Cairo - 3 Cairo

I could see Cartuja scratching his head as if he knew me, or perhaps he thought he did. Either way, I knew I wasn’t a complete stranger to them.

What shocked me the most was how Rina reacted. She didn’t scream, laugh, or think about where she might know me from. She just stood there, frozen like a statue. Her face showed no signs of fear, but it didn’t scream excitement either.

After a few seconds, she started approaching me, slowly. She walked as if she saw the light at the end of the tunnel, but I was far from the light she could ever ask for.

She stopped face to face with me, staring into my dreadful eyes like an open book. She observed me for a moment, almost as if making sure her speculations didn’t fool her. However, after she noticed the scar on my neck, her eyes began water ever so slightly.

She quickly buried her face into the cloak around my chest, using it in hopes to escape whatever memory burst open inside her head. She sniffled, and I could feel her pain engulf me like the shadows in the moonlight. She cried. Cried like she’s been wanting to for far too long.

I didn’t know what to do, or how to react, so I let her.

“It’s you…” She whispered, her voice slightly muffled by the cloak. “I finally found you…”

Found me?. I’ve spent six months here, looking at her every day, and there wasn’t a single doubt in my mind I had no idea who she was. Well, besides her being a bartender, having been blessed with beauty, and having an unusual friend.

“I remember you… I remember watching, feeling things I can’t even imagine… The nightmares I had…” She whispered, her words muffled by my cloak.

My eyes began to widen, and a knot started tying itself inside my stomach. There was only one place she would have known me from. A place I hoped to never have to think about again. A place where lives were thrown out like bags of garbage out in the alleys. A place where hope was lost after a single day inside. The place known as the Gulag.

Rina stepped back, wiping her eyes on the edges of my rather clean cloak. She then patted them down with the cloth she used to wipe the glasses clean. However, there were still a few droplets left in her eyes, and it’s as if I could see each and every ripple in her eyes light up in the dim light above us.

“I’m sorry…” She whispered, weeping. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

I cleared my throat, making sure it was ready for talking. “All I’ve ever done is run away from my past. If I were to tell you about it, I wouldn’t even know where to start.” I stopped for a moment, then continued after a thoughtful pause. “Perhaps it’s best for me to stop running away…”

“I only have one request,” Her face grew dim as she began backing away from my cloak, wiping her eyes and regaining the strength in her voice. “Your name. I only wish to know your name…”

My name. A question I rarely ever get, and yet the most powerful question of all. A name tells a lot about a person. It shows their identity. Their meaning. Their sign. It can shape or change a person depending on the context given, but it will leave you something to cherish and hold. A name can be given at birth, or perhaps later in life as a sign of your successes and failures. It can direct you to the right path, give you answers to questions you didn’t know even existed, and it gives you a symbol for what you believe in.

So what was my name? It’s been so long since I’ve said it that I’ve almost forgotten. Even Mooks just calls me by random nicknames he’s learned to pick up on over the years. His most famous one for me was the ‘Gulag Goblin.’ I hated it, so he used it sparingly.

“My name.” I said, thinking about the best way to introduce myself.

I sighed, walking past her and taking a seat in my usual spot at the corner of the crescent table. She followed me to where our usual interaction happened. I was in my seat, and she was behind the table. I was the customer, and she was the bartender.

I could tell she already knew who I was. Giving my name out wouldn’t do her any good, and it wouldn’t satisfy the real answers she wanted. To her, my name wouldn’t mean anything except what she could call the monster that I was. I’m honestly surprised she was still talking to me. She knew. She-

“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through,” She cut me off in my train of thought. “What you did, and what’s been done to you…” She stopped, wiped her eyes, and pushed back the faint sobs inside her throat. “Please, I just want to know the name of the man that saved my life…”

Suddenly, my attention peaked. My mouth went dry, and the knot that was previously in my stomach seemed to tighten even more. I was certain I didn’t remember saving any lives in my early years of living in this world. If anything, I’ve destroyed lives. Too many to even keep count at this point.

“It has to be you…” She started again, her voice was soothing as always, but it had an extra tint of sadness I couldn’t get a good read on. “That scar on your neck, I can never forget it… Even in my dreams.”

I reached my hand for my neck, feeling the edges of the smooth scar tissue brush against my finger tips. I can still remember the feeling of the blood pooling out as I lied motionless on the cold floor. I was only 13 years old at the time. I don’t even know how I survived, but I remember the darkness swallowing me, only for me to wake up to the horror I couldn’t escape from once again.

Now that I think about it, was Rina the girl who… No, it couldn’t be…

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. That knot in my stomach seemed to have a bigger impact on me than I could endure. It was like my soul itself was attached to an anchor, and it was dropped to the bottom of the ocean floor.

It’s been so long since I even thought about my past that I never realized how treacherous it was. I couldn’t tell if I felt sorry for myself, or my mind was just going crazy from the memories.

Now that Rina said she knew who I was, or perhaps she knew an older part of me, it just made me think more and more. The longer I spent thinking about it, the tighter the knot got. It’s like a puzzle without a solution. It just gets harder and harder with no real ending.

“Whatever you’re thinking about,” Rina said, timidly. Her hands were clasped together beside her heart like she was about to perform a song or step on stage in front of a thousand people. “Let go. You’ll never move on if you don’t let go. It’s what my sister always told me…” She became quiet again, and I could tell she was glaring into my eyes, despite me not looking into hers.

To let go? I thought to myself for a moment. How can I let go? What do I let go of? My life? Memories? The past? It didn’t matter. I couldn’t let go, and that feeling just tightened the knot even further.

Perhaps it was wrong for me to come back. Perhaps I should have stayed in the woods. Maybe even go on the search for a new tavern with even more delicious soup, but I knew Rina’s was the best anyway. Her hands were made to be precise with ingredients and carefulness. Even the small scratches on her knuckles and fingers showed she wasn’t afraid to get hurt.

Regardless, I pulled out the only memory I had that kept me going everyday. It was a small, ripped up piece of paper my mom left for me before she passed. I’ve kept it with me for 12 years, only looking at it when I needed the extra push to take another breath.

‘Find your happiness,’ It read. I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew it was my journey to find it. Whether it was through life or death, I knew that my life meant nothing without it.

She saw me looking at it, giving me time to direct my next words carefully. However, I didn’t need time. I needed to take a risk, and see where it led me.

It’s probably been about two years since I last looked at that paper. It was only three words, and yet, It meant everything to me.

I felt the knot loosen in my stomach, as if the paper gave me instructions on how to untie it. So, I let out a deep sigh, and took the risk.

“The secrets I’ve kept have cost me more pain than fire and lightning. I’ve told stories that woke even the mightiest of gods from their slumber. I’ve crossed paths by moonlight that most wouldn’t dare to speak of during the day. My mother passed in my arms when I was just a boy, leaving me broken, forgotten and hopeless. I was beaten, tortured, and forced to kill, all before the age of eleven. I was imprisoned in the Gulag for 5 years, and came out alive… My name is Cairo, and all I search for is happiness.”