[Short Story] The Veil of Night #LiteraryAwardFromAPhoto
Tomorrow, Anthony is coming home from two and a half years of military service. I should have been waiting for this so desperately, yet I don't feel genuinely excited. Even though he proposed while he was deployed and we are officially engaged. Even though we can finally touch. Even though I should be able to sleep peacefully, wrapped in his scent at last.
Anthony was deployed to East Africa, where the tension of an ongoing civil war is impossible to ignore. At first, I was worried sick, but he convinced me that he was strictly in a monitoring role and would never be involved in a firefight. He contacted me as much as he could between missions, and I would count the time difference, feeling relieved every time I could hear his voice for even a short while or see him becoming more rugged on the screen, keeping the hope of our reunion alive in my heart. The relaxing times with his fellow soldiers, the foreign scenery he saw in town on his days off. How happy he was with the care packages I sent. The more he tried to convey his experiences, the more the difference in the flow of time—so far removed from my daily life—pierced my skin. His purity. I love him from the bottom of my heart. And yet, right now, something heavy and ultramarine is swirling deep within me.
My cell phone rang, bringing me back to reality.
“Hi.”
“Ann, how are you?”
It’s Nicole. Her husband, Johan, was deployed to the same place as Anthony and returned home a year and a half ago. She is currently “heavily pregnant” with their second child and says that talking to friends is her only joy, while she worries about me, the one who is “waiting.” She tells me not to overthink things and not to spend too much time alone. Nicole, who is five years older than me, is like a reliable older sister.
“Tomorrow, huh? How does it feel? The role of the devoted heroine waiting for her fiancé who serves his country is coming to an end.”
At Nicole’s words, the ultramarine inside me turned into a dull, mercury-like color, cold and thick and viscous. The wind from the window blew the unfinished letter off my desk.
“It feels like I’m watching a festival from far away,” I confessed to Nicole without thinking.
“It’s fine, really. Everyone else is just making it dramatic and treating you like a saint on their own. It’s a huge mistake to think women are that simple.”
“How was it for you, Nicole? When Johan came back, were you happy?”
“At first, sure. But look, in the end, the protagonist is always the hero who put his body on the line, right? Johan is a good man, that’s for sure, but whether he’s a hero or just a regular husband, life goes on. And yet, after being assigned the role of the saint, you’re then assigned the role of the holy mother. Whose justice is this anyway? It really makes me angry.”
Paul’s existence flashed through my mind. His long, slender fingers. The shadow and gentleness drifting from his crisp white shirt. My cheeks grew hot, and I instinctively looked out the window. Purple clouds were moving, slowly blocking the yellow sunlight from the west. The sunset spreading beneath the clouds. My girlhood was being wrapped in the veil of night and buried in darkness. No, it was the girl version of me that I needed to bury myself. The room had grown quite dark.
“Listen, Ann. Women are complex. And that’s fine. The world of men is simple and violent. The world of women is mean and full of jealousy. If you stay sane, you can’t stay pure.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Men have it easy; as long as they stay eternal boys, both their moms and the world are happy. Women are different. If you stay a girl, you’re irresponsible; if you enter society, you’re treated as incompetent and given only chores; if you become a mother, you’re seen as unappealing; if you get old, you have no value as a woman. If you’re happy, you’re flighty; if you’re unhappy, it’s your own fault. It’s expected that you protect your children and your home perfectly. And yet, you’re expected to always be cheerful and act as if it’s all fun—the world is clearly out of its mind. Oh, forget it, it’s all the hormones! Sorry, Ann!”
I was remembering the sound of the piano Paul played. His body heat resonated through my own body; I had wanted to be swept away just like that, at that live house that night.
“Nicole, if there’s anything I can help with, let me know. Shopping, cleaning, anything.”
“Thanks. I’ll eat some ice cream and cool my head. I’ll bring meatballs to Anthony’s welcome party tomorrow.”
“Don’t push yourself. It would be reassuring if you could come, though.”
“If you say that, I’ll get all fired up! Oh, the baby just kicked! It’s okay, because both our parents will be there tomorrow, right? I’ll play the part of the reliable, good girl properly.”
“Thank you. That really helps.”
“See ya.”
It was half a year ago that I went to Paul’s live show, invited by Magda, a classmate from my music college days. Was it love at first sight? Or first sound? After the performance, I joined him at the bar, and the sense of euphoria he radiated made my body feel like it was melting. A person of sound who shakes your cells, who is male, female, old, and childish all at once, and who sets you free into the universe.
Even so, I desperately protected the lady I was. Which is the truth, my heart or my body? Reason and instinct. Physical sensation and morality. I wondered which one was the real me. My body was telling me that if I connected with Paul, there would be no turning back. For the first time, I wanted to lose my heart.
The night sky and the dark room had melted into one.
“It’s okay. Tomorrow, Anthony will make me forget. I’m doing a good job of being a good girl.”
I whispered that and closed the window.
Hanazawa-sama, I am submitting this entry. Thank you very much.
# Literary Award From A Photo
https://presswalker.jp/press/20259