It's About Her, A Story

Zaldy Carreon De Leon Jr.

My mother is half-way literate. She is able to read, but keeps on asking me the meaning of words she does not understand. It goes for many days since I borrowed a certain book she asked me.

“Mom, you’ve been reading that for how many days? Ms. Tekali asks me to return the book tomorrow. She said, ‘tell your mom, it’s over-over-overdue,’” I jest.

“Well, then, return it tomorrow. And borrow it again. Tell her I am not yet done.”

The next day, I went to the library – 20-minute walk away.

Ms. Tekali instantly greeted me. She is an old woman, but she does not look her age. I think she’s older, I may say.

“Oh, my dear, I hope your mother would return the book now!” Arrogantly

“Yes, Ms. Tekali.” Respectfully. I handed the book to her. She opened it, put the borrower’s slip, and return my ID.

As she is done, I asked: “Ms. Tekali, what is that book about?”

“Why?” Sweetly arrogant.

“Nothing. Just that my mom is so eager to finish it.”

“If you really want to know ask your mother.” Humbly arrogant.

Five second silence.

“Oh, Ms. Tekali, before I forget. I’ll borrow the book again.”

“Dear, that is an old book. Tell your mom to take care of it. This is the only copy left here.” I gest a sign – yes.

By afternoon, after my University study. I was surprised to find my grandmother and two nurses at our house. I greeted them and paid respect.

“Grandma, what made you visit us?”

“O Praveen, you have not heard what happened this afternoon. Your mother’s in the hospital.” Worrying.

“What happened to mother, is she alright?” Confused.

“We were just here to get some things. Come with me.”

One of the nurse went with us, the other one is left to tend the house. The taxi drove.

The hospital is clean and orderly but I may not want to go here though it seems comforting. We went on a room. She lied there, comfortably in a raised bed with several layers of white bandage on her eyes and head.

She’s awake.

“Oh, mom, what happened to you?” I cried.

“Make your mom rest. She should not cry.”

“Why, grandmaji, what happened to her?”

She held my shoulders and made me sit. The nurse make some coffee.

“At her work, the office went on fire. She has gone outside before the worst. But a group of careless women stampedes on her. And she bumped her head. Her vision gets blurred.

A moment later, in a weak voice, while we’re sipping coffee.

“Praveen, are you there?”

I put down the coffee, and instantly went on her side, say: “Yes, mom. What is that?”

“Where is the book?”

Silence. I forgot where it is….

“Ma, you’ve gone to all these, and you want the book read?”

“Just read me the book because I might not anymore be able to…”

“When we return home, mom. I’ll read it to you.”

Several days. Mom’s vision is still the same, but with some improvements. We went home.

“Now, read it to me, Praveen.”

“Mom, I think I’ve lost the book. I kept for a week looking for it. Mamaji’s nurses helped me look for it but it’s nowhere to be found.”

“Oh, Praveen! You don’t kn---” Regretfully.

Grandma speaks, “What’s that book about and you keep on reminding your son about it?”

“Praveen, leave us for a moment. Buy some food at the market. Me and Mamaji will just talk.”

I don’t know why they don’t want me to hear. But that is something….something I must know.

Several days passed, but my mom feels uneasy. I think I have to find a copy of the book. I went at several libraries at our neighboring town, some friends, and at the bookstore. But to no avail. They got no copy of this hard-to-get and out-of-print novel. The last resort, ask Ms. Tekali.

“Oh dear, I heard about your mother.” Concern.

“Thank you, Ms. Tekali. She’s fine now. But she is not able to see clearly because of a trauma.”

“Tell her, she could return the book until she’s done. Library compliment.”

“That’s my problem, Ms. Tekali.”

“What do you mean?” Arrogantly.

“To sum it up, I’ve lost the book.”

“But that’s an out-of-print. Mr. Deepak would be angry at me. It was his last copy.”

“Do you personally know Mr. Deepak, the author?” Interrupting.

“I think so.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“Yes. But that’s confidential!”

“Ms. Tekali, my mom feels differently this past days since her accident. All she wanted is to read that book. If there’s no copy, then I have to find its author, Mr. Deepak.”

“Okay, dear. Here’s the deal. Do not tell him that I told you where he lives…I’ll do this for your mother.”

She writes on a piece of paper.

I thanked her, paid respect, and leave instantly looking at the paper.

I was nearly outside when I heard Ms. Tekali shouts--- ‘Do not t---.’

Mr. Deepak lives about 10-hour drive away from our province. It is not hard to find him because he was well-known to the people.

At his house, I knocked. I waited for about a minute, until:

“O Pra---, I mean, who are you?” Surprised.

I am too tired to pay attention to that remark. He made me drink some soda inside his house. I directed him: “Sir, I’m Praveen,….” And I told him the whole circumstance why I need to see and talk to him.

After I told him, I saw some glitters in his eyes. He said nothing, but:

“Come, let’s go. Let me see your mother.”

“Right now, sir? You don’t have to hurry. I might be disturbing you” Respectfully.

“You do. But you are not….I would want to see your mother now, son.”

He drove his car. I was too tired to talk to him. I got rested.

While we were nearing our town, he woke me up. It’s already seven in the morning.

“Sir, I never told you where I live! How do you kno---”

“Just tell your mother her story will be continued. Do not tell my name.”

“Why, sir.”

“Just do not tell my name.”

We went to the sofa where my grandmother, a nurse, and my mother almost has to get their breakfast.

Grandmaji angrily asked where I’ve been.

“Grandma, mom, I brought someone here at home. I wanted mom to feel better. I want her novel finished.”

I call on, ‘Sir, please come inside!”

Grandmaji’s face almost turn red. “Oh my!” She never spoke, she grasped my mom’s hand, hugging. I don’t know the meaning of that reaction. But many things were kept hidden already. I do not want to ask, and let my mom suffer more.

“Ask the chapter she stopped.” Whisper.

“Mom, what chapter are you?”

Silence for ten second.

“The last chapter.”

Mr. Deepak sat, and narrates wonderfully. My mother seems to recognized his voice. Tears. Mr. Deepak ends, saying in teary tone, “…and Jena and her long-time lover meet again after 18 years. It was the most wonderful day of her life.”

To my surprise, my mom and Mr. Deepak hugged each other. I was shocked. Who is this Mr. Deepak? Until, I was answered:

“Do you think, I’ve forgotten you after many years? I have been sorry about those neglected years we should have spent together.”

“Oh, Dee, I never have forgotten you either. Do you love me still?

“Oh, Jena….”

“Grandmaji went besides me, crying. Say, “Praveen, you’ve done the most wonderful thing for your mom. Noone knows – but it is fate.”

The writer is my father. They broke before I was born because of some misunderstanding. But none of them get into another relationship since then. After several months, my mother’s eyes got treated by a specialist, and she is now able to see with the aid of an eyeglass.

We invited Ms. Tekali for a thanksgiving party. My father donated 1,000 novels on the town library.

As to that lost book, if anyone managed to find it – the book’s title is “Jena”.

Well, it’s her name obviously, but I never thought it was all about her.

Nothing lasts forever – even at a space of time, a new chapter begins.

Credits to Google Images