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Remains of a hope!

What are those infernal insects called? Fruit fly or a more inclusive variety of the larger fly species? He doesn’t really care to know the answer. He is concerned only with his nefarious activities. They’re so small…like microorganisms…only visible…otherwise they’d be very much like the virus that’s been rampaging outside…threatening to break in at any moment…and this fear, this damn fear, which has been keeping him locked away…perhaps for eternity!

You can’t help but be surprised by their prowess: any ripe fruit, or any bit of it, and they’ll materialize out of thin air… swarming around you, noiselessly, but with purpose. Not only that… for that matter, any scraps of anything, anything leftover, from uneaten food scraps left on plates to dark red stains at the bottom of unwashed teacups. .and they will crowd together. Like black dots, they will be immersed in their existential task… you can easily shake them… they will fly as silently as before, but they will come back again, very quickly. Do you want to kill them? No way, you would just waste your time clapping without the celebration.

He looks with disgust at the hordes of them, busy as usual in his stuffy one-room apartment. His abode, he prefers to call it cursed, is particularly prone to his attacks: on the table with the leftovers on the plates, on the teacups on the floor pushed under the cots for action to be taken later, on the basket of fruit even though it’s garnished for the most part by a lone blackened banana, everywhere in the carved wall spot called the kitchen and the floor-level gaping hole below it called the sink.

He smiles hysterically at the thought of having to get out of the stifling environment a few times during the day… a relief? Ha! Ha! Ha! Well, not for any bloody outing or productive activity, just to answer the inevitable calls of nature. And there too! The hellish bugs completely dominate the communal toilets which have been crying red and green due to a lack of dedicated cleaners.

He is also amazed by another basic aspect of his existence, he reflects as he continues to sit on the dirty bunk, leaning against the hard, rough concrete wall.

The seemingly unpleasant attributes of his place of residence had never really been a disturbing thought before… when he worked for a restaurant that was frequented by customers despite the dilapidated building it was housed in, for its good food, and so on. daily activity from early morning until late at night was the norm. The earnings were good. Good advice from belly-rubbing clients more than supplemented his modest monthly salary. And life was good. His wife was taking very good care of his tenement house which he rented for a couple of years after leaving his parents’ house in the slum, and his daughter entered a good school.

The remains… the flies… the visitors… it was all there, but then the invisible flies swarmed in, powerful and overwhelming. Everything changed in a single day… his workplace closed… he was imprisoned in his stuffy house… infested by visible flies.

For a couple of months he continued to collect his salary and with his moderate savings life was not so difficult. But slowly and inevitably, things got worse. He tensed, stiff and irritable, locked up against his will, intolerably hot in the following summer.

He also began to notice ominous changes in his wife’s behavior patterns and mood swings: she seemed to have completely lost interest in cooking her favorite dishes; she was also constantly angry and irritated, pounced on his immobility or whatever he wanted to do as a way of helping, saying nasty things about his wasted manhood, etc.: her only concern that seemed to remain fixed was that her daughter must have children. He continues with his online classes for which he forced him to part with his smartphone that he so desired in his painful confinement.

The suffocation and sadness only increased over the months as the rent on her house went into the pending queue, her small television went without air due to the accumulation of cable charges, and she could no longer order online. your favorite items, from ready-to-use groceries. to cosmetics that were labeled non-essential because of the invisible flies.

Now he has two growing concerns. Could it be that the love that has always been the pillar of his married life has been thrown out the window, forever, and that his beloved wife only hates him now? Would he ever get his livelihood back? He has heard that his restaurant may never reopen, because the municipal authorities are considering demolishing the dilapidated building. Has he lost the whole direction of his life?

He blames himself for at least two things: he never really cared for his wife, always leaving her behind inside that stuffy tenement and never allowing her to do the odd jobs, like the most preferred kitchen maid, and he never even seriously considered his demand for a sewing machine, a job he said he was very skilled at; and he himself, thanks to his now proven false sense of dignity and lifestyle, never wanted to do the jobs that his working brothers in the neighborhood advised him to do.

The hordes settle on the table next to his bed. In a fit of rage, she violently claps her hands on them. The hordes scatter, but now they return to haunt his mouth and her nostrils.

He sits quietly for a minute next to her, thinking about something, a stern look on his face. She suddenly bursts into a whirlwind of activities: she picks up all the unwashed utensils and all the scraps wherever they are, and begins to wash; she takes the broom cleaning all the corners of the tenement; and spray the remains of a bottle of air freshener.

Knocking on the door. She gives a smug look to her room, opens the door, and lies back on the cot, grumpy as usual. Enter his wife and his daughter. His ten-year-old daughter immediately sits on the other cot, focused on her smartphone. His cell phone of hers! she thinks, now not sadly, but proudly… with love.

The somewhat brighter and smiling face of his wife quite surprises him. Closing the door, he places her bag on the table and sits on the floor at her feet. She looks at him and says:

“My mask design is approved by the lady, listen! From tomorrow she calls me at her house, there she will allow me to work on her sewing machine and I will receive a commission for each mask I make.” ! “

“Congratulations!” he answers in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ve also decided to visit my brothers tomorrow! We’ll discuss the jobs we can start with. The future is uncertain, you know! We must win and give our daughter and ourselves a better life!”

If she was surprised, now she doesn’t show it. She places her hands on her thighs, places her face there, and cries silently. He places the palm of his right hand on his head and smirks.