They called him the ‘bitch monk’. Monk because he lived the life of a hermit, and bitch because he was always mumbling the words ‘bitch’ and ‘why’. Also, he never left his black leather Jacket.

 He never told anybody anything. And nobody bothered to listen to his incoherent mumblings even if he was making some sense. It’s very slow living in the mountains still… life has its own pace. It never stops for anybody. ‘Life goes on!’, like they say.

 ‘I wanted to…wanted to… make you happy… happy. Why? Why? You just never…just never… Get it bitch, get it? You better… get it?…Why? Why…a day after…a day after… you were born… bitch, get it? Get it, bitch?’ mumbled the bitch monk.

 He had queer mannerism as well. He walked like a toddler except that he took even shorter steps. And he was always looking down and not up. Even if he had to mend the roof he’d be looking down. It was as if there was a knife over his head that would strike if he looked up. 

 His hut, which had been his dwelling for the last couple of years, ever since he moved in after that episode in his life, had started to leak from the roof. But he didn’t care, probably afraid of the knife. Like he didn’t care if the local kids tugged at his clothes when he went out to the local grocery store; like when people called him ‘why monk’ within earshot for him to miss it; or when the water tap went on all night a few nights ago; or even when a fly went into his soup and he finished it with the fly still in the empty mug.

 He was a curious being. It was as if nothing perturbed him. Yet… he was the most perturbed man.

……………………………………………..   

Peter is lying down on his bed staring at the ceiling. He gets up, goes to the living room, sits on a rocking chair and stares at nothing.

Peter wasn’t always like that. Broody, quite man who liked locked doors that nobody could come through. And he wanted darkness in his room. So did Jack but for different reason. Peter wanted darkness because he wanted peace and quietness; these only came with night. He wanted to lock the big mad world outside so that he could think… brood.

Presently, he was brooding on why Rose didn’t look at him when he waived to her from the car? She was looking at Linda. Was Linda more important to her than him? And she didn’t look very happy. She looked sad. Was she sad because he was leaving? He cheered up a bit at this thought. That she could be sad at him leaving. But she also looked disappointed when he walked in the door. She didn’t look happy to see him. It was almost like she was regretful that he came. Why? He always felt so cheerful when he met her. Why doesn’t she feel happy to see him?

Or does she? What about that look in her face every time he looks at her lovingly? She blushes! He was positive he made her blush. The look in her eyes told it all. The way she would maintain her gaze and then lower eyes…

He gets up from the rocking chair. The last few positive thoughts were enough to bring him to life. His woman wanted him. That gaze and that blush! But still…. why would she not feel happy to see him? Why? What’s…?

‘O Rose, what’s bothering you? You know you only have to say it once, my doll. I’ll give my life for you… Was that Jack bothering you? It must be that Jack.’

He felt suffocated all of a sudden. He needed some air… some fresh air… And his sight needed a change of scene as well. He made for the balcony of his flat. It was dusk when he sat in the rocking chair. It was night now. In the dark he could just make out the path to the moon light shimmering through the cracks in the door to the balcony. When he locked himself in, he put the curtains down on the windows. Only that crack bothered him, whenever he looked that way.

He didn’t like looking at full moon. Full clear moon… and the sea. At night they felt like two of the enemy’s closest confidants… laughing at him and mocking him; constantly rubbing it in. He couldn’t look at full moon and the sea underneath and not think of what could be… What could be overwhelmingly, breathtakingly beautiful was just a reminder of what could be…

‘O Linda, put some sense into her. I’d give my soul to you, Linda,’ murmured he, staring at the deep abyss up.

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