9:41 (4 page)

Never to see her, never again to hear her says she loves me, no that was one horrible fate I could not endure. I can't let this happen to me. I'll keep her no matter. I'll never relinquish my hold of her. God. Oh God, please don't let this happen to me. Oh what am I doing, I can't be calling on God to solve all my problems for me, I have to handle this all by myself. But what the hell can I do, … now, nothing. I'll just have to sit and wait
.

My mind keeps popping off with conflicts. I feel as if I'm going mad. Wait and wait, is that all one has to look forward to in life, sitting and waiting. I still can't believe that all this has happened in so short a time, but then time passes quickly, sometime to our benefit, and sometime not.

We went to the beach this morning, she and I. How strange those words sound together after the entire relationship seems to have evaporated like the smoke from the top of a chimney. She and I had gone to the beach for one of our usual lovely summer Sunday retreats. We would leave early in the morning, usually about nine, when the sun casts its almost blinding cool early morning light, and we'd be sitting on the beach about ten, enthroned in solitary splendor on couches of sand, watching the ocean jester dance his incessant dance for us. We would bring breakfast with us, the stands that dotted the beach would still be closed, still cooling from the sizzling pace of the previous day's business. They, too, stood in solitary splendor, like sentinels guarding the castle of the beach, with the early morning sun dazzling their red roofs and green shutters, throwing long shadows on the sand. We usually would have coffee half and half, she liked it that way, and some cakes or buns. Then we would just lie there feeling the sun in the heavens warming more and more. About eleven-thirty others would start to populate the beach, bringing with them noise and confusion, shattering the regal silence of the beach with shrill chatter and shouts. We didn't mind, though, how could we? It wasn't our beach. That's why we would go early, just to enjoy, even ever so briefly, the magnificence of the silent beach. When it became warm enough we would dash into the sea, swimming and floating endlessly. It was wonderful on those Sundays, both of us enjoyed them so. But now I was never to enjoy another …

No, no, this can't be … Patience, all will be over in a short time
… I
hope so. I can't stand it much longer …

Then we would spend the rest of the day basking in the sun, or playing catch on the sand. Afterward, we would return to our lockers and dress. I would drive the car to the front of the locker section and she would step in, with all her rare, particular beauty radiating. I was proud that she belonged to me. Her singular beauty always turning other men's heads, causing stares and looks of admiration everywhere. I would feel a glow swell up inside every time I saw her coming toward me. She's mine and no one else can every say that, no one, I would always say that. She was beautiful, and today she looked exceptionally wonderful in her gaily printed light blue dress, with abstract design going over the surface of it, with her dark straight hair hanging loosely to her shoulders, held in place only by a slight band of light blue chiffon which encircled her head and ran under the long tresses at the back. She wore the pair of silver earrings I gave her, through the lobes of her delicate ears. All of her features were delicate, all save her eyes. They were magnificent, were grand, they were a pool of luminescence upon which I reflected for hours. They were brown, a warm, sensual, penetrating, understanding, dark brown, which shallowly reflected the sunlight by lightening in color to a tawny shade of velvet. I would gaze at her, entranced, for hours, especially at her eyes, which seemed to enter my very being, probing its hidden inner secrets. These eyes were framed on her soft white skin by arched thin brown eyebrows. Her nose was small and upturned, which gave her the profile of a Grecian goddess. Her mouth was full and ripe, like grapes before harvest. Her chin was small and graceful. She was tall, a quality, which when combined with a liquid, rhythmic gait always seems to give a woman the appearance of magnificent grace. It was wonderful today as we drove home, simply wonderful, as it always was on Sundays … but, also, never more shall I be able to enjoy the beauty or the serenity that we shared together …

Wait, it's only a matter of time. It won't last forever, … I hope

We drove home, and as we usually did, we stopped in the Village for dinner. We stopped at a picturesque little Italian place with red-checkered tablecloths, Italian-looking waiters, and wonderful food. Afterwards, I drove to her house, and then it happened! Everything that had been so wonderful until then, until we got to her place. Then she told me we were never to see each other again. That was the blow I could not withstand. A blow that made me cringe with the fear of reality, cringe and run from the possibility of such a horrible thought. My mind began to grow frantic. I did not expect, nor did I ever suspect that she would find someone else. The thought of this even now makes my mouth grow dry, my stomachache, my jaws grow tense …

No, no, it couldn't be true … But it is true, that is exactly what she told you. What we had shared for so long was now over, and the enjoyment of it could never be recaptured. She was sorry, but nonetheless, it was true. How could she do this to me, the mean, deceiving, bitch. How could she play me for a fool like that. Does she think I'm an idiot to be made the laughing stock of the world??

I can't recall with all clarity exactly what happened after that, but I must have been so struck dumb by her words, those mean, horrible words, I don't even want to think of, that I couldn't speak. I just couldn't believe what she had told me. I didn't want to. Suddenly I found myself here, where I am now, sitting in the living room, staring at the windows, watching the day die, and the shadows of night deepen. I've been thinking of her, of how I love her, and of how empty life shall be without her from now on. There is no purpose in living for me anymore, for this love is something that time will not pass. I have found, to my regret, that there is something that time will not help to pass, a reality which will always exist, like God, like time itself. It will never pass away but will grow deeper with every passing moment. The cigarette I was smoking was now down to its last few grains of tobacco. I put it out. The door bell is ringing. Who could it be? It is she! She has come back! She has realized that it was all a mistake.

“Just a minute. I'm coming”.

As I opened the door my visions of renewed joy change quickly to bewilderment. It is not she; it is two men. What are they doing here? What do they want? Where is she?

“Are you Tiempo Fugita?” they said.

“Yes, I am. Can I help you gentlemen in any way?”

“Perhaps. We're from the police department”, they said as they opened little leather folders with badges attached to them. “Did you know a girl named Madeleine Avery?”

“Yes, of course I know her … what do you mean did I know her? Is there anything wrong? Did something happen to Maddy?”

“That's what we've come here for. She's dead”.

“Dead? No, no, that couldn't be true, not Maddy. What happened?”

“She was strangled to death. Were you with her today?”

“Yes. I left her just a few hours ago. She was alright then”.

“You'll have to come with us, Mr. Fugita. We have reason to believe that you killed her. A neighbor heard her scream and then saw you run out of the apartment”.

“Maddy dead? I did it? No, no, not Maddy. Not she. Not me. Oh, God, what have I done? I killed Maddy, the only person in the world I cared for? It can't be true. You must be kidding. Please say you're kidding, please”.

“I wish we could, mister, but it's true, she's dead. Will you come with us now”.

“This can't be true. I couldn't have killed her. No this is all a mistake”.

That's all right, keep calm, it can't last forever, whatever the outcome it is only a matter of time and things will be peaceful again …

“All right, officers, I'll come, just let me get my clothes”.

Relax. Remember everything resolves itself in time … patience … It's only a matter of time, it can't last forever
.

A GLASS OF WINE AND THOU

Soft, warm lazy eddies of air drifted irresolutely past the papers and books as they lay motionless on the desk, motionless save for the infrequent flutter of a paper edge momentarily lifted into life by the wind of the rotating fan, only to be dropped with equal swiftness back to the inertness that marked it before. The windows of the office were open, but their portals were untrespassed by invading air. No wind was stirring. Sun shafted down on the green metal roof of the next building, visibly lifting heat rays from its surface. The sounds in the office were somehow different today, so far away, so muffled, so incapable of intruding as on other days. Perhaps the heat stifled it, as it did the people who were working with an unusual, a low, methodical, almost funereal pace.

I was sitting behind my desk, slouched on the end of my spine, gazing fixedly at the quietness of a little corner, alone, aloof, impregnable, perhaps uninvaded since its construction. Had anyone ever poked into that small corner? How peaceful it must be to exist as a completely independent entity with no care in the world save the support of a wall.

A hard click-click of heels in the outside corridor shook me from my musing. The steps stopped outside and a knock resounded through the wooden door.

“Come in”. It was Fran Wilson.

“Hello, Jonathan”.

“Any news?” I asked.

“No, not yet. The doctor said it would take a couple of days more”.

“Okay, baby. Tell me as soon as you hear, will you? The suspense of it all is unnerving”.

“Do you think I'm enjoying this entire thing immensely?” Fran said.

“I know, but it seems to prey on my mind incessantly. I'm a worrier from way back, you know. I can't eat, or drink … I get a queasy feeling in my stomach every time I even taste a morsel of food. I must have lost ten pounds in the last week, and God knows, I can't afford to do that”.

“Baby, I don't want you to worry or lose weight, you'll spoil that pretty body and fact. You know, you're a handsome bastard”.

“Come on, you can cut that out now, can't you?”

“Well, anyway, I know I'm pregnant, believe me. But you don't have to worry. I want the baby”.

“No, no, you don't want the baby. You can't want it. Are you crazy?”

“Yes, about you”, she replied, “and I want your baby. At least that will be mine, and no one will steal it away. I'll be able to hug it, and kiss it, and look into his beautiful big brown eyes and think of you. He's going to be a beautiful baby”.

“I can't help being mad about you. You make me feel like the greatest guy in the world when you talk, and yet I feel like the world's biggest heel for messing things up like this for you”.

“You didn't mess anything up. I wanted the baby, and now I'm going to have it. Jean may take you away from me, but no one will take my baby”.

Beads of perspiration swelled up and felt like fuzzy thorns on my temples. I couldn't talk to this girl sensibly. Sure she wanted the baby, but she didn't know what she was talking about. How the hell could she want to have a baby so much, she was only 24, unmarried and unhappy except, she says, when she's with me. I'm sorry I ever let her have a drink with me that night. Want's a baby! She must be mad”.

“Who's going to support him?” I asked. “I certainly can't. Oh, not that I can't, but why, who needs this. I can't see any sense to it, especially when it's so easy to take care of”.

“You have nothing to do with this baby. It's mine. And you don't have to worry one damn bit about it, you and your Jean. Go on, go on, go running to Jean. I'll take the baby”.

“Look, you're going to make life as miserable for another person just as it was for you. Do you really feel that's fair? He'll hate me every waking morning. And suppose you want to get married. Then what?”

“I'll marry somebody who'll love my baby as much as I will”.

“No, no, it just won't work. I can't let you do it”.

“You can't very well stop me either, can you?”

“No, I guess not. But, oh hell, it's like talking to a brick wall”.

“That's right, so why don't you just forget it and let's go to your apartment for a drink. A nice refreshing drink”, she said, a guileful smile playing on her lips.

Taking my coat off the hook, I watched her walk to the little sink in the corner of my office. In the mirror above it, she began to smooth her eye shadow and comb her long black hair. As she was fixing her makeup, I, leaning against the wall with my suit jacket folded over my crossed arms, slowly and methodically viewed her. She was certainly beautiful, with long hair, and a body bordering on the maddening. Long graceful lines that swelled inside the tight clothes she wore. A derrier that pouted out just so nice, and breasts that glared at you audaciously. Her face was smooth and soft, with warm eyes that shone with love and vixen at the same time. Her mouth was full, like two most strands of rolled dough colored red. That's the word for them, doughy, soft and doughy. Her nose was short and straight and firm and sat there and complemented her face like a nose should. Fabulous. A girl who could get anything, anything out of life, and here we are, she so beautiful, primping in front of a mirror in my office, and me, feeling like a rotten bastard because I feel I've thrown more salt on the wound life has already inflicted upon her. And yet, I feel she should feel sorry for me. She, whose parents didn't want her, she, who lived in foster homes with strange people to care for her, or not, as they pleased. She, who lived in a prison-like orphanage for two years, she, whose life was filled with violence and harshness and unfeelingness, who never really loved, and had never really been loved, who needs life to live, life of and for, she should pity me who feels incapable at her feet, incapable of being as strong or as sure of my life as she. I, who cannot understand her wanting the baby, inside knowing the reason why. At last she will have something to love and call her own, to love and to know the returned feeling is warm and sincere as it has never been in the past. She wants someone to replace me, now that she knows we can never be closer, never share life as she wanted to. Why the hell did I ever happen into her life to mess things up for her; why the hell did she fall in love with me? I could never give her that which she should have.