The Womb

By May G.

Isaac lives in Istanbul, Turkey, and in a week, he’ll turn eighteen and he will die. There’s nothing tragic about it because it’s all happened before, over and over again. In every life Isaac has ever lived, he dies at eighteen and returns to his mother’s womb to relive the same empty existence day in, day out.

He knows every moment of his life by heart. He remembers being born and then growing up to see his parents’ marriage fall apart. Isaac has spent each life isolated; what’s the point in making connections when they end at eighteen? This life, though, something is different. In this life, the week before his birthday, he receives a gift.

His mother, who has many dark issues of her own, sends Isaac a typewriter. He thinks maybe—just maybe—if he rewrites his own story, the story will change. Maybe he’ll find a new ending. He doesn’t have much time, but there’s a chance he can save himself and his mother from a cursed destiny that brings nothing but pain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Oct 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483438948

Book preview

The

Womb

MAY G.

Copyright © 2015 May G.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3895-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3894-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015915931

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 10/9/2015

Contents

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Part II

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Part III

Chapter 13

Part I

They say the first minutes are the hardest—not only because of fear, but they say there is a burning sensation in the lungs, as if they would burst. They also say that fear alerts your other senses to allow you to break away from the numbness. Your mind is racing because of this intuition, and then you realize you can’t run away from this piercing cold or this situation.

It is the hottest day of the year. Isaac slowly opens his eyes. His back is stiff, and his neck aches. He feels too exhausted. He looks around dizzily. The clock tower in the park points 7:30 p.m. He realizes he has been lying in the same spot for the last seven hours. He was feeling too hot in the afternoon, so he decided to come to the park and cool himself in the shade of the biggest tree he could find.

As he gets up to go back to his apartment, he stretches till he feels his back bones crack. He keeps wondering how he fell asleep all day long. He walks three blocks to the building where he lives, passing through downtown. It’s the first time he has walked in this area at this hour. In fact, he usually doesn’t go out at all, but today he was feeling so hot that he couldn’t stand it in his room.

Looking around him, he sees clearly it is the busiest time of the day. It’s very crowded, and he keeps bumping up against so many people who seem to be walking without realizing whom they are running in to. He is wondering why is he the only who keeps apologizing and repeating, Excuse me. It’s like everyone is deaf, involved in their own business, either looking for something to eat, shopping, or just walking.

As he moves along with the crowd, he starts coughing, sensing the difference between the fresh air back in the park and this dusty street. As he comes closer to the end of the street, he realizes that the noise of his stomach has joined the din of the busy street. He just can’t resist the delicious aroma as he notices a food cart selling döner kebab sandwiches at the corner.

He reaches in his pocket and finds his last ten liras. He sweats as he looks at them; they are all he has. It’s a hard choice to make. He can’t think clearly; he needs to eat. But if he spends three liras now, how will he survive for the rest of the month?

While his mind tells him he should save his money, his stomach is too greedy to comply, and the cooking flames coming from the cart fill the air with the beautiful aroma he is about to experience. He decides he will buy just one small sandwich. It won’t make much of a difference. At least he will enjoy the taste, trying not to think of it as a regrettable decision as he feels the knives of hunger stabbing his stomach. His legs carry him to the cart without him thinking about it.

One lamb sandwich, please, he tells the vendor as his sweaty hands quiver in his pocket.

The vendor works quickly. Opening the bread, he covers it with the tahini sauce first and then shaves a stack of meat with a large knife. The smell fills the air. He finally lays the meat out on the sandwich along with the fat, wraps it skillfully, and hands it to him.

One and a half lira.

Isaac gives him the money, and the vendor gives him back the change.

In one move Isaac gobbles it down, and within seconds, he feels the blood flow coming back to his body and to his pale face. He doesn’t want to, but he can’t resist gulping it down. It seems he has forgotten how to chew.

As he finishes, his stomach is still growling, and he still feels empty, hollow. He quickly asks for another one. The vendor works at the same speed, following the exact steps as the first time, and as he watches, Isaac gets a painful sensation. His state of weakness and the feeling of fulfillment all hinge on what’s working between this vendor’s hands. Isaac grabs his second sandwich, pays the vendor, and rushes back home before his greedy stomach asks for more.

As he arrives back at his apartment, feeling he has committed the worst crime, he looks at the floor to find two boxes with a letter on top waiting for him at his doorstep.

He looks at the letter. It is his mother’s handwriting; he opens it enthusiastically and starts reading:

June 14, 1992

My dearest son,

I’m afraid I have bad news. Your father left the house two weeks ago without saying a word. I knew he was unhappy since your quarrel with him, but I never thought he wasn’t happy with me. Ever since you moved out, he wouldn’t talk to me or look at me, as if I never existed. He got drunk every night. I thought, It’s a phase, and it will pass. That’s why I didn’t write to you earlier. Your leaving has left a big hole in the house. He felt as if he has failed as a father, or perhaps that’s my own interpretation of the situation. Perhaps there is someone else in his life. I don’t know what happened exactly, but I’m devastated. He has changed a lot. I feel like I don’t know him anymore. It was impossible to live with him or know exactly what was going on in his mind. Sometimes I would make excuses for him, thinking that maybe because he’s a psychologist, his patients made him crazy too.

I’m really tired, Isaac—tired of everything. I’m having panic attacks again, after I thought I was cured. Last night I was lying in bed, and suddenly my heart was beating so quick and so hard, it felt like it was bursting out of my chest. I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t reach out for help. I went to the doctor this morning, and he told me that my attacks are back, that I should rest, to stop analyzing what happened. But how can I get better? He just left without saying good-bye, without appreciating what I did for him for twenty-six years. How can I stop thinking about it while I spent most of my life with this man?

I’m not telling you this to turn you against your father. He loves you deeply, Isaac. He is feeling guilty for what happened, but remember—we are both still your parents. We raised you, fed you, took you to good schools, and dressed you with the best clothes. This letter is not meant to open that subject again. I’m writing because you should know that I’m moving out too. It’s impossible to take rest and follow the doctor’s orders while I’m staying at this empty house. I can’t live here anymore. There are too many memories, and it is so gloomy. I’m going to Ankara to live with your aunt for a while, at least till I get better and figure things out. I will be leaving tomorrow.

I sold almost everything, even your clothes, but I sent you two boxes along with this letter. I thought these were the things you left that meant the most to you. The big box contains your remaining books and the family pictures. The other small one contains an old typewriter I found in the attic while I was cleaning up your father’s trash. I suppose it belonged to your grandfather. I don’t know if it works, but I preferred to send it to you since you have always wanted to become a writer. Maybe it will help you to get started. If it doesn’t work, you can sell it. You won’t be making a lot of money out of it, but at least you will make some. Consider it your birthday gift too since it is next week.

I’m short on money, and I have to apologize because I can’t help you at this time. I have so many bills to pay, and your father is not helping at all. I called everyone he knew, all his friends, even the doctors working in his hospital, but there are always excuses that he is busy. I’m so angry, Isaac; I feel like I have been living a big lie with him. He just vanished. But I will keep trying to contact him for another month or so. If he still doesn’t reply, then I’m going to sell the house, since we both need the money.

Till we meet again,

Your mother

PS: I have attached your aunt’s address at the back of the letter, and please do me a favor and try to contact your father. I’m sure he will answer you. Please do this one thing for me.

Isaac puts the letter aside. He doesn’t think much of it. He always knew that his parents’ marriage was doomed from the beginning; he is just surprised it lasted that long. He