Liminal Space
In fact, he has never loved such scrambled eggs, especially when his mother sprinkled some herbs on them. Therefore, then, while Matilda was being in the toilet, he put the plate on the floor and whispered, “come to me, kitty, come to me”.
A white and black, shaggy paw showed up from the corner of the fridge, and then, a little cat went out, looking for a reason it was called. Kitty got to the plate quickly and started eating the dish. He stroked the cat and it gave a low purr.
Steps were heard behind the door. The sound of steps went on and on. He briskly grabbed the plate with leftover scrambled eggs and threw it on the table so that it chattered.
The door creaked, and Matilda entered the kitchen.
“How do you like my omelet?” she asked.
“Yeah, dear… it’s yummy”, he said as he was picking the dish, imagining that if he eats these eggs, then long, slimy worms will be living in his stomach a couple of months later.
Matilda caught his sight, so he had to put a forkfull of the eggs into his mouth and chewed.
Whether did he love Matilda? Yes, he loved Matilda as he loved scrambled eggs. He had married her due to anxiety about his lonely life. “I shall die absolutely lonely”, he would think, “on my sweat-soaked bed, in the liminal room where the memories about my awfully lived life fly around. I even cannot reach the glass of water”, he would imagine, “I will try to do it but it will fall to the floor. I will creep across the room, trying to find out where I am because my eyes will be blurred, my arms will look like dry bones, and I will get exhausted quickly and die, die not even on the bed but on the floor”.
He had not had a choice due to his love for the only woman in the world. But his existence was not such important to this woman, as this woman’s existence was essential to him.
“I’m gonna make some tea. Do you want it? We have some of yesterday's cake”, said Matilda.
He had met his love just after a university. He had been walking through a forest to home and got to see something red amid the trees. Weary sighs had been heard from there, and he’d decided to come over and figure out what was there. He had surprised to see that. A gorgeous woman, who had worn a dress and had wrists as delicate as a bird’s, had been trying to dig out a little Christmas tree.
“Excuse me”, he’d said and coughed politely.
“Oh! I was wondering when somebody’s gonna help me. Take the shovel, go ahead, please. I’ve been digging for an hour”, she had pattered.
He had not known how to refuse her, so he took the shovel. But he’d been thinking for a moment that this woman could be killed with this shovel, with his arms. Fortunately, or not, he’d simply started to dig out the little Christmas tree, and the woman had been staying and smoking near him, complaining about a bad, poor seller who had sold her this messed up shovel which is not digging.
Some raindrops had fallen from the sky. And after the drizzle, which had wanted to extinguish the woman’s cigarette but couldn’t, it had started to downpour, which extinguish the cigarette at once.
“Oh my gosh”, the woman had cried, “hurry, man, please!’
He had dug the tree out quickly, took it, gave her the shovel, and they had broken into a ran out of the forest. The woman had been running with makeup flowing down her face. At that moment, he had understood how beautiful this woman had been, how attractive. And from that moment, this woman had become his love, who had settled into his heart for life. He’d forgotten about the downpour and the prickly tree. He hadn’t felt cold and tired anymore because of having only love in him; love for this woman had filled him.
There had been an old wooden gazebo by a gravel path, and they had jumped into it to be hidden from the downpour.
“Put it on the table, and take my cigarette” the woman had said ‘do you smoke?’
She had put her wet hand out with a cigarette, smiling and trembling. He had been wanting to say ‘I don’t smoke’, but he’d been bewitched by her attractive glorious face and her behavior, that he’d had to take the cigarette despite his blood oath of never smoking.
“Why you scared of me?” she’d asked, laughing.
“That’s not actually true”, he’d said with the trembling cigarette in his mouth, “may I have the lighter?”
“May you have? Ha-ha. May. Yeah, man, you may”, she’d taken the lighter from her pocket and flicked it a couple of times until it had been lit. He’d taken it, lit up his cigarette, and then, he’d done her cigarette, glancing hesitantly at this woman.
“Since when do you drink tea without sugar?” Matilda asked.
“I know you like two teaspoons”, Matilda put sugar into his cup.
The cat rubbed around his legs and gave a purr, demanding those tasty eggs. He kicked the cat lightly, so Matilda wouldn’t find out he’d given her dish to the cat. But this shaggy tiny animal didn’t backward and leaped on his thighs.
“What’s wrong with it?” Matilda said, “usually it’s calmer”.
“I dunno… but”, he smiled, “but let it be here”.
“Well, let it be, I don’t mind” Matilda sipped some tea.
The cat stared at yesterday’s cake, licking its lips.
“Give it a piece of the cake”, Matilda said.
“Give this kitty a piece of the cake’, the woman had said.
They’d been seated at the table in her kitchen, drinking hot tea after running in the downpour. They’d had wet hair, some tiredness, but smiles on their faces. She’d smoked again, and the kitchen had been getting filled with a veil of smoke. He’d had a chance to look at her wet hair, her neck and back, when she’d been turned towards the shelf to take the ashtray. She’d put it on the table and laid her cigarette on the edge of it. The slim smoke line had been going out from the cigarette and tearing apart above.
The graceful sphynx cat had got some cake from him and ate it slowly.
“What a beautiful cat you have”, he’d said.
“Kindred spirit, as my grandma used to say”, the woman had smiled, took a deep puff, and exhaled the smoke through her nose, “I love my Anchovy, he’s my only living relative”.
“Well, thank you for the breakfast, dear”, he said and got up, “I have to go. The work’s waiting”.
“I put your lunch in the bag. There’re sandwiches and the compote there”, Matilda said and hugged him.
He clapped on her back politely with no emotion on his face, and went out.
The morning was overcast as if it was going to rain soon. He’s been loving such weather with fewer people and dull lights. He was the kind of person who have depression when there was sunshine outside. But then, he was comfortable with that weather, with his thoughts. And he’d made up his mind the work can be passed over one time. On half of the way, he turned right and took the other road that lean towards the forest.
Birds were signing there, and the smell of pine needles was hovering around. He followed the path and went along, staring into his memories deep. He even didn’t notice as the old wooden gazebo appeared before his eyes. He stepped into it, reached under the edge of the ceiling, and took the cigarette and lighter from the rotten log.