The Telephone

The phone rang again. At the same time on the fifth day. Being prepared, I received the call only after the second ring, in a raised voice.
“Who is this?”
No answer.
“Who the nonsense is this?”
Deadly silence.
“Who the lunatic bastard are you?”
“It’s me, dearest.” The voice echoed from far-flung into my ears.
“Who the hell are you, joking at this hour of the night?”
“You have even forgotten my voice. Has time taken everything away?”
Suddenly my senses woke up.
“Is it you, darling? Is it you?”
A broken smile with a sigh came into hearing.
“After so many years…..so many years……you thought of talking to me.”
“But you did not recognize me.”
“Forget that, simply forget that. Just keep talking to me. You know, I have always been so fond of your voice.”
“You have not changed, at all.”
“You would hate me if I had.”
“How are you?”
“Doctor says that I am more fit than people of half of my age. Both physically and mentally. I had to keep going. You know, so many things had to be done.”
“Yes, you always have been so particular about your duties.”
“But I had failed the most crucial one.”
We kept talking, like time had stopped for us. Then she said, “Now we must stop. It’s been hours now.”
I was so unwilling to stop, “No, don’t go now. Let’s talk the night through.”
But the call was disconnected by then. I was so reluctant to put down the receiver. My earlier bellowing into the receiver had woken up my son and his wife. They had come out of their room and were looking at me in astonishment.
“It’s her. It’s her.” I said in joy, in excitement
“What?” he asked with disbelief.
“It’s her.” I repeated.
“You mean to say, you were talking to my dead mother over a dead phone in the middle of the night!?!”