Pendulum
of Ice
'Death hath so many doors to let out life.'
JOHN FLETCHER, The Custom of the Country
It had come to a point when I could scarcely spurn my suspicions any
longer than could I contain a façade of contentment; my cheekbones
now resisting countless attempts of mollification. Yet the acrylic
nail in my soup bowl had made it my duty to see that my wife's
interests were protected by those who had sought to give her that
spring in her step. For Dr Grenman, he had testified for the evidence
that many women of her vintage qualities still enjoy the youth of
one's age, advanced as they may be. It had been two years now since
her life had been 'liberated' – that's the word she used.
“Oh, Marc, it's a joy. I swear, when I jog ten steps to the
dozen...No, don't walk away from me. Look!” And she did. Hauling
her feet in mid-air, like careless batons being thrown by
pre-adolescent girls in tantrum, deploying greater aggression as they
become more irate in their futile test to destruction. Since those
blessed days of the transfer, she was inclined to be melancholy –
almost despairing Her stolid, angular face exposing a bleak shadow
over by candlelight and the imperfect, but solid beauty of of her
figure evolving still into a matter of heated debate.
“Oh God, I hate it. I hate it. A monster on Earth...” she'd wail
at herself in the full length mirror of our bedroom.
“It'll fade over time, my sweet.” I had made a cautious move from
our marital bed – unconsummated for some time now – to lay my
aching joints on the flamed portion of her bare shoulder, easing the
featherweight strap of her gown across the field of her arm.
“Take your hands off of me!” She swept up her robe off the rug
underneath, resting it on her body in a sloppy rush of quivering
anxiety. “It's all your fault this happened, you selfish bastard.
You and your so-called experts. I could have left with dignity and
with peace, but oh no! - a new heart was what the lady requested and
by God she got it.”
“Alicia...”
“Don't touch me. I warn you...I'll call the police. That's
what I'll do and they'll take my word for it. I've got scars here to
prove it.” She jabbed frantically at her chest.
I attempted to take her wrists at that moment, but she'd already
picked up a perfume decanter and had sprayed it close-range towards
my eyes. I stumbled, using my stray hand to guide me back onto safe
ground of the bed.
“I'll make you regret what you've done to me, so God help me.”
Hard footsteps traced out of the bedroom, as I tightened my eyes shut
in the animialistic frustration I had been fostered with. She left
with these parting words:
“I'm sure you still remember how to please yourself. It shouldn't
be hard for a man like you.” She had spat man with bile I
hadn't quite realised what the significance of it was – until now.
I had found my proof in he nail.
Naturally, it had not taken all this time to develop my own
collection of 'extraordinary' habits. They were blotted in heated
disbelief, an unwilling private detective in his own home. A fixed
battle-line of war between man and wife. She'd go out some nights and
I would hear Clarence and Anya, our children, creeping for the once
known comfort of their mother's arms in the smallest bedroom of the
house. She had accepted it on the grounds she could no longer stand
to live in the same air as I did. I would hear them at nights, in
crestfallen tones of their hopes being dashed. They never wanted dad.
After all, it was she who had the privilege of being a housewife that
she could win her most valuable allies. When I had sat in the club
chair, awaiting the eventual return of the saloon, she'd sometimes
never stray a foot through the door. Confrontation was out of the
question and had little alternative but to sit it out. On other
occasions, I would hear the soft creak of the gate door that
proceeded onto the expanse of our forested lawn. It was the dead of
mid-winter at that point and questioned the very reasoning of her
mind to do such a thing. My mind was drawn backward into an existence
abandoned long ago, as Alicia would stand at the south facing window
at her worst and marvel at the beauty of the hostile exterior that
would have surely shook her body into a comatose state.
“Take the kids, Marcus. Will you swear if this operation fails.
Take them outside and let them play in the white blanket that I never
can or never could...”
The
sadness of her hazelnut eyes at that moment had turned into a
long-standing resentment of what she had only took by reluctance in
the first place. Oh, if only I could see her now, but the nearest
thing that was exposed was a loud sweep of a barren pine tree and the
death and decay my wife only seemed to revel in these days. ’’
Il
ne faut pas se fier aux apparences,
had come into mind at that moment. It was much easier to exercise
your comprehension of languages, when one is so abandoned
of the same practice in another. What had she done out there? A
minefield perhaps; biding her time to the summer months to deceive me
onto its path. Peculiar still, was the way she had seemed to argue to
herself in front of various mirrors placed across the house, like she
had known there was no reflection that was safe from the out-pour of
curses all in second person. But there were two
people
in this relationship it occurred to me that one of them was the real
Alicia. Though the woman that was alive once had never valued
material more over family and fidelity. I'd catch her in her former
dressing room, flaunting sprawling gowns and flicking her diamond
encrusted hands to the flat lighting in her eyes, glinting in the
sheer wealth of her luck. I didn't like what this was leading too.
“Where
did I wear this Marcus...So beautiful, oh if only...” she'd mutter
to me in her more sedate moments. If
only,
I wondered. When I dared remained sober after returning from the
office suite at 6.43, every evening, she had locked herself in the
bathroom, vomiting to her heart's content. And when I could no longer
help her (she had stolen a bread knife and had kept it under her bed,
ever since the move out), my affections had strayed elsewhere. The
children had spotted her once and had hardly spoken a greeting since.
But I no longer cared about that. They were Alicia's kids, not ours.
Still,
I made my visit to Dr Grenman.
When
I was called to stand as a hostile witness at Grenman's trial, I had
almost all but forgotten the pleas he had made that afternoon.
“...you
see why what I had to do now, Marcus. I had to save your wife and
there was little way that I could have her blood on your hands...”
“My
hands! You took that man under false pretences and had deprived him
of his right!”
He
was noticeably angrier at this point. “Right! Was it right that the
man had just taken the life of another, for which by he was already
serving a life sentence for. Right that medical science should not
take the bodies of the men hung in punishment for their evil...”
“God,
you're a madman!” I spat.
“If
I'm a madman, I'm a very wealthy madman who is £15,000 better off
after your cheque. You abetted my crime just as much you would have
seen that murderer dead in favour of your wife.”
My
blood had run cold at that moment. Alicia had taken in the heart of a
cold-blooded murderer and everything around it was the function to
its purpose now. Heart over head...I had rushed back for the final
revelation to come forward.
“Ah,
so the slow-wit now knows the price of his folly. I – I mean,
Alicia – could have told you that a long time ago.” She had a
glass of port resting on her crossed lap, looking at me intently with
her new expression of shifty revulsion.
“Oh,
Alicia!” I cried. But she had already stood and relaxed against the
mantelpiece, chortling away.
“Oh,
Alicia! Don't leave me...Oh, Alicia! Do
you really want to know the truth?”
I
froze, barely able to keep my fingers tight in my fist.
“God,
you were such a bore. Still are, frankly. All that,” she moved her
hand in the motion of lips. “and nothing underneath it all. I'm
actually quite grateful to you know. I truly am. You’ve given me a
new lease of life.”
She
sauntered over to the adjacent dining area and brandished a brand new
black muslin dress.
“Isn't
it gorgeous? I'm off to the Opera House tonight and I needn't worry
anymore.”
“Worry?”
I queried.
“Yes,
the new me. If you had done your homework, you would have found that
Alicia Caine is dead now. Roberta Slack is the name and it's
perfect.”
Unclasping
the hadnbag that was tossed aside on the table, she revealed a small,
dainty pistol.
“Now
for you my dear. You see, I can't let you distract my plans can I?”
Wanting
to press further, I remarked “What plans? Is Roberta Slack a
natural born killer too?”
“No,”
she uttered. “But I was before, you see. Your doctor had given me
the perfect escape and some men have an unfinished debt they owe me.”
“Alicia...You're
not well. Now, I know you must've seen Dr Grenman too, but that
surely doesn't mean you are him.”
“Doesn't
it?” she cried. “Well, when did you become detective?”
Since
I could find no reason to restrain my answer, I suggested “Since I
found that nail in the lentil soup you gave. It's not your colour.”
Still
for a moment, she eventually burst out laughing.
“A
nail?! Oh, that's priceless. I don't think I'll kill you now. A nail!
You're such a lightweight Marcus, you deserve to live. Take a
shovel.”
“A
shovel?” I asked, in amazement.
“Yes.
I noticed your new sweetheart hasn't been round much recently.”
“No,
her husband has gone...” Embarrassed and stumbling on my words, I
stopped.
“And
you can do the rest, or do I need to spell it out for you?”
Before
I could raise my finger, she broke in.
“And
it's not who you think it is. Husband was a curb crawler, you see.
They all were. Some nights were better than others though, I have to
admit.”
“You
were...?” I faltered.
“You'll
find him under the rosebush. I gave those one I liked a half-decent
burial, said a few words at their side. Seems like something your
simpering Doris Day would do. All very intimate.”
By
the time I had gone out, taking shovel in hand, she was at the door
calling out into the sharp winds.
“You
can tell the men in blue, if you like. I'm pretty sick of this feeble
body. They're six in all. See if you can find them, my dear.”
I
dug, putting to rest a long dead marriage.
5
Years Later
I've
come to see Anya at the hospice today. Heart disease is terminal and
her body is at the threshold of death.
“How
is she today?” I ask the nearby nurse as she motions me to her
suite.
“Not
too good today. Mr. Caine, may I be blunt?”
I
knew what was coming.
“Why
won't you give your daughter the surgery? They'd put her at the top
of the waiting list, I can tell you.”
“No!”
I snapped. “It's better this way. It's all hereditary, you see. I'm
just breaking the curse.”
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