quarta-feira, 20 de fevereiro de 2013

Phantom Pains




By Larissa Rumiantzeff

The house might as well be a funeral. The matriarch looked out the window, avoiding her husband’s eyes. Their children kept busy.
It was the end of a long, torturing process. A wound on his heel, that never healed due to diabetes. His wound grew bigger, until it took over his foot. Endless trips to the hospital.
His youngest daughter, a doctor, who had been with him through all that, was who gave him the doctors’ final verdict.

“It’s Gangrene. They said they will have to amputate it, before it gets even worse”

José wouldn´t stop looking back at the things he took for granted. Walking, running. Driving! Would he be able to drive ever again? After all, he had built his life, bought his house with the Money he had earned by shipping goods on trucks. He reminisced, with longing, what his leg represented for him. And now it had ceased to exist. The piece of paper laying on the table was there to prove him right. How could there be a death certificate for a part of his own body?

Because of that, he was averting everyone’s glances. If so much as one person showed pity as he or she looked at him, it would make him feel sorry for himself, too. He stared at the stub, not knowing what to do. Socks, bandages and gels for amputated legs became part of his life. His walker truly creeped him out, as though the strange object mocked him. After the surgery, he came back home leaning on it, hoping, humiliated. And his intrument of torture would be his constant companion until he was strong enough to think of wearing a prosthetic leg.

He felt pain and itch on his absent limb, but he could not scratch it, and it drove him insane, which increased his depression even more. When he complained about it, his daughter, the doctor, said they were phantom pains in his leg.

Amidst all this, only one person had the nerve to look at him straight on his face, unaware of the commotion. It was his four year old granddaughter, who was living there with her mother. But something in the little girl’s greenish eyes kept him from looking away. She did not feel sorry for him. She was curious. His granddaughter opened her eyes wider, as she heard her mother speak of phantom pains.

A trace of humor came and went, a ghost of a smile, like the very pain. He pictured the child, so inocente, wondering if a phantom pain on his leg meant there was a ghost of a leg hoping around. There it was, a smile.
“Pop, when is your leg growing back?” – she asked, naturally. She was not afraid of the stub, like he was, but she must be afraid of phantom legs jumping all by themselves.

And there it was, another smile threatening to break free.

The girl’s eyes captured the walker, so scary to José. She reached for the handles, not without some difficulty. She lifted one leg behind her back and hopped, as she pushed the new toy forward. She had all eyes on her, apprehensive eyes, as she smiled, delighted with her prowess. She hopped once again, just like her pops had done, not long ago. Jose’s daughter finally stole a glance at her father, afraid of his reaction.
José let out a coarse laugh, unused to the sound after months. Then another. He could not control himself. The little girl would jump on one foot, and laugh when she fell down, as though his instrument of torture were a new scooter or a bike.

The phantom pain did not disappear. But it must be scared of the little girl, because it crouched to a dark, quiet little corner, and never hunted José anymore.