Short Story: The Rainbow
It is bedtime. His wife has her head on his lap.
She is trying to sleep — she has had torments while sleeping in the past. They play a soft piano piece from YouTube, whose blurb reads ‘soft relaxing music’.
She looks at him and at a distance, and back at him. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The beautiful piano piece plays, and there is silence.
He runs his hand over her hair, now unbraided and free from the bondage of day time make ups. She closes her eyes, but he does not feel that she is at peace.
The pervading silence speaks for itself. Her thoughts are at war with her. She does not speak, but he thinks he can read her. The music sooths the atmosphere in the bedroom, but her mind is in tumult.
He takes a deep breath. She loves silence, but that silence is also the comfort of her tumult — the war of thoughts in her head. He decides to speak slow, in whispers, all the time running his fingers into her hand, to comfort her. Her face remains passive all the while.
‘Dear, imagine this’, he says and pauses. She looks at him blankly for a while, and then nods her head slightly. Encouraged, he proceeds.
‘A vast blue sky, clear and azure. A mild sun with soft sunshine. Beneath the sky and the sun, is a vast field of dandelions and sunflowers. Colorful flowers topping the green shoots, endless in sight, stretching all the way to the horizon.’
He pauses, this time searching in her eyes for a connect.
Like the Dora story that plays in the kid’s channel that their child watches, he repeats,’ Remember. Mild sunshine. Clear blue sky. Vast bed of dandelions.’
She nods her head, looking into his eyes. A blank stare it is, still. No signs of life.
‘In the middle of it all, are you. Standing like a rose among the dandelions. Wearing a frock of flowers and stars, with flowing hair. Oh, and there are the butterflies. The butterflies hop from flower and flower, apparently without any rhythm or pattern. The randomness is beautiful.’
He takes a deep breath. No response, except the stare.
‘Ah! Let us see what we have here. Mild sunshine. Clear blue sky. Vast bed of dandelions. Then the random flight of many butterflies. Butter-flies.’ and he repeats, ‘ Sunshine. Sky. Dandelions. Butterflies, and — ’, he smiles at her. She returns a faint smile and takes a deep breath.
Her deep breaths are her only actions in the past. It is like the valve of a pressure cooker that lets off steam, with the innards filled with all forth and boil. That is how her mind is — he knows that.
Her smile is beautiful. He picks from there,’ — and your smiling face. Amid all the things, are you. Standing and smiling.’
He smiles at her again. The faint smile persists.
‘Let us recap. You. Your smile. Sunshine. Clear Blue Sky. Dandelions and Butterflies.’ Now the smile stayed.
That is a small success, he thinks. He pushes his luck.
‘A mild breeze now blows. Just mild, caressing your beautiful hair.’ He looks at her eyes. A small flicker. Or is it?
‘The breeze comes from nowhere and goes where it wants. Like the butterflies. Like the open blue sky. Like the vast meadow of dandelions. Vastness. Openness. Free. Freedom.’ He puts a small point across.
‘In the middle of that freedom and vastness, are you, my dear… standing with your beautiful mind and flowing hair. The breeze learns its freedom from you. You are the center of that universe.’
Her smile broadens, just a bit. She seems to catch up. He decides to stay there for a moment.
‘Let us recap again, dear.’ He pauses for her response. The smile holds. ‘ Dandelions. Mild sunshine. Blue sky. The mild, soft breeze. The randomly-flying-butterflies, and You. Your smile.’ he stays on point. He lets that sink into her. She does not respond more, but her smile stays.
‘Ah, there is a solitary cloud now moving into our scene. You look up. The cloud sees the gorgeous scene below. It smiles and wants to join the tranquil joy.’ He slows down, and allows his words to settle, ever-so-slowly.
He knows he is making the story up, as his narration progresses — but he decides to push his imagination and luck with her. Nothing to lose, he knows.
She now gives him a look of expectation, something more encouraging than the smile. He smiles now and waits… and waits. Her eyes shrink and flicker, a bit of anticipation and irritation at him for making her wait.
‘The cloud now eager and ready, stops the breeze for a moment, which now has been flowing between your hair strands, my dear, and asks,’ Dear Breeze, is there anyway I can join the party?’, it asks.’
Her usually expressive, but now stoic face carries an expression that tells him that she is eager to go on further.
‘The breeze says,’ Oh, Cloud, why not? In fact, you can bring your own fun to this beautiful party. Why don’t you just drizzle a bit?’
‘A bit of thought there for the cloud. ‘ Why not? Here you go!’, saying this, the cloud sheds a few drops, and it drizzles across the meadow.’ Now he stops.
Her eyes light up, and her smile broadens. Her thoughts now fill in without his prompt.
She recalls, 'Dandelions. Mild sunshine. Blue sky. The mild, soft breeze. The randomly-flying-butterflies, and I. My smile.’
She does not speak, but her expressive eyes let him know. He smiles back now adding,’… The cloud and the drizzle.’
They both smile, he now patting her cheek, as she shifts her head to look into his eyes.
Some life there. He smiles and tells her,’ Wait, the story is not yet over. Now something happens.’ He raises his voice a bit, as if to dramatize the next lines.
She responds, expanding her eyes in expectation. Is it not what he is looking for?
‘The mild drizzle and the mild sunshine now intersect. Magic happens.’ He pauses for effect, then continues.
‘A few minutes later, on the western sky, is a beautiful rainbow. A rainbow of seven colors. Magic happens, my dear. Magic.’ He sounds theatrical and her eyes widens, now full of life.
‘The Magic of Colors.’ A pause. ‘One can feel the mild heat of the sun, and the wetness of the warm drizzle. These are real, aren’t they?’, he asks her.
She nods her head, this time engaging him with an answer. That is progress indeed.
‘Yet the rainbow, colorful and beautiful, is beyond our touch and feel. One can see it, and experience it.’ His statement hangs in the air.
Her eyes close and open, as if they are imbibing the meaning of his purport.
A silence creeps in. He is quiet, letting his point sink in, and she, not speaking, but into it.
‘Remember, my dear, these. Dandelions. Mild sunshine. Blue sky. The mild, soft breeze. The randomly-flying-butterflies, the cloud and the drizzle. Then the rainbow. All these, are around you; in front of you. Can you imagine them?’, he asks her, beseeching inside for her to speak.
‘Yes,’ comes her reply, short but vocal, for the first time, in months.
‘I understand,’ she says.
‘A bit of drizzle and sunshine in our lives can create rainbows and the magical colors,’ he says, now drawing up a small point across.
‘You are beautiful, my dear.’ The piano music acts as perfect backdrop for the silent interlude.
‘ The cloud wants to join you. And the drizzle, and the rainbow.’
She smiles. No reply.
‘You are the magic.’, he says.
She closes her eyes now. The smile is still in her face.
He can hear her snoring sound now. A peaceful sleep, perhaps.
~Ashok Subramanian
