Intersection

M. Andhy Nurmansyah

My father was sitting in his easy chair in the porch, doing nothing. He did that every morning to drench himself in the first light of the sun for two hours. When the sun rose higher I could see the deep wrinkles on his face. They were too deep for the sun to reach inside those lines. And I could see his flame was beginning to flicker out. My father, who was once a hard-working person, had become a weak man who needed someone, if only to wipe his beads of sweat. I didn't blame him and understood him well. He had been plunged into life's toughest phase.

I didn't want to disturb him while he was sunbathing. I thought it would be better for him to have a lot of rest. Since he'd had a stroke after my mother left us a year ago, he bore a burden heavier than he could carry. But it wasn't the only thing that concerned me.

For the last several months he had acted strangely and had become more sensitive to my younger sister. He got angry easily and looked uncomfortable whenever Mirnah, my younger sister, was around him.

"This is your tea and bread, Dad," Mirnah put his breakfast on the table. But he didn't answer and turned his face away to avoid looking at her. Mirnah ran to her room and slammed the door, crying. I was in the garage and thought, "It's happened again."

I hurried after her.

"I'll try to talk to him. Please Mirnah, be patient. I believe he had no intention to hurt you. We both know that he's been depressed because of his sickness. Please, stop crying and calm down," I tried to please her, though I knew it would not be easy for her to ease the pain of being rejected by her own father.

"I just don't understand why father is doing this to me. Have I done him wrong? Have I?" she asked, resting her head on my shoulder.

"No, you're not wrong and neither is he. He was just confused by his condition. You are 19 now and must learn how to manage this situation calmly. You've done well so far and I'm proud of you."

I did my best to soothe her. It wasn't an easy task because I also had to deal with my own feelings. I found it harder and harder to accept this situation. Concealing my own emotions, I went to see my father.

"Why did you do that to your own daughter? What's wrong with her?" I asked calmly, but firmly. While sitting and waiting for his answer, I stared into his eyes, which showed no light of life, so hollow were they.

"I believe what you did was unintended, but please Dad, don't do it again. She's still a child and still needs you as her guide to become a mature woman," I continued in a steady voice. I wanted to show him that I had grown up and was strong enough to help him carry his burden.

My father suddenly broke into a coughing bout; he was drenched with sweat and his breathing became difficult. Startled, I fumbled in his pocket hastily to find his medicine. I took a pill out from its bottle and helped him to swallow it. A few minutes later he was his normal self again. As soon as his breath resumed its normal rhythm I carried him and laid him on his bed and made sure he felt comfortable.

That day was Sunday. The sun scorched the earth and everything on it. Even my heart melted in the heat. The day seemed to share my feelings and the heat reflected what was inside me. The hot air was enveloping me, drowning me in the unfriendly heat and then left me panting.

I went outside and sat abruptly on my father's easy chair. I lit a cigarette, drew deeply and blew the smoke hard. I leaned back against the chair, closing my eyes, trying to relieve myself of the complexity of life.

"Is he OK?" Mirnah approached me with dread.

"He's much better now," I sighed uncomfortably.

"Are you OK? Your breakfast's ready," she took a seat and stared at me worriedly.

"Thank you," I forced myself to smile.

Darkness had fallen with the night some three hours earlier. I had had a shower about an hour ago but the unrelenting heat in my room was starting to make my shirt wet again. I opened the door to my room to try to let a rush of air cool my body.

My father and Mirnah had gone to bed when I started to cry. I didn't know why I cried that night. I just thought that it would feel much better for me to cry when my heart was loaded with absurdity. For a few minutes I felt I was a normal 25-year-old boy who still missed his parents' warm touch. After I regained control of myself, I realized that indeed I wasn't strong enough. All this time I'd just pretended to be strong.

"I hate you, really hate you," I moaned.

My body stiffened. All my muscles tensed whenever I thought about her, my mother. I could feel the anger heating up the blood in my head. My eyes were moist, but I quickly controlled my emotion. At that time, I saw everything had gone wrong. I felt that my family life had begun to sink. A profound hatred, stronger than sickness, had gripped my father: My sister had to put up with an annoying father and I was trapped in between. My life was so full of complexity while my mother was having fun with her new life and family. These unpleasant facts sometimes blurred my vision, preventing me from seeing everything else in a bright light. The whole situation spooked me. I was afraid that I couldn't keep my strength to face it and deal with it. I was afraid of running out of energy to stay in the middle of this situation as a lineman.

Yes ... I had heard many sermons about being a fair and wise man. Those sermons said when someone was able to put everything in their proper place, he would be a fair and objective judge to solve anyone's problem. At first I thought I could be a referee for my own family. I wasn't sure anymore.

I looked at the clock; it was 11:10 p.m., but my eyes refused to close. I felt a pang of instant regret for not having a chance to meet my mother before she went away. If I had arrived earlier that evening, I would have had a chance to see the face of the man who "stole" my mother. Maybe "stole" was not the most suitable word, but that was what he'd done, stolen my mother's heart. I had no other word to better describe what he'd done.

He was my mother's boss, a widower with one little boy. Before my mother went away that evening, he'd never shown his face at my house. I knew him only from his voice when he called my mother on the phone to ask about her work. I'd never thought before that my mother was having an affair with him. She always treated us, including my father, well all the time. I couldn't deny that my parents' relationship had been in trouble since my father had been out of work. But my parents always hid it before their children. I still didn't understand why she'd left us. I knew her as an old-fashioned woman who'd put loyalty before everything. This was what kept bothering me so much and no one could give the ideal answer but she, my mother.

I wasn't sure what time I finally fell asleep on the sofa in the living room. Dawn in the eastern dome of the sky startled me into the changing of day. As dawn began to stretch its light arrogantly and banish the dew from sight, I knew a new day with new hope had arrived, and, of course, with it, new problems.

I scooped a handful of water and washed my face. Mirnah had been busy in the kitchen, as usual, preparing our breakfast. I opened the door to my father's room slowly to avoid making it creak. He was still asleep. It was unusual for him, as he had been advised by his doctor to sunbathe every morning and had never missed the opportunity.

"Isn't he awake yet?" Mirnah asked me. And I could see that she her emotions were under control.

"No, not yet. Why? Is his meal ready?" I asked her warmly.

"No, but it will be soon. I've cooked his favorite food," she said with a flat tone, but I was sure that she wanted me to know she loved father. Tears rolled down my face as I couldn't bear to see her sweet pure face. I held her tightly and kissed her head.

"I know that you love him and, I assure you, he'll never hurt you again. Trust me, he loves you too."

My heart was deeply touched and I couldn't speak anymore, except for hugging her.