Sunday, December 31, 2006

The prisoner of love .
By Kirsten Nour Namskau

Some times it’s difficult to be a viewer without being able to do anything to help.
I remember 28 years ago . . . the daughter of a friend of mine had got her first boy-friend. They were so in love although she was only 16 years . . . he was 20.
He had been in love with her for long time, but knew she was too young to go steady with any-one. So he had been “waiting” for her, looked at her on distance and followed her progress at school.
When he approached her the first time, she didn’t really want a boy-friend, but as time went and they were in the same circle of friends, she found him more and more interesting.
He always treated her with respect and care.
When she was 17 years old, he wanted to marry her. But her parents meant she was too young.
They engaged in secret . . . in secret, she was wearing his ring, in secret they had made the decision to marry when she was 18.
In secret, she started to buy things to their home to be, in secret he started to look for an apartment.
Few days before her 18th birthday, she didn’t feel well.
She went to a doctor who confirmed her pregnancy. She got terrified and kept it as a secret for a few days.
But early morning on her birthday, she couldn’t hold the secret any more . . .
She called her boy-friend at work . . . when he came to the phone, she started to cry and couldn’t say more than: “please come, something has happened and I’m so afraid . . . can you come . . . can you come now ??”
He panicked hearing her in this state. Something had happened to his girl, his love, the one he soon should marry. Today, they should celebrate her 18th birthday. Whatever it was, he had to come to her so fast as possible.
He told her to go to Tavern where they used to meet and wait for him there.
He left work and rushed to his motor-bike, jumped on and took the high-way in maximum speed.
She went to the Tavern and ordered a coke. She waited for many hours . . . until she understood that he would not come at all. She believed that he had gone “chicken” and run away.
She went home and cried in silent.
The next day she could read in the newspaper why he had not come . . .
In his eager to come as fast as possible to his girl . . . he drove too fast and had come in an accident. He died instantly.
She got frozen of fear and sorrow.

. . . She was not wanted at the funeral. She was standing on distance, watching her beloved be put in the soil . . . and cried in secret and silent. It felt as if her breath drifted away with her beloved.
The whole time of the pregnancy she carried the fear of becoming a mother . . . alone with a child.
When the child (a girl) got born, she saw that the girl looked much alike her father. She felt sorry that the girl never should learn to know her father. . . But a thought came to her mind.
He had been the only child . . . maybe his parents, who now were the girls grand-parents would like to know that hey had a grandchild. They had lost their son, but he had left something behind . . . a jewel of a grand-daughter.
They could tell her about her father . . . memories from his childhood and youth-hood.

She went to his parents with the girl . . . to tell them, that they had a grand-daughter.
But they shouted at her and told her that she was an opportunist who tried to take advantage of them.
She went home . . . ashamed and in silence she cried for her child.
But, she also felt she had been insulted in an unfair way. She had not had in her mind to take advantage of anyone.
She went to a doctor and took a blood-analysis of the child, then She went home and wrote a letter;
“You called me an opportunist and said I only wanted to take advantage of your sorrow after the loss of you son.
That was not what I wanted . . . nothing for myself, but something for my child. Her right to know her grand-parents and I thought you would be so happy to know. You have lost your son, the only child you had. But before he died, he left you a gift behind . . . his only child, your grand-child.
I have got a blood-analysis of my girl today and I send it to you in this letter. If it is in your interest to care for what your son left behind . . . compare the sample with one taken from your son.
I shall never bother you again, but if you ever want to see the mirror-picture of your son, the jewel he left behind, your grand-daughter . . . you have to contact me.”
She sent it in the mail to the parents of her late fiancé.

They did compare the blood-samples and they did found that their late son was the father of the child . . .
They did contact her and asked her to come with the child for a visit.
They finally did accept the child as their grand-child . . .
They were not anymore alone . . . their son was not all gone . . . he should always be remembered with joy and pleasure . . . through his only child they should learn to treasure.


BBC said...

Nice story, interesting picture. Well, love and sex go hand in hand.

Hammer said...

Good story. I like the ones with happy endings.

Malnurtured Snay said...

happy new year!

Lexcen said...

BBC, love and tragedy go hand in hand, or haven't you read Shakespeare?