Bald-headed
Ch. 29

The story ended there, so I closed the notebook, took off my glasses, and wiped my eyes. My eyes are tired and blood red, but so far these eyes have not let me down. But I know it'll be soon, I'm sure. Neither my eyes nor I can last forever.

I looked at her who was sitting on the chair after I finished, but she did not look back. Instead he stared out the window into the courtyard, where friends and family met.

My eyes followed his, and we watched together. Over the years the daily pattern has not changed. Every morning, an hour after breakfast, they start to arrive. Young adults, alone or with family, come to visit those who live here. They carry photos and gifts and sit on benches or take walks along tree-lined paths designed to give nature an impression.

Some will stay for the day, but most leave after a few hours, and when they do, I always feel sorrow for those they have left behind.

Sometimes I wonder what my friends think when they see their loved ones leaving, but I know it's none of my business. And I never asked them because I had learned that we all deserve our secrets.

But soon, I will tell you some secrets of mine.

I put a notebook and a magnifying glass on the table beside me, feeling the pain in my bones while doing so, and I realized once again how cold my body was. Even reading in the morning sun does not help. However, this did not surprise me anymore, as my body was making its own rules lately.

However, I was not entirely unlucky. The people who work here know me and do their best to make me more comfortable. They had left me hot tea at the end of the table, and I grabbed it with both hands.

It was an attempt to pour a cup, and I did it because tea was necessary to warm me up and I thought the exertion would keep me from being completely rusty. But I'm rusty now, no doubt. Rusty like a twenty-year-old garbage car in Parung, Bogor.

I've been reading this morning, as I do every morning, because it's something I have to do. Not for duty, though I suppose this case can be made up for it, but for other more romantic reasons.

I wish I could explain it more fully now, but it's too early, and talking about romance is no longer possible before lunch, at least not for me. Besides, I don't know how it turned out, and to be honest, I'd rather not get my hopes up.

We spend every day together now, but our nights are spent alone. The doctors told me I wasn't allowed to see this man after dark. I understood the reason completely, and even though I agreed with them, sometimes I broke the rules.

Late at night when my mood was good, I would sneak out of my room and go to the man's room, watching him as he slept. About this he knows nothing. I'm gonna go in and watch her breathe and know that if it wasn't for her, I would never have gotten married. And when I saw his face, a face I knew better than mine, I knew that I meant a lot to him. And it means more to me than I can hope to explain.

Sometimes, as I stood there, I thought about how lucky I was to have been married to her for almost forty-nine years. Next month will be that long.

He heard me snore for the first forty-five minutes, but since then we have been sleeping in separate rooms.

I can't sleep well without him. I went back and forth and longed for her warmth and lay there most of the night, eyes wide open, watching the shadows dancing on the ceiling like tumbleweed rolling through the desert. I sleep two hours if I'm lucky, and I still see him waking up before dawn. It doesn't make sense to me.

[Tumbleweed is a grass-type plant that can reach 1.8 meters in height. As it dries Tumbleweed rolls in the wind direction, as well as sowing its seeds.]

The notes in my pocket book became shorter and took less time to write. I make it simple now, because most of my days are the same.

Since our night was our own, I was asked to visit another one. Usually I do, because I have been empowered to do that since I was in Bandung, I was a reader and I was needed, or so I was told.

I walked down the hall and chose where to go because I was too old to devote myself to the schedule, but deep down I always knew who needed me.

They were my friends, and when I opened their doors, I saw rooms similar to mine, always half dark, lit only by lights hanging from the ceiling. The furniture is the same for everyone, and the TV is on because no one can hear it well anymore.

Men or women, they smiled at me as I walked in and spoke in whispers as they turned off their devices. "I'm so glad you came" they said, and then they asked about my husband.

Sometimes I tell them. I might tell them about her sweetness and charm and explain how she taught me to see the world as a beautiful place. Or I tell you from our early years together and explain how we had everything we needed when we hugged each other under the starry southern sky.

On special occasions I whispered about our adventures together, about the art shows in New York and Paris or the warm welcome from critics who wrote in languages he did not understand.

However, for the most part, I smiled and told them that the condition was still the same, and they turned away from me, because I knew they didn't want me to see the expression on their faces. It reminds them of their own death. So I sat down with them and read to reduce their fear.

Be calm - relax with me. . .

Not until the sun excludes you, I exclude you, Not until the water resists sparkling for you and the foliage ripples for you, My words refuse to swallow and rustle for you.

And I read, so they know who I am.

I wandered all night in my vision, . . .

Bending with eyes open over the closed eyes of a sleeping person,

Wandering and confused, lost to myself, all wrong, contradictory,

Stop, stare, bend, and stop.