OLD MAN'S TALE-1

        

                            EPISODE 1

      “Mary, is that you?” Peter asked in a weak voice as soon as he heard the sound from a slow shuffling gait after the door to his room was gently shut. When he didn’t get any response, he strained his eyes to look at the door, but his blurred vision wouldn’t let him clearly see the person that walked into his room. “Mary,” he said for a second time and when he didn’t get a response again, he struggled to get out of his bed, but as he tried he groaned. Quickly, Mary rushed to his bed and helped him to sit upright.

          “I am Helen not Mary,” Mary said softly in an American accent. When Peter didn’t ask any question, she was glad that she had been able to throw him into confusion which meant that she had imitated her colleague, Helen perfectly. It was something she never knew she could do impeccably.

          “That is not Helen who just walked into my room,” Peter said after he had gotten out of perplexity Mary had caused. “It is you, Mary,” Peter said and Mary burst into heartily laughter. After both of them had laughed for so long, he said, “even if you try to talk like Helen you can’t have that quiet gait she has.”

          “Old man, no matter how hard I try, I can’t have a quiet gait like Helen,’ Mary said before she burst into heartily laughter again and she laughed the more when she remembered how he used to complain bitterly of the noise from her shuffled walk. “Don’t forget you once told me that I have very noisy feet,” Mary said and made Peter to laugh vigorously that he heaved a great sigh after he had laughed.

          “Mary, you make me laugh all the time,” Peter said which made Mary glad. She never knew that he would end up falling in love with her despite how he had showed how much he despised her the first day they met.  They met for the first time in his room when Mrs. Ann introduced Mary to him as the nurse who would relieve Helen from her work while she was away. Quickly, he showed his dissatisfaction and Mrs. Ann wasn’t disappointed; she had expected that from a racist. Quickly, Mrs. Ann made him to realise that Mary, the Nigerian-American was the only staff available to relieve Helen from her duty, so he learnt in a hard way to deal with her. But he ended up falling in love with her.

          “So what are we doing today?” Peter asked staring at Mary despite his blurred vision made only her blue uniform visible to his eyes. He wished he knew her while he had a very brilliant sight so he could tell how black or brown face her face was. He wanted to picture her in his mind anytime he thought about her hilarious words and actions. But all he could depict was a faint blue uniform anytime he thought of her.

          “What we do every other day,” Mary replied as she smoothed his pillow, after she made him to lie flat on his bed.  She stroked her hand over his head before she moved swiftly to the shelves attached to the wall of the room and after she had scrutinized all the new books on the shelves, she decided to pick up his favorite book by Marilyn Jones. If she had picked a new book for him, she would still need to go back to the shelves to pick his favorite book. She never stopped to wonder why he made his family members to keep buying new books that he would never read.

          “You must be holding my favorite novel,” Peter said staring at the direction Mary’s noisy gait was coming from.

          “Do you want me to pick up a new book?” Mary asked in anticipation that he would say yes.  She wanted to read a new book to him. She was tired of reading the same chapter from the book every other day. “Alright,” Mary smiled after he shook his head.

          “I prefer to sit,” Peter said slowly and Mary heaved a sigh of anxiety. She has noticed the speed at which the pitch of his voice was disappearing. Many times he stumbled on his words. Not only that his voice has begun to change, the wrinkles on his forehead had increased. She would no longer regard him as a living patient, but she found it difficult to consider him as a dying patient. He was better than some dying patients in some ways; he was aware of night and day. But for a while now, he has not been to the day room where many of the living patients eat their meal and engaged in various discussion.

          “You are doing well day by day,” Mary said quietly into his ears as she made him to sit upright. Though she knew they weren’t the right words to say to him at that moment, but she had to make him believe that. It was her job. “Are you okay now?” Mary asked.

          “I am good,” Peter replied and Mary smiled. She smiled the more as she glanced over the pages of the book in her hand. She remembered how Peter said that every word in those pages had described him perfectly. His wife had carefully described him using a weird character.  “I was a weirdo, when I was a young man,” Peter had said that the first time she read the book to him.

          “Nothing was the same the moment after he had returned home. The flowers in the garden swayed more in the breeze, the birds on the almond tress made noise like ducks and…..” Mary stopped reading after Peter’s unexpected action. He grabbed her hand with which she held the book she was reading from. “But you don’t get tired of his chapter?” she asked looking confused.

          “I don’t want you to read to me,” Peter said and Mary closed the book instantly. Peter stared perplexedly for a while before he said, “I will be the book today and I will also be the reader.” Mary laughed. “Mary, you should be an author someday. You should write about me. My complex and weird life is good enough to make a huge book. My wife wrote two books about my life and she would have written more, if only nature hadn’t stolen her away so quickly.”

          “Okay,” Mary said like she understood his mystified words.

          “Get a writing pad,” Peter sounded softly although he wished he had sounded like he was commanding her. He missed the days the tone of voice complemented well with the state of his mind. “You should also get a good pen,” he added. “Mary?” I can hear your shuffling gait.

          “I hate writing,” Mary replied.

          “But you have to write. Just pretend that you are like Marilyn Jones. My late wife preferred to write than to eat,” Peter said.

          “Alright!” Mary exclaimed after she had a writing pad and a pen in her hands. “Alright,” she said again when she couldn’t hear from Peter. It occurred to her like Peter was staring into space, but he wasn’t. He was thinking of how to begin a long story and he also feared that he might stumble on his words.

          “I have been in this world since 1919,” Peter said after he paused for so long. Then he continued, “Each day I wake up in this room thinking about death. I think more about death and the legacy I will leave behind.” Peter paused and Mary kept wondering what he was thinking about. “I have made lots of mistakes in the past. I had lived my life carelessly like I would be given a second chance.” Peter paused again. Mary knew she had to cope with that. Unexpectedly, he said, “If only I could get a second chance I will live a life worthwhile. I have few lessons to give to you Mary in order to live a good life to its fullest.”

         “Okay.” Mary was becoming interested in Peter’s words; his slow and dreary words were becoming to sound appealing to her ears.
            “Mary, clearly write ‘lesson one’ in bold letters,” Peter said all at once. “Are you done?” Peter asked.
            “Yes,” Mary replied eagerly.