Mr King

 Mr King is a black man. He is alive, but  looks like he dead for years. His cold eyes are wide open staring the ceiling. If you wait to see his lids rolling down, you might be dead by that time. Not funny ahey. Yes, it is not funny but serious. 

You know how I got that best opportunity to observe that damn vulture eye so closely. You might be thinking that I am making a story because I am a fiction writer. You are one hundred percent wrong. I choose to be there for King. A man who doesnt know if he was alive. The man who knows nothing about the past or the  present. His stiff body is lying on the bed probably last cleaned in 1975. I may sound crazy. But trust me his butt is half rotten and balls are vanished. A plastic tube is connected at edge of penis which is attached with a plastic bag. First, when I saw mrs king, can call her queen if you wish but believe me Mr King is not the King like king of England Nepal. It is only the name. 

“You know how to clean the butt”, the lady says looking to the intestinal penis. She is cleaning the top part of it very gently. I take no time to guess how much she loves it. I am not rude. I am a kind hearted asshole. I say, ‘no no I only work with clients who have clean ass. She doesn’t like me because she doesn’t  like my answer, trust me. She is a bitch. She grabs a wet towel from my hand and shows me how to clean the ass. I look it from the beginning to the end and thank her doing my job. She does’t speak. ‘Hurry up mum. You will be late for the prayer”, Mr king’ s prince Mr Hollard says. Soon she leaves the room and goes to the kitchen. She whispers into Hollards ear. I guess she is complaining about me. 

After a few minutes, Mr Hollard shows up in the room and ask me to transfer Mr King to the wheelchair. I never know how to transfer dead like stiff body to the wheelchair. I know  I have made the mistake telling the interviewer that I know everything. I ask Hollard to assist me to transfer Mr king to the wheelchair. In that process I learn how to transfer a stiff and unresponsive body to the wheelchair. Hollard is a kind man. He tells me he is a firefighter in London, Ontario. 

Then we bring Mr king in the dining table. There are five children look like they have the birthday at the same day and the year. They all are sitting around the table eating breakfast and watching TV. When I Park Mr  King near the table, I look at the screen. There is a young black lady singing Christian hymns in the melodious voice. When Hollard sees me looking at the screen carefully, he comes closer to me and says “ she is my wife.” All five young children are watching her singing attentively. 

“You know how to feed my dad”, he asked me. “ Does he eat?” Buzzes my head. “ Tell me how, I will follow you”, I replied. Then he takes  a glass of gel like stuff out of the fridge and puts on the table. Then he carefully picks up a spoon from the spoon holder and dips into the glass. He scoops very little and puts into King’s mouth. Mr king after a long pause moves his lips and growls while shallowing it. “He chocks every time when he shallows food. You don’t have to be stressed out”, he says. Then he hands over me the spoon. As I scoop a tiny bit of food, Mr Hollard looks it checking if I have picked the right amount of food. I carefully shove the spoon  into his mouth and let him lick it. This time Mr King shallows without choking. Mr Hollard says, ‘ you are doing a great job.” What the fuck you saying like you are saying to the kid. I feel devaluated. 

I look at the unresponsive corps like body and amazed how he only can eat little by little. I check my phone’s watch. I have been there only three hours, but for me it is ages. Then I finish feeding in three hours. I inform Hollard that i am going home. Ar first he was hesitating if I am unable to handle thsis. Then I left the yard silently.