Roses Are Red, My Love

When I planted the red rose seedlings in the garden I felt something strange in my heart. It was as if I was doing something which I had not wanted to do before. I didn't want to see any red roses around. Finally though, I gave in and planted the seeds.

"No, no," said my wife suddenly, trying to stop me. But she was too late. She kept silent when she later saw a healthy rose bush emerge from the earth, producing a beautiful red flower.

"But why?" I asked her in a low voice.

"I'm afraid this one will soon die too, just like the others you have planted before. Don't you know you've been killing the seedlings?" she said with apparent effort to soften her protest.

The way she voiced her objection made her look even more beautiful to me. I didn't know she was so gentle.

"But please don't dramatize things, darling," I said.

"This is just a flower, not a human being. So you shouldn't use the word 'killing'."

"Men will always be men," she said going back into the house. I was now alone in the cramped garden.

It is true that I'm not a good gardener. I have tried to plant other roses but I never had any success. I started trying right after we moved in, a week after our marriage. Since then, we have also tried to rearrange our small house and tend the garden. We have looked after it almost every day after work or on the weekends.

I don't know why I love red roses so much. Every time the flower vendor passes our house I always stop him and buy some fresh ones. I plant them later along the path leading to the front door. My wife is also glad to see the bright red color of the roses. We hope that one day our children will see the red roses as a symbol of our profound love.

However, all the roses I planted later died slowly, one by one. The leaves started changing first. Then they would dry up and drop off. I would then angrily pull all of the dead flowers out. They turned out to have no roots. I cursed the vendor, who since that day never showed up again. It took days to forget my disappointment. My wife was also angry.

Weeks later a new flower vendor passed by but I did not care anymore and I turned my back on him. But that attitude did not last long because I could not resist the temptation to touch the red roses he was offering. I bought ten young rose plants after I questioned him intensively on whether they had roots or not. The vendor not only said yes, but also showed me the roots of each plant. I was satisfied and hoped that this time I would get a healthy red rose bush.

The vendor also advised me to put fertilizer on the soil around the plant. These new roses not only gave me new hope but also new inspiration. After planting them I also went to a nearby neighborhood to find water buffalo fertilizer. I got two full plastic bags which I carried back with my own hands. My wife was overjoyed to see me putting fertilizer around the plants. "I hope all these flowers survive until our children grow up," she said. I was proud to hear that.

But before the end of the second week one by one the roses started to droop. In anger I watched their color fade, heralding their imminent death.

I angrily pulled them out one by one and threw them in all different directions.

Only after I managed to control myself did I smell the stench of the buffalo manure.

"They refuse to survive although I have vowed that my children will enjoy their lasting beauty. Yes, it is true they are not for me or for you but for our children," I said although nobody was around. My wife who stood near the front door said nothing. When she heard me mention "our children" she touched her belly, which after one year of our marriage had not shown any signs of pregnancy.

One year after the failure with the roses I stopped planting them. But it did not mean that my dream to surround ourselves with the beauty of red roses was over. To channel my goal I started painting red roses on the wall. My wife was immediately upset by my new hobby but after she saw the finished product she was not so upset. In fact, she admired my work with repeated nods and tears. Finally, all the ceilings, doors and walls inside and outside the house were covered in paintings of red roses.

I realize that I am no talented artist, but I think painting should not be restricted only to professionals. Any person can express his or her feelings through painting and that was what I was doing. Finally the house was full of the paint's strong fumes. I didn't care though because what was important to me was that I had red roses everywhere.

It took 45 days for me to change the whole house into a huge painting of red roses. Now you could see nothing but red roses. I enjoyed looking at it all as it was an expression of happiness. But my wife seemed to object to what I had done. She did not have a positive impression about my artistic creation. She said she loved the roses but she hated the smell.

"I am nauseous from seeing all the paintings. Not one corner in the house is free from the nauseating smell," she would say repeatedly. Her words made me feel bad. My roses had upset the only woman I love and were now a problem between us. The smell of the paint did not subside after a month. So I cleaned all the walls and whitewashed them.

However, the new color made me feel like I was living in emptiness. I wanted to go back to planting red roses. But I was not so sure they would survive.

I asked my colleagues at the office about the best way to plant roses so that they produced healthy flowers soon. Some said as long as I used a good quality fertilizer there would be no problem, while others added that the plants needed watering every day. One person recommended that I touch the plants lovingly. I tried the first two suggestions but today for the first time I tried touching them.

I discussed my wish to plant the roses again with my wife. Her fist reaction was funny. She repeatedly coughed without any sign of a sore throat. Then she tried discouraging me from planting roses again although she did not explain the reason for her objection. Only after I persuaded her to tell me did she talk about her reason. She said the roses would die an unnatural death, which would mean I was a cold-blooded killer of plants. But if the flowers survived it would mean she would die.

I said that was ridiculous, trying hard to suppress my emotions. However, she might have had her own reasons. Perhaps she wanted to plant her own roses one day when we have children.

I washed my hands after planting the seedlings. Later I enjoyed a smoke while sitting on a chair in front of the new bushes. I had mixed emotions. I had failed many times in this rose business but my desire to try again returned each time I failed. Meanwhile, I could not forget my wife's words: "killer, die" and "survival of the roses." Why did her words keep haunting me?

Suddenly I heard her sobbing in our bedroom but I didn't know why. I also heard her coughing. Suddenly I remembered her words on the future of my roses. "If they survive I will die." Would the words come true? I don't believe in superstition. How could a rose decide a human fate?

At night her cough became worse. I rubbed her back with the best medicated oil available to make her feel warmer. She got better at first, but in the wee hours of the morning her cough returned. In the morning I took her to a doctor who, after a thorough examination, said my wife should go to the hospital. We went to a nearby hospital for a more detailed examination.

While waiting for the results of an X ray and some laboratory tests the doctor said I could leave her there. I went home.

I could not sleep. I sat alone looking at the roses, which were growing well outside. The petals had drops of water still on them from the rain which fell a few hours ago. There were also new tips on the leaves. The flowers had grown fast due to the fertilizer perhaps. I also noticed that a red bud had emerged. Thank God I was happy.

I suddenly remembered Al Hallaj, a great Muslim mystic who lived in Baghdad from the ninth to 10th century. Before he was hanged for practicing mysticism, he said: "I surrender to Him with my face shining by a rose." There was a drama about his tragic end which me and my wife had the opportunity to stage when we were university students.

That was a long time ago. But now tears streamed down my cheeks. I was so sad. The image of the mystic soon disappeared from my mind. It was replaced with my wife who was sleeping on a hospital bed. Why she is there now? Why did she say such superstitious words? No, she did not mean anything by them. There was no serious intention behind it. Genetically, she has nothing to do with a rose.

I went to the hospital to see how she was doing. I went to her room where I found she was still sick but no longer pale. I stood silent by her bed. The doctor came in with her file. He said everything was all right. He asked her to take a full rest so that tomorrow she could be released. I couldn't believe what he said and asked again and again to make sure what I heard was right. He gave the same answer each time.

"So are the roses growing well?" my wife asked. I said nothing. I imagined the roses blooming in a garbage dump. By a miracle, of course.

Translated by TIS

From Dua Tengkorak Kepala (Two Skulls), Kompas Selected Short Stories 2000).