Saturday, May 05, 2007

Dreading Wednesdays - the sad plight of being senior, single and scared.

Josephine Lokubadah was 85 years old. Her husband to whom she was married for sixty years had died. She had lived in this house in New Jersey all her married life. She had two daughters, Ganjah and Beedi. Both were married. Ganjah older of the two lived with her family in San Francisco. Beedi lived with hers in San Diego.

The New Jersey house though commodious and well appointed stirred memories that further compounded the sadness of her loss. She did not wish to live in this house any longer. Josephine Lokubadah owned a small house, free of encumbrances in the quiet village Shanksville in Pennsylvania. The house was situated very close to the homes of Amish families. Only the sound of the horse and trap separated her house from the Amish families. Josephine Lokubadah was convinced the tranquility of the Amish surroundings was ideal for her present troubled and undulating emotional state. Although feeble of body she was firm of resolve. The house in Shanksville had not been lived in for many years. She had it repaired and refurbished. It had a large bed room with attached bath and a spare room in the upper floor. The kitchen was on the ground floor. The finished basement had a half bath. The movers came in and transported items that she would need in her new dwelling. The bed and books into the large room. The exercise bicycle, television VCR and the small refrigerator in which she always had coke and cheese in the basement and so on. She moved into her new dwelling on a Sunday morning with groceries to last a week. She left everything just the way the movers had deposited them. Josephine Lokubadah had neither the desire nor the inclination to make new friends. She was going to live the life of a recluse. So long as she could find a good doctor she felt she needed no one else.

Her life fell in to a placid pattern. She remained confined indoors. Once a week she would set out in her elegant Saturn car to the super market for her groceries. Had an early meal, telephoned daughters Ganjah and Beedi to inform them she was doing fine and retired to her bedroom with a Grisham thriller. She had all her requirements in her bedroom. She bolted the bedroom door. Once in her bedroom she would not leave until after day break when she felt safe to do so.

The peace and quiet she longed for and enjoyed was not to last. One night she felt she heard sounds coming from the basement. She pulled the covers over her head and went to sleep. The next morning she found everything in its place. It must be my imagination she thought and went about her work. The following week she heard the sounds again. Demonic laughter, screams and gun shots in muffled tones were heard through the chinks in the door. She did not inform her children. She was afraid though. She chanted several mantras in the basement and burnt incense sticks to drive the evil spirits away. The weird sounds continued. She left food offerings, chocolate and chewing gum as well to assuage the stubborn spirits. The evil intruders could not be appeased.
"Haunted" " This house is haunted" she moaned. Thoughts of incubus, goblins and gnomes crashed through her frail mind. It occurred to her now that the sounds were heard on Wednesday nights. She was too frightened to check the time. She began to dread Wednesdays. The passing of each day meant a day closer to Wednesday. She lost her appetite. She became a bundle of twisted nerves. She could not bear this fear singly any longer. She called Ganjah and Beedi and cried. " I'm 85. I am a widow and I'm afraid" she wailed. Ganjah in San Francisco mentioned this to her husband Luke who replied " Your mother is going bonkers". At the same time in San Diego Harry was telling his wife Beedi " Your mother is going bonkers" The sisters conferred. The four of them talked it over on a conference call. It was decided that the mother should admit herself into a Senior Home where she would have company and would be cared for. " Leave me out of this" Luke and Harry protested in unison.

Who would make the suggestion to the mother? Neither Ganjah nor Beedi volunteered. You do not volunteer to twirl the whiskers of a tiger. Since there were no volunteers it was agreed that which ever daughter gets the first call on Thursday should patiently hear the mother out, count up to ten and then suggest that she should call the police as soon as she hears those noises.
Ganjah and Beedi through out the week reminded themselves continuously " Be patient" "Be patient" " Count upto ten". On Wednesday night Josephine Lokubadah heard those noises again. She felt she was coming apart. She could converse fluently in four different languages. She prayed in all four. The harrowing sounds, endless in time though she reckoned, usually lasted two hours. She prayed as never before that it should soon be over. She thought some one move up and down the stairs. And then as always there was silence. Ganjah's telephone rang in the morning. She knew it was her mother. The mother began " You know daughter " and before she could complete the sentence, Ganjah cut her " You should call the local police. That's what they are there for." The conversation exploded in mid sentence. Ganjah immediately regretted. This is not how she wanted it to come out. The mother fell silent. She whispered " Maybe I should call the police. Where the mantras have failed the might of the police may succeed". She signed off.

The whole week Mrs. Lokubadah devoted to memorizing the local police telephone number. If you had wished her "Good Morning" she would have replied with the police number. She thought of nothing else. As sure as Wednesday would come she heard the noises. Stretching her hand out from within the covers she lifted the telephone and punched the numbers. "I am 85 years old. I am a widow and I am afraid. Come immediately " she pleaded. They promised they would be there in less than five minutes. No one came and she passed the time in agony and prayer. The next morning she directed the call to Beedi. Beedi had been forewarned by her sister of her own disastrous performance. Beedi listened to everything the mother had to say. Counted up to twenty and replied. " You are a law abiding citizen. You pay your taxes. Complain to the officer in charge of the precinct." Mrs lokubadah agreed. The officer on duty who took the call referred to the notes and replied: " Madam a police car was sent. The officer found No:8, Windy Street quiet and as he cannot enter the premises without a search warrant or an invitation from the principal occupant he had to return."

Mrs Lokubadah informed the officer she lived in No: 18 and not in No: 8, Windy Street. " You have my permission to enter my house using whatever means." Mrs. Lokubadah told him. The officer made his notes and mildly amused informed his colleagues. She had a grand mother of the same age. The call did come on Wednesday night. It was around half past nine. There was nothing exciting going on that night. Four officers, two in mufti and two in uniform, armed and wearing bullet proof vests set out in two cars for No: 18 Windy Street. They parked their cars a distance away from the house. The two in mufti stayed by the cars, while the uniformed two treading very softly made their way to No: 18 hands on the trigger and in couched position. On the drive way they heard faint sounds filtering from the basement.

They let themselves in picking the front door lock.It was dark. An officer turned on the lights. Both officers fell to the floor and shouted "POLICE." They had their fingers on the trigger and on the ready. What they saw surprised them. They called out. "Mrs. Lokubabdah it's safe to come down now."

Mrs. Lokubadah came down to the basement. Tears welled up in her eyes. Seated in a large chair were two children no more than 8 years. There was an opened can of coke on the floor and crumbs of cheese on the children's faces. They had both fallen a sleep in a seated position. On the television screen Harry Potter tape was in progress. They were frightened at the sight of the police. They said they were children of Amish parents. They had no television in their home and were not allowed to watch movies. On Wednesday nights the parents had an Amish night of prayer and meditation from 8 O'clock to well past mid night. They borrowed tapes from friends and watched them in the basement of Mrs. Lokubadah. They were brother and sister. They pleaded with the police not to mention this to their parents. The punishment would be severe.

The police officers said " Let us make a deal. We will not inform your parents and you should not come to this house or any other house for that matter." They agreed. "Now" said one officer " Let us see how you get out." They both heaved and pulled aside the large chair in which they had fallen asleep. Behind the chair was a small trap door leading to the garden. Mrs. Lokubadah had not given thought to this door. As the chair was carelessly placed by the movers and she had not made any changes it remained that way. The children knew every corner and crevice in the house. They used to play for long hours in this house when it was unoccupied.

Two weeks later at the super market Mrs.Lokubadah saw the two children. They recognized her. They exchanged smiles and moved on. Mrs. Lokubadah was puzzled. " What are they up to this time? " she mused.

Amish children or adults for that matter do not shop at super markets. She quickly moved to the next aisle. She picked up a can of soup and turned back. A rueful expression lingered across the freckled face of this forlorn, frightened dowager.

Ruminating over her experiences of the past few weeks Mrs. lokubadah followed the children with her eyes until they were lost in the crush of shoppers.

A short story by K.B. Chandra Raj

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