Page 51 of Royal Pain
“We were just giving Mother a minute,” Tarik says.
“It doesn’t seem like such a great idea now. Let’s go back.”
His face tells a story. He’s hurting and every emotion reveals itself. I’m surprised to see it’s so raw. Kwai’s always been the one who’s kept his emotions hidden. I think today they’re just too big to contain.
“Let’s go,” I say, walking back to the room.
We steel ourselves and go inside. Mother has ahold of the king’s hand. She kisses it tenderly and doesn’t look up at the interlopers. I think she’s alone with him now, no matter who else is in the room. Tarik takes his place at the foot of the bed and touches the blanket-covered foot of our father.
Kwai stands slightly behind him, like a kid hiding from the unknown. He feels safer behind his little brother. I pull up the chair and sit across from my mother. Her eyes lift to mine and silently acknowledge my presence. But they quickly return to her husband.
My hand lays on an arm that looks somehow frail even through the fabric. It wasn’t that long ago he still had muscle tone. This devil of a disease has ravaged his body without mercy. His mouth is slightly open and it’s hard to detect even one breath. But the rise and fall of his chest contradicts the picture.
I see the man now, separate from the king. His vulnerabilities are as present as the rest of ours. This bigger than life figure is just a human after all. But the revelation tells me that particular truth is the greatest thing about him. He was just a man, but one who rose above his humanness.
My eyes well with tears, and one streams down my face. I don’t bother wiping it away. He can’t see our pain. A sigh escapes and says more than what can be expressed in words.
“Give your love to the king. To your father,” Mother says, looking at her sons. “It’s time.”
She stands and steps away from the bed to make room for our one way conversations.
Kwai starts crying and it’s so fucking touching how he lifts a hand to his mouth and tries to stifle the sob.
Tarik takes a seat on one side of the king and I the other. I’m holding one hand as Tarik rubs the other.
“Father,” Tarik whispers in his ear. “Thank you for my gift of life. I promise you I will watch over our people and guide Mozia as you have taught me. I love you, Papa. We will all be together again soon.”
His tears take the words from him, and he buries his face in his hands and weeps. Peripherally I see my mother take a seat against the windows.
I look at Kwai, to give him the respect due. He’s the natural born son. But he shakes his head.
“You go next,” he manages to say between the tears.
So I turn my attention to the soul who is passing from us.
“My father. King. Thank you for saving my life. You did in every way.” My tears flow unabated. “I’m sure you gained your wings when you took this broken boy and made him whole again. You didn’t have to do all that you did. Thank you for teaching me that real charity is made of love.”
When I look up Kwai is leaning his head back, looking at the heavens for strength. He wipes his tears with the sleeves of his shirt and leans his hands against the foot rail.
“My king. My father.” He gets those four words out then dissolves in tears. But he keeps going. Mother gets up and comes to his side. She leans her head against him and wraps her arms around his waist.
“It’s alright, son. If it’s too hard you don’t have to say anything. He knows how you feel,” she says softly.
A look comes over his face that I can’t read. It’s as if he’s feeling some sort of strength rising. Maybe he doesn’t want to be that man anymore. A calmness tries to take power over him. The tears quiet.
“No. I want to.”
He keeps ahold of the queen, but it’s the mother who feels the goodness of his words.
“Father. You are the best part of me. I know I can be a fuck-up.”
The sentiment surprises us all and brings a light moment into the room. Proving there is comedy in everything.
“But somehow you overlooked that about your prodigal son. Actually you accepted it. But that didn’t mean you ignored the fact. You always made me feel I was capable of being more. I know that’s a pretty low bar, but for me it’s been a reach. I want you to know how much I love you. How much I appreciate your patience with my ways.” Then these hard to get out words accompanied by tears. “I’m sorry if I ever disappointed you, I know I must have many times.” His frustrated sigh rises in the room. “My promise is this, Father. I’ll try to be better at life. And I’ll look for you in the night’s sky. Just like you told me you did for your parents.”
The heart monitor’s incessant reminder life ebbs, slows until it’s only a whine of sound uninterrupted by a life-force.
How far is the journey from here to a star? Godspeed, my beloved father.
