Lost And Found: Buried Secrets

(This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.)

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Dear Mother,

After all these years, I do not know how to begin. But I must. So, I shall begin by saying, I am sorry.

I am sorry that I "ran away" when I was 13, without an explanation, without a trace. I should have told you everything. But I didn't. And I am sorry. I know how much pain it must have caused you when you waited night after night for me to come home and run into your arms.

But, I was so scared. I didn't know how to tell you...

After father left for the war in 1941, never to return again, your life had fallen apart with a four-year-old in your arms. But you found your strength in Mr. Roy and decided to stay back in Calcutta. You found a job at the telegram office and did everything you could to put food on the table while maintaining our estate. 

Soon, he became more than just your counselor. You married him when I was seven. Although I barely remembered my father, I knew Mr. Roy wasn't family. You sensed my reluctance and you desperately wished for us to get along. And believe me, mother, I tried. 

You had to dismiss all the workers for we could no longer afford them and I always found myself alone inside the house. So, in the beginning, I enjoyed his company.

He took me out for ice-cream, books, concerts and bought me my first long-playing record. Gradually, the counselor in him started to help me come to terms with my father's death. 

I didn't have any friends in school so, I started confiding in him as well. I told him of my secrets and my dreams.

I told him that I always watched you cook and I wanted to have my own restaurant where I could feed everyone and fatten them up. He bought me a book of recipes. I told him that I wanted to travel to the center of the earth just like Jules Verne did. And we sketched out a plan based on the book.

Life was not perfect but it was good.

One day when I was almost thirteen, I told him about this boy that I liked in my class, that I was too afraid to approach him because everyone would laugh at me, and the teachers would scold me. I said that I was too ashamed of myself but I couldn't help it either. 

He said, "It's ok, son. There's nothing to be ashamed of." He told me that it's normal to feel the way I did, that I wasn't odd. I felt so free that evening. And for the first time, I whispered, "Thanks... dad..." He smiled and hugged me.

That night, after you were asleep on vodka, like always, he came to my room. I was awake, and I beamed. I wanted to talk to him more about how I felt. And we did, for hours. He told me all the science about it.

The next day he brought me a few books on homosexuality. "Always be who you are, son. It's important," he said. I hugged him again. I was so happy, mother.

While you went to work, I started going with him to his chamber to talk more and more. It was like he was my best friend. I asked, "Don't you think I should tell my mum?" He sprang up and responded, "Oh, no, no, not yet!" Then he relaxed a little. " You see, she's in a tough place and is not ready for such a big news. Be patient, son."

I nodded and walked home, prepared myself some eggs and went up to my room. I thought about the boy I liked. "Don't tell him, yet.", Mr. Roy had warned. 

That weekend you went to your aunt's place in Darjeeling. I stayed back with Mr. Roy. I remember how you kissed my forehead, and hugged me on that bright September morning of 1950. No matter what Mr. Roy said, I made up my mind to tell you my secret because I thought you'd understand. So, I waited for you to return.

That evening, I prepared dinner with Mr. Roy and he allowed me to try vodka for the first time. I was thrilled. After dinner, I asked him if he could come to my room so we could talk. He said, "Of course, son."

So, I waited. After doing the dishes, he came to my room. "You wanted to talk to me about something?", he asked. I hesitated. "You told me to not tell the boy that I like him... But, I need to. My body feels strange when I see him and I don't know what to do about it..." 

He looked at me calmly and said, "Then you should help yourself when you're home..." I stared at him blankly. He continued, "Don't you know how?" I shook my head. He came and sat beside me on the bed. "If you want, I can show you how... But don't tell anyone about it. Some things should be private to you." I was excited and I nodded vigorously.

"Good boy," he said. "Now lie down. I will lie down beside you and you do exactly as I do. It will set you free." 

Then... Then, he undressed... I was taken aback but I copied him. "This is how a man takes care of himself!", he gasped. I felt so liberated and I laughed, trying to catch my breath. He hugged me and said, "This is not all that there is." My brain fuzzed in joy and vodka was ecstatic. "I want to know... Teach me!"

Mr. Roy said, "Let me show you what it's like when you're with a boy." And, he turned me around. I didn't know what was coming...

Mother, it hurt so much. I was no longer happy. I begged him to stop. But he wouldn't listen. "It's normal to feel pain the first time, son!" And he went on...

By the time he was done and made noises like he did after he took care of himself, I was in tears. "Oh, don't cry. No no, it's ok, it's ok, shhh... Come I'll clean you up." But I couldn't move, I was in such tremendous pain.

So, he carried me to the bathroom. He made me sit on the floor and prepared a bath in the bathtub. Then he put me there and stepped in himself. I was still whimpering in pain and he caressed my head and back, holding him to my chest.

The next evening, we received your telegram. You had written that your aunt had expired and that you'll return after the funeral and after you're done with the paperwork of her estate. I refused to have breakfast and lunch because I was... I felt so sick.

I had noticed blood on my bed that morning. Mr. Roy had given me some medicines. "This will help you," he said. He was concerned but I was scared of him. So I took the pills quietly and I slept. He went about his day.

After the telegram, he said, "Don't worry. Jane will be ok." I nodded. He put his arm around my shoulder and said, "You should relax." I nodded again. "Listen," he said, "I, uh, I think we should keep practicing..." I looked up at him, fear in my eyes. "I... I don't want to...", I stuttered. "Nonsense! You must practice!", he said sternly. 

He took my hand in an unusually strong grip and took me to my room. "Please...", I begged. A resounding slap on my face knocked me off balance. I started to whimper and he chided, "You're too weak! It's important to learn about life! This is life! Now get undressed!"

I was so scared that I quietly did everything he asked me to do. He stayed home that week and stopped me from going to school. I dreaded every moment of every day. He kept saying, "I'm sorry I slapped you that day but how else will you learn? I only want to help you."

Mother, I wanted to hurt him and run into your arms, beg for your forgiveness. But even though you were gone for a week, it felt like a lifetime. I don't know how the week went by but I'd had enough. I had to tell you everything. So, I hatched a plan.

I waited till dawn for him to get tired with me and fall asleep like every day. I sat up, my body aching everywhere. I saw him sleeping. He didn't realize I was awake. I picked up my clothes from the floor and tiptoed outside my room. I quickly put them on, opened the door and ran outside.

I don't know how long I walked. A taxi rolled up beside me. The driver asked me where I was going. I said, "Can you take me to the station? I need to go to Darjeeling, to my mother." "Do you have any money?", he asked. I shook my head. He looked me up and down and said, "How about I take you to Darjeeling, to your mother and then she gives me the money?" I nodded. It was perfect. I hopped on the taxi. 

We stopped somewhere by the river. "Do you want to eat something?", the driver asked. I was famished, so, I nodded. I'd never eaten anything like that before, it was so sweet and delicious. We started on our journey again and I dozed off...

When I woke up, I felt like my head would explode. I looked around and found animals in cages. I was covered in animal vomit and excreta, inside a cage of my own. I tried to make sense of where I was and then I heard the blare of a ship's horn. It seemed to come from the skies.

A sailor boy came down twice every day and threw a bowl and a glass at me. I gulped down the food with the water only to vomit again. I was too scared to talk to him. Everyday I vomited and got covered in my own excreta. 

After what felt like months, I remember seeing sunlight. Two men held me while the third dumped two buckets of water on me. I was given a blanket and food. Later that night, a man with a heavy accent received me in exchange for a bag behind some docks. Then he took me to his car and drove me to a farm.

There were hundreds of boys my age. We took care of chickens, pigs and cows. We were made to scrub the floors, feed the animals and clean them. I had never seen such a huge farm. We were not allowed to go outside the wired boundaries. There were guards everywhere. Every now and then, some boy would try to escape and he would be caught. We would spend that night without food and listening to his screams. Most boys stayed put because they were afraid to run. But I somehow felt safe there. You see, there was no Mr. Roy.

I met a boy there, Henry. He was brought in one day, almost two years after I was brought. At the time I was sixteen, he was fourteen. Seeing him so scared on his first night, I went up to talk to him. We talked every night since then. We learned how similar we were and grew affectionate towards each other.

Another year had passed. Suddenly, one night, the man who brought us, opened the door of the shed where we all slept. There were six other men in uniform. They weren't the guards we knew.

We were all taken to a rehabilitation centre where we were given food, clothes. The older boys who were above sixteen were sent to restaurants and mechanic shops for specific hours every day. I was sent to a restaurant after a lady talked to me about my interests. She had asked me where I was from and about my family. I had remained silent and she no longer pressed it.

At the restaurant I quickly learnt a lot of dishes by watching them being cooked although my job was to wait tables only. I got paid for my work and I returned to the centre every day. I had learnt that a private organisation aided by the Government of Texas ran the centre for children like us.

A lot of the boys who had turned eighteen by then had moved out. Henry was still there. I remember how he told me about his love for music. With the money I earned from I restaurant, one day while returning, I stopped at a pawn shop and bought a guitar. Henry was ecstatic. He closed his book and immediately started to figure out the guitar. 

In a few months, I moved out and was working at the same restaurant as a waiter and a helper cook. The head chef was impressed with my skills. Initially, he let me stay at the restaurant till I could find a low rented apartment of my own. 

Time passed. I thought about writing to you several times but I could never muster enough courage. I didn't want Mr. Roy to come across anything. Gradually, by the time Henry was sixteen, I had convinced Miss Statham at the center to give him a job as a live performer in the restaurant I worked. I had convinced the owner to hire him as well. He thought to have a live performer might get him more customers so he agreed. Besides, he loved music.

Life wasn't rich but it was good. After turning eighteen, Henry moved in with me. In four years, we earned enough through extra shifts to open our own little eatery. Mr. Owens, the restaurant owner, wasn't excited about us leaving but he raised a toast the final night and said, "I'm proud of you boys!" We drank to our heart's content.

Little by little, our eatery grew. From a little eatery, we became a diner in the next couple of years by 1963. We were heavily appreciated by everyone. We made friends and connections all over Texas. In 1977, we sold our diner and moved to California. We bought a piece of land in Napa Valley and opened a bed and breakfast with our own little winery.

Henry managed to find his family in Brooklyn, New York. He begged me to write to you but I refused because I was still scared of Mr. Roy. Then he proposed we come to Calcutta and find you in person. But I wasn't quite sure. I was too ashamed to face you.

On 14th February, 1983, we got married in a private ceremony. Henry's mother was so happy. His father was still struggling to accept his son's orientation. His sister and her husband planned the wedding like it was their own. I missed you so much, mother. 

A couple of years later we adopted the sweetest little girl. Legally, we couldn't. But she was the daughter of one of our workers who couldn't afford a fourth baby. Her name is Christie. She's ten now.

But something never felt right. There was always a missing part of my life and that was you. I realised I couldn't stay away anymore. I had to meet you. So we packed our bags, explained everything to our manager, Miss Winter, and took a flight to Delhi and finally, to Calcutta.

So many things had changed. I barely recognized the city I was born in. As we got off a taxi in front of our gate, a million things raced mind. But one thing did not. 

We didn't walk into my home, we walked into a resort - Roy & Sons Resorts, Estd. 1991. I felt sick as soon as I saw the name, so we turned back immediately and went to a hotel.

I had thought of so many things except perhaps the obvious. Henry took it upon himself to discover what had happened. He found where you rested after your accident in 1990.

He also found a newspaper cutting with the picture of a lost thirteen year old me, requesting immediate whereabouts. There was another newspaper cutting where it was discovered by the police that I had run away as they understood from what Mr. Roy, having counseled me, said about my poor mental health. The case went cold after that.

Today, I am standing here grey-haired, tears in my eyes, before the grave of Mrs. Jane Baker Roy. I don't know if I should feel sad or angry or betrayed. But I know I am sorry, mother. I also wish you could meet Henry and Christie. I know you'd love them.

I have requested the cemetery caretaker, who for some reason seemed to believe me, to help me put this letter inside your casket.

You deserve to know what happened to your son, that he has been found and that he's home.

Forever Yours,

Michael.

19th May 1996.