THE CLOUDS AND THE CURTAIN

  THE CURTAIN AND THE CLOUDS

 "Look at the clouds."

 "Clouds, really?"

 "Yes, there they are."

 "Sure, darling." 

 "Why can't you trust me?" The woman asked, anxiously.

 "I trust you."

 "You never like anything that I like," said the woman, disappointed. 

The man raised his brows, stood up heavily. Without uttering anything, strode straight to the window where the woman stood already, holding the dark blue curtain, slightly above her right shoulder. 

The man came and gazed at the milky sky through the glass. There was no sun today, only thousands of cumulus and stratus, unorderly had scattered all across the sky. Even without experiencing the usual morning warmth, he could say where the sun was. His eyes took no time. He could always sense the things that are hidden and he had taken no pride in it. The result of it, had been rarely good for him. And, the woman stood there facing the clouds, perhaps, hiding a lot of things beneath the reddened skin of her perfectly lined face. He didn't want to sense what was hidden there. Trying not to look at the woman, the man moved closer to the window glass, not willing to open it, today in this adverse weather, and only touched its coldness. Unlike the woman, he hated all this what was out there. 

   Though, he didn't moved. Standing there for a moment, he felt her stinging eyes on the right of his neck. He turned to her. Their eyes met and then she dropped down her head down. She looked on the floor, thoughtfully, with her hand still squezeeing on the curtain. Before the man could say anything about the clouds and the sky and the whole scene out there, the curtain fell down from her hand, abruptly and there were no more clouds, only a navy blue silky sheet hanging wide across his face.

The woman stepped backwards and sat down on the sofa right where he had been sitting, squezeeing herself in her arms, bent low, staring at the whiteness of tiled floor. Right in front of her, on the table, was the half-filled coffee mug the man had left to look at the clouds. The mug had been warm in his palms and he had liked holding it, but now it was cold there and alone in this weather. He wouldn't drink that remaining coffee for sure yet he felt bad thinking about it. Really bad. An usual bad feeling. 

The man made up his mind and lifted the curtain, slowly as if it was a heavy thing. "Yes, they are beautiful," he said, softly. 

 "I don't know," the woman replied, not so softly, from behind, her head still. 

Without letting the curtain fall, the man looked back, saw the whole of her at once.

 "I thought you liked them."

 "Yes I did but you didn't."

 "I just said, the clouds are beautiful right now, didn't you hear that ?"

 "No."

 "That's the matter with you, always."

"No, not with me."

"I know you well." said the man, eyes not on her.

 "Don't talk to me like this."

 "I am talking fine. I am fine."

The man tried to smile. The woman sat there still, not moving or caring to answer him and then he wasn't fine.

 "I know, what's the matter with you, always." he blurted, without moving his lips. 

 "Please." the woman said, closing her eyes. "Stop it."

 "Who started it?"  

The man glanced at her feet, her fingers were moving and toes were squeezing one another, frantically.

"Please close it." the woman spoke very strangely.

 "What now ?" he asked.

 "Nothing." 

 "Suddenly, they are not beautiful now ?"

 "No."

She stood up, exhaled heavily and not trying to look at him. Put her hands in the pockets of her overcoat.

 "Okay then," the man shrugged and turned ahead.

He heard the woman shuffled accross the hall to the kitchen and then heard the click of the door. She always does this, he said to himslef. He stayed still and hard, only shook his head a little. 

Yes, clouds were beautifully moving there but he would have liked the sky more if it was clear and blue and spotless like yesterday morning it was. In such a weather, you could also open the window glass and feel the warmth of sun right on your face that could melt down your winter- tightened muscles. He liked the sun very much. Everyone should like the sun and no-one should have said that the clouds are beautiful in such a damn morning of this cruel month. The clouds have filled the sky needlessly, he thought. Then he looked down on the floor as he heard a strange voice coming over to him. She always does this, he said to himslef, disgustingly. He watched the closed door of the kitchen, his hand, frozen still holding the curtain. He said aloud, "You were right. These are really beautiful clouds. Aren't they?"

 "Shut the fuck up, Rahul, please. I beg you. Please." She shrieked in a not so womanly voice, that echoed in the kitchen. He closed his eyes more tightly than ever and shook his head harder. Now, he let the curtain fall. Maybe I should have said the clouds are really beautiful, then even I feel they are not, he thought. He sat down, heavily on the sofa, with his head in his hands. 

©Divyankjain

The story is symbolic. The title suggest mental state and nature of the couple. Clouds represet the man's. Like sun they have covered all of his hope of happy life with her wife. The curtain represents woman. She had closed herself, and do not want to express herself. They are quite opposite in nature. The man want sun in the winter ; a good , satisfying life. Woman loves clouds in the winter ; She wants an adventurous life. The warm coffee mug suggesting how theur marride life had been good for half the life and now it is cold as well as their relationship.