The Noose<\/p>\n\n\n\n
_______________________________________________________<\/p>\n\n\n\n The Noose _______________________________________________________ This he bought from an antic store. Made of real rope, thick and sturdy, in a neat circle, looked like one of those that he had seen in the Western movies where sometimes vigilantes would apprehend a bad guy \u2013 maybe a horse thief or a cowardly killer \u2013 and hang him […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-258","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/shabbeedurshuja.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/258"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/shabbeedurshuja.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/shabbeedurshuja.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/shabbeedurshuja.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/shabbeedurshuja.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=258"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/shabbeedurshuja.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/258\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":500,"href":"https:\/\/shabbeedurshuja.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/258\/revisions\/500"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/shabbeedurshuja.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=258"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}This he bought from an antic store. Made of real rope, thick and sturdy, in a neat circle, looked like one of those that he had seen in the Western movies where sometimes vigilantes would apprehend a bad guy \u2013 maybe a horse thief or a cowardly killer \u2013 and hang him from a tree. Simple justice.
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Antic stores weren\u2019t his kind of place. He was walking by the store and this thing lying on a shelf next to the display window just caught his eye. The shopkeeper had asked for more than he thought it worth, but he paid. He had just an inkling about the usability of it, but since he purchased and carried it home, he realized his life wouldn\u2019t be complete without it. All his life he had waited for this.
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 In the coming days, he would often wake up late at night, get the noose out from its blue reusable bag, and put it around his neck. He would just let it be there, feeling the roughness of the rope against his skin, imagining the agonizing last moments of the subject as the noose pressed harder and harder into the throat \u2013 cutting off air, lungs desperately seeking oxygen, slowly the hope disappears and cold darkness takes control, and death be his.
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Malik stood near the intersection of Nicole and Russel streets, in the bright, hot sun, looking at the two-storied house, not even a hundred feet away. He carried the blue bag, the noose inside. He did this every few days, when he felt the need to diffuse the pressure that continued to build up inside him, in his brain or somewhere deep within. Just standing here, staring at the house, watching nothing happening there, no movements, no voices, no sign of life. The sun-baked him well, sweat ran from head to toe, his mind blank, just staring at something so beautiful and still. It was a good-looking house, in a good area, and must have cost a neat million if not more.
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Many times, during these circles of gazing he had tried to summon up his courage to go down to the front door of the house, ring the bell, and wait for someone to open the door. He had envisioned himself doing so at night, in his home, with the noose around his neck, knowing he didn\u2019t have the guts. He despised that fearfulness, that hesitation in him. Son of a farmer, somewhere in a poverty-ridden village on the other hemisphere in South East Asia, he had taken a big leap, made possible only due to his meritorious educational achievements which brought scholarships and opportunities for higher education in the West, later a job, a good life. But the mild-mannered little boy who once had held the skinny hands of his older sister and roamed from hut to hut in their corner of the little village had remained the same. He hated himself for that. He wanted to be brave, angry, mad, and revengeful.
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Those long, thin fingers! In his memory, she had always been fifteen. Skinny, but immensely pretty girl with a bubbly personality, flickers of light in her two wide eyes, curious, interested \u2013 just about in everything. And there was him, was he five, maybe six, nobody was keeping track. Like a shadow, he followed her, grabbed those thin fingers just in case she went too fast or just flew away leaving him behind \u2013 with it the world of amazement!\u00a0\u00a0
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He unmindfully extended his right hand in the air and grabbed into something \u2013 an imaginary hand, warm, strong. And then he realized his mistake. Ashamed he looked around for any surprised onlookers, questioning his mental sanity. There was none. Or maybe there was. The main door of the house opened. And a boy walked out. He stood on the porch and looked right at him. He must have seen him grabbing the air. His eyes looked sharp under a frown, unfitting for a boy \u2013 eight? Nine? Shorts and a half-sleeve shirt, bare feet. All these days of mute observation and this was the first sign of life! Who was this boy? What was he doing out of the house, alone, staring at a suspicious stranger? He started to feel a little nervous. The same old fearfulness crawled down his spine in a slow and steady trip. Was the boy being the lookout for the devil inside? Was he related to him, the devil? Was the devil watching him all this time from the deep inside the house where darkness prevailed?
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He felt sweat seeping out of his head, itchy, heart beating a little harder. Wasn\u2019t this what he had been waiting for? The devil must know he had been found. Time doesn\u2019t forgive sins, only revenge can. If an eye for an eye makes the world blind let it be. But with his head sweating and heart beating hard, he had little hope of doing anything. He looked at the boy and their gazes locked, measuring each other out, asking silent questions, attempting to read each other\u2019s body language.
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The boy waved at him. Malek looked around, just to be sure that it was aimed at him. He took a long and deep breath but couldn\u2019t make up his mind about responding with a similar wave. Why did the boy with an unusual frown wave at him?
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The boy asked him to come close with a gesture of his hand. Baffled, Malek gestured back, calling the boy to him. To his utter disbelief, the boy obliged. With firm strides and the frown still imprinted on his face, he walked to the edge of the driveway, looked both sides for oncoming cars, and then walked across the road to Malek. Standing on the sidewalk just feet away from him, the boy looked up at him, his whole body turning into a big question mark. A few very strange moments passed in total silence.
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d asked the boy.
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWhat\u2019s yours?\u201d Malek asked back. This boy was a definite spy, out here compiling information to be divulged to the insidious devil inside, hiding in his dark cave, too afraid to deal with his past sins.
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWhy are you standing here?\u201d the boy asked.
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cIs he home, watching me?\u201d Malek asked.
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The boy took his eyes off Malek\u2019s face and fixed it on the bag that he was holding.
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWhat\u2019s in the bag?\u201d the boy looked curious.
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cIs the man named Alek Mia in there?\u201d Malek asked, moving the bag behind him, out of clear view.\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0
The boy smiled at him, almost cordially, and then sat on the sidewalk with his feet on the street. He patted on the concrete next to him. \u201cAre you going to sit?\u201d
Malek looked around him, habitually, there was nobody. He sat next to the boy, placing the bag next to him, away from the boy.
\u201cDo you know stories?\u201d The boy asked, in a matter-of-fact way.
\u201cDo you like to listen to stories?
\u201cWho doesn\u2019t?\u201d
\u201cThis is a story of a girl. She was fifteen. So pretty! Even though her clothes were torn, her hair was dusty, her lips were dry, stomach was empty. She was the oldest daughter of a poor farmer, in a land far far away. The little land the farmer had, produced just enough to survive. Then, when the sun-scorched, or the rain won\u2019t stop, or the diseases infested the paddy \u2013 he had little to do but to ask for heavenly interventions. One year, the girl, with these beautiful and warm hands with long, thin fingers, was sent to the house of a rich landlord as a maid. Only ten miles apart but seemed like an ocean. Her little brother waited for the winter when she would return home when there would be not much to do in the landlord\u2019s house and she would be released. The farmer counted days, the girl would bring him money, to carry on until the next harvest\u2026the same old boring story of poverty and helplessness. The winter came and the girl returned. She was lying on a hastily built stretcher with bamboo sticks, completely still, not a word, not a smile, even no blinking of her eyes. That was so strange! The wind of a girl sails across the ocean and returns a still body with this thick imprint of rope in her neck. Farmer got little money for his loss, the landlord relieved with the corrupted cops happy with their gifts, the little life in the ovary taken care of \u2013 it was a fitting conclusion of an otherwise uneventful trip for the unremarkable girl with warm hands and long, thin fingers. That\u2019s the end of the story.\u201d\u00a0 \u00a0
The boy stood up, a very vague impression flashing on his childish face, and said, \u201cCan I get that bag you are holding?\u201d
\u201cDid I tell you there is a noose in the bag?\u201d He said.
\u201cIf I hadn\u2019t already guessed that would I have asked for it?\u201d The boy boldly said. \u00a0\u00a0
Malek almost mechanically passed the bag to the boy, who then proceeded to walk across the road, across the driveway, and into the house. After a while, the wait that seemed like an eternity, he returned. There was something round inside the bag weighing it down, and a liquid as red as blood oozed out of it. He handed over the heavy bag to Malek, who with exploding eyes saw the severed head of an elderly man in a noose, resting inside the bag.
\u201cWhat have you done?\u201d He screamed in total disbelief.
\u201cIsn\u2019t that what you wanted?\u201d the boy said, smiling.
Malek felt a revulsion of bile making its way up his throat, his stomach twitching, vision foggy.\u00a0 He dropped the bag on the black asphalt pavement and started to run, as fast as he could, as far as he could, until he was too tired, too exhausted, and disillusioned.\u00a0
The oceans didn\u2019t have enough water to wash the devil\u2019s sins, why would Malek be the one to run away? He returned, perhaps with a little more courage, still holding the bag with the noose inside.\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/td><\/tr><\/tbody><\/table><\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"