Memories

As he packed, what he called, his most precious possession, old Jack was remembering his arrival to Canada and the adventures of his long-gone youth.  The decorated wooden box was a little longer than he liked but if it fit under the bed. It would be alright. The box measured 65x30x20cm and was decorated with snakes and strange symbols carved into the dark wood. Even though the box had never been treated with any chemicals it had a lustrous smooth surface that had been polished by the passage of time.

The box was a mystery for everyone. It was one of the few things in the house that was always locked. Not even his son, with whom Jack had become very close since they both lived in Peterborough, knew what was in it. 

As they were packing the house, young Jack told his dad that the retirement home, where he was moving to, might want to know the contents of the box. “It’s a safety reason dad” he said. “They need to be aware of whatever is in there to be sure it is not dangerous for you or anyone else” young Jack insisted.

 “Whatever is in there is not a risk for anyone and they have to trust me about it!” old Jack had emphatically responded ending the conversation. Talking about the box had stressed them both. Young Jack left annoyed with what he perceived as his father stubbornness. Old Jack stamped his right foot on the floor showing his frustration.

At home Jack was telling Maureen about his concerns of his father’s unwillingness to allow the box to be opened. “You know they will not admit him if he doesn’t show the contents of the bloody box” Jack said. Maureen was much more level headed when it came to old Jack issues and suggested “instead of polarising about the content, why don’t you talk to him about the box itself. Ask him about the box, not its contents. He may tell you why the box is so important to him and why its contents are so secret.”

 “Remember the most important thing is to tell him that you don’t need to know what is in there you just want to know the story of its importance” she concluded. Jack agreed. 

The following day, young Jack arrived at his father’s house with coffee and pastry from old Jack’s favourite place in East City. 

Old Jack despite the cold morning breeze was standing on the porch waiting with a mischievous smile. As they both entered the house, they laughed seeing how they both had the same idea. There was the smell of fresh brewed coffee and recently baked bread on the table.  

The box was also sitting in the center of the table. 

“I have not shown this to anyone else since I cleared costumes when I arrived in Canada in 1967” old Jack began pulling out an odd shape blade, “this is a khukri or short sword.” He said “it is the official weapon of Gurkhas soldiers. Your mother and I decided to not talk about my past. We were trying to protect you” old Jack paused without looking at his son. “Yes, of course, your mother knew about it” Jack said responding a question that no one had asked.  “We agreed it was in your best interest not to tell you. We were afraid, if we shared it with you, it might seem as though we were glorifying violence. A life I had left behind.”

“Don’t take me wrong, I am not embarrassed about my past. I served my homeland and the British Empire, but I came to Canada seeking peace. I found that peace with your mother and you.”

Young Jack had his eyes wide open as he examined the sword as is if it was a delicate and fragile piece of crystal? or glass?

“These” Jack continued, pulling out some medals and documents “are the orders of the 17th Gurkha Division or as it was called in 1952, the Overseas Commonwealth Land Forces. We saw active service during the Malayan Emergency. This is the medal of bravery I earned then.” Old Jack continued as if he was talking to ghosts of his past and not to his son. 

“These are the deployment orders of the 7th Gurkha Rifles Battalion that was deployed to Brunei at the outbreak of the Brunei Revolt in 1962. The Gurkhas’ Battalion was sent to defend the British sovereign base area of Dhekelia.  It was my last deployment. The Canadian peacekeepers arrived the following year. After I got my discharge papers and immigrated to Canada. I met your mother and as the expression goes the rest is history.” 

Young Jack had never imagined this about his father and was astonished with what he was learning and said promptly “Wow this is a lot to take in dad. I need to know more about you, mom and your experiences.”  

Old Jack looked at his son “I met your mom when I was working in a supermarket in Toronto. We married and we had a son. What else is there to say?

Young Jack so curious to hear more asked “How about our names? the name in the deployment orders and medals doesn’t say Jack.”

Old Jack smiled “when I arrived in Canada, that box and a backpack were my only possessions. The immigration official couldn’t understand my name, Sibapadan Pokhara Deharani first lieutenant of the 7th Gurkha Riffles Battalion.” Jack said almost laughing. “Despite the fact that I was traveling with a passport from the British commonwealth. The official at the airport wrote ‘Jack’ in my entry document. I didn’t want to argue with an authority so when he asked me for my last name I simply responded ‘Lax’. That is how I became Jack Lax.”  Young Jack was perplex learning all the stories he didn’t know about his father then as if something light in his head said, “How about our surname, what does it come from?” 

“That is a funny story. The official had forced a name on me. I didn’t want him to choose my surname as well. I wanted to choose my own last new name. So, as he asked me for a last name. Instead of trying to make him understand Deharani. I saw a little metal box on the surface of his cubicle that read ‘ex-lax.’ when the officer asked me again, I quickly responded Lax.” 

“Now, son, we are putting the khukri back into its sheath. Tradition requires that before we do it, we must draw blood. You see this little notch here. It’s called karda, and that is what it is for,” Jack, showed his son the notch on the base of the blade where a small nail protruded. As he took the blade from his son’s hands old Jack pinched the base of his right thumb drawing a drop of blood from the same place where an old scar was. 

Young Jack was suddenly overcome with emotion as he realized how brave his father was and what he had lived through, he jumped up and gave him a bear hug and said, “oh dad I do love you thank you for sharing this and now I want to hear more!”