The Letter in the Spare Room

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Apart from a few years early on, his parents had lived all their married life here. Now with his mother's passing they both were gone. </div> <bR> <div> The house itself seemed to reflect the sombreness of the moment, and Norman could detect a sense of melancholy that had never before been there. As long as he could remember, it had been a happy house. It certainly had been full of laughter during the time he and his two sisters had spent their boisterous childhood years in its warm and comfortable rooms.</div> <div>   </div> <div> Indeed he could remember only one period of unhappiness. That had been when his father had died so mysteriously and unexpectedly some fifteen years before.</div> <bR> <div> Norman wandered aimlessly through the rooms, his fingers caressing the items of furniture of which his mother had been so fond. Each room had its own particular memories which enfolded him as he stepped through its door; warm happy memories of children, of parents, of grandparents; recollections of Christmases, birthdays and holidays; of friends and neighbours. </div> <bR> <div> Many of the rooms had their own special corners and cupboards, where he, his sisters and cousins had played hide and seek, or just hidden to be out of the way of the adults. </div> <bR> <div> He came to the stairs and stood at their foot in silent contemplation. After a while, he found himself on the upper landing and recalled the times when, as a young boy, he had watched through the window at the changing seasons; the sun and the rain, the snow settling silently on tree and shrub.</div> <bR> <div> He stood looking out of that same window as he leaned against the spare room door. He always thought of it as the spare room now, but until 15 years ago it had been his father's study, full of books and business papers. </div> <bR> <div> The thought of his father disturbed the pigeon holes of Norman's memory, so that they scattered their contents in a confusion of dusty, hazy remembrances: fatherly discipline and advice; walks in the woods with their discoveries of nature's secrets; shared visits to cricket and football matches; and above all, having his father there to turn to in times of trouble. </div> <bR> <div> How many times, he wondered, had that wise parent helped him to see more than one side to a problem? After which, instead of imposing a solution, he would encourage Norman to find his own way round the difficulty. "Nothing", his father had said, " is insurmountable, if your determination is strong enough."</div> <bR> <div> Then one day, like a bolt from the blue, his father had died. The suddenness of his passing stunned family and friends alike. Everyone assumed that he had suffered a fatal heart attack, but the post-mortem showed nothing wrong with his heart. The doctor had said that is was almost as if he had given up living and decided to switch himself off.</div> <bR> <div> Norman's mother had felt her loss acutely. She had first come to Britain at the time of her marriage, and had adopted the people and the country as her own. Her reliance upon her husband was almost total and she allowed him to make all the major decisions. She believed that her primary role was in looking after the home and family. </div> <bR> <div> It had been a happy marriage, of this Norman was sure. Indeed, he often had heard it said that his parents had as near perfect a marriage as was possible. They were as suited to each other as flowers are to summer, and everyone who knew them was shocked when the summer was so abruptly taken away.</div> <bR> <div> At the height of her bereavement, it seemed as if his mother would never cope, so heavy had her dependence been upon her husband, but in the end, she drew her ability to carry on from the very strength and love of the marriage itself. She never really lost her mate, for in her mind he always remained to support and encourage her in times of difficulty. Thus even after his death, her ultimate reliance upon him remained. </div> <bR> <div> Now, after fifteen years, she too was gone.</div> <bR> <div> Norman slowly turned the handle of the spare room door and went in. It was the only part of the house which did not feel as if it were lived in. To be sure, the memories were present, but here they were packed away in trunks and cardboard boxes. The cast off accoutrements of yesterdays, which were long gone.</div> <bR> <div> Here under a gentle coating of dust, were the discards of a lifetime that his mother had never quite had the heart to throw away. The reminders of his father were now mostly hidden under or behind boxes, which contained items that had been put away in more recent years. Some had become almost permanent residents of the spare room: an old dinner service; suitcases from past remembered holidays; and books and books and books, long ago read and forgotten.</div> <bR> <div> The young man stood in the silent room, only just beginning to comprehend that his was the responsibility of sorting out his mother's effects. As he looked around at the collection of boxes, it occurred to him that there were enough containers there to fill a grocer's stock room. </div> <bR> <div> He let his glance drift over to the window, near which stood a single, dilapidated chair. Next to the chair was a tall, dusty filing cabinet. Norman well remembered that cabinet. It had belonged to his father, a neat, orderly man, and had contained his business papers and those household documents which he considered important. </div> <bR> <div> He walked over to the cabinet, then opened the drawers. They were empty of all but dust and an occasional cobweb. The thought ran through his mind that the cabinet would be useful for his own papers. He tried to move it; even empty it still was too heavy to lift easily. Maybe he could move it if the drawers were taken out. </div> <bR> <div> He slid each one off its runners, releasing the catch that secured it in the cabinet. Then he stacked the drawers on the floor.</div> <bR> <div> Returning to the cabinet, he again tested its weight; now it seemed much lighter and he was able to lift it from the floor. As he moved it, an envelope, which had been caught in one of the joints inside the cabinet, fluttered to the floor, like the last leaf of summer that has survived the autumn gales and clings tenaciously to its twig, until eventually, the winter's storms dislodge it.</div> <bR> <div> Norman picked it up. Once the dust had been wiped away, the name and address were plain to see: A Mrs. Helen Eames in Exeter. He did not recognise the name, but the writing was clearly his father's. He turned over the envelope; the flap was unsealed and he could see that there was a letter inside. He sat on the edge of the chair and began to read. It was dated two days before his father's death.</div> <bR> <div> "My Dear Helen,</div> <bR> <div> Now that I have come to accept that I shall never see you again, I feel I must put down my thoughts on paper. Whether or not I shall post this letter, I do not know.</div> <bR> <div> Let me begin at the beginning. When I was young I had a friend called Anna, who claimed she had clairvoyant powers. This clairvoyance was not apparent all the time, but occasionally she would have sudden and strange insights into the future. I found her predictions funny, and treated them as a huge joke, but even so, much of what she foretold came about. Perhaps it was coincidence and intelligent guesswork. Who can say? </div> <bR> <div> Whatever it was, I clearly remember her once predicting that within two years I would travel to Eastern Europe and bring back a wife!</div> <bR> <div> My dear Helen, I could not help being amused at such an outrageous suggestion, for I had no intention of marrying for many years, nor to travel behind what was then called the iron curtain. </div> <bR> <div> She was serious however, and insisted that it would so occur. She went on to tell me that there would be three children, and that I would experience real happiness and contentment for many years. Then suddenly someone would appear on the scene and my life would never again be the same. </div> <bR> <div> Of course I did not believe any of this, and a few weeks later our jobs took us to different parts of the world. I have neither seen nor heard of Anna since.</div> <bR> <div> As you know Helen, I did visit East Europe and married Olga. There was family and official objection to the marriage; so we were the more determined to make it work. To be honest, Olga originally just wanted to come to the West and I was able to supply that freedom. For my part, looking back later, I was able to see that I probably had married on the rebound from Anna.</div> <bR> <div> So the marriage was built on somewhat shaky foundations, and yet over the years, we were able to establish trust, understanding and loyalty for one another. When our three children came along, it bound us even closer and we became really quite a happy family unit. Although Olga admitted that she had not at first loved me, this grew on her, as did her total dependence upon me and my decisions. </div> <bR> <div> This dependence was, I suppose, due to the insecurity caused by her wartime upbringing, and by the society in which she had lived since then. And that, Helen, is how things were when you met me.</div> <bR> <div> The day that you were transferred to our firm is etched upon my mind. During my life I have met many people; some of whom were beautiful women. Not once, however, was I tempted to build a relationship with any of them. Until that is, I met you. </div> <bR> <div> I was struck down overnight by an impossible longing and love for you that was outside my comprehension. The Lord knows I was no teenager, but in the space of twentyfour hours, my life was turned upside down. Over the years I had built an emotional defence around myself and had become comfortably content. At a single stroke, you destroyed the wall around me and left me totally vulnerable. </div> <bR> <div> I knew that there was no future for me in a relationship with you, and yet everyday I did not see you was agony. You were my love story, and it was a story which could never have my chosen ending.</div> <bR> <div> I tried not to let you see more than a tiny glimpse of my feelings, but they must have been so obvious. For a while I believed the miracle could happen, until the dream disintegrated when, after two years in our department, you decided to leave the firm. I was devastated! </div> <bR> <div> Believe me, I do not exaggerate. If anything, I am understating the case. The memory of our lunch together on your last day, is as distinct as if it were only yesterday.</div> <bR> <div> Since then, dear Helen, I have thought of you everyday; I say a prayer for you everyday; I long for you everyday. I know that many men in my position would have left their wives, but that would mean pursuing my happiness at the cost of creating unhappiness for someone else. And that, my dear, ultimately would have destroyed both of us. </div> <bR> <div> I invested all of my emotions in you. Perhaps I should have saved some of them for a rainy day; but I did not, and now it is raining hard.</div> <bR> <div> So I am left with only the memories. As long as I live I will think of you and love you, but I have no right to ask for anything in return. This, therefore, is the last you will hear from me. I will leave you with this prayer which I first heard some thirty years ago:</div> <bR> <div> 'I pray the prayer that the Easterns do, </div> <div> May the Peace of Allah abide with you. </div> <div> Wherever you stay, wherever you go </div> <div> May the beautiful palms of Allah grow. </div> <div> Through days of labour, through nights of rest, </div> <div> May the Love of good Allah keep you blessed. </div> <div> So I touch my heart as the Easterns do, </div> <div> May the Peace of Allah abide with you.'</div> <bR> <div> Thank you for touching my life Helen, if only for a short time.</div> <div> Yours with all the love that I ever had, will have, or could have.</div> <bR> <div> Reg.</div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> ******************</div> <bR> <div> Norman finished reading the letter. The doctor's words of fifteen year's before came flooding back: "It was almost as if your father had given up living." </div> <bR> <div> Then Norman slowly tore the letter in pieces.</div> <bR> <div> If you enjoyed reading this story, you may be interested to know that Jack Windsor has published an anthology of 40 of his stories. It is called 'Secret of the Lake'. Published by Braiswick you can order it from your local bookstore or buy online from Amazon.com</div> <bR> <bR> <div> We shall be delighted if you visit our sister site at <A HREF="http://thegloob.tripod.com/wickfordtn" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://thegloob.tripod.com/wickfordtn"><U>Wickford and District Talking Newspaper for the the Blind</U></A> and see what those dedicated charity workers are doing.</div> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="#room" TITLE="The Letter in the Spare Room"><U><B>Back to Top</b></U></A></div> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>