Chapter 33
"The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not 'get over' the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you want to."
— Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
I looked from madam maria to the others standing around.
It was then that I noticed their averted gazes, none of them able to make eye contact with me. They knew. They all knew.
I shrugged out of madam maria's grip and turned around to walk back to the house.
All the chatter had ceased, and the only sound was from the birds chirping obliviously in the trees. It was only then that I realised that I was barefoot, my slides having come off my feet in my mad dash to the gate.
The hot ground burned me in my walk of shame, and once again in my life, I wished for death. I cursed God for delighting in taking away those I loved, those I held dearest.
Why was He still keeping me alive if all He ever gave me was suffering and pain?
"What are you looking at? Will you all get to work!" I heard madam maria admonish the rest of the
domestic staff, but it was too little, too late for me. I had already created enough of a spectacle.
I could only wonder how long they had known about Jason and I, how long I had been regarded as the philandering wife of their employer, frolicking with the gardener.
"Just wash your face and lie down," madam maria said, walking into my bedroom behind me.
I hadn't even realised she'd followed me upstairs.
"This news is too distressing. Imagine waking up to hear something so awful. There has been too much bad news in the last few weeks. First clara, now this fine young boy…"
"How did you know about us?" I cut in. "How did everyone know?"
"zeynep! But I warned you. I told you to be careful. I told you," she sighed deeply. "I heard a few whispers . One or two people had seen the two of you headed to the lake. At first, I didn't think much of it. You've already had to endure so much,and I thought it wouldn't be such a bad thing for you to just have some small relief, no matter how brief. It was when the whispers started getting louder and louder, and I started hearing the gossip even here in the house that I knew I couldn't keep quiet anymore. Remember that morning you were having breakfast, and I warned you to be careful?"
"How was I to know that was what you were talking about? I thought you were talking about the minister and his now dead mistress!"
Madam gave me a knowing glance. "Did you really think so, zeynep? Or is that what you made yourself believe?"
My eyes pooled with more tears, and she took me in her arms, rocking me as I cried. "You have to be strong. It is sad, but you can't afford to mourn him publicly. I know what it feels like to lose someone you love. The boy I was supposed to marry was wrongly accused of theft and sent to jail, only for them to kill him there. And now, my own husband is no better than a vegetable, alive but dead. I understand loss."
I sobbed even more as she spoke. No, she didn't understand. There was no way she could understand my pain. Nobody could. Nobody ever could understand how it felt to be lifted so high into the heavens, only to be dropped not even down to earth, but straight to hell.
"I have to see the place," I said, when my tears finally subsided. "I have to see where he died."
Madam Maria twisted her lips as she pondered over my request. "It isn't the best idea, but you might truly need that to get some closure. I will ask Catherine to take you there. But you have to be careful. She will just point the house out to you from afar, and then you'll come back home immediately. Don't even linger for an extra minute. There are spies everywhere, as I'm sure you can see."
Her verbal confirmation of my inner thoughts incensed me. The temperature in the room seemed to rise, as red hot fury raged through my veins. "It was Ibrahim, wasn't it? Ibrahim did this!"
Madam mariai looked away, and I could see that she also nursed the same suspicion. "All I can tell you is you need to be careful. You are surrounded by dangerous people. You need to be mindful of your every move. Please, I'm begging you. I promised you I would take care of you. I don't want to have to start telling stories if anything bad happens to you."
Her words stayed with me, even after she left to get her teenage daughter, Catherine, to accompany me to town to see Jason's burnt family house for myself.
I knew Ibrahim was a beast, I knew he was dangerous, but this by far exceeded anything I could have thought he was capable of.
Catherine arrived and, draping a scarf around my head like a veil, we walked to the town. I was sure to keep my face fully concealed, as the last thing I wanted was to be identified again.
"That's the house over there," she said, as we turned into a small street. "My God! So, cherry is gone just like that!"
Cherry was Catherine's classmate in school and one of jason's four sisters. They had all perished with their mother.
From what we'd heard, their father had been working overnight at mines when the tragedy occurred.
I stood there, looking from afar at the ashes that had apparently once been my lover's home. There were still visible embers, and from the smoke that was still emanating, it was obvious that the fire hadn't been completely extinguished. The bodies of the deceased had already been taken away, and there were clusters of people still hanging around, trying to see what could be salvaged from the place.
"That's their father over there," Catherine said in a hoarse whisper, pointing at a man sitting helplessly on a makeshift stool, staring into nothingness as a group of people talked loudly around him.
He was just exactly what Jason would have looked like thirty years older. The resemblance was uncanny. I wanted so badly to go to him, to ask that he enter the ruins of his house to look for his family. I wanted to shake him out of his defenselessness, demand for him not to accept this lie without a fight. I wanted him to fight for us to get back the people we loved.
As I looked at him, I didn't realise when my hand fell from my veil, and it dropped, revealing my face. Maybe feeling the intensity of my gaze, he looked in my direction…and our eyes held. From the sorrow and anger in his, I could tell that he knew.
He knew who I was and what I had been to his son. The talking around him stopped, as his companions looked in my direction, all of them recognising me, and none of them looking particularly pleased by my presence.
"Let's go," Catherine said, dragging me by the hand, obviously sensing the tension, and I willfully followed her. Any longer, and they would have lynched me.
Upon getting back to the ranch, I went straight to my bedroom, locked my door, and shut my blinds, leaving the room pitch-dark. I lay on the bed as day turned to night and as night to day, not even bothering to change nor shower, not caring to see any ray of sunlight. I wanted the place to be as dark as I felt inside.
Now and then, I drifted into fitful bouts of sleep where I had nightmares of Jason running to me at the creek, aflame. His agonized cries sounded so real, so vivid, it was almost as if I was hearing him burn as he and his family died in the fire. By the end of the third day in my room, my visions of Jason had progressed from dreams to vivid hallucinations, with his face haunting me in the pitch-dark room.
It wasn't until I finally turned on my lights that I stopped seeing him lurking over me everywhere I turned. I was gradually losing my mind. He was haunting me, and for good reason. If it weren't for me, he would still be alive.
By the fifth day, I decided that enough was enough. I had to be strong to face life again, even if it had been cruel to me.
Having only nibbled on old crackers and peanuts stored in my wardrobe, I was ravenously hungry. I had a shower, wore a bright orange and pink Salwar Kameez, applied light makeup, and left my bedroom for the first time.
I nodded in response to the polite greeting from the staff. I knew that underneath all the "Good morning"I was getting were really greetings of sympathy and commiseration.
As Fidelia poured my tea, she patted my hand before she left the dining room, and I saw that, rather than judge me, they all pitied me. And that made me feel a bit better.
My breakfast that ordinarily would have taken less than 30 minutes to finish dragged to over an hour. I struggled with the toast and tossed the eggs around on the plate idly.
Food held no appeal for me. Nothing interested me anymore. Life had simply lost its colour. Not even the thought of going to my cherished garden and seeing my beloved flowers was any consolation.
None of it would bring Jason back.
"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal." — Irish Proverb