Paradise

You think you know me, mister? I’m just a boy, seven years old, small enough to slip through cracks, quiet enough that no one listens. I have my whole life ahead of me to eat and sleep. You know not what I dream of and what I fear. There have been years of experiences that you know nothing about. Once, two tomatoes spoke to me in the garden. Do you know what they said? They said to trust in the future. To believe that good things would come my way. Do you know how hard it is to have this belief when you are beaten by your parents every night for their delight? The lashes from belts and buckles leave marks ‘till this day. Needless to say, I had lost utterly all hope. I was a hopeless little boy getting through the day with small enjoyments like my daily bread, the predictable sunrise, the soothing sound of the birds. 

But those pleasures can only distract the mind for a little while. My fortitude was weary from the lashings and the spankings and the abuse. So I did the only thing I could think of. I left. I ran away from the pain and sought a better life for myself. Is that selfish? Is it selfish to save oneself at the expense of one’s family and community? There wasn’t any way I could stay there and be happy. But, I questioned myself every night, thinking, “What value is my happiness?” “Why should it supersede all else?” These questions haunted me as I worked and travelled from place to place, seeking the thing that would make me whole. When you look for signs, you’re bound to find them. 

There was a village named Paradise not too far away. I set that place as a bearing and once I arrived I decided to stay a while. I met the village people, who seemed relatively nice. One woman, a motherly figure, decided to take me under her wing. She gave me a small room with a bed that her son had left once he became old enough to. I felt that I was reminding her of a fond time long gone. So I concluded that this situation was mutually beneficial. I could fill the void in her heart and she could fill the one in mine. I walked out to a nearby field and sat on a stump. The amber horizon filled me with a sense of peace.

I took up work as a mason. There were lots of jobs around town. I became accustomed to a schedule and routine. I made things that I was proud of, which required sweat and toil. Things that helped people and would last long after I was gone. The people slowly became acquainted with me and my presence. They invited me to dinners and festivals. I felt welcomed. I didn’t receive a single beating, except during the occasional nightmare. And I can confidently say that I was happier. But happiness is an elusive creature, it evades every attempt to capture it.

Still, deep within myself, there was a persistent feeling of dissatisfaction. I had a yearning to leave and see someplace else. This feeling disturbed and bothered me to no end. Why couldn’t I just be content with this happy little life in the village as a mason? There seemed to be many people whose hearts were filled by this small place and its people. Why couldn’t mine be as well? A feeling of shame would wash over me because I was so ungrateful for everything that had been given to me. When I confided in my caregiver, she said not to worry and that it would pass with time. She shared stories from her life. She said she sometimes regretted never leaving the village and was proud that I had done what she never could.

I tried to suppress these wandering thoughts by throwing myself into routine. I woke up at dawn and milked our beloved cow named Martha. She always looked happy to see me. If cows can look happy. I brushed the leaves from the awning and then would walk around the village to see a friendly gentleman who owned a restaurant. He had made a deal with me when I first met him that if I brought him some milk each morning, he would give me two tomatoes and a good joke. He seemed confident that this would be a good home for me. The latter half of the deal didn’t always land, but that was fine by me, the tomatoes were delicious. Every bite reminded me of where I came from.

Time passed. I ultimately ended up making a decision that was filled with ambivalence. My instinct was to flee, but I stayed. Is it good to question one’s instincts? I do not know. But I cared for the people around me. I witnessed my older friends pass away and newborns begin to walk. The sun rose and set. Days melted into one another like Martha’s hard-earned cheese on a warm summer day. I became skilled at work. I marveled at my creations. Soon I knew everyone in the village by face and name. My adopted mother had lived a long life and needed someone to look after her, so I took up the responsibility myself. Though unrequested, she was forever grateful. Her son hadn’t returned to the village since he left. She never hinted at why. I sometimes wondered if he ever found what he was looking for. Doubts still whisper to me in the quiet hours. I let them pass, like the wind passing through the awning, rustling unswept leaves.