Now and Then

We have little left to eat. I gave her the last of the bread this morning and we have a can of beans, two cans of spaghetti, one can of spam, 4 cans of tomato soup still unopened, as well as a bit of powdered milk. I have eaten nothing since yesterday morning. Thankfully, there is still water in the taps and a spare gas canister in the cupboard.

She slept most of today, and woke only once around noon but she wouldn’t eat anything. I managed to feed her a few sips of milk but she very soon fell asleep again. She’s quite peaceful today. I’m sure she is in pain but she said nothing and I did not ask. It makes us both think of things we do not wish to remember. I’m sure the mattress is too thin, but she does not complain.

She never does.

She needs more than canned food but I’m not sure how I will get any. We had a little vegetable garden on the balcony, with tomatoes, onions, carrots and beans but it’s all gone. If you have money, there are vegetables in the supermarket but who has money? The bank does not let you take your money out unless you have a HandMade.

We can’t touch our bank account now. Not that there’s much in there anyway but it’s ours all the same, our blood, sweat and tears. They said we had to put in the HandMade so we’d never lose money again and they’d always know if someone else tried to steal our money. It’s to protect us from terrorists, they said. But we don’t have a HandMade, and they have our money.

The curfew will start soon. The soldiers do not give warnings before they shoot. Even if they wished to, they cannot speak. It is rumoured that they do not sleep or eat or do any of the things that humans usually do. I have no desire at all to run into any of them.

I look at her again. Her face is no longer drawn and I see the gentle, rhythmic rise and fall of her breasts.  A strand of curly hair sprawls across her eyebrow. I gently ease it back in place and feel the warmth on her skin. I’m sure she longs to get a wash and blow-dry but they only allow haircuts these days. Everything else is classified ‘wasteful’. She has to make do with my pitiful attempts now. There is no shampoo, but we do have a little coconut oil in a small jar in the bathroom so I massaged it into her scalp yesterday before washing her hair. I lean over now and breathe in the lingering scent of coconut, and it reminds me of palm trees waving in the wind and of happy days long gone but I push the thought away instantly. My mind is a cold hard stone. I have learnt not to think too much and, especially, not to remember. Memories are death by a thousand festering wounds when there is nothing else. 

A single desk fan is all I have to keep her comfortable. Air conditioners are not allowed. Pubs and cafes are all closed, now. It’s a waste of water and power, they said. I’m sure that’s all true but all the same, just now, I wish could get a large, cold strawberry milkshake.

She loves strawberry milkshakes.