The Tail I Couldn’t Dye Without Telling

I had received it four years ahead of the time I was supposed to receive it. They told me a lot of things, most of which my short termed memory could not satisfy me with, for now. As they were telling me everything they seemed to be instructed to tell me, I was staring them blankly, unmoved by Granpapa’s occasional spit, nor the often censorship from Aunt Pansy imposed on certain aspects of his storytelling nor the horrible things that they were actually trying to relate. In spite of my father’s wet-melted-wax-like face and my mother’s tears-eroded-canyons-like face I stood still, thinking of only one thing. All four looked very disappointed when I started smiling, becoming shades and outlines of the pale colors of their thick woolen clothes. Granpapa cried a distorted and flat sound followed by a strange alignment of his eyebrows in a way that his astonishment could easily control, but his aged muscles couldn’t anymore. He disappeared in the dark hole that was the bathroom entrance, enclosing himself behind the shut metal door. My mother started crying again and was led out of the small dark and dank kitchen that always had the curious smell of dirty-perspiration-soaked-socks-boiled-in-soup. It was me, my Aunt Pansy and her sadistic look upon her ugly face that brought back so many childhood memories that my mind was struggling to block. And there it was, creating shades of grey in the black kitchen. My big smile had an aura that shone. For a moment I forgot I was cold and shivering, even if my sweater was itching most horribly, irritating my sensible white skin. Aunt Pansy said something, but I can’t remember what right now. I only know that I asked her if it was really true. I think that my prolonged smile started to become a sinister grin because it reflected in Aunt Pansy’s witch-like nose which erected the solitary hair in its tip. That was all she permitted to show of her dread. I know now that she feared me. I asked her once again, almost angry, I even demanded her, taking profit of her unnoticeable moment of sensibility. It was only when my parents flung inside and snatched me, dragging me out of the frozen darkness that my Aunt Pansy stopped them, uttering the expected words: “He must have it. That’s what he would have wanted. It’s his now.”. Right there and then, I had forgiven all of Aunt Pansy’s abuses and tortures.

I hold the grey tail which belonged to my grandfather. I am on my balcony, trying to finish the bottle of brandy, though the heavy morning is pushing my shoulders like Atlas’ burden. I am trying to remember why I wanted this tail so much, why I dedicated my whole petty life and existence to it. I remember when my parents used to send me to my grandfather in the stifling hot summers and I used to sit there, doing absolutely nothing all day, in a small claustrophobic room that permitted no light, nor heat. I could choose, of course, each summer, to go either to the proprietor of the ant sized room or to Granpapa. The latter was a declared enemy of the former and, according to his philosophy; he was keeping his friend far away and his non-friends even further. In a way, my grandfather was the only family I had. I think I do remember how I came across the tail. But I could never say it now. What I need to say, what I need to let out, is that today I decided to dye it. I know you might not understand why I am doing it or why it is so hard to do it that I must empty a brandy bottle before. I am still not fully decided myself, but I know that I couldn’t do it alone. That’s why you are here. That’s your part. You are the impartial judge, the neutral witness, the uninvolved sideshow character. You are here because I needed you to know that I want to dye this tail, because it is the tail I couldn’t dye without telling.