Fiction: To My Left, On My Bed
TO MY LEFT, ON MY BED
JUNE 8, 2007 – IN THE CENTRE OF HER BACK, between two knobby outgrowths of spine, there’s a mole. It rises slightly from the skin, a tiny hillock of dull red, shaped like a strawberry with its top chewed off.
It’s not a mole, she concluded one afternoon, when I told her about my discovery. She tried to feel it first, her fingers running across the ridge of her back, trying to find out where it was. I put my index finger on it, she brought hers to meet it. I have to see it, she said. I brought out the mirrors, the small one that I use in front of the bathroom mirror to check how much worse my bald spots have gotten, and the bigger one she keeps in her drawer. We went back and forth, moving the mirrors here and there, then she squealed. That’s a boil. She pointed at a brown bump, yet another reason she hated the sun and the humidity.
Not that… that, I showed her. That’s not a mole, she said, that’s a naevus. What’s that, I asked. That’s what it is, a naevus. When I looked it up in the dictionary after she fell asleep, it said: “a congenital pigmented area on the skin.” Naevus.
I didn’t see what difference it made what we called it, it was a birthmark. All this time… and I never knew it existed – but then, it was only recently that she began to turn the other way and sleep, her back to me.
Now her back is all I see. The mo… naevus is what caught my attention, but then, over the many nights, my eyes got around to the rest of the cocoa skin, from her newly visible neck (thank you, slick haircut) to the patches of skin my banian exposed. The heat had driven her to my underwear. A minute with a pair of scissors later, she had a makeshift athletic bra.
From the ragged edges of the banian I can no longer wear to the top of her shorts is the best part. It’s got the naevus, and I like seeing how the skin from both extremes of her torso seems to converge in the centre. It’s as if the skin is being pulled together by a zipper made of little, protruding bones. When she sleeps on her side, I sometimes switch on the lamp on my side, and her smooth darkness gleams quietly. Then she rolls over, onto her stomach, and the light catches the naevus. It’s not dull anymore; it’s an angry creature from inside her spine burrowing its way out.
Occasionally, I reach out and touch her lightly. In the early years, before the pills, when her face would be inches away from mine, this would awaken her instantly. She’d know what was running through my mind. If we hadn’t fought, she’d smile sleepily and plop onto my chest.
Now, she hardly feels my touches. Her arm goes around the pillow on the other side. I miss her face in bed. I sometimes imagine the smart mop of hair at the back of her head is really her face, and that these curls have covered the eyes, the nose, the mouth. Then I see the naevus and I know. It’s not the face.
It’s only for a month more, the doctor says. That’s not so bad.
(568 words, including title)
This is something I wrote about three years ago. Found it today while rummaging through my computer and thought I’d put it up…
I like the idea of rummaging through one’s computer! The hard drive becomes a cupboard of sorts and as you rummage around, objects you had long forgotten about surface and with them, memories of different times and places come rushing back.
Beautiful…waiting for fiction from you from the time I started reading your reviews. Is there a book on the cards?
A unique addition, thanks for sharing Baradwaj. Keep them coming, keep rummaging.
Hi,
It is an interesting post. Thanks for sharing.
Preet
Hello Baradwaj,
A nice piece indeed! Not read anything like this from you. Liked it a lot. Yenku vayasaach, kanne theriyalai.
Sincerely hope you still find the time to write these pieces. Beautiful.
aswin: That’s a beautiful extrapolation of an offhand word I used.
Deepa, Rakesh, Preet, Jayanthi, Mickie: Thanks. No book on the cards – at least, not yet
Baddy,
That’s got to be one of the most gut wrenching pieces I have read from you. It’s awesome.
Glad to see something that simillilarise a blog purpose to be. All review and critics are more and more like masala in a genre.
Anoop, Navin: Thanks guys.
Gotta agree with Deepa. Been waiting for fiction/non-reviews from you for quite a long time.. This is a good one, Baradwaj. Keep them coming!
brangan: Fancy being punted over here by Padawan! I was on your Harry Potter post thanks to a sudden urge to check out what you thought about the latest Potter movie that I caught this summer, when a Padawan query on your Flash Fiction artwork (and more importantly, your response: Matisse) caught my eye.
Now I have a poor eye for paintings but definitely a 20/20 for quotes (by painters, sculptors, shoemakers, carpenters, writers, you-name-the-profession). So here’s one from Matisse that I remember reading recently: The great thing about art is that no matter what happens to the painter, whatever the interruptions or vicissitudes of his life, the daffodil or the patch of sunlight is still waiting utterly unchanged, so that he can make it complete. Pretty profound, huh?
A word about your flash fiction. Forgive my ignorance of the form but is this piece complete unto itself or is it a vignette in a larger, as-yet-unfinished story? I must admit I don’t recall paying conscious attention to short stories since middle school, where some pretty good works by gurus of the form like O’Henry, A.A. Milne, and even Shakespeare were served up via prose text books. (I remember reading and being riveted by “The Merchant of Venice” and “Two Gentlemen of Verona,” abridged obviously, say, in 7th std for the first time.) I haven’t pursued the form in any seriousness since. Although whenever I hear folks talk about Ray Bradbury’s this and Raymond Chandler’s that, a part of me has always wanted to check ‘em out. Why didn’t I? Dunno. My answer could swing widely between “too busy juggling personal/professional life to read fiction” and “I was in memoir mode over a decade-long time warp.”
Contrary to just about everyone here who’s raved about this piece, the ignoramus in me has this sinking feeling of perhaps not getting it. Call me flash-fiction troglodyte! The piece would’ve worked swimmingly for me had you labled it “Personal Essay Vignette” because it reeked of just that kind of memoirish writing I’m so used to reading. I know, didn’t some great author already make a point about that? The reader always brings a bit of himself to the work.
I specifically didn’t get the two closing paras. We’re told the woman is on pills (for what?); now does this give us license to extrapolate the conclusion to mean that she’s consequently in some kind of soporific, sensation-numbing stupor and this guy sorely misses and wishes for the familiar sights/night-time-routines of the pre-pill days but nonetheless draws consolation from the fact that his discomfort is temporary and things would be “per usual” fairly soon? Now are you going to tell me that I actually got it or that I should go practise the fine art of reading between the lines?
First comment here! Was introduced to the site by a friend who is an ardent fan and I think I’m turning into something of an addict myself. Wonderfully sensitive reviews. Was…surprised by your interpretation of Shah Rukh Khan being slapped in KANK as something far more than just a cinematic cliche. Anyway, wanted to say that this is a delicious piece of writing, I hope you share more of your fictional pursuits here soon.
Awesome…i was in the midst of handling a crisis at work when I came across this! I read through the whole thing while keeping the boss on hold!!!
Fiction? Really?
Was left with the feeling of wanting more
thats a beautiful posts… I am subscribing to your blog …look fwd to reading more of interesting pieces…
cheers!