Memories of those younger years of life, that stayed…translated…
My house is two streets away from my aunt’s.
Every morning, my mother would ride her bicycle to my aunt’s to do her laundry. My aunt was the older sister of my mother, in order to help with our household finances, she’d hired my mother as a laundrymaid for over a decade now.
Although we lived only two streets apart, and both our families had the mansions, with the families of fours, but, everything in my aunt’s house had that scent of elegance to it. In the daytime before I was school age, I’d gone on discovery trips at my aunt’s home, and that house that was built like a palace became as familiar as the back of my hand.
with the ink level showing here…photo from online
First, the high-end sedan parked outside, that was one of the things my mother told me not to touch. The fur draped over on the couch in the living room, the wine cabinets by the T.V., with the assortments of souvenirs from all over the world, the high-end chinaware, dinnerware on the dining tables in the kitchens. Other than the marble floors, the staircases of the three-stories were all lined with carpeting, although later on, I’d realized, that it’s no fun, cleaning up the carpets, but it’d still showed how appearances were important in my aunt’s home.
And, of these places in the house, the den kept my interests the most. There was a shelf that lined the walls, with the heavy volumes of encyclopedia, and the volumes that my uncle needed to flip through for his work, and there was also a family photo of my aunt on vacation abroad. The other wall became a closet, with the name brand purse, bags, and elegant clothing stored inside, and my mother had been in awe, at how well my aunt had, kept her figure all these years. On the other side of the study was my older cousin’s piano and my uncle’s desk, with the thick volumes of sheet music, and the documents, and they gave off that sense of elegance that was, beyond my grasp. On the tea stand by the desk, was the projector and films that my uncle needed for his work, each of the film, after the colors were, extracted out, all became those weird, but attractive picture, a micro sort of mysteries of images.
What made the den even more elegant, was that window that faced out, in the daytime, the sun passed through the thick burgundy-colored drapes, the sapphire colored carpet became, deeper, and thicker, the silent piano keys showed the black and white contrast of the ivories, like they’re, lost in deep, meditation.
The place where my mother did the laundry was the add-on of the rooftop, where a healthy-coated, agile looking Shetland sheepdog was kept. When I’d not explored downstairs, I’s sat quiet, as my mother did the laundry loads. The umbrella, the penguin, the crocodile, my mother pointed out each and every one of the brand logos out to me, even the dirty socks, and soiled underwear that my older cousin wore, my mother washed them until they’re, completely, whitened with her two hands.
There were several times when I’d gone to eat the meals at my aunt’s, because of how serious and quiet my uncle was, along with how excellent my two older male cousins were, it’d made me feel, very, out-of-place, I’d hated to go home quickly. After the meals, my older cousins never watched those shows that were for entertainments, but those science programs, I’d watched, but never understood what I was watching.
One day after the meals, my cousin led us into his father’s den, pulled out the drawer of the desk, and, took out a white pen mysteriously. The pen was chubby, looked like a fountain pen, actually, on the other side, there was a blonde in a bathing suit, with the perfect curves. We saw my cousin smiled that cunning smile, he’d, turned the pen upside down, and, the ink level declined, and, the woman’s swimsuit was, also gone with it, she was, nude.
Ever since I knew this secret, I’d often wait until my aunt and her family was away, took out the fountain pen from the drawers, and, turned the pen up and down repeatedly, like the grains of sand falling in an hourglass, so the woman can put on and take off her bathing suit repeatedly, to pass the long mornings.
And so, you’d, discovered this “secret” that your uncle had, and, I’m sure, that to your uncle, that pen is NOT just for the sake of writing, it fed into his need to see a nude woman, without your aunt’s knowing it…