Forbidden Fruit

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The memories still haunted him. They were arrows from the past that smeared his life, making it impossible to live. The pictures were inextricably knitted into his brain. He couldn’t shake them. Everywhere he went, the gory scene greeted him. Sometimes it was a particular music, sometimes it was the sound of a moving truck and other times it was the sound of children hollering about. It would take him fifteen years back into time, when he was best friends with his elder brother, Simon.
They were the only kids their parents ever. They were the only kids their parents ever had to worry about. But they had been too much for them. They were both too feisty and too cantankerous for his father who was nearing his seventies and his mother who was in her late sixties. They had had to be each other’s keeper—helping each other to grow, nurturing themselves the only way they knew how.
He could still recall Simon’s laughter when they were kids, probably between the ages of seven and ten—it always started slowly like a trace of water struggling to gush out of a collection of resilient rocks, and then his laughter would grow, octave-by-octave until it was high pitched and graduate into a deafening guffaw. Simon’s laughter would bring a smile on his face—a smile which most often than not, materialized into a laughter, which was so gay yet so sharp and piercing. Their father would tease them about how awfully they laughed, and they would burst out laughing even more. Sometimes their mother would take him into her laps while joining in the laughter and his father would also take Simon into his laps—they would share a liberating and unbridled moment—a moment which was resilient to the eroding capabilities of time, a moment in which they could release all their fears and insecurities in a markedly cruel world.

They were one of a handful of households in the Rhine County whose houses were made entirely of hardwood and roofed with corrugated iron sheets. But it had never been a bother to him and Simon. They loved the sounds it made as they stomped their feet on the floor creating a cornucopia of discordant sound which was so irritating, it would set their parents off. It was always a way for them to get on their parents’ nerves especially when they were sitting in the porch, enjoying the quiet and occasional distant cricketing. Their father had reared a variety of animals: goats, sheep, cattle and the like. Every time he went to tend to them, they’d go with him, playing with the animals, willing them to bleat until their father was dismayed and left.
“The good old days.”

He could recall when Simon had come home running as though he’d stumble onto the remnants of a dead person. His puffy but alluring eyes which could turn every girl’s head had been so alive. He hadn’t ever seen him so animated before. His heart was pounding loudly he could almost hear it. First he’d been alarmed that maybe Simon had done something wrong. His heart had skipped a beat or two. Then he’d steeled himself as Simon told him he’d stumbled onto a gold mine. Upon hearing what was ensuing between the kids, their father had popped out of the room causing them to scurry away like a cluster of birds which had been intruded by a stone. They’d followed Simon to where he’d found the alleged ‘gold mine’ and to their bemusement, the gold mine was a long cliff off the mouth of a thin body of water which jetted into the air like a spear. Simon had called it a ‘gold mine’ and rightly so because from that day forward, it had been where they headed everyday just like miners always headed to the gold mine.

The cliff had been the umbilicus of another pivotal moment in their lives as brothers, another opportunity for them to strengthen an already plutonium-like relationship. They had grown fond of each other on the cliff. The road leading from their house to their cliff was flanked with a youthful shrubbery and interspersed with big round rocks which resembled isolated capes. It had been the route they ran every day. The starting point was the very abrupt edge of their porch and the ending point was the top of the cliff. They’d run every day bypassing each other, curving and winding around the rocks which interrupted the straightness of the route and eventually the winner would climb the cliff before the loser. Sometimes Simon won. Sometimes he also won. It was always fun. But the fun was never complete if they didn’t lie on their backs and look into the sky which appeared too close to them yet infinitely far away from them. They would lie comfortably as the wind blew past them rimming their skin with the same liberating feeling they’d felt all their life. When the world around them had been reduced into dead silence signaling that the birds had taken shelter in their nests, they would stand on the cliff and shout until their shouts echoed off a wall they couldn’t see and filtered their ears. The echo would rise from the base of the cliff as though someone were standing there and shouting as well. They would laugh and laugh until they exorcised every bit of laughter in them. Then they would head home.

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He didn’t know how it happened. How he fell miserably down the rabbit hole. How the feelings crept into his heart. If he’d known he would have done something about it. He would have built a cage for it—yes a cage, because that was where such dark feelings belonged—in a haven for animals. He knew what he was feeling didn’t belong in his world. He’d thought it would be momentary. But it wasn’t. Every day he grew more and more attached. He didn’t understand what he felt. It was impossible. It was abominable. It was something he was too ashamed to embrace because he knew if he did, he would be treated like a scourge, an incurable pestilence. He wasn’t ready to lose his family. But he knew without a shred of doubt that he was in love with his brother.

Unbeknownst to Simon, he would insist they continue spending time together when he didn’t want to. He would grudge about it and then let go. After all it didn’t kill to spend time with someone you loved just because you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it to them. Simon’s eyes were puffy but they held an attractiveness to them, something which entrapped him whenever Simon stared. He would slowly steer his gaze away from him as a swelling erupted in his crotch. It was weird and fun at the same time. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, lying on the fringes of love and hate. If Simon found out somehow, there was no telling he wouldn’t quit their long built friendship and brotherhood. There was a ‘what’ chance that if he found out Simon would feel the same. But he couldn’t bring himself to risk it. Plus what would happen if his father found out was another thing he couldn’t bring himself to imagine.
It wasn’t his fault that he felt that way about his brother. More than he could bring himself to admit, he hated it. But he didn’t have any power over whom his heart wanted. If he had his way he would have made things right. Unfortunately there was nothing he could do.

He became very miserable since he found out how he felt. It was a major earthquake which had rocked his world. He hadn’t expected it. He was more withdrawn now, quick to say no and late to say yes. He hated it that it bothered Simon so much. If he felt intimately about him why couldn’t he admit it so that he’d be free? Every time Simon asked what was going on he’d tell him off, “it’s nothing, I am fine.” But he wasn’t, and his parents knew it. They had called him to ask him if he had any problem and he’d fallen on the same line of answering, “It’s nothing, I am fine.” But immediately he left their company, he’d think, of course I am not fine. How could I be fine feeling like this?

Ever since he’d found out how he felt, he’d dreaded the moment Simon would reveal his status. If Simon went to school and brought home a girl, that would mean the end of his life—the end of the very thing which gave his life meaning and purpose. He had lived on the fringes of fear until one day, his fear turned into a giant monster and swallowed him whole.

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It was a Friday afternoon. The air outside was crispy and playful unlike the room which was steaming hot. He hadn’t gone to school because the happenings of the past few days had left him too stoned to go to school and decipher the complexities of mathematics. He was sitting in the porch with his father who was rumbling on about how cruelly life had treated him as a kid. Unknown to the old man, he wasn’t really paying attention. His eyes may have been fixated on his father but his other senses were fixated on the road. He had a bile feeling that something would happen which would send his already crumbling life down to abyss. And then Ta-da…..! Like a robotic apocalypse what he feared most popped up right in front of him?

On the road, holding Simon’s right hand, was a tanned girl who looked about eighteen with firm breast and a firm body staring at their house and smiling maniacally(her laughter was actually the most beautiful thing he’d seen but hatred had taken over now, so her laughter registered on his mind as maniacal). If his father wasn’t seated across from him he would have fallen over his seat, hit his head against something and died on the spot. That was how he felt with his heart racing wildly like an animal on a dose of a stimulant. He wanted to die. The sheer insanity of it was enough reason for him to die. Aside the fact that he had grown to become best friends with Simon he was also his brother, and that was enough reason for him to be happy for Simon and also put an end to his feelings towards him. But he couldn’t. Anger had already seeped into his veins, the hair on his skin stood on end as his eyes bulged from the electricity of anger which surged through him. He felt like yanking the arm of the chair he was sitting in and plunging it into the girl’s stomach. But that would make him out as a monster. And he couldn’t have Simon think ignominiously of him. So he mustered the courage to acknowledge the girl’s presence with a nod. She replied with a smile.
Such a sweet whore he thought.

Simon’s father was very happy for him. His mother had also left the work in the kitchen and joined them in the porch as they welcomed the girl and showered head-turning words on her. Every member of the family was helping the course except him. He was in the kitchen. He’d taken up the duty of cutting the onions into slices as his parents welcomed Simon and his “catch.” He felt like an aberration—a deviation from a norm. Anger began to rise in him again. This time it wasn’t earthly, it was surreal, extraterrestrial, something he’d never felt before, a force so powerful it was beyond his control. He turned around, glaring at them ghoulishly like a raging monster. The girl’s eyes met his. She squinted, her smiles disappeared from her face and then she became calm, laughing less and barely mustering a smile. Suddenly the foreign anger which had enslaved him moments ago, left him. He smiled at the girl who also smiled at him.

Stupid bitch. I know just what you need. He thought.

With that thought he smiled and awaited the birth of the evening when he would put his plan in motion.
*
She was sleeping alone in one of the rooms made for visitors. Even though they barely had visitors, their father thought it was a nice gesture. Now his wise idea had paid off. She was lying alone on his land. She was a total stranger. An intruder. A whore. A scourge to his life. She wasn’t welcomed and he would show her.

He shared the same room with Simon even though his mother had argued that it was time they slept in separate rooms. Simon was always peaceful when he slept. With his hands crisscrossed on his shoulder like a swimmer about to take a dive, he was the most beautiful sight. He thought about how far Simon must have gone in his sleep, trapped in the bittersweet world of dreams. Without a doubt he knew who Simon was dreaming about as he kept whispering her name from time to time, shouting profanities. That bitch again. Even in sleep she wouldn’t let Simon be. She swooned over him during the day. And now she was all over him in his dream. What the hell. He knew he had to do something. He couldn’t bring himself to lose the love of his life. He’d be devastated beyond repair.

He felt the bile surge through him again. A foreign electricity which reeked of a monster. The anger coursed through his veins. His eyes were bloodshot. They glinted a burning red in the dark. Feeling prepared, he stepped surreptitiously out the door.

The hardwood should have creaked. It should have made a certain disturbing noise as it always did when they walked on it. But it didn’t. He had walked the same floor for his entire life, he knew how to avoid creating any noise. So he’d done that. He’d walked covertly. And now he was standing in her room.

She also slept like a baby—without a care in the world what monsters were lurking in the woods. He was towering over her, swooning over her like a pack of flying demons about to attack their prey. His eyes were still bloodshot. He wore a satisfying smirk on his face as he sized up his prey. She really was pretty.
Such a shame all that would be for nothing.
He had planned on attacking her as soon as he stepped into the room but now that he thought about it, he wanted to wait a little. Let her enjoy her last moments in dreamland. He could have burst out laughing and not realized it. He was overwhelmed by an emotion such as he had never experienced before. He could see his brother Simon, crying in his arms, rubbing his runny nose against his skin as he comforted him. He’d be running his hands through his hair, whispering soothing words into his ear and then tentatively, he’d lift up his head, use one his fingers to chuck away the beads of tears on his face and then place his lips against hers. It would be magical—just like the Indians did it in Bollywood and just like the Americans did it in Hollywood. He’d treasure it.

“Simon…oh—I love you—oh—oh…” she mumbled in her sleep.

He snapped out of his reverie. He time in the Land of Oz had been short-lived.

The bitch is at it again.

There were two pillows on the bed. She had taken one and left the other untouched. He slowly lifted it and placed it on her face, blocking the passage of air to her nose or mouth. Her eyes bulged to life but she couldn’t see anyone. The space between her face and the outside world where she came from, had been blocked by a pillow which was fast sniffing life out of her.
He was smirking as she wiggled earnestly, trying to give herself a chance at survival. She had come so close to yanking the pillow off her face but he’d punched her cold. Her wild wiggles had turned into the kicks of a dying horse. He was smiling, seeing victory right before his very eyes, the chance to be with the one he loved. His only obstacle was now out of the way. Simon was only his to keep. To the outside world, Simon was a forbidden fruit.
He couldn’t allow anyone to take a bite.
The End.

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IMAGE TAKEN FROM PIXABAY

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