Grete's Shape of Hope by Jessica Zhou

Grete’s Shape of Hope

By Jie Zhou

Light is light as a piece of paper.

Light scatters here and there.

Light dies away with applauses;

He is hurriedly singing the unbearable injuries.

The script is on stage performing the last show.

All the people in the city are sitting in their own couch,

Quietly watching how the time abandons this town.

The war soiled his tears, he is asking for candies in the wind.

At the beginning of the story, the dust on the lens has obscured the sun.

Fear engraved on the faces of the children,

Wheat fields backward on the route of chariots’ direction.   

The shape of the Dandelion is blowing it is flying desperately,

And she is only singing and thinking casualties of war.

Candles are burning in the nightmare, the daylight quashes the war.

Mournful songs spread far and rapidly, hometown put down the famine.

The Innocence stumbles on this road,

He was cut by Depression.

What’s the shape of hope in Children’s eyes?

Whether they can get bread and drink bowls of soup for breakfast.

Farmers finally took the gun when they saw the burned land and village,

But he gradually gets used to give up the resistance.

What’s the shape of hope in Children’s eyes?

Whether the yard has swings to swing and whether there is a candy in the pocket.

The Bayonet is polished by hatred and savagery in the distance,

While he doesn’t panic with smiles.

What’s the shape of hope in Children’s eyes?

The Innocence is on this road,

Stumbling, he was cut by Depression.

Farmers finally took the gun when they saw the burned land and village.

The Innocence is on this road,

Stumbling, he was cut by Depression.

Right!—regretful—very, very dreadfully regretful Grete had been, and is; but why will I say that she is mad? The disease had sharpened her senses—not destroyed—not dulled them. Above all was the sense of her seeing acutely. She said that she saw all things in the heaven and in the earth. She saw many things in hell. How, then, is she mad? See! And observe how healthily—how calmly she can tell you the whole story.

I can see what my parents think. Their new dream is to find a good husband for me. I can see what those people who see me on the street think about me. They must be thinking how good-looking and shapely I am. Why do I tell you about this? Because they envy my beautiful appearance and lively movement.

Why do you say I am mad? I can prove to you I am not. Every time, when I go to work wearing my brown fur coat, people avoid walking or standing closely with me after they see my fancy coat. They must think my prettier coat is so shiny so that their coats cannot compare with mine.

I am walking on the street and thinking about the fight with my parents. My mother mentioned my brother during the dinner time, weeping silently. I have managed to pick our current apartment for them, running back and forth behind the counter at the request of the customers. Our apartment is smaller and cheaper than the older one, which Gregor had picked for them. As they wished, we have a smaller and cheaper apartment and they have picked a boyfriend for me. Why has my mother kept talking about Gregor? “It’s a monstrous vermin! Mom, stop crying!” I shouted to my mom. “We should take him with us, at least he’s your brother, Grete, remember?” Her voice quavered grotesquely. I felt she doesn’t care for me anymore because she’s not satisfied with my work compared to what Gregor did. I became angrier and could not stand it anymore. “Fine, go live with Gregor! He’s your best child and I am nothing. You even like a bug more than your daughter… I gave up my music dream… Do you know how I feel every time when I saw my violin? I know you do even not care, let me tell you what you care about! How much money I would earn and how soon I can marry Michael, whom you think is my perfect match…You think…” my father interrupted our conversation, “Grete, how can you talk to your mother like this…” he walked into their bedroom seeing my mom weeping in the left corner and I standing in front of her pointing out her faults. Yes, it’s all her fault…not mine.

“Father, you also think me so; it’s my fault that my brother has become a bug. I made him become a bug! Right, that’s me! I used magic to change him to a bug!” I couldn’t watch his face without complaint as if I said something bad about my brother and made my mom cry.

“Don’t… Do not say that, my Grete…” my mother was clumsily attempting to stand up.

“Are you okay, slow down…” my father was rushing to my mother without noticing pushing me towards the wall as if I was in his way.

Nooo… he must have done it intentionally… I know that. So I am still walking on this empty street, St. Hollowwood. It’s Monday, so few people on the street this early at 5 o’clock.

I must be ill; I feel some kind of slight pain. Oh… It must be the first sign of a bad cold due to running out of my house without saying anything to my parents after my father pushed me away.

At this time, Grete’s father sleeps very well on the couch and talks in his dream, while her mother is tossing and turning in bed.

Light is light as a piece of paper, scatters here and there. My eyes feel a slight, dull pain, too. It must be because I am hungry and tired and don’t have sleep last night. I see a shop at the end of this lane. I prepare to run to the store and get some croissants and drink bowls of soup for breakfast, but I slide back into my original position. I must be tired and I try to reach the shop to grab some hot food. Suddenly, I seem to see my brother is struggling to walk on this street too through the glass window. It must be my imagination!

It’s six o’clock now. Grete’s mother is talking to the police on the phone. “My daughter’s name is Grete Samsa, she… we had a little quarrel last night… she never… never left home like this and spent night by herself outside. She’s just 18 years old…” she is crying on the phone like she will lose another child.

“She will come back. Don’t need to worry about her. She left home with nothing, so she will come back when she’s cold and hungry… Where can she go? Michael broke up with her two days ago, so she will come home.” Mr. Samsa just woke up from his favorite couch talking to Mrs. Samsa after she puts the phone down.

People are rushing to work in the street; suddenly, I can see their grey faces, grey shirts and dresses. I can hear raindrops hitting against the glass window. Nooo, oh, no… A little girl, she looks like 17 years old, walking towards to me, when she is near me, her face changes and looks very horrible. Do I look horrible, why? Because I didn’t sleep so my face is pale or dirty? I try to look into another glass window of a clothes store. You must be astonished about what I see. I see my brother again. No way! He follows me, is he dead or not? Is he coming for revenge because I moved his furniture out and wanted to get rid of him? Another pair of grey women is walking towards me. When the shorter one sees me, wearing a grey knit coat whispers something to the tall woman, who also wears grey clothes, but a grey dress. Her dress is covered in sequins which twinkle as she moves. Why do the way people look me so weird, they seem to avoid walking or standing closely with me. I speak to my annoying brother, “Hey, leave me alone, don’t follow…” Oh, my god!! Why his mouth is moving when I am speaking. “Don’t follow me… me… Don’t…” I try to say something randomly, so he won’t know what I am about to say. But he’s still speaking the same thing I am saying. I am so angry and about to pick up a little stone on the ground. I see my squirming legs when I drop my head to pick a grey elliptical stone at my left foot.

I am a monstrous vermin, haha, just like my brother, Gregor. Oh, my poor brother. I am lying on my back as hard as armor plate, and when I lift my head a little, I see my vaulted brown belly, sectioned by arch-shaped ribs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of me, are waving helplessly before my eyes. Once again, after the same exertion, I lay in my original position, sighing, and again, watch my little legs struggling, if possible more fiercely, with each other and see no way of bringing peace and order into my mindless motion. I am thinking about my parents, my brother, and the happy life we had before my brother’s metamorphosis. I suddenly miss them so much, and I tell myself I need go home now, and tell my parents I was wrong about my brother. He’s a great brother… He liked watching me play violin and insisted I go to the Conservatory… I hope I can go home now having breakfast with them. My father would read newspaper for us and my mom would scoop my favorite beef into my bowl. For my smallest hope of freeing myself from this street, I try to keep calm and start to control my legs and learn how to get out of here.

At first, I need to avoid people passing by in case that they won’t hurt me. After several exertions, I can control my squirming legs and find that I can move so fast using those little legs. I feel a little bit comfort and I am ready to go home. It’s getting darker and darker. I didn’t realize I ran off almost half day practicing how to walk and avoid pedestrians.

Finally, I return to my apartment and see the door is open. I am about to go inside, but a policeman is walking towards me, “what happened? How’s my parents, are they alright?” I ask him in a worried way.

But the policeman doesn’t notice me and walks away towards the police car as if he will find something. I am rushing into the house and check my parents.

“I will find your daughter, don’t worry. Mrs. Samsa.” Another policeman is talking calmly to my mom.

“She’s missing almost a day, where could she go?” My mom looks so pale just like those days after Gregor turning to vermin.

“Mom, I am home!! See, I am here.” I say it loudly to my mom. But I am shocked to hear my own voice talking, unmistakably my own voice, true, but in which, as if from below, an insistent distressed chirping intruded. I want to answer my mom in detail and explain everything, but given the circumstances, confine myself saying, “Mom, I am home… am home. Don’t cry again. I won’t say anything bad about my brother. I was wrong, mom. Mom… forgive me… I am regretful…” I use all my energy speaking those but in vain, my mother can’t hear me.

I feel the world is collapsing, and I see all things are grey. At this time, I see my father is looking at me. “Dad, it’s me. I am sorry. I love you and mom… Please forgive me, please. I was wrong about my brother… Sorry… I am… sorry… sorry…” I am crying loudly.

“Another bug again, seriously? Get out of my house!” My father clenches his fist and grabs my armor-plate back throwing me out of the door. I fall heavily on the ground, but I don’t have so much pain as what I thought when I was in my father’s hand. They must think I am missing, how I can let them know I am Grete, this vermin is Grete. I hope they can hear me. How much I hope I can get in this apartment though it’s small and cheap. I am thinking of my brother again. I can’t help my tears when I recall my memory how I treated him. He must hate me, why I didn’t talk to him, why I moved all his furniture, why I said I should get rid of him… He must hear and see all of things I have done to him. “I am regretful… my dear brother, please forgive me” I weep to myself.

The door is open, it’s not for me… it’s for the policeman who carries some paper standing in front of the door and ready to enter. “We are trying to find your daughter, so we need some information about her, except for what she wears you already told me. Where she could go you think, or where she likes to go, or any places you think she would go?” the policeman asked my parents.

“She… Maybe her high school or her work place?” my father replies with no certain and turns his head to my mom.

       My mom keeps her head down as if she’s thinking something. The policeman asks further, “so where’s her high school? What’s the name of her school and where is her work place at?”

       “Umm… umm… it’s… I can’t remember…” My father looks lacking self-confidence, “where’s it?” he is looking at my mom again.

       Now, I can see all things in the heaven and in the earth as well as many things in hell. Although I feel regretful, I am happy for my brother, because at least my parents and I know he became a bug—this fact. But me, you know they don’t know where I am, even what I am. What a surprising, even happy thing! They do not even know!

The dandelion is blowing, and I can see she is flying desperately, which you can’t see, but I can. I see people are watching The Walking Dead, one of popular TV shows recently; I hope I am a walker, the walking dead. Look at me, I am walking dead now, but I have thoughts, the disease, which have sharpened my senses—not destroyed—not dulled them. Above all is the sense of my seeing acute. My hope I can become a true walker, a zombie, so that I don’t have the ability to think. The shape of hope is blowing just like dandelion is blowing in cold wind in this cold and grey night in my grey world.