The still rocking chair

Yundi Adtya

Memories return to us for different reasons. A childhood memory came back to me recently because of a really rather sad reason. After a long illness, my grandfather passed away, thankfully peacefully and quietly in his sleep, in the middle of the night. He had suffered a long illness and the pain that he was feeling was multiplied by the fact that he had lived an active life and his ultimately terminal illness had deprived him of mobility.

His passing was thankfully quiet and peaceful for him, but that peace and quiet was indeed the calm before the storm. Soon after his death, the arguments began. My father's father had been both active and successful in his life and consequently his legacy was quite considerable. Distant relatives who had rarely been seen during his long and painful illness began to appear to claim what was "rightfully theirs".

I tried hard to remain above their arguments but found on two or three occasions that my temper got the better of me -- not because I felt they were taking something from me, but because they were not respectful of my grandfather's memory. He was a decent, successful and gentle person to all who knew him and I am sure he would have been horrified to hear those vultures squabbling over his money and possessions.

Finally, I detached myself completely from all the ugly fighting over who "deserved to get what". My grandfather's will was clear enough, but still the arguments raged. My father fought on as did my siblings, but my request was simple: for something that brought back childhood memories.

A tired looking rocking chair sat tucked away in a corner of my grandfather's old house. It looked as though nobody had sat in it for years, but I could recall sitting in it as a child with my grandfather. He would tell me stories as the chair moved gently with the weight of his body.

Though it was covered in dust and creaked terribly when I sat down, I could not resist rocking back and forth, just for a couple of moments.

I was convinced; I had to keep it. Nobody else wanted it, in fact most of my relatives' faces were not able to disguise what they thought of me wanting to own such an old and broken down thing.

My wife's reaction, when I brought the chair into the house, was one of shock that verged on disgust. But she soon adopted a gentle approach when she heard my reasons. Certainly, most people would consider the chair past its prime -- they might even suggest throwing it away -- but to me it is a constant reminder of my grandfather.

As I told my wife of sitting in his lap and watching the sun go down over the coffee plantations he owned in Central Java, I could see her face soften and I could see her traveling with me back in time to when my grandfather was still so active.

Let all those other relatives and my siblings squabble over his riches and gold, here was something truly golden. When I first sat in the chair, I was so young and innocent. The arguments that would later divide my family, the death of my grandfather -- these things were inconceivable.

He was always there for me. At the end of a busy day he would find time for me. When I was little I would climb up onto his knee and we would sway together in the rocking chair. Even when I was older I would go to see him and he, again, would always make time for me. I would sit next to him in a rattan chair and tell him my problems and he would thoughtfully rock in his chair and offer me the wisdom of his years.

He would never tell me what to do but would lend me his ear, his suggestions well-timed and thoughtful. He was always calm, no matter how angry or desperate I was.

He was no longer with me, but his chair brought me comfort.

The first night we had the chair in the house my wife was not happy. Even though she accepted my reasons for wanting it, she felt it was too dirty and dusty to stay in the house. I needed to have it cleaned up and repaired. That would happen later but on this first night I could not accept leaving it outside so I carefully and gently set it down where I thought it would cause no disruption.

We went to bed as usual but my wife was not really happy to have the chair where I left it. She pushed and prodded me to move it out with suggestions like it was rotting and full of worms that would attack the other furniture -- but, I insisted.

I was sleeping well when my wife elbowed me awake. My first thought was that she wanted to complain more about the rocking chair but no, she had heard a sound and wanted me to investigate. I listened for a moment and I heard it too. It sounded like something being rolled on the marble tiles. Was it an intruder? I had to investigate. Taking my torch and rolling up a magazine for a weapon -- albeit a useless one -- I set off for the stairs.

My heart was pounding and with every step I felt like turning and heading back to the safety of the bedroom, but I had to find out what that sound was. The light from the street lamps was not sufficient; to really see I would have to use the torch.

Taking a deep breath and mustering up all my courage, I switched the torch on and swung it around, penetrating the darkness and revealing nothing out of place and no intruder in the house. There was nothing wrong but the rocking chair was moving. How could it be rocking? There was no one there and no breeze to disturb it. In the glare of the torchlight, I looked again at the chair and, just for an instant, I thought I saw the figure of my grandfather.

I should have been alarmed, but I wasn't. Somehow I felt reassured -- but I knew my wife would not be. I went back to the bedroom and told her," It must just have been a cat". With a, "hmmm.. stupid cats" she plumped up her pillow and quickly went to sleep again. I stayed awake for quite a while with a smile on my face, content that my grandfather was still with me in his rocking chair.