Erik wasn't exactly sure what had he wanted to achieve with this trip back to his birthplace after he returned from Persia to France. He had spent two years by tiring and troublesome travelling, and sightseeing yet again, but a strange feeling had taken over him he could not word, but the only thing he was certain of, that before finally settling down somewhere, either in France or at another corner of the world, he wished to finally know technically WHO he was.
He had many names in the past. "Names" they used to address him by, or to be clear, various obscenities mostly, or the best was "boy" which Mother called him by. Other people never called him anything worthy of a name, and if he did not meet that nice couple in Germany, he would not even have "Erik" as a name by this time either. It was an accident he had received a human name, and he only used to have forged documents so far to maintain a fake identity at all. A growing urge awoken in his heart to finally know his real identity, to finally become someone, someone "real", closer to society's norms. To achieve that he would have needed his birth certificate or baptismal certificate, or both, in the best scenario. And not only that.
He would need to try to talk to Mother, one more time, if she was still alive at all, to ask her the questions he was trying to bury deep down in his mind, and find the answers to those, no matter what they may or may not be. Maybe he will tear wounds up open, but he can't go and live on without knowing the name and the story linked to the existence of his person.
He had lived 30 years without knowing so. It was ENOUGH.
To his surprise the house was still intact, not abandoned, though the garden looked to be disorganized. By this fact Erik's logic showed the answer she was unable to take care of the garden alone. Well, she must be old… how old…? She was in her twenties when they used to live together, he guessed. So she must be in her fifties…? Perhaps. She shall be alive, or at least he did not think she would die any sooner than most of the old ladies, but then why the garden was so messy?
Taking a step back out of instinct, waiting for Mother's disgusting small lap-dog to appear from one direction, he realized he did not have to be so cautious to avoid the growling furball, and he frowned beneath the false beard, thinking he had made sure at least 25 years before not to have the pest around any longer. Of course, there could always be a new one.
He got into the house and the hall looked just like he remembered, even the damned wallpaper was the same, the only difference was it was literally peeling off of the walls, being left up for so long without any repairs or caretaking. It gave him the impression of him being wrong the whole time, and Mother indeed died. But if that was the case why vagabonds did not empty the house of the furniture, which seemed to be dusted though? What was going on?
- Is there no one at home? - Erik asked, tilting his head to the side, waiting for an answer. He could hear nothing. The same old porcelain figures were on the mantelpiece at the main salon he remembered and stored in his mind forever, and the Bible, set in the middle, just as always. The Bible from her parents, or Grandparents, he did not even remember any more. He run his index finger across the cover to check if it was dusty, but it wasn't. The wallpaper and the wooden wall- covering was in a terrible state here as well.
- The house is going to fall on your head. No use of cleaning when you have a pitiful pig sly about to collapse. Can you hear me? Have you seen the stairs outside? Haven't you broken your neck before?
Erik was grumpily scolding her, just the way she did it to him in his childhood. It felt good to finally repay the loan. She did not reply though.
- Are you drunk? Are you, eh? Just as drunk as you used to be when I was forced to grow up in your company? This is why you abandon everything but your goddamned cleaning? Just like in my childhood? We clean every single porcelain shit, and we cry about the damned past. Eh? Are we?
Erik picked up a garish woman figurine, with rosy cheeks, smiling at him with its disgustingly perfect features.
- Am I ugly, eh? And? What were you? You weren't any better either. Did you honestly consider yourself a beautiful woman? Eh?
He threw the thing across the room, to make it hit the opposite wall.
- Who is there? - A woman asked from a few rooms away.
She was alive.
Her voice wasn't as powerful as it used to be, but still recognizable. Yes, it was her. Erik did not know what to do suddenly, all his bravery and cynical hatred was blown away and he stood there like the six-year old boy who received his mask thrown at him.
- Mother…? - He stuttered, looking at the direction of her voice.
- Who calls me Mother…?- She echoed, finally making an appearance in the room.
Erik could not believe his eyes. The woman standing at the doorway was an old woman, much older than Mother was supposed to be, or at least, if it was her, she did not age well at all. Her hair was all gray, undone, falling to her back, she was wearing a simple white nightgown in broad daylight, and she looked like a skeleton, and her own grandmother. She was looking at him with a confused expression in her tortured sunken wrinkly brown eyes, and her jaw dropped.
- Come, sit. - Erik walked closer, offering his arm to help her, but she refused to accept it and staggered to a nearby chair.
- I thought you were dead. - She stated.
- I imagined the same. - Erik's tone changed back to the strict and hateful one, noticing Mother's hostile behavior towards him.
- Why did you come back? I don't have an animal for you to kill any more.
- At least you recognize me. - He pointed out with sarcasm.
- Of course I do. - She bit her lip. - No need to cover yourself with a false beard and nose, you will always be ugly. I would sadly recognize you out of a hundred people.
- You always knew how to lift my spirits, just like a loving Mother.
- Just like how good of a boy you have always been to me.
Erik did not think any more words could hurt him the way they did at that moment, but each of Mother's spoken syllables felt like needles being stabbed into his very heart.
- Why are you here? - Mother continued. - I did not write to you to come back.
- I came back to talk to you.
- Why? We always hated each other.
- True. But you have to tell me who am I. I have the right to know. Or at least give me my baptismal certificate with my name and circumstances of my birth and I am not even here any more.
- It is not here any more.
- Why, where the Hell is it then?
- Stop cussing. - She warned, trying to be the authority figure she used to be to that child. He was now an adult, but it did not make it different: she still was the respectable person.
- Stop being deaf. - Erik retorted, leaning closer to her face which she disliked, and tried her best to avoid eye contact with him. - And don't play the idiot. You heard what I had asked.
- How dare you come into my home after so many years and talk to me like this? Did you not ruin my life enough already?
- We seem to have the same problem. - Erik crossed his hands on his chest, and leaned even closer, centimeters away from Mother.
- Stop breathing in my face.
- I ask the same of you, but shortened. Stop breathing. Period.
- Is this my reward after trying to raise you to be somewhat… normal? You to wish for my death? - She cried out in utter disbelief.
- Didn't you wish for my death many times in my childhood? - Erik shrugged.
- Oh… - She seemed to fall silent for a few minutes, then scratched her head. - What do you want of me?
- Why don't we make a deal? - Erik sighed. - You answer some of the questions I want to know the answers of and you will never ever see me again. Deal?
- What if I don't feel like answering your questions?
- Then I shall stay here and make your life miserable yet again. I always get what I want. This way or that.
- You changed nothing. - She frowned. - Demanding selfish brat.
Erik looked at her with a tired expression in his eyes, realizing the conversation wasn't going anywhere, so he sat down a bit further. Mother seemed to like that move, and looked up to see he was nowhere near in touching range and her near sight, so she let out a relieved little sigh.
- Mother, please. Everyone else has a name. A heritage. Memories. If I did not have a normal life, let me have a name and a backstory. You are the only one who can still tell me who am I.
Silence fell on both of them, only the tickling of the Grandfather's Clock could be heard for a time. Then the woman lifted up her head again, looking at Erik from a safe distance.
- Did you suffer a lot? - She asked with wonder.
- Why do you ask that? Would it make you happy if I said yes? - Erik retorted accusingly.
- No, it would not. - Mother shook her head. - You know… we were just not meant to be together to fit. We could not… cope with each other. I wished for a normal child, and I got you. But you would have been happier and better with someone worthy or raising you properly. If someone could have seen past your face, I am sure you would have been different.
She closed her eyes and turned her head way so she did not have to look at him any longer. Erik had never heard such words spoken by Mother and it touched his heart that on her own way she wanted to apologize, or at least, to try to do so.
- I too ask for your forgiveness.- Erik stood up, feeling he could not stay seated in such a moment.
- It is not only your fault. - Mother sighed. - Well, I tell you what you want to know. But after, please go away. I am tired of being forced to see the result of my mistakes.
- I understand. - He nodded. - I did not wish to keep in touch with you either. I think it is beyond repair. - He glanced into the corner, where the pieces of the broken figurine lay and he walked there to sweep them together to be cleaned up.
- I have to admit you learned some manners. - She nodded with a hint of delight shining in her eyes, seeing Erik did not leave the mess he did there, as he used to before when he was still a boy. - And I have to admit your voice sounds nice, listening to it for some time. - She looked at him, lost in her thoughts for a few seconds.
- Thank you. - Erik shrugged. - First question: what did you do to my identity papers?
- I burned them, thinking you were dead. Why would I have kept them? You did not show up for 25 years or so.
- All right. - Erik sighed. - Do I have a name?
- You do. - Mother nodded. - The simplest way was for you to receive the name of the patronage saint of your Birthday so I did not have to come up with a name that fits you.
- That would have been a hard task anyway. - Erik groaned. - Was I really born on leap year day?
- Yes. - Her lips became thin, having to think back to her son's Birthday, and giving birth to the stillborn Susanne along with him, who was so beautiful… why God did not take him instead of her…? But hatred did not help and she promised she would answer him, no matter what, so she cleared her thoughts and throat, waiting for the next question.
- Who was my father?
Here came another nail to her coffin, but she had to go through this to be finally freed of the past.
- A contractor.
- What was his name?
- It doesn't matter, your surname wouldn't be that either way - She snapped.
- Am I really a bastard then? - Erik's eyes widened in surprise. - You did not say it as an insult, technically speaking?
- Now you know it. We weren't married.
- But… you have a picture on the wall with him as a wedding painting.
- Can't on draw whatever she wants to draw? - She retorted angrily. - Should have I tell the world I was a foolish girl, waiting for him to finally marry me? I was nearly proposed to! Almost I became a wife… of him…
- I see. - Erik sighed. - What had happened to him: Did he die?
- Why do you want to know? Isn't it enough to know he was a contractor? You had a father at least.
- One I did not even know. Great help.
- Stop torturing me. You weren't in my situation. I became pregnant in a young age, and we wanted to get married after you were born. You can imagine how he wanted it after you…
- Did I not kill him? - Erik snapped in anger. - Did you blame me for something I did not even commit?
- It was YOU who made him go away. You and your face.
- At least he did not die of a heart attack seeing me. - Erik slammed his fist against the table in front of him. - You kept telling me that!
- What does it matter anyway? For you to ease your pain? And what about my pain you were giving me and still are? Did you have to come back to put salt on my wounds?
- I want the truth to be told finally! You lied to me!
Erik lost his patience and the frustration he was trying to hide and hold back for years, or decades, had come to the surface, he jumped in front of the woman who held her hands in front of her protectively, and let out a scream which echoed in Erik's ear with a painful memory. He had heard that scream a few times already, but the most painful memory which cut his heart in two pieces instantly was when he heard it after he had accidentally killed that disgusting dog. Horror, fear, disgust and hatred were mixed in that scream and Erik did not reach out to touch her, by any means, no matter how he wanted to grab her shoulder a few seconds earlier.
- Go away. - Mother pointed at him. - Go and never return. Please.
- I used to love you and yearn for your acceptance and love. - He said softly. - Now the only emotion I feel towards you is pity. Until now I did hate you in a way. But not any more. You are just as miserable as I am. Poor unhappy Mother.
She did not reply to that, only turned her head away and pointed at the door, so that he will finally go away.
- Farewell, Mother. - Erik walked past her chair and left without another word ever spoken to her.
She did not even return his goodbye saying.