If stars could ✔

two

IF STARS COULD TALK, they'd have yelled his name to the world.

But they couldn't so he lay on the hospital bed with no identification, no family and the doctors believed, limited memory.

He had experience spinal fracture, he had broken his ankle and two ribs. His head was concussed. But due to spinal fracture, his leg had been paralysed. He had been in coma for few days and the doctor would have declared him brain dead if it weren't for the fluttering of the eyes and the moan.

It had taken seven days for him to do that. And another ten days for him to finally wake up. His black eyes stared at the hospital ceiling, his mind clouded. He remembered what had happened to him. He remembered Joe. But he didn't remember anything else.

"Good morning, son." The old nurse greeted him as she pulled the curtain apart so that sunlight would stream inside his room. He squinted at the sudden light and looked away.

"How do you do?" She asked.

"Fine." He lied as she removed the sheet from his legs and pricked it with a pin. She then tapped softly below his knees all the way to his feet.

"Feel anything?" She asked.

He shook his head. She smiled sadly at him.

"Do you remember anything?"

"I remember the stars, the wind, the height, the darkness, Joe and stairs." He repeated his fixed answer everytime she came to ask him.

"Your name?" She prodded.

He tried, he tried so hard to concentrate, to have someone whisper him his name. He wanted to know his name. His name. The most basic and most important of his identity. He had even asked the nurse a mirror so that looking at himself would trigger something in his mind. But he had remembered his cat mask, not his name.

"Do you remember where you live?" She asked.

He tried.

"No."

"Anything?"

Blank.

He remembered the apartment he had been in, dark, well furnished and in a nice building. He had remembered the glass, the drills, his trusted wire, his leather jacket.

"Okay, son." She smoothed his hair affectionately. "We will help you."

"Do you think I have a family?" He asked.

"Everyone does." She answered.

He remembered his pouch. Could he have kept something there that would have helped him? He asked the nurse about it.

"Yes, you did have a pouch. I will see if I can find it."

He nodded as she went away. He had been fixed with catheter to drain his urine. He was glad he didn't have to use bed pans or anything worse.

He moved his neck to stare at the window. He remembered the way the winds had been slapping him. Had they known? If the stars could talk, they could have whispered something to the winds.

"Hello." He hadn't noticed anyone step inside until the person had spoken. The person was a woman, wearing a beige overcoat, dark circles underneath her brown eyes. She looked pale, tired, sleepless. He knew her face.

"Are you family?" He asked.

She laughed, humourlessly, and looked at him strangely.

"No." She answered when she realised he was actually waiting for one.

"You seem familiar." He said to himself.

"I might." She said. "You see, it was my house that you burgled that night."

He looked at her, his eyes of void of any emotions. "I am sorry."

"I am not supposed to meet you." She said.

"Why?"

"I am still thinking if I should press charges against you. After all, you were not the only one and what you have stolen has been found."

"Yes." He said and then looked away from her. "Do you think I have a mother?"

She didn't respond and he didn't look at her. He didn't need to look at her to know that she was trying to form an answer. He had caught her by surprise. She must have expected him to plead or talk about the diamonds. But he didn't care. He had never cared.

"Yes. You do." She answered.

"Do you think she is alive? Do you think I was someone who took care of her?"

"I . . ." she hesitated, "I don't know you."

A drop of tear leaked from the corner of his right eye. He wiped it away.

"Neither do I." He said.

She stood perplexed at this admission. He just remembered that night, one night. He knew more about her than he knew about himself. He knew that she had a child, as the memories of the apartment came to him, he swore he had seen a frame of her with a child. He knew she was married, he could see the diamond ring sparking right now. His eyes were trained to notice such things. He knew she had been travelling, hence, the uninhabited house.

"My husband thinks that I should press charges." She whispered almost to herself.

"I can beg you not to do it but I wouldn't know what to say." He said.

"It is just that . . ." she hesitated, "if your friends could give me back one thing. Just one."

"I have told everything I remember about them to the police." He said. "And I haven't gained anything by the burglarly. In fact, I have lost more than I can ever comprehend."

"Yes," she nodded, "Yes, yes."

"Pressing charges against me won't help you get what you want back." He said.

"I know."

"I won't beg." He said trying to protect the little pride that he thought he had.

"Okay." She said and left the room.

The old nurse entered almost at the same time that the lady left. Both of them looked at each other and the nurse looked irritated.

"She is not supposed to be here." The nurse said.

"She told me." He said. "What did you find for me?"

"Most of things from the pouch have been taken by the police as evidence. In fact, the pouch itself has been taken. In case, they have to build a case against you." The nurse said.

He felt a wave of disappointment hit him.

"But I looked through your clothes and found this . . ." she handed him a small knife.

He flicked the knife in his hand. His hand was familiar with it. It knew what to do.

"Look at the handle." She said.

He followed her order, and for the first time in days he felt something ignite in his heart. There were initials engraved in the handle. Just two letters: I.K.

Tears poured down his eyes freely and he did nothing to stop then. He looked at his nurse and she was beaming in happiness.

"Thank you." He said.

"If you had a mother, my child, you would have taken care of her." She said. And he smiled weakly.