Liar (20 page)

The phone rang at mid-night and China grabbed the receiver, her heart pounding.

“Hello,” she said dazedly.

“Hi,” said the asshole’s voice. “Did you have an affair?”

“What? Sam, I know you get a perverse pleasure at waking me up but if you don’t stop it, I’ll sue you for harassment!”

“I thought you’d still be up. So, did you have an affair?” repeated Sam stupidly.

“I guess you forgot that I had a major operation a few months ago. I had a few things cut out of me so having an affair wasn’t even a remote consideration. Now I’m trying my best to cut you out of my life, but it seems that I might have to hire a hit man to accomplish this burning desire. I suppose you believe that no woman could possibly leave you just because you are an evil, lying, abusing son of a bitch!”

“I guess that’s a nooo,” slurred Sam.

“I guess you didn’t read about an affair in my journals, did you? Were you disappointed? Would you like me to send you a copy of the latest bulletin?” replied China sarcastically.
I will not,
she thought bitterly,
I will not accuse him of having an affair, or several affairs, for all I know. I will not give him one more ounce of satisfaction!

“That would be reeeally cool, sweeeetie,” chuckled Sam. “I really loved reading all your juicy little secrets.”

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” asked China, finally tuning in to Sam’s slurred voice and words.

She hung up quickly and quietly and then screamed out loud.

“You son-of-a-bitch!”

She hopped out of bed and started pacing the floor like a madwoman. She knew that Sam hadn’t really read her journals. She’d seen Sam read. A sentence here, a paragraph there. When she was reading a novel he’d look at the back page, read a few more at random, which drove her crazy. He picked out the important words in the newspaper, just the facts, and managed to sound quite informed, just enough to make you think he actually read it all.

All of that secret information in her journals and he was too lazy to read it properly. He was so self-absorbed he couldn’t possibly have understood the secret codes of her soul. He probably only wanted to steal her secrets to better manipulate her, or to find out if she had discovered his latest lie. How disappointed and confused he must have been by her words. This mixture of fantasy, fact, hopes, dreams, would have taken careful reading to understand her. His random reading of words and flipping of pages took her out of context, misquoted her, and probably confused him further. Idiot! He had the key to her soul in his hands and he didn’t even try to use it.

Was he frightened by her anger? Did he realize that she was onto him, and would soon leave him, and if so, why did he do nothing? Did he decide to wait until she was so fed up that she’d leave him, because he just couldn’t make the effort to change, to become the man he had first promised? In the beginning he worked hard to be the man she conjured with her loveshiny eyes. Then slowly, surely, as she discovered his pathetic deceits, he stopped trying. She exhausted him with questions and her stricken eyes became too harsh a mirror for his shadowy reflection.

Worse than the lies was his belief that she was stupid. Did he think that everyone walked around with a memory as defective as his? If only he could have lied with style like a real con-man. No, he bungled that too. She’d accuse him with the evidence in her hand and there he’d stand, face like a whipped dog, silent and bewildered.

I know what you were thinking Sam.
“China found me out but I didn’t mean to do it and it’s really no big deal so I’ll just keep quiet, the best defense being no defense, and she’ll eventually calm down and I’ll get her into bed and make her scream with pleasure and she’ll look at me again with her beautiful loveshiny eyes.”

“
NO! You asshole!”
she screamed at the wall.
“You saw the shine fading and you did nothing. You did not fight for me. Size has nothing to do with courage, you goddamn hulking coward! You chicken-hearted, lying piece of shit!”

Her anger was choking her, a victim of his benign neglect. Sam was never actively mean, but he disappointed, frustrated, blocked, confused, hurt her simply by doing nothing, and even worse, doing it with excruciating charm. She preferred nasty up front where it was easier to recognize and deal with it. Creepy, crawly, insidious, manipulative, benign neglect was much more difficult to discover and deal with. His kind of love was a dory adrift in the sea without an anchor, an oar, a sail, or a direction in mind. The hunky out of control in a dory. A loose liar on witty wheels careening through life towards another unsuspecting woman. She had to stop him. But how? There was no law against lying. Only laws against Fraud, or Breach of Promise. Fabrication, deception, evasion, prevarication, untruth. Twisted, Clintonesque words employed to not call a lie, a lie.

She poured herself a stiff drink and walked around and around her apartment alternately berating herself and Sam. She was sick of feeling helpless. Sick of his stupid phone calls. Sick of thinking about him and his lies and his sloppy way of loving. She poured another stiff drink and decided to write the son of a bitch a letter he’d never forget.

Aug. 17/98

Dear Sam,

I believe you first read my journals out of curiousity, but then you became fascinated and addicted to reading my secret soul. The thrill of the voyeur. At some point the words must have frightened you, but you kept reading. Why? Did you know that I would eventually leave you, and you just wanted to know when?

You thought the journal was me. You were wrong. The journal is only a small part of me. All the fears, all the nasty things I said about you were just what runs through the mind all day long. I wrote the good stuff too. I guess the printed word is more powerful than spoken words. Spoken words can be forgotten. Written words remain, powerful and accusing. All those powerful words to tell you how I felt and you did nothing. As with the Thunder Ceremony, the single most horrific thing that occurred when we were together. You could have stopped it, changed the outcome, and you did nothing. Worse than the sin of lying is knowing you have the power to fix something and doing nothing. That indicates a great sloth of the spirit.

You must be stopped Sam, and I’ve figured out a way to do it. I’ve got the goods on you, the proof that you are not who you say you are. I’m surprised that you didn’t fear my journals more. You must be stupid, as well as cowardly. I’ve placed the journals in a safe place where they will stay as long as you keep your side of the following bargain.

If you ever lie with another woman, I’ll publish the journals. I’ll bring you down Sam. I’ll destroy your life, just as you tried to destroy mine, and I’ll do a better job of it. The truth will always triumph in the end. You need to learn that lesson, and quickly, because your lies will eventually kill you. I just want to make sure you don’t bring anyone else down with you. It is my duty to my sisters.

Oh, by the way, should I meet an untimely end, my lawyer knows where the journals are. He will be sending you the divorce papers this week. Please sign and return ASAP.

Sincerely, China

China now knew that the truth was in the journals. The false was trying to live with Sam, wanting so much to love a man, that she was willing to, in public, in his presence, most of the time, live the lie of loving wife. However, after a while the truth in the journals joined the public lie. In spite of herself the truth came out of her mouth, sat with them in the kitchen, in front of the TV, came between them in the bedroom so that China could no longer sleep with Sam.

All the little things she did during the day to construct the marriage, and it required careful renovation every day, disappeared at night. Her last wifely duty, making love to Sam, sometimes with honest passion, sometimes just giving in - have a go dear - the last duty before sleeping. Then, ten, fifteen minutes later the physical euphoria would disappear and her eyes would pop open and she would leave the marriage bed, unable to lie with a lie, lie with a liar, both of them lying in order to stay together, to keep the love fantasy they had both bought.

Sam knew it was wrong to read her journals and had been too ashamed and afraid to ask the questions that could have saved their love. If you don’t understand the journal process, reading one could be very frightening, especially if you’re mentioned on almost every page. The power of her words, the truth of the falsehoods she had discovered about him and herself, probably terrified him, paralyzed him. How awful it must have been, stumbling through the days with all that secret knowledge dizzying his focus so that his eyes blurred when he looked at her. Did he see two women? The gentle, loving wife, and lurking behind, a towering Medusa, ready to snap and snarl and emasculate him with the truth?

Poor Sam. What would he do now that he had no more journals to read and misinterpret?

~ ~

Sarah called and China listened to a long rant about her so-called “rights.” Sarah had taken a part-time job with an art gallery because her paintings weren’t selling right now, her teenagers were bleeding her dry and her husband was being an asshole.

“So, divorce him,” said China.

“That would just add the divorce war to the living together war. According to my observations, if the children are still living at home, you still have as much trouble apart as when you’re living together, without the benefit of random acts of sex.”

“Well I guess divorce is a bit like adding war to war. However, the foreseeable advantage is eventual peace.”

“Christ, I don’t have the energy it would take to even think beyond the next minute.”

“Okay, so, what you need is a studio away from the battle zone where you can find the peace and quiet you need to create.”

“Great idea, China, except that I can’t afford a studio. I have to at least break even.”

“Think of the studio as a piece of equipment you need in order to create, like a kiln, or a sewing machine. It’s not a luxury. And stop seeking the approval of your husband and children. They don’t give a shit. Nobody gives a shit. There’s no such thing as daily recognition. Just do what makes you happy and if you’re lucky, occasional recognition and a few pennies will follow.”

“How did that Tampax asshole get recognition for such a disgusting exhibition?”

“What are you talking about? What does Tampax have to do with this conversation?” asked China.

“Haven’t you heard? There’s a new installation at the Montreal Art Gallery of used tampons gathered from all over the world.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, my dear, it’s a celebration of fecundity with a bloody display of tampons. Of course the gatherer of this trash is a man. If a woman had done this she would have been tarred and feathered and run out of town for being a rampant lesbian feminist. What’s next? Diarrhoea in a jar?”

China was now choking with laughter.

“Excellent idea, Sarah. A celebration of human excrement and our ability to trash the planet. It just goes to show you that we cannot compare our luck or lack of it to anyone else. That road can only lead to frustration and bitter, old womanhood. Besides you know bloody well, excuse the tam-pun...”

“Ahhhhhhhhh...” screamed Sarah. Stop it, I can’t breathe.”

“...that wannabe woman collector of bloodied souvenirs did it for shock value and will probably disappear tomorrow. We live in hope.”

“I wonder if I can find out where he lives so I can dump my garbage on his doorstep? Thanks for the lecture darling. I must run.”

“Sarah, just tell them all to fuck off. Period!”

“Ha ha. Love you lots. Bye!”

China then sent a postcard to Sarah to underline her advice. Underwrite it? Overword it? How did Sam survive without one true friend in the world?

~ ~

Six months went by and China was feeling pretty good. Sam had duly signed the divorce papers and stopped harassing her. She had sold every one of her Sams - one, two, three, and four. Her ‘Drifting Faces’ were selling well, although she was now carving them out of pine and cedar, due to the scarcity of driftwood in downtown Toronto. In three months she would have an exhibition at the Ontario Art Gallery where she once worked. Best of all, she had given up her job as receptionist and was able to survive very nicely on the sale of her sculptures and charcoal sketches. Jane had found a new job and a nice new man and Tina was thriving with all the attention of her beloved grandma. Jane even thought that grandma was overdoing it just a little bit.

China was congratulating herself that all was well, when she received an anonymous phone call from a familiar voice.

“Heeyyy China, is that you?” said a husky voice.

“Who is this?” asked China.

“Just thought I should tell you that Sam is gonna marry the virgin princess, Lily Deer.”

China suddenly recognized the drunken slur of Marisa’s voice. The line went dead and she hung up in a panic.
Shit! Now I’ll have to publish the journals,
thought China.

She quickly called Sarah.

“Sarah, what am I going to do? That drunken bitch, Marisa, just called with the disgusting news that Sam is going to marry Carrie’s daughter, Lily Deer! I can’t let him ruin that poor girl’s life. What lies is Sam telling everyone? He’s probably got the whole story twisted around with me as the villain. Has he got the whole village bamboozled?”

“Go on China. Do it. Publish your journals. That man has never sent you a penny. You’d probably make a fortune. The perfect revenge. I love it!” crowed Sarah.

“I was partially drunk and mostly hysterical when I sent him that letter. It was like something out of a bad movie. How could I possibly keep tabs on how many women he’s lying with? I just thought it would maybe scare him a bit, stop him from harassing me, send him to therapy. I don’t know. He did stop calling me.”

“China, China, you’ve got the power, you’ve got him by the balls, and you’re too chicken to fry him!”

China burst out laughing.

“Sarah, you’re evil. I’ll give the journals to you and you can burn the devil.”

“I’ll do it, make no mistake!”

“I know you will, but there’s one horrible thing I just thought about. If that stuff is published, Sam will have nothing to lose and he can come after me.”

“True, but just think of the publicity. You’ll sell millions more copies when you’re dead. Sam will rot in jail the rest of his life, and Jane and Tina will be living on easy street. I’ll be your executor.”

“Thanks, Sarah, you always have my best interests at heart.”

“Listen, darling, I don’t care what you do. Maybe the best revenge is doing nothing at all. We both know that Sam will eventually hang himself. And Doctor Karen will just say that all those poor future female victims deserved the man they got.”

“Are you saying I deserved Sam?”

“In a way. Don’t forget, you got two years of great sex. I’ve only had great sex about six times in the last three years.”

“Yeah, but your husband doesn’t lie to you. At least not in a major way.”

“Yes, but we’re not talking about me. You had an incredible adventure. Unfortunately adventures aren’t always positive. Some of them turn out very badly. Look at all those people who die climbing Mount Everest, or some such mountain.”

“You’re not cheering me up Sarah.”

“Oh, just get on with your life. I’ve seen your art work lately and it’s amazing. You’ve been through the fire and it’s made you a better woman and artist. You’re on a positive path. Maybe publishing the journals is the negative path.”

China soon realized the journals would never be published in time to stop Sam. Probably no publisher would want to have anything to do with the ravings of a lust-demented grandmother. She debated whether or not she should call Carrie but decided not to. She had sent her a letter months ago and never received a reply. Why make life worse for Lily by dragging her soon-to-be husband through the mud? She probably wouldn’t listen anyway. Maybe a lovely young aboriginal wife who could give Sam babies would be his ticket to heaven. She decided it was best to keep Sam and Grimshaw Island in her past where they belonged. Let them take care of each other.

~ ~

Two weeks later China’s lawyer called with the news of Sam’s death. Sam, who almost never fished, had taken Bear’s boat. The weather hadn’t been particularly bad, but neither had it been perfectly calm. The wrecked boat was found on the rocks near Seal Beach, although Sam’s body had not been recovered.

“There’s something else China,” said her lawyer. “The local police suspect that he may have been murdered.”

“Murdered! By whom?”

“Well, it seems that Sam was courting a local princess. Her father decided to check him out and discovered that Sam had embezzled funds from his former employer.”

“Oh, my God, it’s never ending. How come he was never disbarred?”

“Well, the firm wanted to avoid embarrassment, so they just warned Sam that he’d better stay on the straight and narrow or they’d come after him.”

“That’s still no reason to kill him.”

“It gets worse. Sam was impatient for the wedding night and he was caught deflowering the lovely princess. Her uncle and brother beat up Sam pretty bad but he was still alive when they dumped him at his house. His mother, Anita, said he went out at noon the following day and she called the police when he didn’t return by midnight.”

“I’m sure Sam wasn’t murdered because he would have been beaten to death - probably with a foot sideways.”

“Pardon me?”

“Oh nothing. It’s a Grimshaw thing. If they intend to kill someone, they do it. No. Sam was just being taught a lesson. How long do they continue searching for the body?”

“They’ve stopped already. The weather’s really bad. China, the police might call with a few questions.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide. I haven’t heard from Sam since the divorce.”

“All right. If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know.”

China hung up and waited for the tears that didn’t come. She felt sorry for Anita and May and vowed to send them both a sympathy card, which was all she could do. She didn’t feel very sorry for Lily who was young and beautiful and better off without Sam. Poor Sam. His last two years had not been good ones. The shame of the aborted Thunder Ceremony, the divorce, and then his future plans had all gone up in a cloud of lie-filled ashes. He would not have been able to stay on the island. How much humiliation could a person bear, even it was self-inflicted? Sam must have just gone out into the storm and prayed for the sea and the winds of fate to swallow him up. And they had. Sam had disappeared without a trace.

China moped around her apartment unable to comprehend that Sam was dead. The man who had filled her mind and body and soul for almost three years no longer existed and she couldn’t fit that strange fact into her mind. Even after she’d divorced Sam and carried on with her life she still thought of him too frequently, still at times burned for the feel of him.

March 3/99

Sam is dead, presumed drowned. I don’t feel much of anything except disbelief. How ridiculous of the living to believe that death is final! Death and divorce are just stupid pieces of paper that have nothing to do with final. I can’t cry. I just feel angry for the waste of it all.
We could have both been transformed, him by the truth, and I by gratitude and relief.

China went to her studio and carved late into the night. She ritually sculpted an eight inch version of Sam #1, laid it in a cedar coffin, and nailed a bronze plaque on the cover engraved with the words: Sam Eagle “Death by Lying.” She thought that by putting Sam in a coffin she’d finally get rid of him, but it didn’t work. She walked around, a vessel unwilling, filled to the brim with memories that wouldn’t release her. She had an idea that if she read every word in her journals from the beginning of Sam, then maybe she could cry, maybe she would be freed forever of the demon lover that haunted her dreams.

You creep into my thoughts

that ought, by now,

have scorned you,

yet you wield a ghostly power

that makes me yield to your embrace,

Like a wraith you glide

into my dreams

and laugh at my closed face.

The next day China went to her safety deposit box and retrieved the three journals with the brocaded covers, green, blue and red. She read every word of her demented passion for Sam, every discovered lie and some she discovered for the first time. She relived her anger and frustration, walked through the words grimly, determined to trample every lie forever so it no longer had the power to reach up out of the muck and grab her with regret.

She read her love for the beauty of Grimshaw, relived the long, solitary walks on the beach when sea fog crept into her bones and mingled with the tears on her face, remembered the sometime sunshine turning the sea to waving diamonds. The smell of Grimshaw came back to her, the damp, seaweedy, cedar smell that cleared her head and cooled her lungs.

Tears filled her eyes and gushed like rain-swelled rivers down her face when she realized that of the countless walks on several beaches, Sam’s big warm hand enclosing hers had only accompanied her once. He had not loved the island the way she did. She walked with the ocean and the sand and screaming eagles and dancing sandpipers, but for Sam, Grimshaw Island was a place to not pay income tax and to keep China prisoner.

She finished reading the journals and placed them on the bookshelf next to Sam’s coffin. She continued with her life feeling strangely disconnected and waited for the passage of time to bring her peace.

~ ~