The Corpse (Short Story)

 The Corpse

By 

Tipu Salman Makhdoom 

(Translated from Punjabi) 

He was alone in the house, and the night was to be spent with Tara’s corpse.

Tara had died just that afternoon. Sixty-year-old Tara was a gardener, a watchman, and when needed, he could drive too. He had worked here for ten years and lived in the quarter beside the house. His family was in the village. They had been informed of his death and said they would arrive at dawn to take the body.

The family was still debating whether the corpse needed to be kept in the morgue for the night or if the cold December night would suffice to keep it in the house, when the phone rang from the Sahib’s village. Sahib's grandmother had passed away. Now a new problem arose. It was imperative to reach the village immediately, yet the corpse could not be left alone in the house. There wasn't enough time to arrange for the body to be taken to a morgue. In the end, what he feared most came to pass: he was left alone in the house with Tara’s corpse. Alone.

He cried out, "Who will steal the corpse in the night? Or will it just run away on its own?" He begged that if nothing else, they should at least let him sleep in his own quarter; he would bolt the door tightly. But he was ordered to stay in the house, with Tara's corpse.

Firstly, he was already faint-hearted. He could endure a chicken being slaughtered at the shop, but he couldn’t bear to watch a sheep being sacrificed on Eid al-Adha. To add to his fate, Tara had died in his arms. While sitting, Tara suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest. As he offered Tara water and rubbed his chest, Tara thrashed and died, right in his hands. He convulsed and then suddenly collapsed. Tara’s weight abruptly increased manifold, causing him to lean over Tara. As he leaned, his eyes came directly before Tara’s. He had seen Tara’s eyes this closely for the first time in ten years, and with such intensity. Looking at the eyes of Tara's corpse, he recalled the eyes of a dead fish he had bought yesterday.

He closed the gate and returned as the call to Maghrib prayer echoed. The muezzin was quite melodious, and his mournful tones made his heart sink. The twilight’s dim light, the cold December fog, alone in the house with a corpse, and now the mournful call of the cleric. As he stepped inside, he glanced at the wall clock in the lounge. It wasn’t even six yet. There were at least twelve hours until sunrise, until Tara’s family arrived, and until the corpse departed.

He closed the main door of the house and entered the room where the corpse lay. The body was stretched out on the bed, lying on its back, face towards the ceiling. It wasn't neatly folded and wrapped in a sheet like corpses in typical funerals. Both arms were extended beyond the body, and the tips of its half-open legs, with dead toes, were also turned outwards. It looked as if he hadn't been laid there, but rather had suddenly collapsed and died while standing. He seemed as if he would get up any moment. Seeing the corpse lying like this made him even more afraid. He took a sheet from the cupboard and covered the corpse, from feet to head. Then he sat on the sofa nearby. Despite himself, his eyes kept drifting towards the corpse. He tried very hard to divert his attention elsewhere, but to no avail. Then he felt as if the sheet over the corpse had stirred. He nearly jumped out of his skin. His heart began to pound violently. He fixed his gaze on the corpse. For a while, nothing moved, but then he began to feel as if Tara was breathing under the sheet. The cold of the December evening could not stop the sweat on his forehead. He began to sense that Tara was about to rise. Any moment now. His heart felt as if it was striving to tear through his chest. He endured it for a couple of minutes, but his heart was pounding so hard that he began to feel pain in his chest. He wanted to get up and run away, but his legs seemed to have lost all life. He felt that if he sat like this for two more minutes, his heart would burst. And if his heart didn't burst, the corpse would rise. Pain radiated into his stomach from the agony. He slowly got up and, holding a corner of the sheet from the foot of the corpse, he pulled it away. For a moment, he thought the corpse had moved its hand. Steel-hearted, he pulled the entire sheet away. The corpse lay exactly as he had laid it. He stared at the corpse for several seconds. The corpse's face had changed to a strange shape. Its mouth seemed larger than Tara's usually was, and its color was darker. He confirmed that the corpse had not moved at all, nor was it moving now. When he was satisfied, he placed the sheet on the side of the bed and sat back on the sofa. He glanced at the clock; it was two minutes past six. His heart sank at the thought of a long night of agony.

He thought, "The night won't pass by sitting here. Why don't I lock the house and go to sleep in my quarter?" In the morning, Tara's family would arrive, and he would open the house before opening the gate. Who would know? Besides, what would happen to the corpse? It would stay right here. Thinking this, he got up and left the room. He had just locked the main door of the house and turned towards his quarter when he remembered that the door to the corpse's room hadn't been closed. "What if a stray cat is hiding inside the house?" he wondered. "What if it spends the night tearing and eating pieces of the corpse? What will I tell Tara’s family in the morning?" As he thought this, the image of a half-eaten corpse at the hands of a cat appeared before his eyes. Intestines spilled out, a blood-soaked belly. One eye torn out. The eyeball lying on the bed near the pillow, and from the eye socket, a thick, dark, mixed fluid of blood and brain oozing out. In this state, the corpse looked even more terrifying. Reluctantly, he returned. He unlocked the door, went into the corpse's room, and thoroughly checked under the bed and around to see if any stray cat was hiding. There was none. Satisfied, he closed the room door and, locking the main door of the house, returned to his quarter. As he turned on the light and lay down on the cot, he felt as if Tara’s cot was spread right by his pillow. Immediately, he had a flicker of dread as if the corpse was lying on Tara’s cot. He sat up. He picked up his pillow, placed it at his feet, and then lay down again. Now Tara’s cot was right before his eyes. Five minutes passed like this, and then he remembered that there were no cats in the corpse's room, but there would be rats. And if the corpse lay alone all night, the rats would gnaw at it and reduce it to shreds. Now an image of the corpse came to his mind, its hands and feet gnawed off by rats and separated from the body. The entire bed was soaked in blood, and the corpse's lips and nose were also gnawed by rats, which made the corpse's face look strangely horrifying. He got up again and went into the house, sitting on the sofa opposite the corpse. He glanced at the clock again; it was twelve past seven. He felt as if the December cold had frozen time itself. It simply wasn't passing. At the same time, he realized that the second hand of the wall clock hanging in the room was making a racket. Every leap it made, the 'click' sound echoed throughout the room as if thundering.

He listened to the clock’s ticking for a long time. Then, when he looked, it was only seventeen minutes past seven. "What should I do now?" he wondered. His eyes fell on the TV. He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. As he flipped through news channels, his finger seemed to freeze on the button of one channel. The news was reporting that the corpse of a homeowner had been found in a house. The cause of death was cardiac arrest. His attention returned to the corpse. He started thinking that just a few hours ago, Tara was perfectly fine, laughing and playing. Suddenly his heart stopped, and now he lay before him as a corpse. Immediately, his thoughts drifted to his own heart. His heart was also like Tara's. If Tara's heart could suddenly stop without reason while he was sitting, then his own heart could also stop abruptly. At any moment. As this thought came to mind, he felt a constriction in his chest and took a deep, long breath. He did nothing to make his heart beat, and he couldn't do anything. His heart was beating, and it just kept beating. If it stopped at any moment, then that was it. He had no control whatsoever. Suddenly, he began to feel that the ticking of the clock in the corpse's room and the thumping of his own heart were moving in sync. When one stopped, the other would also stop. This thought made him anxious. He felt an urge to check if the clock’s batteries were old.

To distract himself, he thought, "I’ll make some tea and drink it." He got up and turned towards the room door, and it felt as if the corpse also got up and started walking with him. He got flustered and turned around. There was no one behind him, but he felt as if someone had been there, who had vanished as soon as he turned. He looked at the corpse carefully again. The corpse was still lying there. If he could, he would conjure the corpse away instantly.

He made tea and came back into the corpse’s room. The cold had intensified significantly. Drinking the hot tea brought him great pleasure. His body warmed up, and his brain’s nerves also found some peace. While drinking tea, he turned on the TV again. Watching political news, his attention shifted from the corpse to politicians, generals, and judges. After a while, he dozed off. The TV remained on, the corpse lay there, and he slept. Then, suddenly, his eyes opened. His throat was parched with thirst. He looked at the wall clock; it was two in the morning. Political news was still playing on the TV. He got up and walked towards the kitchen. On the way, he noticed that only the lights of two rooms were on; the rest of the house was dark. After drinking water, he felt better. He had just placed the glass in the sink when he felt as if two people were whispering outside the window in the lawn. In the thousandth of a second, his sleep vanished, and he became alert like a wild animal. He stood still like a statue, trying to listen to the voices outside. It wasn't his imagination; people were genuinely talking outside. His heart began to pound violently. These must be robbers who had come to loot, seeing the house empty. He tried to tiptoe out of there. As he passed through the lounge, he felt as if someone had run past the window outside. A scream almost escaped his lips. He almost ran to the corpse's room, closed the door, latched it, and then jumped to sit by the corpse's head. He caught his breath for a couple of minutes, then grabbed the remote and turned up the TV volume. He took out his phone from his pocket and called Sahib. Sahib was also at the house of the deceased, awake. He told him everything. Sahib reassured him that he would call the security company. Five minutes later, Sahib called back, saying that the security guards had reached the house and had jumped over the gate to check the entire house. There was no one there. Still, one security guard would remain at the gate until morning. Hearing this, he felt relieved. His attention once again returned to the corpse. Tara was old, but he was a very brave man. Tara’s bravery was contagious; it would spread to those around him like a disease. When Tara was around, he too would become brave. Tara now appeared before his eyes not as a dead and disfigured corpse, but as a warrior.

He left the TV volume high, unfolded the sheet lying beside him, which he had removed from the corpse, and covered himself with it. Then, resting his head on the corpse's arm, he lay down. A short while later, he fell asleep again and slept.