Was it a hunch of guilt or a slit of envy? This time, Rokah has chosen to not attend the young girl’s funeral. He knew for sure by now and from the start that funerals were a mere formality to satisfy a selfish wish.
He wondered why in the hell did he start to attend them in the first place. Perhaps because for the sake of appearance… Information gathering…
The charcoal shattered in his palm… Peering at his left hand; it was tainted by black. His fingers were all covered with a fine layer of sable powder that came from the charcoal.
The whiteboard lost its pureness. The floor below was covered with black dust and the candle flame blinked endlessly. He fell back a few steps, trying to have a clear view of how he had sullied this pure white surface. At the same time, he was pandering to identify the instant where did the matter start to go wrong?
Maybe, He got too emotionally involved… emotions were like a thick veil that clouds rational thoughts, and they were why he started to make a lot of mistakes, bad judgments… They were the reason why he had deviated from his original goals.
All the surfaces of the whiteboard transformed into a blend of different shades of gray. Disturbed and gloomy, like his heart. He sensed a surge of relief as he looked at it. Proud of himself, he took while observing it and diving into that sea of grayness. This was exactly what he wanted to draw. An efficient blend of gray nuance. Like life, where the answers he searched for were always hidden in a complex maze made of entangled images of black and white.
He shivered in sweat, eyes wide and alert when he heard the knocking on the door before he expired in relief on the voice of Madam Linda calling him by his title: “Doctor!… doctor!… are you here?” Her voice was never distant as it was this time.
He put his tinted hand on the latch of the door… waiting, he could perceive that her anxiety and worries getting higher and higher… the knocking force became stronger and more intense… He gripped the door latch with all his force, hesitating before he decided to open it.
This was a time when he graved to be alone, to ask the necessary questions he needed, and to choose the right answers for himself.
She was trembling and shivering… and started to talk to him without letting herself breathe: “Thank goodness you are alright, you didn’t show your face in a few days… I thought, something happened to you…” She brought a pouch to Rokah vision field and continued: “when you didn’t come to the funeral, I thought you were tired, but it’s been days, and when you left that time you were in… I got worried.” She stopped talking when she noticed the stiff expressions on his face: “Rokah!… are you alright?”
And Rokah wondered, where did his counterfeit blinding smile go? He didn’t know why he couldn’t fake a smile like every time. He retreated to the bed to sit down after he invited her inside, then he said: “I am very tired.” This answer was followed by a long period of silence.
A compassionate look at Linda’s visage that he couldn’t see because his eyes were towards the floor. He did not want to appear unsure or troubled. His attempt to cover the mood with a fake smile was a failure.
She sat beside him, then she opened the pouch in her lap. She took out a stuffed bread wrapped in a piece of fabric, afterward, she gave it to him and said in a motherly tone: “Sometimes we get very tired from life and its heavy demands, and we require a few days to be alone from everything. To pause in a distant place away from everyone, but don’t ever deprive your body of the food when it’s not necessary.” She gave him a warm smile and alluded to him with her shin to eat.
He tried to return her smile, yet he failed. And again, he proceeded to cover his failure. Therefore, he held the bread with his bandaged hand, fearing to pollute it with the remains of the charcoal on his left hand, and he pretended to eat it.
He gazed at her when she placed a bottle of water and a bottle of milk on the table. Then he watched her looking at the gray painting in doubt before she got out while wishing for him to get better, and that motherly face she made never left her visage.
When Rokah got certain of her departure, he stood up, gazing at the incomplete painting. He put the bread on the table. And at that moment, the image of the cemetery struck his mind like a lightning in a serene blue sky…
He craved to draw a cemetery, or maybe just one headstone marble, in a black-and-white image. And also leaves falling leaves. Perhaps flowers, white flowers that grow from the grave soil, the flowers are better and have more essence…
He held the remains of charcoal and thought, the flowers must be in full bloom. It will be better if he made them folded all over the headstone…. And the twilight sky needed to be gray…
Rokah proceeded without hesitation, altering the whiteboard texture as he pleased, adding and removing the contrast whenever he felt was needed. Sometimes retreated to view the full picture and study the homogeneity of the shades.
He was a little disturbed, but he had made his resolve. This was the only satisfying action he could think of to rectify his mistake and to conform to his path. The path that brought him to this village. The path that he must get to his end before his death.
No more pity, no more sympathy, He decided while adding strokes over and over.
***
A maid invited him to get in and showed him the familiar pathway to the desk of the weird and stern creature with reddish hair all over his body, the Magus of this manor.
In their first meeting, Rokah sensed the vibe of hatred, cruelty emitting from this Magus’s gesture and the tone he spoke his words. The smell of contempt, the hiss of superiority, he projected, and finally the pact of slavery he implemented. Rokah was sure that the man who directed the pact of slavery wasn’t one of those whom they have more than one shape, he was just a mere mongrel like them. Of course, the worst of enemies always came from inside.
Well, Rokah thought he won’t get surprised anymore by all those strange and powerful folks roaming in this remote village, but he wanted to know if Lady Savannah was aware of those people’s existence when she sent him here.
He recalled all of that reassuring talk regarding the simplicity of this last mission. Those hollow words were just like throwing dust in the eyes. And the most important thing he wished to know was the purpose of Lady Savannah by sending him to this village. Did she send him to his possible death, or it was just a lack of proper information?
How much higher the price of freedom, Rokah asked himself as he halted near the Magus’ desk.
For an instant, Rokah’s eyes fall on the Magus’ hairy face while he was reviewing some papers. Unable to determine his expression behind that thick layer of hair, Rokah thought maybe it was the same contract that he wasn’t planning to sign no matter what.
Seaben placing the papers to the side, he gave the doctor a throughout scan before he opened his mouth to provoke him: “Have you changed your mind?”
Rokah fought to keep his composure while staring at his hairy face that concealed everything like a shield while he was planning his answer carefully.
