The Long Fall

Twill never read a book unless he absolutely had to.

“Picked up this little book on the history of Western philosophy,” I said.

“Like who?” my son asked.

“What is it, son?”

“What do you mean?” Even at his most disingenuous, Twill was charming.

“What do you want?”

His grin was perfect.

“Well, you know, Pop,” he said and paused. “You know . . . Mardi here is havin’ a problem at home and I told her she could stay here a night or two.”

“Absolutely not,” Katrina commanded from her end.

Twill didn’t look at her. He was no longer smiling, either.

Even if I hadn’t known about thÛ€known abe girl and her father I would have taken the boy’s side.

“You have to learn, Twilliam,” my wife was saying, “that you cannot just waltz in here and make—”

“Kat,” I said.

My wife hates the feline contraction of her name.

“I am not an animal,” she would tell anyone who dared use that appellation.

I told her I would never use the term unless I needed her to pay close attention to what I had to say.

She stopped mid-sentence and glared at me.

“Shall we go to the kitchen?” I suggested.

“WHY DID YOU embarrass me in front of our children?” she asked when we’d reached her bastion.

It was the first time she’d shown anger since coming back home.

“Because I have it on good authority that this girl’s father has been raping her since she was a small child.”

Katrina’s lower jaw fell open. She had been ready to unleash one of her fiery tantrums but my words doused that flame.

“What?”

“You can’t let on to her or Twill that you know anything about it. You know our son. You know what he’s capable of. I need to defuse the situation before it gets out hand. Do you hear me?”

She nodded.

“The girl can stay with you or Shelly. Shell seems to like her, so maybe that would be good. I’ll bunk with Twill. I’ll tell him that you asked me to so that he doesn’t get with the girl, but really I just want to keep my eye on him until I know why he needs her to stay here.”

“Her father?”

I nodded.

“That’s terrible. We should call the police.”

“We will,” I said. “But not until I’m sure that the cops’ll do something.”

I turned toward the door, expecting Katrina to come along with me, but instead she placed a feathery touch upon my wrist. I stopped but could not bring myself to turn and face her. Just as with my contraction of her name, Katrina could do small things that spoke volumes down the corridors of our history.

“Leonid.”

“Yeah?” I said to the door in front of me.

“Look at me.”

I faced her but could not look directly in her eyes.

“You know that I’m trying my best,” she said. “I’m here and I want to be a good wife to you.”

I took in a deep breath and counted one in my mind.

“The past is over,” she said. “I’m here with you now.”

I exhaled and counted.

“Zool went bust,” I said. “I asked a pal of mine to see what happened to him. They say he flew to Argentina an hour before the feds issued a warrant.”

She took it well: no tears or tremors.

“I learned from that, Leonid. I missed my children. I missed my life with you.”

“I’m here, am I not?”

“With one foot out the door and the other one raised to go.”

“What do you want from me, Katrina?”

“I want you to try. I want a life together and to be forgiven for whatever I’ve done wrong.”

I had counted up to ten and started over.

“I don’t know how to do that.” The words came to voice from the empty chamber of my mind.

“Talk to me,” she said. “Tell me what happened to you two years ago that made you so much more distant.”

The shock of her knowledge of me was muted by the walking meditation. Maybe even the discipline helped me to see what was right there in front of me. I could see that no matter what Katrina would do, given a way out, that she had made up her mind to try and make the marriage work while she was there. She wasn’t pretending or lying. My wife wanted, maybe for the first time ever, to make a bridge between her heart and my life. All I had to do was open the way.

I got as far as opening my mouth. An unintelligible sound came out.

“What?” she asked.

That single-syllable question hit my ear like the soft concussion of a far-off explosion. It was little more than a pop, but the seasoned soldier knew that it might very well signify injury or death.

I knew my wife too well to trust that she would never use my words against me. I knew myself too well to pretend to share my life in some guarded, limited way. It was all or nothing for both of us.

That wÛ€ize="3">as one of those rare moments that have true meaning in human discourse. Katrina and I had never been closer; our hearts, even if mine was secret, had never been more honest.

But neither of us could break down the decades of detritus that composed our marriage. I could never trust that Katrina would not one day rouse from this feeling. I had seen love turn to hatred too often not to read the portents and signs.

“I’m gonna have to think about this, baby,” I said. “You know I’m the oldest mutt in the kennel and they comin’ out with new breeds and new tricks every day.”