The Mesmerizing Face
By: Anitha Sankaran
Tags: Mystery, Fantasy, Surrealism, Fiction, Short Story

The Mesmerizing Face

Short Fiction Story

Image by __Jasmin__ from Pixabay

April 02, 1998

Redemption, a life of redemption, it is what it is, and it is what all about.

I read those royal blue words etched below a tapestry painting. She is about to jump from the highest cliff. Always I wished to see the face of that winged girl. But, I could only see the back of the girl in that tapestry painting. I’m thoughtful and observant each time I see it when I visit my granny’s house. It makes my mind soak with hefty ideas.

I don’t mind it hanging, on that wall, and had never asked my granny anything about it. It is yet another relic in the house as per her. But, those relics contains the last piece of my grandpa, at least according to her. So she never tried to rearrange or upgrade the room.

The hundred times of casual glare and deep thoughts didn’t flutter me. But today, right at this moment, it matters. I can’t lie on this bed staring the girl on it. It is disturbing. I can’t say what disturbs whether the girl who wants to jump or the verses below the art. It could be the thought of waking up on the sight of it for the next few months I’m going to spend here in my grandma’s house.

I scurried out of the guest room and reached my granny’s bedroom. There I stood at the door, hesitant to wake her. I had no choice but to go ahead and ask her. It was after a few knocks, the door opened, and she stood in half-awake eyes.

“What’s the matter, sweety?” she tenderly asked.

“I couldn’t sleep. All because of the painting out there in the room. Nanna, can I remove it?” I asked her consent.

“Oh, sweety. You can’t do that. Your grandpa won’t like it. I’m sorry, dear.” Nanna denied.

“But, how will he know it, nanna?”

“He will, dear,” she said, and I gave a skeptical look.

“He is no more. How is it possible? It sounds illogical, right. I can get it. Let me tell you a story. Come in. I can’t stand for a long time. My leg hurts,” she walked in, and I followed her. Nanna sat on the wooden leather upholstered armchair with brass nail-heads on the sides of it. I sat on her bed, facing her. I couldn’t help, so I admired the beauty of the Thames river in the oil painting behind her.

“It happened when your grandpa was alive. 10 years before,” with Nanna’s words, I traveled ten years back with her in my mind.

March 20, 1988

The pure white tinged with the palest pink flowers blushed, seeing its elegance on the pond. The cherry blossoms in Sheera’s garden marked the onset of the spring that year. She looked herself in the mirror, and Sheera felt that she is no more a cherry blossom on seeing her withered frame. Her smile was still pink and reflected the cherry blossom in it. She got distracted from her musing when she heard the shrill sound.

Sheera went out of her bedroom to check out the sound. She took a peek of the Thames river hanging on the wall and smiled before she left the room. It’s her favorite painting, and she would be happy to spend hours together gazing at it, without moving.

“Oh, again. Aren’t you crazy, Abbah? You are going to transform our house into an art museum or what?” Sheera cupped her face in her hands, staring off to the side of Abbah sitting on the office chair in the guest room.

“Sweetheart, Don’t you admire the piece of arts which I get for you? They mean more than our children. It’s not me but you who had said these words. Don’t you remember?” Abbah evoked her memory.

“Ya, I agree. But we are too old now. Why you have to take pains? Let’s sell some old paintings, at least.”

“Oh, no! Never think of it, dear. Don’t try to disturb the order.”

“What order? You speak weird. I’m not getting it.”

“Come here. Help me to hang this.” Abbah summoned her.

Once they both hung the painting, Abbah asked Sheera to take a look at it. She anxiously observed the girl in it.

“This would be the last painting.” Abbah quavered.

April 02, 1998

“Ten days after he bought that painting, he left this earth. God, he knew it, he knew he was towards his end. He was counting his days. I never knew it that day,” Nanna lamented.

“I’m sorry, Nanna. I didn’t know you held emotions behind that piece,” I empathized.

Nanna weakly nodded and smiled.

“Can I ask you something?” I questioned.

“Sure, sweety.”

“What was the order which grandpa mentioned?”

“Ah! I forgot to ask him, dear. It didn’t make any sense. Perhaps, he wanted to cherish all these paintings.”

I sighed, hearing it.

“Not that it matters. I can’t move any paintings from this house. I thought once, but it didn’t work,” Nanna vaguely said.

“Five years after his death,” I pictured the story behind her narration.

May 15, 1993

It was a monotonous day. Nothing so exciting. The sun and moon rose and set as usual. Sheera lost the punch in her life. She thought Abbah took with him the playful days which she had. The more she saw the paintings, the most she missed him. She planned to sell the paintings.

Abbah came in her dreams that night. Her heart bounced like a basketball.

“Don’t do it, sweetheart. Don’t ruin it,” Abbah pleaded her.

Sheera made her mind not to move a single nail from that house.

April 02, 1998

“That’s all about it. Now, do you understand? He will know. I don’t want to upset Abbah,” Sheera said to her grand kid.

“If you are not comfortable there, you can sleep in my room with me. We can exchange rooms tomorrow if you want. Since you are going to stay long until your mom returns from her business trip,” Nanna offered her room.

“No, Nanna. I’m good. I’ll sleep in that room. Goodnight,” I politely declined her offer.

“Goodnight, Sweety.” she got up from the chair and kissed me.

April 03, 1998, 3:00 AM

I managed to sleep a little but woke up. My clouded mind ran over the order that grandpa mentioned. I saw the painting again. It is impossible to take my mind off. I planned to flip the tapestry painting. After I woke, it can be at its place, I thought.

I got up and went near the painting to turn it. When I removed it from the hook, I saw a switch behind it. I wondered what the switch is. Must be a light switch. I got back to bed. My twisted mind wanted to press the switch, and I did it.

It wasn’t a light switch. The wall behind the painting was the door. The door opened with a creaking sound. It was pitch black inside, and I’m afraid of the dark. I don’t want to go in, but I want to know what was out there.

I scanned the room for a flashlight. I found one in the swan-shaped dresser near the Victorian table lamp. With the light in one hand, I entered the secret passageway. Within two feet, I stepped on something. The door closed behind my back. I saw below and found it was the foot-switch for the door.

Before I advanced ten feet, the flashlight dropped. It became grave dark. What a mistake? I shouldn’t have entered here. I could watch The Exorcist, Misery, Night of the living dead on my head, all at once. I was so immersed in horror that I walked into the passage instead of searching the switch to come out.

I staggered for a while and reached far away from the door. A light shined at a distance, and my eyes weren’t able to adjust it. I ran towards the direction of light. When I finally reached there, I stood on a lush green mountain. A girl in a red skirt and white top stood five feet before me. I could see the curls in her hair. She looked familiar to me. I couldn’t see her face since she stood before me, showing her rear side. I sneaked behind her. She walked towards the end of the cliff. I rushed to stop her.

Thud.

She jumped. I peeped, standing at the edge of the cliff. I couldn’t see the ground below. I closed my eyes in shock.

Five minutes.

I dared to open my eyes. I sat in the guest room bed.

I was sure that I didn’t dream. The painting on the wall had the blank side facing me. I went near the tapestry and moved it. The switch was there. I turned back, and the flashlight was on the swan-shaped dresser. I took the light and pressed the switch.

The door invited me. This time I was not afraid. I intended to save the girl. I walked fast and reached the mountain.

“Don’t jump,” I shouted.

She ignored me and leaped down. I closed my eyes in pain and landed in my bed. I understood that she is going to jump down, no matter what. I sat there and cogitated.

I recalled the verse in the painting. This time I felt I knew it. I reached the mountain top through the secret passage.

I quoted, “Redemption, a life of redemption, it is what it is, and it is what all about.”

“It is what it is,” I emphasized.

The girl stood like stone. I advanced near her, and she didn’t move. I should go to the front to see her face. There was only an arm’s length of land before her. I managed to go inch by inch without disturbing her. With a great effort, I stood in front of her.

I saw her face.

It was the first and the last time.

©Anitha Sankaran 2020