The remembrance is still lasting like a broken string echoing in an empty room. I left Kazakhstan with my father when I was still a kid, in the early 80s of the last century to come to US. The old locomotive dragged us through the central highlands to Aktau, each moment having the painful feeling to become more apart from the tomb of my mother. My father had an infinite patience to arrange our departure from boat eventually to US and my life changed a bit, until he died suddenly with a stroke just after a few years our arrival.
I hadn’t time to grow up…
This painful memory of him haunts me, yesterday, today. Almost every day I wake up with tears in my eyes.
And again yesterday I went to a restaurante in an attempt to remain healthy and socialize but this painful memory don’t leave me, in fact haunts me like a night mare as if the past, future and present were just a point on the surface of a sphere. I was sat at my corner and I saw my father. He was the same person I had encountered before, on the same place, but a hidden force inside of my being took control as if I was a puppet and I rose from my chair and went slowly, with careful steps toward him.
– Father… – I told in lower and trembling voice.
Nobody remarked at the beginning, each one laughing and speaking naturally and I was just standing alone on the middle of the happy room.
– Father! … – Now my voice was more assertive.
Then a sudden silence was made and everybody stared at me and to that man to whom I was glaring. He was just a few more years older than me, as I am now. Everybody was in silence, deeply disturbed, but at the same time showing deep respect for me. I noticed that. The man to whom I called “Father!” waved to the others and looked at me without saying a word. He was lean and had curled hair with some fancy brown pearls fixed in some sections of the hair.
I knew he was not my father although at some angles of observation he looked like. My father had a more discrete look to comply with the habits of his village . In fact, just after looking again to this man, the very image of my father still vibrating on my mind was evoked, the image I kept from the last moments, when I had been near his body lying on the bed, stiff.
I had to leave that place. The pain in my chest was unbearable. Outside, the rain was pestering my fragile body but I left toward the nearest metro station. At that moment, my tears and the drops of rain have made one with my grief.