The Murder (story)

The dark trees went past my car at the speed of more than fifty miles an hour as I drove it on the empty road in the night. The streets were empty, except the stray dogs lying on the sides of the street. The wind was bitter outside, but I was sweating in my leather jacket.

The headlight swept across the dense houses as I took the turn at the corner of St. Anthony’s public garden, and braked it along the gardens wall with a squeaking sound.

My cigarette grew brighter than the moon as I puffed it in that dark night, still sitting there in my car. I opened my jackets top buttons to loosen my throat and took deep breadths before throwing the cigarette-bud out of the car window.

I walked forward with heavy steps, leaving my car behind under the shade of the dark trees. I took the first turn which led into a narrow passage. It smelled of filth as some tin cans passed under my feet. I was still sweating under the coat. There came few howling sounds from the other street and I paced up. I felt the metal of the revolver which was kept under the coat on my chest. I wanted to have another cigarette before entering the third house on the right. But there was none.

I jumped in through the window, and stood there motionless. The things in that room started becoming clear after some time as I stood there trying to calm my heartbeat. There was a marble statue of naked women with a pot beside me, just a foot away on my left. Her body was cold and soft, softness which I had never felt before.

Just ahead of me was the staircase, leading up into the darkness. With the softness of the statue I walked towards the door upstairs.

The door creaked as I opened it slowly in the stillness of the night. I looked inside through the partly opened door. As I stood there trying to hear any movement inside the room it was only the faint long howling of dogs coming through the thickness of the wall that I could hear. I slipped inside, pointing the gun, raised, in front of me.

It was a small but comfortable and warm room. Cool breeze was coming through the open window on my left, and diffusing into the warmness of the room. The street light coming through the window casted shadows on the wall opposite it. There lay a bed below the shadows. And there he was, sleeping like a baby lost in the dreams beneath the dark blanket.

I sat on the rocking chair near the window, facing the bed. With my back resting on the chair I hummed my favorite song as the chair rocked back and forth, lost in the softness of the naked women. How sweet were those days when we used to sit together on the beach and she used to hum my favorite song along with me. On those evenings, when the waves came and touched our feet, it was like they asked for our blessings, giving us the feeling that our love is eternal. As if our love will live more than the life of the ocean.

Tears trickled down my cheek as I hummed that song in the stillness of the night. The revolver in my hand was now lighter than earlier. He moved in his bed like a snake. And, just with the pull of the trigger the snake was dead, shot on his head.

The sound of the shot blasted in my head, and I woke up sweating in my bed under the shadow on the wall. I was shaking. Strong cold wind was flowing into the room through the open window. And the chair near the window was rocking.