The Unexplainaible

A man started penning down his diary entry as usual.


"Dear diary,
This would be my last entry.


"Lift the lid. It would be underneath my plate..yes, that one. The brown one." His cracked voice seemed to consume all the breath he collected the 2 struggling hours. Shivering hands, and an impregnable desire in his blind eyes, led me to do what he requested. I picked it up and blew off the dust from the hardbound cover. There it was embedded in bold magenta, the words, "Diary 1958".

The sounds of the vintage cars, the wailing of the kids in the market, the beer cans on the streets and the trucks thumping up and down the lanes... Germany was full of life on a sunny October afternoon. His hair and the sunlight were true lovers. They could not be seperated. There was this peculiar yet familiar zing around his character. He possessed a very prominent spark in him. The one which you get when you feel that you are the happiest...you are on top of this materialistic world. When you achieve something as rare as true peace. It was this spark that drove me to him. Everyday at 2pm. Regularly, now...for the past 12 years.

I looked at the rusted clock behind me. I can look now, was a random feeling that arose. Its been 9 years since that smoke made me blind, and I underwent an eye transplant. But this random feeling arises in me very frequently now. Flipping through the pages with sheer disinterest, I glanced at him. He was smiling. I wished that I could ask, "Do you realise I have other patients to attend? Can you be quick?" But I couldnt because i just couldnt be rude to him. So I asked,"Abel, which part do you really want me to read out to you?" He replied in his broken, husky, and now typical Abel Goldstein voice, "I wish you could read all of it out to me, but now as you can't, read after March 1979. And be loud."

He said that like a weak command. But I began. With the doubt-"why is he making me read aloud his own diary?" I could not decipher the logic. Ignoring the desire to decipher, I started reading. There were mentions of his new job, the new apartment he bought, his first self paid trip to Frankfurt, his first love..every random incident of his life was inked in blue on those dry parchment like pages. As I reached September 1979, I started feeling awkward. Terribly awkward. I felt immobilized.

I read something:



"September 18th, 1979.

Today you gave birth to my boy. I am so happy! I want to fly! I cannot control my emotions when I touch his pulpy head, see his engrossing stare! I thank you, Samantha, for being my wife. I love you like anything..Today you gave me the most precious gift of my life. I wont forget bed No. 312 on which you lie right now. I promise I would die on it. I am so happy for both of us. I know you love me a lot. I so wish your father accepts us. I know thats not a possibility, as I am a doctor, and he doesnt want a doctor as your husband. I know you must be having thoughts troubling you in your mind about deciding not to drop the child and bring him him to life without marrying me. But I promise we would marry. Thank you sweetheart. I love you."



October 21st, 1979

This would be my last entry. Samantha, you promised you wont leave me...I never imagined this would happen. Your father didnt kill YOU, he killed both of us. I have no strength left to write anything more. I would just like to say one thing. I named him Ron. Ron Baker. I donated him to an orphanage 20 days back. I dont know why I did that. Maybe because I had to marry someone else. But I promise I would be around him always. You would always be my wife, and he..my son. I love you both."



I read this sentence and he asked for his diary. He kept it upside down on himself and placed both his hands on it. I froze on the chair I was sitting on, and kept staring at him...lying there unmoved.

Next morning, HE died of unknown reasons. And I witnessed his death with my eyes....rather his eyes. And this was the game.

Dr. Ron Baker
October 21st, 2008."