really stands out. In your Rise critique, I outlined some key points I suggest you keep an eye on in your future work. I’m not going to go back through and re-discuss them here since you can just go reread that! However, I do want to point out a few places in this piece where you can apply those corrections.
1. Your present progressive use is a little more noticeable in this piece, so I want to make sure I address that. Almost every time you have “is __-ing”, you can substitue a simple present tense. For example:
— “…silently weeping, that is keeping my own tears in check…” “is keeping” can just be “keeps”.
— “All of this…are affecting me…” could be “All of this…affects me”—or you could try an even stronger word! ex. “stirs me”, “moves me”, etc.
— “Regeneration is turning to generation.” could be “Regeneration turns to generation.” (Or a stronger word! “twists into”, “warps into”, “mangles into”, etc.)
There’s some other examples of this in your story, but you can go through and catch those on your own!
2. I also want to point out some sensory words! I discussed in the Rise critique that you should watch how many times you use phrases such as “I see”, “I hear”, etc. Oftentimes, they can be deleted or replaced with some stronger imagery. Here’s a few quick examples:
— “I see the look in the child’s eyes, that look of innocence” could be “The child’s eyes are misted over with innocence” or something along those lines.
— “I watch the flames rise up” could just be “The flames rise up.”
I didn’t notice any problems with adverbs or showing vs. telling, which are some other things I pointed out in your last piece.
Next, I’m going to go through the story and point out a few smaller, more nitpick-y changes I’d suggest:
“I feel strangely distant from all the grief…” This is good here! But for some reason as I read it I thought this would be a great place for some really strong imagery. Maybe personify grief? Again, it’s absolutely fine as is—I just wanted to bring it to your attention.
“It’s the person who was inside, the one who knew every facet…” This reads like a run-on. I think deleting the comma after “youth” can fix the problem.
“Each breath I take is a desperate gasp, me clawing inside for purchase.” First of all, great description here. But I think there’s a typo—should “me” be after “inside”?
“Several hours pass.” In the paragraph above, you already said “In the hours that follow.” If you want to show more passage of time in the next paragraph, I’d pick a different way of showing it. Do his limbs grow weary as he stands? Does a drink he’s holding go lukewarm?
“Everyone sympathizes, of course (my wife included).” The parentheses here render the sentence a little awkward. How about “Everyone—even my wife—sympathizes, of course.” Of could you just delete the part about his wife?
“…the world grows blurry through the tears” could be “the world blurs through the tears.”
Just a few small things I noticed! Before I get into my last few points, though, I want to make sure you know there’s some absolutely awesome parts of the piece as well (most of it, actually). A few parts stood out to me in particular, so here’s a round of applause for that:
“They lick the logs like canines savoring the vestiges…” This is awesome! I love the connection between meat and bones and the body being burned.
His entire interaction with his daughter is beautiful and very well-written. As is his conversation with his wife. All of your dialogue is executed smoothly and contributes to the somber tone of the story.
“’She doesn’t know! She doesn’t know!’” I like that we don’t really know what “she” doesn’t know. It fits the story—in his grief, your narrator would never stop to explain to us exactly what’s going on. I like being dumped right into the action.
However, while being dumped into the action is good, I would have liked a little more indication of time and place. Where are we? Modern society, USA? Asia? Some Hunger Games-esque society? Outer space? Just a few well-placed details or even inclusion or certain words in your metaphors can get this across simply.
And one last point, from me as a reader: I would have loved to know that the wife was pregnant earlier in the story. When “a few months later” she had her baby, I did a little double-take. I feel like there’s a great opportunity for an image of death vs. the baby’s unborn life earlier in the story.
This really was an excellent piece. Thank you for sharing!