My Re-Write of Puteri Gunung Ledang

Introduction

My re-write is based on one of Malaysia’s classical and legendary story. It’s called “Puteri Gunung Ledang” which means “The Princess of Mount Ledang”, has also been defined as the ‘Malay’ version of Romeo and Juliet. This tale has been produced into a film and musical, resulting good reviews. This legendary tale took place in the fifteenth century, however for my re-write, it will be set in the beginning of the eighteenth century which was the British colonial times. This will give me a chance to include my ownpersonal visits to the monuments (from the colonial times) in Malacca – the historical state of Malaysia.

I’m going to re-write this legendary story through the eyes of a rich young lady instead of a Princess, showing the story from her point of view. I will also change the scene and time to fit in with the British colonial times. The story will not just include romance, but also her wittiness towards some situations she dealt with.

Gustri

The night was finally dark and the moon was almost full. I grabbed my scarf and tiptoed towards my bedroom window. I climbed over my window, grabbed the edge of it and fell on the garden at the back of the house. The garden was beautiful even though it was dark. My brother and I never got the courage to redecorate our garden after mother had died. She was the only one that would water the plants and sit under the mango tree in the middle. I started remembering the times mother used to feed me mangos, peeling sli

ces with the skin. She always carried an orange peeler with her just in case if we had ever gone for a walk, we would always come across a fruit tree. I stood under my window looking at the dried mango tree that was once so alive. It was then I heard my call; the whistling started to grow louder. I ran pass the tree and climbed across the wooden fence. Across the fence stood an open field leading to a downhill. A cloud was

slowly sliding pass the almost full moon, I ran faster towards downhill and walked into a pathway on the left into the jungle. Finally, with darkness being my biggest fear, a small hut was spotted and he was already waiting for me. I felt my heart jumped as I walked faster towards the hut.

I pushed aside the beaded curtain that separated the light and darkness. He was already sitting on the floor with heated tea ready on a bamboo mat.

“Gustri, is everything alright? I’ve been waiting here for half and hour now, even your favorite tea has become warm”, he said concerned and upset about the warm tea.

I smiled at the tea and ran towards him, hugging him and resting my head of his shoulder.

“I’m so glad I’m finally with you at the end of the day, I’m sorry I took long, I had to wait for my brother to settle in his room. I’m fine Hang Tuah don’t worry”, I said relieved.

“It’s just not save for a young lady like you to be roaming around Mount Ledang at this time, there must be another place we can meet? Closer to your house maybe”, he said.

“No Hang Tuah, we’ve spoke about this before, it’s too dangerous and I do not know what my brother would do if he found out”, I said worryingly.

“You do not know that Gustri, you’re just afraid and I understand your sti

ll mourning your father’s death, please Gustri I don’t want you to feel as if there’s no hope anymore”, he said.

“Please Hang Tuah, I can’t abandoned my brother, he’s my only family left, I’m not ready to tell him”, I said disappointed.

“I understand my love, but I’m sure your brother is as kind as you and he will understand that its now your time to live your life”, he said.

“I do not know about this yet Hang Tuah, please lets just enjoy the tea you made”, I said pulling him to sit down.

The hut was lighted with four lanterns placed around each corners and there was one big candle sitting on the bamboo mat with two cups of tea.

I sipped my tea tasting it was my favorite jasmine tea. I smirked and asked.

“So did you make the tea all by your self?”

“Well, it did take me longer than usual”, he said and chuckled.

I laughed and said, “ Oh Hang Tuah, I’m not even going to ask what you went through to make the tea”.

I noticed he laughed and then a frown appeared on his face.

“What’s wrong Hang Tuah? Are you alright”, I asked concerned.

He looked at me with a helpless look in his eyes.

“Gustri…has anyone asked for your hand in marriage recently? Please Gustri I can’t just sit here watching offers being made to you when I’m in no position to ask for your hand in marriage”, he said eyes tearing.

I looked at how broken he was explaining how he thinks he’s no good for me. I co

uldn’t look at him. I couldn’t bare to tell him I was going to be offered another hand in marriage by a rich man from the state called Malacca, not too far from here, and of course if Hang found out this time the marriage offer was from the town he lived and grew up in, he would feel more threatened. Ever since my father had died 3 years ago, I got numerous marriage offers from the rich and royalty from all over Malaysia. All of course I declined.

“Hang Tuah listen to me, there hasn’t been any marriage offers, and I don’t think there will be anymore, trust me”, I said with a smile.

I kissed Hang Tuah on the lips reassuring him that everything will be fine in the end. The hut was our only place to escape from the new world and the war. We laid in the hut till dawn until we separated again to our different paths.

********

It was a tiring morning once again. I could hear the house cleaner sweeping the marble floors downstairs. It was not any ordinary broom, it was made out of many long wooden sticks, a rubber band was tied on the top of it to create a handle and to keep the sticks together. This broom was usually used to sweep water of the marble floors when cleaning. My mother always used it, and I remembered how I

used to take out all the wooden sticks and then the broom would fall apart and mother would get annoyed having to gather it up all again and tie it. I would run to the back of the house and into the garden with my long thin wooden stick as if it were a sword fighting the mango tree and the plants.

I got out of bed and into the shower. I decided to wear my batik red sarong with my matching long blouse. As I was rolling my hair in a bun, a knock appeared on my bedroom door and without my permission for entry, my brother walks in.

“I did not say you may enter brother”, I said privately.

“Good morning sister, but I am afraid you have just received another letter to confirm a meeting with a particular rich man”, said my brother ignoring to response to what I had said before.

“Well has this one given me an option or am I allowed to choose where I would like to meet him”, I asked

cheekily.

“This is a different one Gustri, he’s the first that has decided to let you choose, apparently he’s really in need for a wife and a mother”, said my brother.

“A what?!...A mother? But I am only 21, I do not know anything about being a mother”, I said feeling afraid.

“I’m sure it’s not that hard Gustri, just remember how mother used to take care of us”, said my proud brother reassuringly.

“I hope mother heard that brother”

“I’m sure she did Gustri, she would be proud of you no matter what, so how do you feel about this one”

“I’m sorry if I have disappointed you brother but he’s not the one for me”, I cried.

He walked up to me and grabbed my shoulders looking into my eyes.

“Do you really think your brother is a blind fool sister, the on

ly reason I’ll be disappointed with you is because you did not have faith in me to tell me you were already in love with some one else”,

I couldn’t believe my ears, I did not think this would end so easily and soon Hang and I wouldn’t have to hide our meetings anymore. I jumped and hugged my brother, full of happiness.

“But how did you know all this time brother? And what about you, you’re the only family I have left, I’m afraid

something may go wrong, I can’t loose you brother”,

“Listen to me Gustri, you need to be strong, I am fine, I’m a grown man, I’m not a child anymore and

why do I need taking care of when you’re the younger, sometimes I feel you have understood everything upside down sister”,

“It’s not that brother, it’s just that mother made me promise to take care and look out for you…. And it’s a promise I made to keep”,

“Wow, but father and mother did not make me promise to take care of you, well that’s the just great of them to assume I wouldn’t be able to take care of myself”,

“Oh don’t be silly brother, maybe mother had to make me promise because I was the young and careless one but for you, they knew you would take care of me no matter what”, I said laughing.

“Well, you certainly are good with your words little sister”,

“I do try”, I said cheekily.

“So when will you be arranging a meeting with this man to break the bad news”,

“Well I have to meet him soon I guess, arrange a meeting for tomorrow morning at the Malacca streets, after that I shall announce the good news to Hang Tuah”, I said excited.

“Great it will be arranged please be ready for your rickshaw tomorrow morning then, I won’t bother lecturing you now, we’ve spoken enough, just try and be more quiet next time when your climbing down the window in the middle of the night”, said brother sarcastically.

“Hey! That’s not fair, you still did not tell me how long you have know

n this for, I feel like a fool now for sneaking when you knew”, I said ashamed.

”You really should have more faith in me sister”, he chuckled leaving the room.

********

The next morning finally arrived. My heart was filled with excitement and mischief. I wore my pretty yellow and white flowered sarong I had been saving to wear f

or a year now. I walked downstairs to the living room, feeling a pinch of coolness on my feet as I walked on the marble

floor. The rickshaw was already waiting for me outside, my brother had came out to wish me good luck and had given me an embroidered hand made white cloth umbrella he bought for me to use in the summer sun. It matched perfectly with my white flowers on my sarong. I had imagined myself as a princess.

The rickshaw followed the path out to the field and down the hill, passing the pathway that leads to the hut and down to a road. It was a beautiful sunny day; I lifted up my umbrella, opening it to protect me from sunburn. After ten minutes of riding in between trees, a town was spotted growing larger. As we entered Malacca town, it was the rich architectural heritage that caught my attention, we approached the Dutch Square, the roads were filled with more rickshaw’s, local Malay’s shopping for food (some whites as well), children playing in front of shops and the bright red protestant Christ Church built by the Dutch in the 16^th century, I remembered my father had brought me here when I was younger. As we rode on, I noticed a fountain that wasn’t there before I visited when I was a child.

“Oh sorry, you can stop right here please, Thank You”,

The fountain was so magnificently made; it was designed very differently than other fountains I had seen. The fountain had a small tall tower in the middle with engraved patterns and stone made lily pads floated still on the water. As I admired the fountain, I waited for the man impatiently. I sat at the fountain admiring my beautiful hand made umbrella as a skinny small man started to approach me from afar, I stood up and waited for him.

“Good Morning Miss Gustri, Mr Mahmud Shah has been waiting for you”,

“Oh really….. How long exactly has Mr Mahmud Shah been waiting me?”

“About five minutes Miss Gustri”

“Well I’ve been waiting for almost fifteen minutes”, I snapped.

Who does he think he is? What kind of name is Mahmud Shah anyways? My temptation to make this rejection as short as possible started to grow stronger on me. I couldn’t bare wasting my time with this old rich man, I wanted to be at Hang Tuah’s house right now telling him the great news. I immediately noticed the man I was about to reject. He was dressed in black pants and a traditional batik shirt only instead of white; there were yellow flowers on his shirt. I chuckled as I walked towards him.

“Good Morning Miss Gustri, it’s great to see we have both great taste with colors….I hope you had not been waiting too long”

“Good Morning to you too Mr Mahmud Shah” I said abruptly.

He looked at me very strangely, not expecting a short response I had given him.

“Shall we walk then”, I started.

“Oh yes we should…..So Miss Gustri or do I call you Gustri?”, he said cheekily.

“Miss Gustri is fine”,

“So then….Miss Gustri, I believe you are here with good news”,

“Yes I believe I am……I’ve come here to ask you if you will be able to keep me happy and fulfill my dreams”,

“Of course I will be able to keep you happy, do you not know who I am?”

I looked blankly at his face, bewildered.

“I am the mayor of this state. I am the mayor of Malacca”,

“So then Mayor of Malacca, if I wanted a golden bridge built from my house to yours….will that be possible?” I smirked and said.

“Anything is possible in the state of Malacca Miss Gustri….So I take it my proposal is accepted”,

I looked at him bewildered again. He doesn’t seem to get affected by anything foolish I say. His answer surprised me. Clearly he doesn’t know what he’s getting into, clearly he’s blinded by his ego. This sickened me and shouted out,

“No! Your proposal is definitely not accepted! I am not interested in how wealthy you are or a golden bridge and I am not interested in marrying anyone that’s twelve years older than me…..I am sorry if I have wasted your time Mr Mahmud Shah. Good Bye!”

I ran to the end of the street, not wanting to hear a response from Mahmud Shah.

10 Months Later

“Did your father ever teach you to defend yourself Hang Tuah?” I said lying under the mango tree holding an orange peeler.

“My father was an extraordinary swords man and he taught me sword fighting when I was a child, his moves, his quick short cuts……..I’m not as great as my father but at least I know how to hold the sword”, Hang Tuah said laughing.

“You never told me that you father taught you sword fighting”,

“It was a long time ago love and I do want to have anything to do with violence anymore”,

“My father gave me a knife when I was twelve and until today I still have it and keep it with me at all times just in case of anything bad that might happen suddenly….Do you want to see it, it’s a really pretty knife”,

I took out the knife from the side of my bra. I gave Hang Tuah a knife with golden engraving on its handle, he slide the lid upwards and it shined with the sun. Hang Tuah was lying beside me staring at the knife, engrossed in the reflection he could see. I grabbed the knife back and said,

“Lets have a race, come on Hang Tuah! First one at the hut is the winner!”

“That’s not fair Gustri, you’re already running!....Just you wait!”, he laughed and said.

I ran as fast as I could to the hut, down the hill, through the pathway in the jungle and I stopped to look behind for Hang Tuah, but something strange was happening. I couldn’t hear footsteps nor Hang Tuah running towards me. I could hear nothing at all. I turned my direction towards my house, ready to run out of the pathway of the jungle to find Hang Tuah, but then I heard someone run through the trees behind me, I changed direction again and followed the sound through the trees. The person that was running had passed by the hut and gone deeper inside the jungle. I stopped, catching my breath, I had ran too far inside the jungle, I knew Hang Tuah was in trouble, but where was he, where was I. My fears started to take over me, my palms were now sweaty, I sat low waiting for the next noise I could here, I took out my knife and got in position to defend myself. Something was wrong and I could feel it. Where are you Hang Tuah? I could feel as if someone was behind me watching me, I held my knife tighter and got into position again, the person was getting closer and closer. Suddenly, an arm quickly tried to grab my neck attempting to strangle me; I struggle to get myself out of his arm and finally as I do I turn around finding myself already accidentally stabbing the man on the left side of his chest- his heart- my lover- my husband- my Hang Tuah.

The Life of a “Monster”

By: Andrew Dumas

My story is a critical rewrite of a section of the Monster’s story from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus. I always felt the book unjustly portrayed the monster. Yes, he started out as innocent, and learned the craft of language and culture from afar by viewing innocent, compassionate people. But in the end, through misfortune and prejudice, the monster becomes what can only be considered evil.

Instead, when I think of the life of the monster, I see it more as a creature who, starting out trusted humans, learned his mistake, but in so doing did not sink to the whims and treacheries of many people, but instead became a higher form of being. Someone who could see the faults of others, but did not retaliate.

Much like the natives of lands populated by colonists, I see him as a fierce, wild intellect, ‘civilized’ by people, subjected to “help” and religion, battered into service, only to escape before eventually falling to his doom.

In this segment, I attempt to recreate a telling of the Monster’s story after creation up until he is reunited with his creator. I have done my best to portray him not as a bloodthirsty monster, but instead as an unfortunate outsider, subjected to the whims of the rich as well as fate.

*

The rain fell very much like rain should normally fall. This is because the rain understood its job very clearly. It started up high, socializing with other raindrops, then, with the aid of gravity, it fell. Top to bottom.

The leaves and grass being trampled and bent did so much as their ancestors had since the dawn of time. As each foot fell, the blades of grass and leaves dutifully crumpled. Like the rain, they knew their purpose in life.

The creature currently being splattered in the face by rain and sprinting headlong across the ground very much did not understand its purpose. This could possibly have been because it did not have the instincts born into other creatures that were of a similar species to it. It also could have been a fault of parenting and teaching, or more accurately a lack there-of.

More probably, the creature’s lack of purpose in life derived from it having only received life roughly three hours beforehand. The creature did not know that this had happened three hours before. It did not know what hours were. It did not know what rain or grass were, nor did it have a name for splattering and trampling, which were the general actions happening in its vicinity. Aside from the sprinting, which it did at a most impossible speed for something its size.

The creature ran, heedless of impossibilities; possibly because its vocabulary also did not contain the word impossible. It did not stop running for a very long time.

*

Many rotations of light and dark later, or more accurately two months and fourteen days after the sprinting, the creature had found itself a certain residence of living. The residence consisted of a large tree that had fallen over in a gale, been hollowed out by time, erosion and very small mammals and birds, and then abandoned by these creatures for more exciting challenges.

Once the creature’s stomach had discovered how to converse with the brain in order to convey hunger, the creature had begun eating. It tested all kinds of new and exotic materials, such as branches, rocks and dirt, but had eventually settled on nuts and berries.

A lucky lightning strike had provided fire for the creature, which, after several third degree burns and angry yelps, it soon learned could be useful. For instance, when the creature accidentally dropped its nuts on the fire, they cracked and offered up better tasting nuts. Unfortunately, an entire day’s worth of berry collecting was also destroyed experimenting with this procedure. The mistake was not repeated. The creature was a fast learner.

When all the nuts and berries from its area had been collected, it recognized it was time to move to a new location. Moving in an unknown direction, the creature traveled, also unknowingly, toward an outpost in the wilderness of Germany. This outpost, like most others, consisted of a barber shop, a general store, a pharmacy, a gun shop, a place for the men to gather and gossip, a place for the women to gather and gossip, an open yard, some side streets for housing, a manor for the richer people, and alleys for the poorer people.

The creature did not know the names for these places. It did not know the designated activities for these places. It did not know that being naked in civilized society was unfashionable this year, or that walking into a town looking different than everyone else is generally not a good idea. Most importantly, it did not understand the woman in the overly large, gaudy dress. If it had, terror would have filled it’s eyes, and it would have run the opposite direction.

“You poor, poor dear. Don’t be frightened, we’re going to help you,” said Agatha De Lacey.

*

The creature now understood how much time had passed. He knew that four months had gone by since he met Agatha. He also now knew he was a he. He knew this because the De Laceys had told him. They had told him many things, in fact.

They had told him that he was an uncivilized barbarian from the Westerlands. They had told him that living in the wild was very dangerous, and so he now lived in a small basement of the only mansion in town. They had also told him that in order for them to aid him, he would have to help them. So the creature now performed the menial tasks assigned to him each day.

Unlike most rich people, who like to live with other rich people so they can compare their riches, the De Laceys preferred to live distant from those of their class. They did so because, like others of their lineage of wealth, they wanted to feel important. And they wanted other people to think they were important. The simplest way to attain this was to make sure that they lived amidst people who had less money. Because, as is known to people of all nations, money is what makes people important.

Like others who attain this state of high importance, the De Laceys also felt they had a civic duty to help those less important than them. Another way to phrase it was to say that they could spot an opportunity a mile away, much like beavers that see a large stand of felled wood sitting next to a bend in a river.

This they had not told the creature, and so the creature did not realize that working tirelessly for free to do the tasks that would have required four servants was not equal payment for the learning of a few words and patched together clothes to fit the creature’s enormous bulk.

And so, as the creature slaved away for the De Lacey’s, he was treated to lessons in German, which were often beaten into him by Felix, his instructor, a man devoid of patience and compassion. This was considered proper for those of importance.

*

When Felix finally grew tired of wasting his time with the creature, preferring instead to spend his time doing gentlemanly things out in the town, he instead left books in the creature’s possession. The books proved a far better instructor than Felix ever had, possibly because books have a large amount of patience, and lack arms for beating.

Felix had always told him that hurting others was a sin against God, and punished the creature by sending him to the corner of the room when he fought back against his impatient teaching methods.

The creature was confused, then, when he read the books, because when the people from the pages hurt others, they were not sent to the corner. This, he decided, probably had something to do with the fact that God always seemed to tell them what they were doing was right. And as far as he could tell, God overruled Felix.

Safie, a wicked woman who, the creature learned, was married to Felix, was none the less a devout Christian. The creature soon discovered it was easier to be wicked when you were religious. God tended to agree with you more.

Safie attempted to explain her religion to him, though it was slow going. She showed him her bible, and made him read passages from it. She drilled him with questions about scripture. The problem, however, lay in the designation of his species. Since he was so brutally different from everyone else in the town in matter of appearance and origin, the De Laceys were hesitant to call him man. More often they called him monster. The creature could spell well enough to realize that monster and man contained some of the same letters, and so he assumed that the two were pretty close together in the grand scheme of things.

This distinction seemed to be the root of the mistreatment of the De Laceys toward the creature, although these actions, as they often are, were cloaked by the words ‘help’ and ‘education’. However, the creature did not understand the innate wrongness of the situation. This could have been because the creature was so innocent of heart. It could have been because the creature was imbued with an enormous amount of patience. Mostly, it was because the De Laceys didn’t tell him they were doing anything wrong.

*

As time wore on, and the De Laceys continued to take advantage of the brute strength and agility of the creature, he began to learn a new emotion. Hate. Safie preached it to him, for he now understood the word preaching. It meant to take ideas that weren’t yours, make them yours, and then force them on other people. For the creature, this meant that the bible was teaching him something that its original authors had probably very much not meant to teach.

He soon began to relate the ‘love’ and ‘responsibility’ that the De Laceys had for him to hate. They did not like him. They did not respect him. However, like all things in the world, these sentiments had to be couched in a much more supple language.

One evening, banished to his basement for the duration of a ball in the mansion for all the rich people in the area, the creature had overheard Agatha talking with another woman through his door.

“Oh, the poor thing. He just doesn’t understand how the world works. If we were to let him go now, why, I just shudder to imagine what might happen to him,” said Agatha.

The creature had a small suspicion that he probably DID know how the world worked, and probably better than Agatha. She had never had to work, or live in rough conditions. The creature was very familiar with these sorts of things.

“I know the feeling! Our little black slave, bless his heart, how would he survive with skin as dark as his? Why, we are probably the only reason he is still alive. He is quite fortunate that we brought him over from that frightful place across the sea. Can you imagine the dangers in that land? No, it is much safer at our place, working on the fields,” replied the woman.

The creature felt a certain kinship with the slave. While all the servants he had ever met on the De Lacey property had shied away from his form, they too were caught in a web, stuck working for little or no pay, helpless to leave.

“Don’t you just know it? Lord help him, but he just doesn’t understand we’re doing everything we can for him.”

The creature had learned that the phrase “lord help him,” really meant the opposite. Nobody, especially not the De Lacey’s God, was going to help him. He was apparently too busy looking after the important people.

*

One day, while, the creature was cutting firewood for the great fireplace in the house, the senior De Lacey came out and sat on the stairs next to the woodpile. He was the only person on the property who showed him any kindness. The creature suspected this was a result of his blindness and slipping grasp on sanity.

“Why are you chopping that wood?”

“Well, sir,” responded the creature, “the wood has a habit of staying in one piece if I don’t. And they don’t fit in the fireplace quite easily that way.”

The old man nodded at this, apparently accepting it as a satisfactory answer. There was a moment of awkward silence, which the creature felt compelled to fill with the rough sounds of wood being sundered. After a time, the old man spoke up again.

“You know, I always wished I could have gotten out of here. Too bad the kids keep me locked up. I’m barely able even to come out here for air. I think I embarrass them.”

This gave the creature pause. Here was a man, a very wealth man, who also was confined to the premises.

“It’s just too bad I can’t escape, these old legs wouldn’t be able to get me far before they caught up.”

The creatures mind began thinking, which indeed was indeed dangerous at this point. He had discovered, in his readings, that often the smartest people died fastest. It was the slow, ignorant people who survived. And so, as the creature’s own mental processes had vastly outstripped those of his captors in intellect, he had portrayed himself as a dimwitted, lumbering hulk. The learned were more at ease when their prejudices of those different than them were confirmed.

But now, the wheels were turning.

“And how, master, would you go about escaping?” ventured the creature.

“Oh, I’d head out in the middle of the night, when everyone was sleeping. I’d go East for a bit, turn South, then head back West. I’d cross a lot of rivers to confuse pursuers, and I’d make for the more barren regions to the northwest, where there are fewer people.”

And so the seeds for an escape were laid in the mind of the creature.

*

Three nights afterward, the creature gathered his things in a bundle. He placed some candle stubs, his books, a spare set of rough clothes, and a towel in his satchel. He had read in a book once that towels were one of the most useful things a traveler can have. They can be worn when cold, they can dry you, they can act as a signal if you are lost, and in a worst-case scenario, when death is almost assured, you can put it over your eyes so you don’t have to watch.

As he opened he backdoor, rain lashed the ground, and thunder rumbled in the heavens. This was right. In all the books he had ever read, the escape is always made in the middle of a storm. If it hadn’t been storming, he would have been slightly worried.

Setting off, the creature went East, following the directions of the old De Lacey.

Up in his tower, the old man looked out on the world with blind eyes and smiled. He liked the sound of rain.

*

Months went by, and the creature beheld no signs of pursuit. He went far enough to feel safely free of his once captors, and then he went a bit farther. Distance never hurt when it came to escaping servitude.

He found an abandoned house in the forest, and made it his home. He cut his own wood, reread his books, started a small garden, hunted with is bare hands in the woods, and occasionally fished.

It was on one such occasion that he went out to a bridge near his hovel and sat on the wall, rod before him. He heard the sounds of footsteps, and fearful of recapture, hid in a large stand of ferns near the foot of the bridge.

As he watched, a young boy wondered out onto the wall of the overpass. Like all young children, the boy saw a high, thin floor and immediately tested his balance on it. Hands outstretched like a bird, he slowly placed one foot in front of the next. And like all children who balance on high places, he slipped.

The boy splashed down into the water, hitting his head on a rock. The creature, throwing caution to the mild breeze blowing past him, rushed out of hiding to aid the child floating gently down the river.

He used what practices he had learned from his reading to revive the boy, and grabbed the towel he had with him to wrap the wound on the boy’s head. It was at this moment that a man appeared at the entrance to the bridge.

“What are you doing to my son?” he demanded, rushing down to snatch him away.

“Nothing, sir. He only fell in the water and hurt his head. I came to help him when I saw what had happened. Look, you’ll see my towel.”

“A likely story. A barbarian like you, it’s more likely you pushed him in, and intended to lay in wait for me to rob me. Aye, that was your purpose, wasn’t it? Well, I have this gun here,” and indeed, he did have a gun; he was now waving it, “and I’m afraid that you will be coming back with me.”

As he said this the man backed away from the creature, who stood in shocked silence in the middle of the river. Didn’t I just save his son? As the man continued to tread backwards, he slipped on a wet stone, tripping and falling, he lost the grip on his firearm, which fell and, in the nature of all accidents, went off in the one possible worst direction. Right at the wielder.

The man passed out from the pain of the bullet wound.

The creature was stunned. A mental battle ensued, in which the creature debated the merits of sprinting in the opposite direction, or getting medical attention. His life with the De Laceys flashed through his mind, the maltreatment, the hurt, the intentional misleading, the elitist attitudes. He remembered the twisted meanings Safie had taught him, the atrocities from the books he had read.

But he also knew he could never abandon these people. Where Safie had preached hate, he saw the true message of that literature. He was different from all these people he met in this world, but he was not a monster. He reached his decision.

He picked up the two unconscious people, slinging them over his massive shoulders, and hurried in the direction they had come from, assuming that the path would lead to a village. Presently, he came upon a large-ish building, with a sign in front. It read ‘Residence of Frankenstein, PhD’.

He hurried up the walkway, assuming a doctor would be able to assist him. As he harassed the doorknocker in a most unceremonious way, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The creature couldn’t help but notice the place seemed a bit familiar.

The door opened.

“Who is-“ started the man who on the other side, as he opened the door. Both man and creature stood in the doorway, gawking at each other. Both were experiencing flashbacks, the creature remembering in a flash the dash from the building, the man remembering the night of his finest creation.

“I wondered when you would be getting back. There is so much science left to do,” said Doctor Frankenstein in the ominous voice only scientists with an agenda are capable of achieving.

“Please, do come in.”

Re-write (Final)

REWRITING OF JANE EYRE IN ANOTHER DIFFERENT WAY
(Poe Elama)

Hello everyone!
I have done my final re-write by rewriting Jane Eyre. I have started straight away from how the story ends, and put all my ideas together to form up another different way of re-writing it.
Love you all.

My mother was a daughter of Malietoa, the Samoa Head of State. She was beautiful, well respected and polite. She was an intelligent woman and a Christian as well; the reason why her father called her Lagi, a short form of the name Taliilagiseaooloumalo, which meant that a Samoan leader had to be selected from heaven. This was predicted by the late Samoan god, Nafanua, who believed that this foreseeable God would be more powerful and stronger than the old Samoan gods. My mother had also been employed as a nurse in one of the private hospitals in the island for five and a half years. Because of her honesty as well as knowledgeable, she got a scholarship offered by the government to study in England.

I was then about thirty years old; still single and was called the Prince of Samoa. I was also unemployed, however, I was curious in the art of garden cultivation, and later on, I became a well known horticulturist in Samoa. My dad had passed away just before I was born and my grandparents took care of me while my mother was away for her studies. I knew that they loved me very much because I was their only grandchild, who grew up very happily in our family. When I was young, I was very interested in listening to my grandfather telling me the history of my small island, legends, myths, and genealogy as well, which I had kept everything in my mind till then.

One year later since my mother had left; I got a letter from her to check how I was, and informed me of how she was coping in England. There were five of them from different islands of the Pacific who were in the same university for the same role. She said that they would be split up in different places for further work experiences, and she would go to a place called Thornfield to work there for another seven months.

Readers – I will let my mother narrate this part of my story while she is in England.

“Rosa, everything needed for your job is all in that place where you are going to. They were taken there last week by our delivery man” the head of the medicine department told me.
“What’s the name of the place again, Sir?” I asked.
“Ferndean Manor, a large old house situated in the middle of a wood, and they have established a small hospital in one of a very big empty room on the first floor.
“So may be it’s a private hospital, isn’t it?” I asked him again.
“Yes, it is a private one, and it belongs to one of the wealthy man by the name of Rhochester.”

Time had come for me to leave the university site for the mission. The carriage arrived at four o’clock in the afternoon. There was only the coachman and a young boy sitting at the back; I jumped up the coach and sat beside him. I was still awoken for another two hours while the young boy was asleep. He woke up, I knew he was so tired, and then he started to lean against me. I held him tight to save him from falling down and then slowly put his head on my leg as a pillow. During our trip, we came around some of the names I had just seen like Whitcross and others. Fifteen minutes after Whitcross, was a sign Thornfield 666 kms. I was a bit worried because travelling by this four-wheeled horse-drawn carriage would take another three or four days on these desert hills. Moreover, this was the first time I had seen this number 666 since I read about it in the Bible when I was a girl, as this number was said to be a symbol of the devil.

Oh no, what is happening to me? Why have they sent me to this distant Thornfield? Will my mission be completed or not? If not, what will my family in Samoa feel about this? How about Poe, my only son who is still waiting for me in the island? I mentally said.

I stared at this young boy sleeping on my leg and thought about my son when he was in the same age. Tears started falling from my eyes while I patted his hair. I suddenly remembered the word faith at this time.
“Faith, faith, faith.” I murmured. “Have I forgotten about God? Have I forgotten about another part of my island’s history which was told to me by my grandfather? Have I forgotten about the missionary from this country, this country where I am now, who brought the Good News about the Heavenly God to us?”
And straight away, I prayed God without a voice to help me with these uncertain feelings and guide us through our long journey. The young boy who was with me had slept through out the whole first night of our journey and that gave me a good opportunity to have a nice rest as well.

The next morning, I woke up before the sun rose and just remembered that we were still on our way to Ferndean Manor. I felt sorry for the coachman as it was a long trip without an assistant. Nevertheless, after another quarter of an hour, the coach suddenly stopped in front of a sign board which said “rest place.” About 100 metres to the right side was a coffee shop. Because it was time to break our fast, we went to it and we were kindly welcomed by a teenager who was the same age with the young boy sitting besides me. These two conversed well during our breakfast and it seemed that they knew each other for a long time. They chatted and laughed; sometimes louder and sometimes softly, I could hardly hear. However, one of the questions she asked was where he was going to, and I heard him answering that he was heading to a place called Ferndean Manor. Additionally, the coachman told us to relax ourselves for another half an hour because he had to water the horses first before we continued the journey.
“That is not a problem sir; by the way, what is your name?” I asked very politely.
“Sam, Sam Petersen,” he answered without looking at me.
“You?” Sam asked.
“Me? My name is Rosa.””What a name.”
“Thank you Sam.” I replied.

It was 11 o’clock in the morning and we were on the street again. The day was so hot which made us stay awake the whole time. Nevertheless, the question that I had heard in the coffee shop was still in my mind; I turned to the young boy and stared at him until he faced me and gave me a happy smile. I gave him a smile as well and started asking him some questions.
“Please, can you tell me what your name is?” I enquired.
“My name is Junior, the only son of a man named Edward Rhochester.” replied the young boy.
“I see. So your whole name is Junior Edward Rhochester?”
You’ve got it, Miss,” answered the boy.
“I’ve heard that you are going to Ferndean Manor, what for?”
“Just to visit my family.”

I was eager to find out from him about his family, as we were heading to the same place.
“Can you tell me more about your family, because I love to hear it as I am new to this place?”
“It’s a long story madam, but I will just inform you of what I remember.”

At that moment, I moved very close to him, held both his hands when we faced each other, and tried to persuade him not to be ashamed or worried about anything. He then started telling his story.

“I was born in England where I am now living. I am staying with my older sister who is eight years older than me, in one of my dad’s property in England. When I was ten years old, I started to understand what my sister always told me about my family, especially my parents. My sister said that she was not a real daughter of my father but he took care of her when she was very young. She believed that she was a little French orphan who was under the good care of a very young, beautiful governess by the name of Jane Eyre, who was hired by my dad to come and work at our house. However, I still treat her as a real sister to me because I was brought up together with her when I was a baby.”

“Why are you two staying by yourselves? What has happened to your parents?”

“My dad owns the place called Ferndean Manor which is where I am going to now. He stays there for good because of his estate; he owns everything there, as he’s the only one left of the family; his parents and his older brother are all dead. He is as well the owner of a private hospital developed in his property in Ferndean. The hospital is not very big with only a doctor and one nurse being employed. He has about ten servants working there not only inside the house, but outside as horticulturists and cleaners.”

“I am very keen to hear your story Junior. What about our mum? Where is she?”

“That’s another long story Rose; a sad one as well. My sister told me that when I was nine years of age, my parents bought that house in which we’re staying now. They hired a woman to look after us so that we can go to school in England. Then my parents left us and came to Thornfield for the estate as I said before. A year later, I and my sister got a letter from our father saying that my mum had disappeared. He didn’t really know why, but his suspicion was that, she was in love with someone else.”

He paused for half a minute and I had seen him weeping. I held him towards me and shared the same feeling he had, then I whispered to his ear to comfort him.

“I am so sorry about your mother’s situation Junior, but do you want to hear a story about me?”

He gave me a big smile after wiping tears from his eyes with his hand, and said that he wanted to know who I was. I shortened my story by just telling him that I was a Samoan who had got a scholarship as a nurse at the university where I was picked up from, and I was heading for Ferndean as well for further experience before returning to Samoa.

“Well!” the boy muttered “Are you coming with me to my father’s house? Thank God for letting I meet a first Samoan person in my whole life. You are very generous madam and maybe all Samoans are like that, eh?”

“Yes Junior, Samoans are very kind people because they believe in God, and the Good News about our Heavenly Father which was brought over to Samoa by a missionary from your country.”

“What’s the missionary’s name?”

“His name was John Williams, and that was in 1830.”

“Rosa, I also believe in that same God because my sister said our mum was a Christian. However, one other thing I didn’t mention was that I and my sister are both in the same university where you are. In fact, my dad also owns that university; the reason why it is called Rhochester University. Adele is studying law and I’m researching for medicine. I am here just for my holiday.”

“I am very pleased we are in the same university owned by your father, and now I know your father is a multi-millionaire. I am as well delighted we are going to the same place.”

It was night time then and we fell asleep since it was a very long journey. We just chatted and talked through out our trip. We had our conversation with the young boy about Rhochester University. We talked about my homeland, as he always asked me a lot of questions. Sometimes when we stopped to water the horses, or a short rest under the shady trees, we laughed at the coachman’s funny jokes in that he acted like a comedian. In fact, readers, it was a very happy journey till the last two hours before we reached our destination.

I was not expected by anyone in Ferndean except Pat Murphy, a black doctor who was in charge of the private hospital, but he didn’t know exactly what my arrival time was. Yet, it was Wednesday afternoon when we arrived at the hotel called George Hotel, situated in a place named Millcote. The coachman informed us that this would be our last stop and then we went inside to have lunch.
Once we entered the door, Junior suddenly ran towards a man sitting by himself at one of the tables and gave him a hug. The young boy sometimes pointed his hand to me while they kept talking with the man. And most of the times then, the man stared at me in a very strange way. I started to feel frightened as the man had got a long beard, a big scar on his right eye with another small one on his forehead and never gave me a smile. About half an hour since we were in the hotel, the man and the young boy got ready to leave, so they walked slowly towards the table where I had my lunch. In my disbelief, the man stopped behind me, put his hands on my shoulders, whispered to my ear and said “see you soon,” and left the place. I sat wordless there for about five minutes and said mentally to myself whether that was the young boy’s father or not.

“If he is Junior’s father,” I murmured, “he is Mr Rhochester as well, the owner of the university, and the private hospital where I would be working at.”

While I was trying to clear out these clouds of thoughts from my mind, a woman who served me for lunch asked me some questions and slowly sat down on the other side of the table facing me.
“Hello madam, my name is Julie. I have been a servant for this inn since the last eighteen years,” the woman said, “and your name?”
“Rosa,” I replied, “I’m from Rhochester University and I have been selected to come and work at Ferndean to further my experience.
“I spotted from the kitchen that you looked so sad during your lunch; any problem, Rosa?”
“Yes Julie, I was a bit scared of the man who kept staring at me whilst having lunch.”
“Which man?” asked Julie.
“The one who has just left with a young boy, do you know him?”
“Oh yes,” answered Julie. “I’ve been here for a very long time and I know almost everyone in this little town.”
“Please, who is he?” I asked keenly.
“He is Edward, Edward Rhochester, one of a multi-millionaire of Thornfield. That is his only son from one of his wives, but at the moment, he is a widower.”
“Why, what happened to his wives?” again I asked.
“It’s a long story,” responded Julie, but I will just briefly tell you some of what had happened.

I edged my chair a little closer to the table as she started speaking low.

“About eighteen years ago, Thornfield Hall, one of the properties owned by that man, Edward, was burnt down. The fire broke out at dead of night and the whole building was in one mass of flame, before engines from this suburb, Millcote, arrived. This horrible fire was believed to be started by a terrible woman. For sure, no one knew who she was before, but after the accident, they discovered that, she was Edward Rhochester’s lunatic wife, who was kept locked in a room on the third floor of the house. There was also a woman by the name of Grace Poole who looked after that maniac, but her only problem was that she drank too much; the reason of the lunatic woman to escape from her room, went straight into the governess’ room, burned the bed and the whole house was soon on fire.”

“Excuse me Julie,” I whispered, “who was that governess?”

“She was hired to work at the house. She was a very pretty young girl who later married this man even though he was too old for her, and her name was Jane Eyre. The man was crippled and blind when they married, however, they left for England for further treatment and when everything was impeccable and Mr Rhochester was back to normal, they returned here to Thornfield. But a very strange thing happened again. His second wife; the governess; has disappeared since the last five years, and no one knows for sure where she is now.”

I stared at the woman. I felt tears from my eyes because I though about the young boy’s story in the coach. I had seen that man in the inn, I had heard his whispering to me before he left and I had thought about my mission as well. I felt nervous, and still felt scared.
“Rosa, are you okay?” Julie asked.
“Oh, yes.” I replied while wiping tears from my eyes. “Sorry about this.”

“Madam, are you ready for the last two hour drive?” the coachman called from outside the window where we were talking with the woman.

I didn’t give him a reply but I stood up, shook hands with the waiter, and hugged each other while she muttered to me to take care.

We reached Ferndean just before night time. I saw some people from inside the house looking at me whilst the coachman carried my bags from the carriage and took them into my room. I walked slowly towards the house and unexpectedly saw Mr Rhochester on a horse under one of the trees staring at me, a scene which made me more terrified as his face looked like Dracula to me. Anyway, when I entered the house, dinner was ready. There were four people sitting at the table welcoming me; the black doctor, Mr Murphy, Ruth, the nurse aid, Junior, Rochester’s son, and the man by the name of John, the husband of Mary, a woman who had served our dinner.
I was so exhausted on my first night due to our very long journey. I went to bed early and suddenly disappeared to the horror place of hallucinations.
The door was knocked twice. I waited; knocked again, then I slowly raised and walked to the door, opened it and I was abruptly grasped by those strong hands, with long dirty finger nails. I screamed and screamed, trying to fight back and that made me fell off from my bed.
The next morning, I started working with Dr Murphy. Everything was perfect throughout my whole mission except these horrible illusions I had almost every night.
A woman with a red dress, the same woman who grabbed me at my door came knocking at my window, threw a piece of paper in and left. I stretched my hand to grip it and found these words written in it “help you, or help me.” I suddenly woke up and there was nobody.

The last dream I had was that, we had a long conversation with an old woman while the same woman with long fingernails crawled inside like a fierce animal and chased us around the room, causing me to jump out of the window, and later on found myself fell off again from my bed.

However, one night before bedtime, a knock on my door scared me as it wasn’t a dream, I opened it and in my astonishment, that man, Mr Rhochester, the owner of the house held my hand and guided me to my bed.

You know readers – that was the scariest time of my life since I left my home land.

Nevertheless, I knew already what would happen, I tried to calm down and pretended that I was not frightened.

“Mr. Rhochester” I talked so politely, “You are a good looking man. I believe as well that you are responsible of my staying here because this is your house; you own everything and I’m sure you can handle several temptations of life. Sir, look at my eyes, what can you see? Honesty? Yes. Honest eyes, because I was taught by my parents to be honest. Mr. Rhochester, I will be with you for a very long time till I finished my service here, and we can sort out something or a very nice plan for the future”

I knew he was wordless. He just stared at me like a statue with a long beard. That was the first time I had body-contact with him, and to me, he looked old as a sixty plus man. After a minute pause, he asked one only question.

“Can I talk to you again at the back garden tomorrow after work?”
“Yes Mr Rhochester .That is not a problem.” I answered while patting his hand.

He kissed my forehead, walked to the door, said good bye and closed it. I locked the door then, jumped on my bed, closed my eyes and prayed God for saving me from this man’s cruel hands.

The air was fresh outside the garden in the evening. I went to the garden before him so that he wouldn’t be suspicious about my words the night before. He gave me a big smile before he sat down besides me. He asked for my name, my parents and my home country. He as well talked about his biography, and subsequently asked me something.

“Rosa, do you think you can live with me and see me everyday? Do you want to marry me and we will be together forever?”

While asking me these questions, Mr Rhochester often raised his eyes to the third floor of the house. But suddenly, I remembered Julie in the hotel and her story; I had the courage then to answer his questions and then I inquired.

“Mr Rhochester, what happened to your first wife? What happened to your second marriage?”
He was shocked and furiously asked. “How do you know that?”

“There is a Samoan phrase E leai se mea e lilo which meant that there is nothing in the world that could be hidden” I replied.

“My first wife killed herself after burning my house as she was known as a maniac. I totally believed that it was a disease flown in blood from her old generation. My second wife has disappeared since the last five years, as maybe she has an affair with another man.”

I looked straight to his eyes and smile, asked him if I could have a decision and let him know within that week. He agreed with me and we left the garden. He went to where his horse was while I walked towards my room. Just about fifty meters before the house, I suddenly heard a noise from the third floor. The noise seemed to me that it was a laugh but sometimes a cry. I stopped for about five minutes, listened, waited and had a good look. Readers - I was very amazed when I saw just the long finger nails that I had seen in my dream scratching the only small glass window of that room. Then I heard footsteps running up the third floor. I went to my room and tried to ignore it but the terrifying scene was carved in my mind.

There was a knock at the door before bedtime again and I was really scared. I didn’t open it as I felt that I was freezing.

“Rosa, open the door, it’s me, Junior. Open the door, Rosa.”

I hurried to the door, opened it and pulled the boy inside.

“What’s the matter Junior, what’s happening?”
“I think there’s someone in one of the rooms in the third floor. I heard a voice of a woman shouting and swearing. The room has three doors. The first two doors are opened with an old woman lying there like a drunkard. On the top of the second door is the number 666, but I couldn’t open the third one.”

We quietly walked up the third floor and in my amazement, that was the woman we had conversed in my dream lying there, and I knew straight away that she was Grace Poole, as I still remembered this name from the waiter in the hotel.

“The room of evil,” I murmured and stared at the number on the door. “What kinds of people are living in this house? Is this a house of horror? What about that number, 666? Is it a symbol of Satan, the devil?”

We carefully went down again without a noise. I sat in my room, tried to figure out what we had seen, and finally the truth came into my mind that, this was Rhochester’s behaviour of dominating women and made them as slaves, but it was not a blood-flown disease. Readers, I was very lucky not to be Rhochester’s third lunatic wives. Nevertheless, we planned with Junior not to tell anyone that we had arranged something.

The next morning, about thirty cops were in the house checking every room. And at the end of the day, the report on the television said that Ferndean Manor would be closed down for good as it was a place for selling drugs; the reason of Mr Rhochester becoming a millionaire. He would be in jail for life with Grace Poole of being Rhochester’s lunatic wives security for many years. Other servants were imprisoned for a number of years for hiding these secret evil things. But the most shocking story was that the woman, who was locked in the room for five whole years, was Jane Eyre, Junior and Adele’s mother. Then I, Dr. Murphy, Ruth, the other nurse, Junior, as well as, his mum, Jane Eyre were all taken back again to England. As Murphy was a very smart doctor, I, as a responsible nurse aid and Junior, who understood very well in medicines, we took care of this mentally ill Jane Eyre, who finally became healthy, strong, active and very beautiful. Rumours that we had heard about Mr Rhochester’s bank accounts were all ceased, as the Government believed that it was all laundry money, although he had some money left from his welfare estate.

Readers I will narrate again the last part of my story as I am still waiting in Samoa for my mum in Great Britain.

One day I saw my grand father reading the last part of a letter and at the bottom of that letter, I spotted the signature which appeared to be Rosa Malietoa.

“That’s a letter from my mum I think, “I said mentally.
“Poe” my grandfather called, “your mum said they would be here next week.”
“They would be here - what do you mean by they? Is she getting married in England?” I keenly asked.
“No,” replied Malietoa,” She is not, but you’ll know it later.

There were two vans sorted out for the airport. My two cousins, a boy and a girl who were drivers went with my grandparents to the airport. I prepared our dinner and waited for them at home.

‘Hi mum,” I shouted and held her tight for a minute, “I miss you mum”.

She released me and started introducing those people whom they came with.

“Poe, this is Jane Eyre. This is Junior, her son, and that is Adele, her daughter.”

I shook hands and hugged them cheerfully before dinner.

“Sorry Jane and kids, this is one Samoan way of life. We always sit down on mats and eat. I think it is far very different from your culture,” I explained.

They all laughed and try to fold their legs but they couldn’t. Instead, they folded their arms around their legs. Dinner was delicious to them as they tried different Samoan food provided while most of my village gathered outside our house as this was the first time they saw some pakehas. Nevertheless, I was still confused about these Europeans as well, and just before bedtime, I was called in by my mum and said that my grandparents were waiting for me; there was something they wanted to talk about.

“Grandson,” said my grandfather, “we have discussed with your mother that you should have a wife as an advisor for you, when you would take over the throne from me. I am getting old now, and you will be the next Head of State. You have been single for thirty years and this is a good time for you to marry. Poe, we, your grandparents and your mum have arranged this marriage, and we totally believed that Jane Eyre, (pointing his finger on her) would be your future wife. She’s a Christian; she’s polite as well, and even though she had a previous marriage to a millionaire, she promised that she would love you forever. She also agrees to stay here in Samoa with her kids for good, as Mr Rhochester’s welfare estate has all gone.”

‘Who is Mr Rhochester?” I asked.
“That was Jane Eyre’s previous husband,” replied my mum, “but he put her and the kids into deep trouble because he didn’t really love them.”

I shook my head slowly whilst thinking hard of an answer. I didn’t have a word to say in another couple of minutes, and then I sat up straight and said.

“Mum, grandparents, firstly, whatever you want me to do, I will comply. Secondly, I knew that she was imprisoned by her latest husband, but I remembered what you had taught me about the golden rule in the Bible which says, Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. Love your neighbour as well you love yourself. Therefore, I will never turn down what you want of me. I will marry her and love her because she is my neighbour as the bible has mentioned.”

Now, readers, I have finished my story. In spite of my first marriage, I have known what happiness is to have a wife. We were much closed and we loved each other. After a year, our first son, Lulu was born, and our youngest daughter, Rita, was born two years later. We lived happily in the rest of our life with four children, and finally became the Head of State of Samoa after five years of our marriage when my grandfather had passed away. Even though I was then the Head of State of Samoa, I still worked as a horticulturist doing my gardens especially gardens of roses. This mostly attracted the interest of my newly-wedded wife, Jane Eyre, because she believed that, this was the only way to remember her home country, as roses in England symbolised not only a part of everyday life, but it was a symbol of royalty. Furthermore, my grandfather’s welfare estate was all under my name and we had everything we needed.

Re-write of Wide Sargasso Sea

Hi, all

Finally, I have finished my re-write of Wide Sargasso Sea by giving it a new ending. I believe that is a fair ending. I wish you will enjoy reading it.

===============

The year was 1874 and there, in India, I woke up one autumn morning, gazed into the mirror and saw grey hair invaded my scalp and shooting in every direction on my head. "Don’t feel sorry, you got what you wanted" an inner deep voice tried to clear up my feeling of going to growing old soon. "Yes I have infinite money but still I have not met the wife of my dreams and I have no children to take over this money" an internal answer came. I, too, felt torn between a grin and sadness and one question stuck into my mind. Why I keep myself away from England for so many years?

Again my inner voice cautiously answered, "Possibly the wealth I gained when I married Antoinette, and then the more wealth I got when my father and my brother died made me greedier and gave me enough motivation to run around the world hunting more money, or perhaps it was my deep desire to forget everything that brought the bad memory of her into my mind".

Yes, it was long time; twenty five years had passed since I locked her away and left England. Thirteen years of my leaving, a letter I received from Mrs. Eff told me, "Antoinette set the house alight and killed herself". At first, a feeling of happiness came over me; "Yes it is true now, she was just a bad memory or even a lie". But, the feeling of guilt hit me soon after that, "Guilt about what", I asked myself. Hurriedly I tore up the letter and had a strong drink which helped me to have a deep sleep.

During these long years, I toured the world and used every chance to strengthen my fortune. I stayed in a number of British colonies and invested my money in mining and in trading of both goods and people.

In India, where I mostly stayed, I became a treasure hunter; I searched in old places and in the ground where local people believed that there were buried treasures. I found many precious and valuable objects from their ancient civilisation: paintings, books, jewels, precious stones and old money as well. I sold my findings to British traders for a lot of money. I had many workers; they were local people and willing to work with me for a small amount, sometimes for just a meal. They dug the ground, searched the old places and collected a lot of helpful information to guide us. Also, in Nigeria I played a major role in the oil and ivory trade. Also, in that busy life I never forget to enjoy myself, so I experienced many love affairs with many women, but I could not find any reason to make any of them my wife.

After twenty five years of being away, I tied up my business and headed to England holding an intention to hastily get married and have a son. Before long I bought a grand house in Yorkshire, one of the most beautiful spots in England. There was a marvellous park around the house and beyond the park there were a few other houses. I decided to buy in this area because I wanted to have a peaceful time with a wife that I really love and who could bring happiness to my heart. "Now I have so much money, so I have no valid reason to marry a woman I don’t like," I told myself.

Just two days after getting in my house I heard a knock on my door, Mrs. Nelly Dean, the housekeeper, opened the door and called me. "Sir there is a young man called Mr. John Reed, wants to talk to you". "Good afternoon, Mr. Rochester, I am John, a son of Mr. George Reed, your neighbour. You don’t know about us, but we know a much about you as one of the most prolific businessman in the country". Then he invited me to join a family dinner the following day consisting of his father, step-mother and his sister Jean.

The dinner was a very intimate gathering and before we all retired to the dining room we enjoyed a lovely wine and cheese reception, where I felt very comfortable right away. I had a great time; one I’ll remember for a very long time – because this also was the very first time I met with Jean. She was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and at once I noticed that she was totally different to the women I used to be with. She talks like she knows what she's doing, she walks like no other girl I've seen and she has the body of angel. I don’t know if I was drawn to her at once because of her smile and laugh or because of the challenge of her eyes.

She was the daughter of British parents who came from traditional cotton traders’ families. Her mother died when she was about four years of age and her brother was about six. Three or four years after the death of her mother, the father married again, but this marriage was resented by Jean and her brother John. They hated their step-mother and hardly ever talked to her as she was strict with them. But the father was very happy with his new wife and soon started to blame his children for everything that went wrong which made both Jean and John hate living in the family house. When John reached eighteen the father wanted him to join him in his business and help him. In fact John was happy because his main work was to travel to India where the raw cotton was growing, seeking the finest cotton at the cheapest price.

After the dinner we drank gin and lime, an Englishman’s drink. John asked me a few questions about India. I wasn’t very interested in talking about India as I was busy glancing furtively at Jean. When my eyes met hers, her face turned beet red and she was trying to avoid my eyes.

The wind started to pick up, pushing against the windows and started it to rain, so I said "I better to go home and thank you for your lovely invitation". "You’re welcome." Mr. and Mrs Reed answered. Then John asked: "Well, then, how are you going to get your home?", "I can walk; it’s just three minutes away", I answered. Then Jean went into other room, grabbed a clear umbrella and came back in the room. She gave it to me with a stunning smile. I smiled back at her and opened up the umbrella as I stepped off the porch steps, walking out into the misty rain.

That night, I felt like I had never been so alive, finally my heart had found what it was looking for so long and I met the love of my life.

At first I tried my best to strengthen my friendship with Reed family, so as to be able to see her and talk to her every day. Many times we talked to each other, as she was very interested to know everything about my adventures abroad. A few months later, I felt she had become very comfortable around me, especially when John was in India. Also I became madly in love with her and eager to marry her. So one day as I was leaving their house I whispered in her ear, “Will you marry me, Jane” She did not say anything.

Although she had just turned twenty and I was in my early fifties, I didn’t have any doubts about asking for her hand in marriage as I felt I deserved such a girl to finally give my life a taste of happiness. I didn’t see anything wrong with the age difference. I thought after all, we two are adults. Unusually however, a feeling of discomfort was getting at me; something inside me was feeling guilty about the idea of marring a girl who could be the age of my daughter. But then I thought when it comes to love, age is nothing but a number. I was truly in love with her, and I thought my marriage with her would be a blissful journey and a bed of roses nothing else.

The next day while I was playing cards with her father, she came to give me a glass of drink she bent and whispered in my ear "yes".

It took us just a month to arrange for a big wedding with many top class people attended it. We were married in a beautiful wedding chapel and then we had the loveliest reception. I thought it was my most amazing day with the most amazing woman. Everything was perfect but one thing that bothered me. A young man kept looking at Jane all the time and when the time came for everyone to congratulate us, he stepped forward us, gave a bad smile and sarcastically told Jean, “I am very sorry about you Madam”. Later on I asked her, "Who was that young man". She said, "He is my stepmother’s nephew". I learnt later from John that he was a young doctor and wanted to marry Jean, but she refused him because he was a relative of her stepmother.

The first few days of our marriage were as blissful as a beautiful paradise as we have joined together with great understanding and attraction. We spent the entire week celebrating our marriage. It was definitely the best week of my life so far. But as the days roll to months, and months to nearly three years of marriage we both started to lose the passion for each other, especially when I got bored of waiting for signs of her bearing children or hearing her telling me "I am pregnant". But that dream never came true.

I began to feel that she was different from me in everything, in moral values, in seemingly minor things such as tastes in music, reading, or entertainment. I didn’t stop criticizing her! There was non-stop bickering and complaining. Whatever she did was always wrong and no matter how hard she tried, it was never good enough. The age gap between us started to mean many differences in understanding and opinions emerged. Those differences eventually caused me to be unable to relate to her and led me on different path.

For me, life was near the end and an accomplished journey, whereas she wanted to explore all that she could. So, I lost interest in her but never lost trust, since women were always expected to uphold the sanctity of the family. Despite her attractiveness I began to think of others and I found myself forced to cheat on her with other women. I began to be away from home frequently. I thought there was no wrong in that as long as I was reasonably discreet.

Jean never showed dissatisfaction about my frequent absences from home or even about my absent-mindedness when home because she was scared of me. I was in control, I was dominant. I liked to be in control of another. We became like two strangers living under the same roof, and the life between us continued like this for about two years until something happened last summer that changed all our lives for ever.

Mr. and Mrs. Reed celebrated John’s wedding in their garden to a girl just one year younger than him. They had a group of nearly fifty people, including that young doctor. When he saw us coming in he stepped forward and greeted us, I noticed him look at Jean and smile few times and I guessed she also looked and smiled back.

That night Jean looked not only beautiful but a charming, warm and sensual woman. Of all the women who were present, there was no one more fascinating than her. Almost everyone expressed how beautiful she was and how so angelic she appeared in her off-white dress. I felt so happy, the happiest, I still have her and how in love with her I was. I look back and saw how wrong that I was, I had kept in touch with what I thought was true love, and was even more sorry that I left her unhappy and lonely for uncounted days and nights. That night I felt that she was truly a blessed angel and I wished my life with her to last forever and not end because of my stupid mistake.

When we first arrived home, I touched her arm and looked deep into her eyes; I felt my heart would melt. I told her "Jean you are my real treasure, you are the center of my life, I love you so much". With a dramatic toss of her hair, she pulled away and made herself distant. I could tell that night I realized she hated me more than I could imagine. I knew that I hadn’t been a good husband, but my reaction to her distance wasn’t great. It was just more neglecting her being.

Few weeks later, I left the house as I used to every Friday evening to have a card night with some friends. We used to combine playing with drinking and smoking. The games usually ended up going deep into the night. But that Friday, I realized that I was too tired to play cards. I excused myself and headed home very early.

That night, our last night together, I walked into the house, it was dark. The candles were burnt out and I was too tired to light new ones, so I carried on upstairs in complete blackness. Then I saw a dim light and heard voices from our bedroom. My footsteps seemed to echo throughout the entire house, framing my sudden unease with a growing sense of suspicion; I stepped quickly and peeked into our room. And what I saw caused my heart to nearly stop. I found Jean in the bed with him, that young doctor.

I stood, frozen and could hardly believe what my eyes showed me, I must say it was the most painful experience I have ever had to deal with in my life. He fearfully got up and tried to leave but I blocked the door, then with all his strength he pushed me aside. I easily fell to the floor on my side; he mockingly laughed at me and said I am very sorry about you Mr. Rochester. He left closing the door after him leaving us behind him to meet our inescapable fate.

She stood up at the other end of the room, got as far away as she could, and tried to hide herself. In just a few seconds I regained my strength and got to my feet, they were crumbling, but I managed to get to her and said, "Why? Why Jean? This is not you." She was very terrified, she said "Yes it is me, I am not a piece of old furniture in your house, or something that's functional and comfortable, but holds no special connection or affection". She accused me of being mean and making her unhappy… lonely and miserable. And she asked me to let her leave.

I lashed out in anger at her and pulled her by her hair. She stared screaming now! Everyone in the house heard the screams and came running up to see what was going on. I started to hit her again and again, kicked her, hit her again and then I strangled her with my bare hands, my claw-like nails digging into the soft flesh of her young neck. I stood there, breathing heavily, looking over the beautiful mess of her corpse that was once so pretty and young. I sat down, trying to find my Jean. She was gone. I felt incredibly guilty for what I did and then I shouted, “I killed her, I killed Antoinette, I drove her mad”. I felt that I should move, but I didn’t. “I want to die, I want to die” I screamed and screamed. My time had come to pass, and I was just one man. No one man has the power to evade his destiny.

As for me, I am still currently in the mental hospital. After my arrest, I confessed to both the murders, Antoinette and Jean. In this room I wake early and lie shivering for it is very cold. I get out of bed and wonder why I have been brought here. Despite my plea for execution I was confined for life in a hospital for the criminally insane or something like that. And there we are. I am a mad man, driven mad by the woman who turned him into the mad killer, that I became, who is doing time for our crimes and our insanity.

When night comes, I hear their footsteps. They all come together, my father, Antoinette and Jean. They start whispering in my ears, each one pushes me against the others, I start asking them to leave me alone, to leave me to my destiny, but they push and push, whisper and laugh. I start screaming and screaming until theses two big guys with white clothes come and inject me with something make me faint, they carry me and throw me into my bed.

I spent all of my life looking for happiness, my father taught me that money bring happiness. He was not able to give me some of his money; but showed me the way to get my own. Now and very late I found that happiness, unlike pleasure, comes only from being fully human and being virtuous, or more simply, by being a good human being, a really human, human being, and only the fully human, human being can love. But I was not a good human being, or not a human. I was not able to love Antoinette and I don’t think I loved Jane. Antoinette gave me her money, which gave me some pleasure, and with the money I got Jane, who gave me momentary pleasure but, never got happiness.