Mother! A short story of Anchan

Nui's mother passed away a few days ago. Missing her mother, the girl goes into shock, has nightmares and stops communicating. The doctor and grandma don't know what to do.  This story tells of the dreams in which she meets her mother in strange circumstances. A monologue in which Nui addresses her deceased mother.

Mother died two nights ago.

There is a hole I made in the half-height curtain on the window frame. It is embroidered with a knitted bunny looking at the moon that we bought together at the Phahurat market in Bangkok. I can still hear you threatening to slap me if I do that again.

You know what, mommy? I did it again. Guess where your curlers are? I took them and pretended they were the wheels of a steamroller. Then I left them under the mango tree, and they got wet there. 

I remember how you hugged and rocked me to the beat of your homemade song. You loved it when you first heard me sing it and when you saw me dance to it you shook with laughter. But when your fingers felt the garden soil I had sprinkled on my head, you got angry. You shouted that you had never seen a child as naughty as me. When I stopped singing and started crying you said you would hit me if I didn't stop crying. And you made me take a shower.

After the shower I sneaked into the toilet with a leaf from the breadfruit tree to wipe my buttocks. It was you who told me I'm a big girl now and have to learn to wash my own ass. You sensed that something was not right and came to see. You couldn't hold back your laughter when you washed my ass.

Did you find out yet that I took the young jackfruits? I pick them up every time I pick leaves. But I blamed the bats; you believed me and got mad at them… It was me, mom, I was naughty again.

Tonight I'm all alone in the big bed, my eyes wide open. I'm lying right where you slept; with my head on your pillow. I'm not crying. You are so special to me; too special to cry for and that's how I ease the pain.

(youyuenyong budsawongkod / Shutterstock.com)

General practitioner Lek

Everyone has gone to the temple to be with you. Everyone except grandma and the people who stay here. Because doctor Lek said they have to keep an eye on me. Grandma loves me as much as you do, but she doesn't know about the little secrets I've been hiding in the holes and crevices of the house. No, none of the precious treasures pirates have hidden behind the kitchen, and none of Doraemon's hiding place by the cupboard. Doraemon, the clever robocat who steps out of my comic book to play hide and seek with me.

But the biggest secret is hidden in your rattan handbag under the bed. You guarded it excessively well, but even you couldn't restrain me. I had to crawl under the bed to get it and it had pictures of a handsome man in it. This is the one little secret I've never dared to ask you about, though I've cried many times and begged you to buy me a father instead of the teddy bear.

The light from the moon is filtered through the holes in the curtain, creating dancing shadows on the mirror. You loved to sing and dance at every moment of the day more than anyone else. Sometimes I found you dancing, all alone in front of the mirror. But when you saw me you stopped, shy, and smiled.

But tonight all I have is shadows. My heart is congested and skips every now and then. The half-height curtain hangs still. Cool wind whips in and the curtain moves. Bright rays of the moon come into the room and the shadows come to life, and it feels like you're dancing next to me now. This feeling is getting stronger and I'm waiting for you to hug me and let me cry in your lap. I start sobbing in fear but hold back my tears until you come back. Then I'll cry it all out to make you feel bad for keeping me waiting.

click!

The sound of the switch. The room is full of light; the shadows are gone. I stop crying and turn my face to the wall. Grandma comes to check on me again. 'Noo! Now dear, I have rice soup with meat for you. Come on, quick!' I turn away from the soup bowl; doesn't even want to talk let alone eat. So I shake my head and try to avoid grandma's hand, but she doesn't give up that easily. "Come on, I'm going to feed you. Open your mouth, honey…"

It is she who cries as she happily entered. I take a few spoonfuls of soup to get rid of her and I see that I make her happy. Then she walks to the window and pulls back the curtain, letting fresh air into the hot room. She takes the soup into the kitchen and I'm alone again.

I'm in the dark again. Only my eyes move and follow the shadows of the magnolia branches. Shadows moving in the mirror. The scent of the magnolia flowers fills my room but I was not aware of it. That mirror, that's what it's all about.

Ah, mom. What should I do to see you again? I promise never to put a hole in the curtain again. Will never play with your curlers again. Never again will reap young fruits. And never talk about the photos you loved. Mama come back to me. Please mom!

My eyelids are getting heavy. The darkness behind them becomes so intense that I quickly open them again. My heart beats audibly, but it calms down when I see the shadows move merrily on the floor. I often have nightmares and you know it, Mom. Often I would wake up crying because I was afraid of the evil spirits in my eyes. Then you turned to hug and kiss me until I fell asleep again. You told me not to be afraid when you were there and then I turned back and closed my eyes.

A nightmare

I sat all alone on tree roots and shoveled sand. Didn't know where you went. Sat beside the giant trunk of an ancient tree, so old its bark was coarse and rough. The gnarled branches rose above the huge abyss that dropped steeply. The tree stood all alone on the edge of that rock face.

Stick my neck out to look down and I saw the sea far away and a strip of sand along the cliff face. I forced myself to believe this was like the times I played on Cha-Am beach, but something told me this was different. The sea was not indigo blue but deep black and unfathomable, motionless, no sign of waves. The whole scene was deathly silent; breathless.

This place scared me so much that I stopped shoveling and hurriedly climbed the tree. If I climbed to the top I was sure to find a safe place between his green arms. But as soon as my hands grabbed the branch that hung over the canyon, the tree shook violently as if it were uprooting itself. Suddenly the sea began to groan as if the seabed had been pried loose. A gaping hole had formed that sucked up the water with such force that all the water was gone and all I could see was gravel at the bottom.

Then it became clear to me that the tree was an entrance door that had been closed before. Its roots went very deep into the seabed, preventing anything from escaping, anything that was there. By touching that branch I had caused a vibration that spread to the roots that held that door shut. The force was so strong that the seabed cracked open into a deep wound in the earth.

I grabbed the branch with both hands as my body floated above the abyss. Looked down and saw a monster watching me from the depths. He laughed and his hands came higher and higher to grab me. I screamed and thrashed into the air, afraid he could reach me with his hands. If that happened, I would never wake up again.

In that dream I tried to open my eyes but I couldn't. And then I saw you, mom. There you were with a ladder. You propped the ladder against the tree and moved the steps as if you knew which places not to touch. Also saw my brown teddy bear Teddy taking the dotted red ribbon off his neck and tying the ladder to the tree. I saw the creep's hands move further and further away from me.

You dried my tears and handed me to Teddy who made me sit on the floor. You had a magic sword made of erasers and with all your strength you cut the monster. Where you hit him, that body part disappeared. I heard the water cluck and saw sea water coming out of the hole to replenish the sea. On your shoulders you took me to the beach below.

Then you took a box of crayons from your bag and we colored the sea blue. Teddy puffed out his cheeks and flattened the sea into small waves. Waves that you and I went splashing in. Before we left we colored the bare tree in the brightest red, yellow and green. I remember the beauty of that.

When I woke up the next morning and asked you about that night I was scolded; you called it a nonsensical dream. But in your eyes I saw it was true. When we went back to bed you told me a little secret that even grandma doesn't know. You said that even if heaven should separate us, the love between mother and child will bridge that distance and bring us back together. You handed me the box of crayons and stroked my cheek until I got sleepy. And no matter how many times I turned over, your perfume always lulled me to sleep.

But now I have to be strong and close my eyes, all alone in bed. I see deep darkness behind my closed eyelids. That darkness slowly disappears like water, dripping on a neatly painted black surface, slowly turning gray. I think if loneliness or fear were a color it would be grey.

Immediately I see that monster coming towards me, his mouth cramped in a silent laugh. That makes it all even worse. One of his eyes comes loose and hangs by his jaws. Before I can utter a peep, eye number two also comes loose and forms a face of unimaginable ugliness. Although my eyes are closed I am still awake so what I see is not a fabrication.

It has come back to me, that's for sure. It found out that I am alone without you. I open my eyes because I know that he can only move forward when my eyes are closed. The fresh wind disappears and the insects outside are silent. The scent of the magnolia fades and the moon creeps behind a cloud. But the fireflies are multiplying and shimmering in the garden canopy. The more I look, the more they seem like evil spirits standing watch endlessly. 

I call for grandma but no sound comes from me. Grandma, who always comes to check on me. Where is she now? If the monster can put head and body back together how is grandma going to live with that? Hours pass and I get sleepy. 

The moon slowly reappears. The wind is here and the shadows of the magnolia return to the floor; they slowly climb to my bed and dance. I see sunbeams. Remember my box of crayons. Grab soft pink and I'll start drawing you. A race against time.

The creep has rebuilt himself and wants to get my crayon. I'm not done with your hands that can hold me and push me safely away. Then you start singing our song and you nod to me as you arrange the musical notes that come out of your mouth. The musical notes form rows of soldiers with you as a general. Countless nuts form a chain that will bind the monster and cover him completely. Every note joins your song and it reverberates in the room.

When the music dies down I stop crying and see two ping pong balls where the monster's eyes used to be. Where his arms were I see two brushes that I asked you. I find my crayon and hurry to draw your hand so that the drawing is complete. I cry out all the held back tears as soon as I feel safe in your embrace. 

We hug and then you tell me your last little secret. You say that when I want to see you, I will find you in the words and in the rhythm of the songs I sing. In the ABC I write, in the drawings I make, and in the clay when I model. You say you are always with me, in my small but immeasurably imaginative heart.

click!

The light is on; the room is bathed in light. Open my eyes and see grandma open the mosquito net to look at me. 

'Grandma! Can I have an Ovomaltine?' I slide over to her and she holds me tight, her tears falling on my cheeks and she keeps yelling, “Nit! Nit! Nui said something! Call Dr. Lek and tell him that Nui is talking again!'

The scent of her perfume floats around her, displacing the scent of the magnolia. I gently press against her and in seconds I'm fast asleep, my cheeks wet with her tears.

-The-

Source: The South East Asia Write Anthology of Thai Short Stories and Poems. An anthology of award-winning stories and poems. Silkworm Books. The English title is 'Mother!' Translated and edited: Erik Kuijpers. The text has been shortened.

The author is Anchan, Mrs. Anchalee Vivatanachai (1952). See the explanation by Tino Kuis https://www.thailandblog.nl/cultuur/bedelaars-kort-verhaal/ and from Lung Jan https://www.thailandblog.nl/achtergrond/thailand-om-dichterlijk-van-te-worden/

About this blogger

Eric Kuypers

Built in 1946. Nicknamed 'Running tax almanac' and worked in that profession for 36 years. Moved to Thailand at 55. Disability forced him from his family in Nongkhai to a house with home care and mobility scooter in Súdwest-Fryslân.

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