*coughing in the distance.*
"honey! Dear!"
*coughing grows louder*
"my dear are you up!?"
*wheezing like a dog*
"please be a dear and fetch me some water! "
"PLEASE!"
A viscous scowl had now been etched onto his face and he refused to open his eyes.
"Again", he thought.
Being plagued with unrest had become a habit, and it was a habit that he could no longer live with. As he lied down, sprawled across his sheets, his mother continued to cry out his name, coughing in agony. Her wails swept across the floor boards, echoed down the halls, knocked upon his door and rattled the sides of his bed. However, her plea fell on deaf ears, because the boy had been too concerned with his own regard for comfort and rest.
"It's late", he thought.
He had become irratated and muttered a few slurs before using his pillow to shut his ears. But the ever growing volume of merciless coughing added to the loathsome experience.
He began to mumble under his breath,"the crickets attempt to lull me to sleep but you continue to pester me with your relentless coughing. I'm tired. I'm so, so tired. Why can you not let me be? Why should I deliver you from death's door? Can you not pass over silently. The bed is warm and the bosom of my pillow gifts me with comfort. Please let me be. I don't have the strength to see you in such a state. So,please, let me be... "
Suddenly...
Her wails were ushered out by a peaceful silence. It was as if she heard the words that had peeped from the ever stretching hallway.
She began whimpering like a dog. Tears trickled from her puffed cheeks and she remained seated beneath her sheets while covering her mouth, attempting to muzzle her coughs. Yet, despite her best efforts, there had been no audible change . So the boy, who felt encumbered by the need to rest, ignored her cries till the morning light.
When the morning arrived, he felt remorseful, but refused to show it, since he had to proceed with his new found responsibilities. He trotted towards his study and prepared another dosage of herbal tea.
Pacing around frantically before grabbing something that might seem useful.
He arched over his desk attempting to grab the necessary vials to procure a remedy.
He clenched each vial and prayed over it with such vigor that it would put a priest to shame.
The towns folk who heard his prayers said that the word he used held such passion that it sounded as if he were speaking in tongues.
He then grabbed a ceramic stone-like bowl from a nearby shelf that towered over him. He reached for the pestle suspended by the chains that loomed above his head and proceeded to grind the mixture of lavender, garlic, and chomomile into powder. He then wrapped himself in pieces of cloth that had been marinating in a pot of boiled herbs. He didn't mind the smell, but he did wish for a sweeter scent. As he trotted towards the threshold of his mother's door, he found that it was quiet.
Unusually quiet.
With his heart throbbing like pistons, he pried open the door, and found that his mother's paleness mirrored that of a corpse.
He shuffled with urgency, nearly dropping the tray. He knelt down, and placed his hand upon her belly. It greeted him with a feint stillness. He hung his head in defeat.
"it's all my fault", he thought.
His eyes began to swell up with tears.
But then...
His mother shuffled to her side, he felt a sense of relief lighten the burden on his shoulders.
"hah you're okay!", a relieving sigh accompanied his statement.
"of course, why wouldn't I be ", his mother responded with a smile stretching from ear to ear.
"don't look so troubled, I still plan to see my grandchildren before I go. Hahaha!", she said while chuckling.
The boy tightly clutched the metal tray and looked at the floor in shame.
'her voice sounds hoarse', he thought.
"must have been difficult coughing the whole night", he muttered.
Mother: what was that dear?
Baryonis: oh nothing.
He begun cleaning her wounds with the spare cloth that had been marinating in the pot. He was gentle at the touch, avoiding the boils that would burst if grazed incorrectly. It was a disgusting sight. The boils had been nestled between her pits, crotched between her legs and lurching from her neck.
Though his mother tried to stay still, the uproar in her chest caused her to cough and jerk from time to time. As a result, the boils spurted in his face about 5 times before he was done cleaning. However, he was unfazed through out the entire process. Once he was done cleaning, he sat down beside her.
Mother: Did I ever tell the story about mistress Cleopatra?
Baryonis: I don't think so?
Mother: well, Cleopatra was well known for seducing Julius Cesar which allowed her to rise to power in the land of Egypt.
Baryonis: Really!?
Mother:(beaming with joy) yes! Though many believe her charm originated from her good looks, she was actually unsightly by Roman beauty standards.
Baryonis: Really, how so?
Mother: well for one, she had a hook shaped nose similar to that of a hag.
Baryonis: oh, then how did she seduce Julius Cesar?
Mother: many claim that she used theatrical scenery.
Baryonis(confusion written across his face)
:Theatrical scenery?
Mother: yes! Apparently, Cleopatra sent one of her guards to the door of Julius Cesar in the form of a carpet. When the guard unrolled the carpet in front of the eyes of Julius, Cleopatra emerged from he carpet, barely clothed, like the birth of venus.
Baryonis:like the painting, "Birth of Venus"?
Mother: yes! It was this boldness that won the heart of Julius Cesare and allowed her to ascend to power.
Baryonis(in a tone of bewilderment) : what an insightful story. I'd like to hear more like it when I get back.
Mother(brimming with joy): I'll be sure you do.
The boy placed the cup in his mother's palms and waited for her to finish. When she was done, he took the tray and graced his farewell.
'I love you! ', she yelled.
'I love you to Ma!', he yelled back, shutting the door behind him.
As soon as Baryonis reached his study, he fell to his knees, dropping the tray and shattering the glass. He ripped the 10 pieces of cloth and rags covering his face and proceeded to vomit. He could perfectly hide it in his mother's presence, especially when the boils spurted in his face, but this was his limit. His innards continued to churn like butter, and his floor had now been saturated with a bitter marsh.
Even though it tormented him, he had to put up with it.
Even though he has heard the story of mistress Cleopatra for the 17th time, it made her happy, so he had to put up with it.
Even though seeing her in an unsightly state made him feel like running, he had to put up with it.
Even though the situation frustrated him, he had to put up with it.
All because he wanted to spend the remaining time with his mother while she was happy, he chose to put up with it. Because he knew that if he didn't, he would regret it.
He gathered himself, cleaned his mess and left for work.