Chapter 132

8.03. The telephone rang. It rang for 6 times, awaiting for some kind woman to pick it up.

Marcia yawned as she stepped down the stairs. “Hello?”

“Hello. My name is Mack Crose. Are you relatives of Hugo Arents?”

“Yes, I am. What is the matter, sir?”

“Thank God. This was the only number he left behind. Anyway, I’m his employer, and, uh, I want to ask if any of you want to retrieve his things, and maybe pay a visit to Westham?”

Apparently Marcia’s mood wasn’t bright enough to give a confident answer. “Can I call you back later? I have to discuss this with my family, first. You know, we are still mourning.” She held a pen and wrote the numbers on a sheet of paper. It was the water bill for the month.

“Goodbye, Mr Crose.”

Tomas was leaning on the kitchen door, just across the telephone. He looked at Marcia with a frown. “So, is it about the boy again?”

“Yes.” She replied with a plain tone. “His boss called to see when we can go to Westham some time.”

“Oh, missus.” Tomas groaned. “Don’t you remember why we left that heaven at the first place? Smelly, crowded, dark. I am not going back to where it made me poor.”

“Mister, I didn’t request you to go. Besides, it’s none of your business.”

Tomas gave her the fiery eyes. “Yes it is none of mine. Nothing is ever my business, even my daughter!”

Marcia pushed him away from the door and went into the kitchen. She picked up the bread, yawning, and put it in the toaster. But she missed it. She dropped the bread on the silvery surface. Weary as the face showed, sorrow as the eyes lost their focuses.

The accordion played under the window as usual. He sang, as if no one else was listening:

Oh see her face, oh see her face
Oh maiden I can see your sorrow eyes
A warm embrace, a warm embrace
Is what I’ll give you ’til my very demise

Marcia looked down, as if she was being serenaded by Romeo holding a guitar. How she wished she was in a different place. She saw her son as a never ending treasure, but now it had ended. Ah, she thought. What a life I had.

A pat on the back. It was Edward.

“I know you are sad about this. But you have to face this. It is over now.”

“Oh, how could I get over this? He is at least our only son.”

“Please, Marcia.” Edward moaned. “He has not been our son long since he left for Westham. Did you remember what he did? He chose the slums, and it is his choice.”

“I gave birth to him! Am I not clearer than you? Edward, he is a member of the family, and I am going to do the last thing for him.”

“So what are you going to do?” Edward asked.

“I am going to Westham for him. Anything, his things, his remains, his remaining things. And all the matters that we need to do. Remember, we are a family.”

Determined, Marcia went back to the room and packed for her clothes. She was going to take the next train to get there. For her son, for her family.

-Pollux