The Curse

Friday 8:30AM February

Jakob looked up at the Tobin Memorial Bridge shimmering in the crisp winter sun, contemplating his life. Seasons full of bad luck and constant pain. Stuck there motionless, he watched the Boston commuters scurry into the T station on their way to jobs they probably hated and families they loved. How he wished people could see into his soul and help him, touch him, reach him in a way that he truly needed. But they continued to pass by him, too consumed with their own lives to see a lonely, desperate and invisible man.

Jakob palmed his phone nervously, eventually pulling it out of his pocket and playing the most recent voicemail. “Jakob honey, its Lisbeth. Just wanted to tell you how much I love you and I’ll be at the airport to get you. Safe travels.” He listened to a few older messages, and landed on one from earlier this year and with a trembling hand hit play: “Jakob, the pain is getting worse and now there is blood, please hurry…. “

Tuesday 7:45AM November

“Mr. Novak, your wife came here because she was in preterm labor, combined with a small amount of bloody discharge. She’s resting now and both symptoms have stopped after we administered a dose of terbutaline, but as she is at 30 weeks, we would like to admit her just to monitor her progress.” Stuck motionless, Jakob finally asked, “what about the baby, my daughter.”

“So far, doing well and no signs of fetal distress. You should probably go see her, she’s been asking about you,” waving his hand toward a cracked door with a square silver plate, the numbers 333 glinting from the early morning sun.

On the way toward the room, Jakob observed a few Thanksgiving cards propped on the nurse’s station, and his stomach churned with feelings of fear, excitement and the need to vomit all at the same time. He came upon the door to the room, and was blasted with the smell of disinfectant and the sight of his beautiful wife Magda hooked up to a fetal monitor, IV bag and, a multitude of other medical equipment all designed to keep her and his unborn child safe.

He drew close to her bed, forcing a smile “sweetheart, it's all ok.” he said, doing his best to reassure her while inside his world flip flop. “The doctor says it was premature labor, but you’re fine now.” He touched her pregnant belly, “and so is our little Sophia.” The cell phone beeping on the bedside table jarred them both clear of the moment. Magda glanced at the phone. “Oh, it's mama. I called her too. Can you call her back, please?” handing the phone to Jakob. “You know how she is, she’ll keep calling or show up here.”

Friday 7PM December

Frozen. Time standing still. Jakob stared out the window as the snow slowly drifted down to the ground, turning the manicured lawn into a white blanket, the pain in his heart matched only by the agony in his legs. “Why, why?” whispering quietly.

“Jakob, I’m sorry to disturb you, but we should probably get started. Some of your family has arrived early.” Following him out of the side room into the lobby, he realized the finality of it all. The tiny white casket propped up on a pedestal surrounded by several poinsettias and bright red and yellow mums. But no matter how many flowers were circling it, it doesn’t hide the fact it was his beautiful little Sophia. Gone. Passed. Dead. It was all he could do to not fall to his knees and wail.

“Is my ex-wife here yet?”

“I’m sorry, no. Not yet.” Placing his hand gently on Jakob’s shoulder, the funeral director guided him to the front of the room while Jakob grabbed the wooden cane propped against the wall, wincing in pain as he stepped forward.

“Would you mind grabbing my bag please and handing me the pills in the front, I should probably take my meds before the pain gets worse.” Stooping to pick up the bag, he halts when he sees the pill bottle label.

“Why didn’t you tell me. I recognize these. My wife takes them. These are for metastatic bone cancer.”

“Because it’s none of your business. And what’s the difference. My newborn daughter is dead, my wife left me, and according to the geniuses at the medical center, I have less than six months to live. Now if you really want to help,” screaming while snatching the pills. “Find the minister so we can get this nightmare over with.”

Saturday 2PM January

“Jakob, why do you want to dredge up the past? It’s gone over with. Buried.”

“Because Baba, I need to know if it’s true.” raising the petite cup to his mouth to finish the last drops of coffee.

“We had no choice, your grandfather and I. The Nazi’s gave us no choice.”

Closing his eyes and dropping his head.” So it is true. You helped them with the Final Solution, oh dear God. This is unbelievable.” Standing up quickly, he nearly knocked the cups off the table. “Now it all makes sense. My crappy, useless life. The awful jobs, no cash, a stillborn daughter, an ex-wife that is in permanent psychosis and now cancer.” Pacing the room, he continues his tirade. “This is all your fault. All of it. You and Poppa and your cowardice!! I never ever believed in stupid ancient curses but now, oh now I see how I’m cursed.” Staring back at his Baba with one last outburst. “I will never ever forgive you for this.”

Sunday 9:15AM February

Walking along the desolate footpath towards the bridge, it overcame Jakob with a sharp sense of peace, content in the knowledge of finally deciding of his own free will. Kicking a stray rock out of the way, it focused his mind solely on getting his power back.