All rights reserved to Tears for Fears
It was a gloomy English Monday morning, and I gazed at the trickle of sunshine from my window sil. The skyline of Tanworth-in-Arden was as sad as ever seen.
"New pandemic restrictions take effect in England today", said the BBC morning news host, rather calmingly, as the country plunged into a new period of chaos and uncertainty.
As if the national hysteria was not enough, a threatening text message that I received sent shivers through my spine. I was instantly reminded of my childhood pains.
The road to the University went through a string of brown-coloured council homes, stretching from the city centre to its outskirts. On my way back home from my office, an aging bus stall owner stopped me. "Can you please help me, sir?", he said in his thick northern accent and his teary eyes. His stall sold fries to the town's residents and to tourists, which were once a common sight here. "Will you please buy one dish?", he kindly asked. The new restrictions meant that today was the last day he could have opened his stall, and judging by his sad look, he was already in deep economic trouble. "I'll buy all of your stock", I said. I felt so sad for him. "You're a good man, sir", he said, and looked straight into my teary eyes. What difference does it make, I thought.
A local Virgin store played some Smiths music; how fitting. I couldn't help but crying all the way back.
Later that evening, a knock on the door interrupted my depressing evening routine. "Hello sir", said a young woman standing by the door. "I'm Jasmine, and I'm working with the NHS on a new program". "I'm working with the NHS as well", I said. "Would you like to participate in our new program? we are looking for volunteers who will cook for seniors during the pandemic. Your neighbor Raoul could use some help, and a little bird has told me that you'll love doing this!", Jasmine said. Since the Labour party returned to power, new programs aimed at aiding senior citizens were introduced, and this was only one of them. "I'd gladly do it! sign me up", I said, with atypical enthusiasm.
Cooking was always some sort of a therapy for me. In the Israeli heat and in the English darkness, I always had to deal with the pain of being too sensitive, and life hadn't been easy on me. This hobby became something comforting, helping me feel I'm worth something; in that sense, what could be better than this new program?
Entering the local Tesco supermarket, l was welcomed by corridors of naked lights, with no visitor in sight. "Do you have a permission to get off the house, sir?", asked one of the workers, and I showed him my NHS card. "You're a good man, sir", he said, and went on. Robots moved from corridor to corridor and sorted the products. The highly modernized, yet empty, supermarket, looked like a scene from a science fiction. The cashier, which was only one of two human beings on the store, turned to me, and asked: "Do you like it around here?". "Well, I'm very fond of England, but this place is rather gloomy". "Isn't life rather gloomy?", she said, while sorting my stuff in the recyclable bug.
Cooking for Raoul was not an easy task, since I've never met him. He was mostly away, and I didn't get a chance to speak to him. I decided to go for it, and used some Tesco groceries, and some of the fries I bought from the stall, to prepare a dinner with baked salmon. The morning after, Raoul left a note outside my door: "That was such a lovely dinner. P.S.: You're a good man". "I get that a lot", I wrote on a note I left outside his door.
And so, cooking for Raoul became a daily routine, during a time of lockdown and sadness. Each day, after I returned from the University, I went through the local Tesco, bought some groceries, and then prepared a meal for Raoul, which I left outside his door at 19:30 exactly.
One day, I heard a knock on the door; for a second, I thought I might get to see Raoul, but it was Jasmine. "Would you like to come in for tea?", I said, completely disregarding the strict lockdown rules. "Isn't it forbidden?", she asked. "No one will ever know", I said, and so, a talk that had started with her request that I would assist additional seniors, went on. I never refuse when someone wants to speak with me; and this time, I went on and talked about pain, anger and abuse, and the scars that remain. She was understanding and compassionate, and my heart melted. I just wanted that someone would listen. But then, I was reminded that she was a Muslim, and any hope I had, disappeared within a heartbeat.
Cooking for other senior citizens added to my daily routine, and my rollercoaster of emotions stopped on the more positive side. The local BBC channel had decided to do an item about me in their morning show, and I felt that I had some meaning. Scarred by years of someone close telling me that I was just an idiotic no-one, I couldn't help but thinking it was true. Finally, I felt a bit different.
But this idyll did not last long. No one remembered what happened on January 9th, but I did. On this dreary Sunday morning, I lied on my bed and thought of things that might have been. Rain poured outside, and my heart and soul were flooded with memories of feeling terrorized. Suddenly, a noise of cracking glass was heard, and I felt terrified, as if I was a child, a teenager, a young man all over again. The pouring rain couldn't match my tears, and a puddle appeared in the middle of the living room.
"Were you crying earlier? I accidently dropped a set of soup bowls", said a note from Raoul later that day. I was too ashamed to admit that, and so I did not comment.
At 19:25, on Tuesday evening, a knock was heard on the door, and a familiar face stood behind it. It was Raoul. "I brought you a gift", he said. It was a record player, and a vinyl record by the British band "Tears for Fears", named "Raoul and the Kings of Spain", a record I was looking for for years.
I looked at Raoul again, mesmerized. "Wait.. you're not just 'Raoul'.. you're Roland ..". "From where do you think I got that vinyl?", he laughed. "Wow, it is really amazing! I'm one of your biggest fans.. but you're not old at all!". "Well, who wouldn't want to have daily dinners, cooked by a celebrity chef? I didn't miss the item they did about you on the local news".
"This is not what I came here for", he said with a serious voice. "I understand your pain. I'm sure you're familiar with my story and with the lyrics of the songs in this album". "Does it ever get better?", I asked. "I think it depends on you. But I can give you some tips". My favorite BBC news anchor was on TV again, reporting that restrictions will be eased, starting tomorrow. "So", Raoul said, "Tomorrow at 19:30?". "That would be lovely", I smiled. I played my newly acquired vinyl.
And in this gloomy life and gloomy town, and even though it was a winter evening, a ray of sunshine appeared beyond my window sil.
