Thought

                                                THOUGHT

                                                The widow

“I give up”, she thought as she wiped a tear from her cheek and settled herself back into the brown, leather arm chair.
“Am I happy”? She thought about this for a minute before deciding. “No. For surely that question contains an answer in itself. When one is happy, one does not doubt, nor does one speculate or muse poetically about life or love, or any such subject of the heart, in which the mind cannot hope to do more than drown in overwhelmed confusion. No! When one is happy, one is simply happy and that is enough”.
She took a sip of her drink and sighed deeply to herself.” I am not happy”, she thought, “but do I seem happy”? She thought about this for a minute, before deciding. “Yes! I have large homes, in which I host large social gatherings, my homes are filled with old, extravagant pieces of furniture, which intern are filled with small, shiny, innate objects from all over the world. Yes! I am sure I would consider myself happy, if I where not myself”.
She chuckled once under her breath.
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window she was sitting by. It was raining outside, and her image was distorted by raindrops on the window pane. She could see, not herself in the distorted image, but rather the ghostly remembrance of the beautiful young woman she once was. She cringed for an instant, but then quickly relaxed smiling and thought: “I was never so vein, when I was beautiful”.
She noticed the butler entering the room, and as their eyes met, they exchanged the usual empty smile, before she quickly turned her eyes to the lit fireplace and peered into the flames. It seemed a normal enough thing she thought.
She continued to track his movement through her peripheries, as he refilled her drink and then swiftly exited the room.
The next things she thought were as follows:
She thought of the south of Spain. Of eating dinner with old friends at 10:30 at night (as is the custom there), and of sitting on the beach at dusk, watching the vague ghostly outline of Morocco slowly disappear into darkness on the horizon.
Then she thought of her aching joints, but quickly reminded herself that this was counterproductive and stopped.
Finally, she thought briefly of god, but she thought nothing of interest.
She felt her heavy eyelids betraying her as she drifted into what felt like sleep. She noticed casually, that she was no longer breathing. It did not hurt. “I’ll make a mental note of it”, she mused to her self.
Then she died. She did not think.
         

                                             


                                            The butler


“Only thirty more minutes”, he thought. He had looked at the clock on the kitchen wall at least seventeen times during the past hour. “Thirty more minutes, and I can go upstairs, wash down a fist full aspirin, with a cup full of whiskey and crawl into to my shitty bed, in the shitty servant’s quarters, of this shitty old lady’s house”.
He had just finished polishing all of the lady’s silver wear, and his hands were screaming bloody murder from the effort. “Miserable old bat he thought”.
He sat down on the very straight, very uncomfortable wooden chair that had been provided for him and lit a cigarette.
Watching the dancing swirls of smoke, caught in a faint updraft created by the oven fan on the far side of the room made him think of beauty, but he did not know why, and he had long since learned not to ruin such things by trying to articulate them.
He took another drag of his now half finished cigarette, and suddenly found it to be nauseating. “This always happens”, he thought. “I don’t even know why I smoke at all. I must light at least twenty of the damned things a day, but I only ever finish one when I’m intoxicated.” He starred absently into the glowing ember as it slowly died, pressed against the wall of the ashtray. “So it goes”, he thought, smiling to himself.
He rose half-heartedly from the chair, and began walking towards the door opposite him. “Better go do my job”, he thought. His smile was already gone, replaced now with what he referred to as his “empty face”. An expressionless mask, completely void of emotion, intended to shield his mistress from the realization that the person waiting on her hand and foot is a living, breathing, thinking human being.
He found her sitting in an armchair in front of the fireplace in her late husband’s study. She looked up as he entered, and as their eyes met, they exchanged the usual empty smile, before he quickly fixed his gaze upon the portrait hanging on the wall directly across from him. I t seemed a normal enough thing, he thought.
“I better make myself look busy”, he thought, and for lack of anything better to do, he topped up her drink before swiftly exiting the room.
He walked through the entrance hall, and back towards the kitchen. As he passed beneath the great chandelier, he caught a quick glimpse of rainbow coloured light reflected off the Chrystal and he thought once again of beauty.
As he entered the kitchen, the wall clock immediately grabbed his attention.
“Ten more minutes”, he thought. “Perfect! Just the amount of time I need to poor myself a drink, before I go up to my room and poor myself a drink”. His smile was back now.
                                                                       
                                                      The doctor

“Who in the world buys this stuff”, he thought, as he flung TV remote back onto the couch next to him. He was watching the president’s state of the union address, and he had just hit the mute button in a gesture of joint rebellion and exasperation. “This is the only way to watch it”, he thought. “Their words can be deceiving, but take away their voice, and their eyes will tell you what they are really saying”.
He thought himself clever at this, so he allowed a self satisfied grin to cross his face. He thought on it again and felt ashamed of his arrogance.
He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. The next things he thought were as follows:
He thought of the south of Spain, of walking the trails of the Andalucía Mountains with his parents as a child, and of Saturday morning at the market place. “I have never appreciated anything in adulthood, as much as I appreciated fake Rolex’s and novelty lighters as a child”, he thought.
Then he thought briefly of love, but he thought nothing of interest.
His thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing. He already knew who it was. It was the one year anniversary of his father’s death, and he had not spoken to his mother since the funeral.
He let it ring. “What a pathetic coward I am”, he thought.

                                                  The butler

“What am I doing”? He thought.
He had been cleaning the same spot on the oak, wooden table for the better part of an hour. He could hear the coroners conversing casually in the study next door.
“I bet they think that no one can hear them”, he thought.
“I wish no one could hear them”, he thought.
He wondered fleetingly whether it would be proper for him to be in the room, to overlook the proceedings. He was not comfortable with death, nor was he comfortable with idea of his late mistress going through death alone.
“I suppose everybody goes through death alone”, he thought.
“What am I doing”? He thought, as he stood upright with a jerk and threw the checked wash cloth across the room. He straightened his tie in a gesture of pulling himself together, and marched confidently towards the door.
Out in the hall, he discovered the coroners, already finished, and in the process of leaving. He met each set of eyes in turn, and found them to be wearing identical, solemn expressions, tainted with an air of forced compassion. “Empty face”, he thought, and found himself suppressing a smile.
He ushered them politely to the door, and then closed it behind them with a sigh of relief.
“Time to make a phone call”, he thought, and his heart sank once more.


                                                  The coroner

“I shot the sheriff”, he thought, smiling.
Then he thought: “But I did not shoot the deputy”
He was at a country manor with his partner, collecting the body of an old lady that had passed away the previous night. They were finished their work, and were in the process of wheeling the body through the entrance hall and towards the front door.
He noticed the resident butler on the far side of the room, and quickly straightened his expression.
“He has green eyes”, he thought, “just like my Hanna”.
The butler ushered them politely towards the front door and he followed, glad to be leaving.
“I shot the sheriff”, he thought, smiling once again.



                                                The doctor

He was sitting on the floor, with his back against the wall, and his knees pressed up against his shoulders. The phone was on the carpet next to him, still of the hook, and he could hear the faint sound of a disconnected tone, which seemed to be emanating from the very depths of his own mind.
He did not know what to think.


           
                                                The end.