Bleached by the Sun

By Robert Hagen

This is the second book, Bleached by the Sun, from Robert Hagen in a series he has planned. The first one was The Mango Tree.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984544322

Robert Hagen

I have been travelling since I was eighteen, and I have stayed in the same place for just a few days, weeks, or some months, but also sometimes for years. I learned some of the local languages and have talked with all kinds of people in many countries. Looking back, I realize that I have been writing since 1974. This book is about some of the people I have met on my way, and I am very thankful to them all.

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Copyright © 2018 by Robert Hagen.

ISBN:                  Hardcover                     978-1-9845-4430-8

                            Softcover                       978-1-9845-4431-5

                            eBook                            978-1-9845-4432-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

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without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 07/31/2018

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CONTENTS

Dear Diary

Bleached By The Sun

The Paradise Island

The Fire

Orang Gila

Hit And Run

The Girl Next Door

Don’t

The Letter

DEAR DIARY

It is only you and me now. I love that. No more secrets, no more lies. No more sneaking around at night to find out who my father might be and who and where my granny is.

In the long run, I could not take it anymore—you know that. I had to get away from my mom no matter what. And later, after I got in touch with my granny and Mom denied me from seeing them again, it was simply too much.

I can understand that she can still be upset about how they treated her that time so long ago, but what does that got to do with me? And who is perfect and manages to live their life without any major mistakes? And then how could they think that my mom was already pregnant with me? Because that might have changed many things, don’t you think so?

Sometimes I hate my mother, even though I know it is not fair. My father never hugged me. I don’t even know him. I have never known him. I have not even seen him. Only my mother knows who he is. The closest I managed to get is that torn-apart photo that my mother had. I have had so many fantasies about him. How he looks. His voice. His smile. The way he might have taken me on his lap when I was a small girl. The way he might have sung for me at bedtime. But he never did. He never had the chance. Maybe he didn’t even know about me at all?

And now? I am not a small girl anymore. I am twenty-two. I know my granny split my mom and dad that time. I know they made it difficult for my mother to see him. But why did she not protest? Why did she let it happen? I would never have accepted anything like that. What I mean is that if she really loved him, why did she obey her parents? Why did she not just run away?

Well, I don’t really hate her. Only now and then it comes over me.

A few times, I have met young men and become a little interested in them. They have dated me. Sometimes they are sweet. At least they have pretended to be. That is, until the point where they kiss me. The first few times, they are still nice. They give compliments and sometimes flowers. But then they try to do more. Like put their hands anywhere on my body. And then they get an erection and press their body against mine. It is unpleasant. That is the time when I hate my mother. It is her fault. It really is.

Ben was the first one to date me. He is a nice guy, or at least he was the first few times we dated. He took me out to several nice restaurants.

I liked his car too. You know, the little classic one with red interior and soft leather seats and some romantic music. Sometimes he drove to the most beautiful places. We stopped for a while and talked, and he always took me home at a decent time. I had to lie to him when he asked to see my flat. I never wanted a man to enter my door. I told him about my friend sharing my small room. I told him that she once got raped by a man and that she still suffers from the trauma that gave her and that she, at least at the moment, cannot have anything to do with men. He believed me, so he stopped asking about that.

A few dates later, he took me to some remote area. At first, I did not think too much about that, until one night he was really aggressive. He wanted to have sex with me; that was pretty clear. At first, we kissed a little, like the previous times that he took me out. He pulled me up on his lap, and it was kind of nice. But then he lifted me over to his back seat and was all over me in a second. Ben was so strong. His hands were everywhere and in-between my legs before I could say anything. He managed to grab my underwear and pull it halfway down my knees. Then he tried to pull my dress up over my hips as he, with one hand, opened his zipper. It was not at all romantic anymore. I got really scared and started screaming. What else could I do? That made him hesitate a little, just enough to give me time to get out of his car and run.

He came after me, but it was dark, and I managed to escape him. He called my name several times. After quite some time, he gave up and went back to his car. I could hear him swear as he slammed his car door. It was much later that he drove away. Maybe he was waiting for me to come back? That was the last thing I would have done in that circumstance. He called me several times in the following days. I made it clear that I did not want to see him again. He begged me. He even came to my door. I did not open but told him that I would call the police if he did not leave me alone. He had it then. I did not see him for a long time after that, and I did not miss him either. Men can sometimes be too much.

I still remember all the countless nights that my mom had men in her bedroom. Of course I knew that. I was not supposed to, but I am not that stupid. How many men, Mom? How many men did you have in your room? Do you still think I did not know what was going on? If you loved my dad, how could you do that?

I live by myself now. I just had to. It became too much for me. When I was a real small girl, I did not think too much about it. Actually, I saw your visitor as a chance to get up and look for any information to help me find my father. At least I did find my granny. And I finally met them. After countless changes of where we lived over the years, they had lost track until I rang them and gave them our present address.

You got so pale that day, Mom. You almost fainted when you realized who came to visit us. But it all went well. They were more interested in me, their little girl, as they still call me. It was easy to see that. They hugged me and kissed me until I got all wet. I didn’t mind really. There was a lot of crying that day. I had problems understanding how they were crying that time, but it was okay too. I was already so used to my mom crying every time she got upset over something.

Nowadays, everything is different. I am on my own. I can go and see my granny whenever I like, and they like it too. Actually it is because of them that I can afford to live by myself. I got a part-time job, and I earn some money, but not enough to rent a place like the one I have now. It is not so big, that is true, but it is very nice and in a safe area. I got a nice bedroom and a lovely bathroom. I have a nice small garden and a cozy living room with a practical kitchen next to it. What more can I ask for? It is my granny who pays the rent for me. I never asked them to do that, but they insisted.

I love my studies. I want to become an actress. After so many years acting at home, I sure have gotten some talent that can be useful for me now. And, dear diary, you know I already do well. I was accepted at the academy right away the first time I sent my application. Most students have to apply several times. I made success straight on.

My previous problems are all gone—you know, all that nonsense about not really telling who I am, who my father is, where I live, etc. Well, I still make up some stories, you know, but just enough to keep my student friends from asking too much. Some of them have seen my apartment, and that makes them so impressed that they stop asking about my background. They presume I am rich, very rich. In a way, I am.

You know, I like men, but just as friends. Of course, I like the positive attention they often give me and not to talk about the gifts they come up with now and then, but after all, I think the experiences I have until now should make it clear to me that I better stay away from having any intimate relation with them. One of my student friends, Joe, is gay, and he is nice and not at all interested in me as a woman. I would rather stick to him when he has got the time. Dear diary, it is bedtime. Good night.

* * *

Are you not seeing anyone, Linda? It was my granny asking me. We sat in their garden and had coffee and a small meal. In summer, we often sat outside in the afternoons when I came to see them.

I do have friends, I said, but not a boyfriend, if that is what you are asking me about. My studies and my job take most of my time, so I am happy as it is just now.

We ate in silence for a while. Are you not worried for your future? she asked.

Why should I worry about that? I answered. What do you mean?

Well, she continued, of course you can enjoy your student days just now and maybe for some years still. But after your graduation, then what will you have? What will you do?

I didn’t get it. What do you mean, Granny? I asked. I always used to call her that.

Well, how will you manage your life? How will you support yourself?

I will get a job, of course, I replied.

As an actress? She looked surprised at me.

Of course as an actress, I said. Why do you think I applied for this education? Why do you think I study so hard every day? If you think I do this just to spend time and enjoy myself, you are very wrong.

She looked at me, more worried now. My dear Linda, do you really think you can earn enough money by just acting? How many people do you know can manage that? I mean, out of all those out there dreaming about or wanna become an actress for ages? How many of them do you really think can survive on the few dollars they might get from filming or acting or whatever you want to call it? Please, Linda, just be a little realistic. I want all the best for you. Your grandpa too, but give me a break. You cannot be that serious about this, are you?

This was the first time I had ever heard my granny talk like this to me or for that much to anyone. From my mom’s notebook, I remember they had an issue about money and Granny worries about her future, but I never really thought about it in this way. Let us have another coffee, Granny, I said to her as I got up to make some. My mom somehow once taught me how to become an expert in changing the issue at any time anything became a little unpleasant to us or, actually, to her.

I went into the kitchen, and while I mixed the coffee, I looked around a little. What a kitchen—nothing missing, absolutely nothing. She had all kinds of modern equipment, and it was shining clean. I knew that was her pride. A shining kitchen ready for anything at any time it was convenient or not. Men appreciate that, just like this, if they can afford it, she used to tell me. The living room, too, was just great and very tidy at any time. I used to admire her about this, as I knew she was not young anymore. I know she never wanted a housemaid; even Grandpa had offered her that. On the wall, they had some photos showing them as a newlywed couple; both of them very handsome, and with big smiles on their lips, they looked straight into the camera. It was a black-and-white photo from the wedding, I guess, which had gotten some color afterward. At least she had some photos to look at whenever she missed her husband.

As I came back with the coffee, Granny was half sleeping in her hammock. I didn’t have the heart to wake her up, so I just enjoyed my drink as I kept on looking around. She must have spent so much time alone, I said to myself. Grandpa was traveling so often to other parts of the country for weeks and sometimes even abroad. I walked into the living room again. Next to the piano, they had a large photo of me. I looked very young, maybe fourteen at that time it was taken. It struck me that I had a lost expression in my face, like someone who did not really know where they belonged. They also had a photo from my graduation from senior high school, and I looked a little more grown-up on that one.

Then I realized that they did not have a single photo of my mother, not one. What was that about?

In the corner of the living room, they had a bar—at least it looked like one and with a lot of bottles. They had just anything and brands I had never seen or heard about before. You name it, and it was all there.

I am not very fond of drinking myself. I have sipped a drink sometimes, but never really enjoyed it. From others’ and from my own experience, I have seen enough people already making fools of themselves while getting drunk. Some of my student friends have told me with a smile that they sometimes don’t really remember what happened to them after weekend parties because they have become so drunk. I don’t get it. How can they tell stories like that with a smile? I would have hated it if that should ever happen to me.

Sorry, Linda, I heard from the garden. It was Granny waking up from her little nap. She came into the living room. "Do you like