The Old House: Eternal Summer

In the middle of the night, I hear screams and banging at the old house just beside my home. I wonder what could it be the reason for this commotion? Is it a thief or is it just the wind that makes the noise?

From my bedroom window, I look over to find for the answer. But I only see dried branches of trees and moss on the old steps. I am about to close the window when a faint glow from the kitchen catches my, now wide awake, attention.

As I look closely at the window, I notice a profile of a man, sitting inside. I quickly get my coat and run towards the old house. I should call the police but my mind tells me that he is harmless. So as I try to knock on the door, I notice that it is ajar.

I peep first before going into the old house. The house smells like moss and rotten wood, warmly greeting me. Just like the beach. I follow the trail of the light from the kitchen and find an elderly man, most probably around his eighties, sitting quietly on a wooden rocking chair.

He looks up and seems not to be surprise to find a stranger with him. I slowly move forward, grab a chair and sit in front of him.

I begin to ask him politely why he is there and if he has brought someone to accompany him tonight.

He looks at me with soulful eyes and begins to cry shamelessly in front of me. Without thinking, I reach out and hug him very dearly. He tries to talk between sobs but failed.

Out of nowhere, an idea hit me. I ask him if it is alright with him to go over my house for tea and he agreed. Together, we start walking towards my house. Before we turn towards it, he looks back at the old house and silent tears fall freely.

We reach my house and I sit him near the fireplace to warm him up a little. As I go to the kitchen to make some tea, he starts to talk.

He tells about the history of the old house. It is the one that he and his wife bought right after they get married. It was in the 1940s. His wife was a nurse and he was a medical student. They were living happily when the war tear them apart.

His wife was called for service in Pearl Harbor and he in Washington. It was the height of the war and they were both afraid to be apart. But as he says, "Service to our fellowmen was more important by that time. Prayers were the only one we could hold on to."

As he continues his story, I find myself drawn to it. He says that it was horrible to be in war. People dying in front of you and many soldiers died because of the wounds they got from a bomb explosion. He hadn't heard anything from his wife until one month later...

It was their first year anniversary, when a mail came to him. By this part, he starts to cry again. I try to calm him down by giving the cup of tea which I made. He sips a little of the tea, calms a little and continues with his tale about the war and his wife.

"I was attending to a wounded soldier, not so serious though, just a scratch from the broken glass brought by the explosion, when I saw the mail carrier talking to my head supervisor and they both looked at me. Because of their reaction, my heart started to pump wildly. I tried to tell myself that the letter wasn't for me and it was for my patient who was unconscious on the plinth.

"I could feel the steps growing closer to me until a tap on my shoulder made me to turn around. Even until today, I could feel the fingers who tapped me." He sighs deeply then he continues.

"My head supervisor said he was sorry and gave me the letter. I took it from him with shaking hands. I remember very well that I didn't open it until I was on my bed, trying to fight my tears.

"I opened the yellow sheet and read what was written in it. It told me that they were sorry to inform me that my wife had died because of the surprise attack by the Japs. They also told me that she died during her service in the hospital. After reading the letter, I was in no condition to continue my duty as a medical volunteer.

"My supervisor sent me home and I started to put away my wife's things. As I was rummaging through her stuff near the bed, I saw a letter fell on the floor and it was addressed to me. I looked at it quite long and for it was written in my wife's own cursive handwriting.

"Tears fell down freely as if they knew where and when to go. I read slowly... Very slowly..."

He couldn't continue his story because he is sobbing uncontrollably now. He gives me the yellowish stationery and motions me to read it. As I read the letter, tears fall from my eyes.

In the letter, it says:

Dear George, the love of my life,

Happy first anniversary! I just want to thank you for the love and support you showed me this past year. I am very thankful to have a husband like you. I have a surprise for you, dear. I am pregnant. Two months. I wanted to tell you last month but since we are quite busy by that time, I postponed it and wanted to surprise you today. I hope that this letter will get on time. I will love you always, remember that.

Love, Margarita

I look at the date and it was written two weeks before the attack in Pearl Harbor... before Margarita and her baby died. I look at George, now sleeping soundly at the sofa. I put blanket on him and go to my room. Tears are still falling down my now soaked cheeks as I look at the old house.

The old house that smells like moss was once a home and now it becomes the home of memories...