A couple of crows flew by, landing next to a
large mausoleum, belonging to a general who had died long ago, in a battle no
one remembered, in a country no one cared about anymore. The crows turned
around on their dark feet and gazed at what appeared to be a shadow slowly
walking up the hill. But the shadows was not such, she was a beautiful woman
all dressed in black, walking slowly, trying not to make a strong effort
climbing the hill that served as a cemetery in this region. The place was
beautiful but grim and grey because of the many storm clouds travelling through
the sky. Rain had already fallen and it would possibly fall again soon.
The woman passed the general’s mausoleum and
also a small patch of grass where several small crosses indicated the presence
of bones belonging to several unidentified soldiers. But they were not marked
as “unknown”, they were just marked with white crosses and some dead flowers.
She only glanced at them, putting then her hands inside her pockets. A gust of
wind had swept through the hill and she had received it full on her face. She
was trembling and apparently had the urge to go back, because she stopped and
turned around and looked at the town, which could be seen perfectly from there.
She had been born in that place long ago and had left soon after. She didn’t
know the place like her father and her grandfather before him. She was just
there to see them.
Finally, she took a left on a row of
tombstones and knelt at the end of that path, were flowers and grass grew large
and beautiful because of the soil that was so rich in nutrients. She caressed
the tombstone, cleaned it with her hands covered in gloves and read the name of
her father, slowly, as if she had no idea who he was. Almost instantly, a big
lonely tear ran down one of her cheeks. And then, another one. Finally, she
really cried, she allowed herself to do what she hadn’t done in all these
years. She cried because she hadn’t been there when he had died and she cried
because she had left home so young and had put them all at bay, fearing they
might convince her to make the same mistakes they did.
She wasn’t scared when a voice, a very cold
and raspy voice, asked her not to cry anymore. She said, out loud, that she
couldn’t bring herself to stop, because she felt guilty and needed to get it
all out of her system.
- So it’s all about you?
The voice was right. She was crying just to
cry, just to make herself feel better and free of any guilt from having been
responsible for her father’s death. She knew she hadn’t been there, that she
had been missed and they had asked her to return so many times. But, to her,
that town was death itself and tried not to go back for many years.
The woman had finally decided to do it, to
confront her life and just do what she had to do. But apparently it hadn’t been enough. Because
now she saw him, her dad, standing in front of her, judging her choices and
thoughts and actions. He was silent and wouldn’t say a single word about
anything. He had always been like that, even when she was a kid, he would just
look at her and she could know what he thought of her just by paying attention
at his expressions.
It was his fault too and that had to be proof.
He had always been so far, so private and cold. How could have he asked for
more from her when she never saw anything more at home. Her mother was not much
different. She would always get busy doing something, just in order not to be
depressed. She had some sever episodes when she couldn’t even see other people
but she couldn’t be alone either. Besides, she suffered from migraines, so
things where always charged with a level of tension no kid should ever have to
bear.
So the daughter stood up and followed the
image of her father, that had stopped looking at her and was now just walking
through the graves as if he had know the place like the palm of his hand. They
didn’t have to walk much to find the grave of the mother, where the woman pour
some more tear and realized how unfair she had been with all of them. She sat
down on the damp grass and just touched the stone, the letters of her mother’s
name and asked her why she had been so distant, why they had been so judgmental
when they had raised her to be exactly who she had grown up to be.
The woman had a nice boyfriend, a good job and
a home, where she was happy most of the time. She had come to this town to be
miserable, as miserable as she had ever been in all her life away from them.
And now they looked at her as if she was the one who had been wrong, as if she
had been the one that had caused the rupture between all of them, causing her
to flee that life that was unbearable to any living person.
And
then she remembered little Roby. His death had occurred six months after she
had left to the city. Of course, she heard they had blame it all on her. They
said he had been heartbroken that she had left because he had lost his big
sister but that was just another lie, another attempt to make her feel
worthless. The kid was too young to even notice he had a sister. And he had
been born with so many problems. She cried for him to but they were tears of
anger that she shed all over the graves of small boys and girls that had died
long ago, Roby among them. She dedicated all those tears to damn, as they
needed to know how wrong their parents were.
Her parents, on the other hands, started
talking and talking, and she was not interested in hearing anything they had to
say. She stood up and ran up the hill, as fast as she could until she fell to
the ground, having stepped on a large rock covered in moss. The fall had hurt
but not as much as it hurt to hear them accusing her for so many things that
she hadn’t even been there for and for other things that she didn’t even
remembered. Her mother’s voice was especially annoying, very loud sometimes,
the voice of someone who doesn’t speak too much.
The woman slowly stood up and cursed her
parents, told them to burn in hell or in heaven or wherever their real souls
were. She yelled at them, saying that she was tired of having to carry the
weight of a family that had been crumbling own for so long. Her father was a
worthless maggot and her mother a crazy bitch.
- There you have it! Now leave me
alone!
They did stop talking but they didn’t leave,
their images still standing by, waiting for her to say something more. And she
did. She told them it had been their fault that Roby died and it also had been
their fault hat he existed, that he lived for such a short period of time
suffering every single day. It was because of their sick minds and bodies that
he had been born with so many problems and it was that that killed him, not her
or anyone else for that matter.
She walked the remainder of the hill and when
she was at the top. She noticed the son was filtering through the clouds of
rain. She felt its rays touching her skin, making her feel like she had finally
done what she had to do, what she hadn’t been able to do when they were all
alive. But then, they reappeared and several other figures like them. Their
faces accused them of being of the same family, generations and generations of
unstable people that had been raising awful families for children to turn into
maniacs themselves. She had seen the light beforehand and she had been so
grateful for it.
They
grew closer and closer and she just felt her body give in, kneeling there,
being caressed by the cold wind of a region filled with people that were more
dead than alive. She raised her hands to the sun and begged for peace and calm
in her life. All the images of relatives looked at her and only one came closer
and touched her head softly. She looked at the ghost and realized it was her
grandmother, the only one that she had talked to during her exile in the city.
She understood why she had fled and she didn’t judge. And now, even dead, she
was on her side.
That same night, the woman drove back to the
city and she never heard or saw anyone again. Her prayers had been answered and
she would never have to be a victim of her family anymore.
