The Death of Ruth (9 page)

When I return my books to the library, the librarian, Miss Prentice, talks them over, discusses them with me, and she and I have become quite friendly because of our mutual interest and I look forward to my twice-weekly visits to the library and before Grey had arrived in the neighbourhood I had almost made up my mind to take Miss Prentice's advice and join the weekly discussion group held on Friday evenings in the reading room.

She, Miss Prentice, seemed rather disappointed when I told her that I had decided not to join, and for the first time I had mentioned Molly, saying, ‘My wife is not very well and so I don't like leaving her by herself in the evenings.'

Miss Prentice, Lorraine, had concentrated on filling in my card. ‘That's a pity!' she had said and she appeared flustered, but the next time I saw her she was her usual cool self, and she had handed me a copy of
Shakuntala
, an Indian play, written in the fifth—or as she pedantically said, in or
about
the fifth century—‘You have a real feast in store, John,' she told me, ‘This play is a high-water mark in Asian literature.'

Grey had already read
Shakuntala
, and we had some fine evenings together, discussing the work, both arguing and agreeing. I greatly admire the play and instead of returning it, I keep paying dues on it.

One evening when Grey and I were in the midst of a pithy discussion, Jodie had arrived, bringing young John with her. She only comes to visit when she is certain that I will be at home, and as fond as I am of Jodie and the child, I resented her breaking into my talk with Grey.

It had turned out to be a jerky, uncomfortable visit, because Jodie had not then been aware that my guest was her father's tenant, and she stared at Grey crying out with wild excitement. ‘But—you are the policeman who was in charge of Mum's disappearance. You are Mr Grey.' Her cute
face became puzzled and hopeful, ‘Have you news of Mum? Has mum been found? Tell me—
tell
me …'

‘No,' Grey sounded embarrassed as he kindly explained that Mrs Moyston's whereabouts was still a mystery, saying, ‘It must be a great worry to you. Your mother is one of many missing persons.'

‘Missing?' Jodie had cried out, ‘Mr Grey, I don't think my mother is just
missing
. All Mummy's interests were in her home and in us, her husband, her children. She had
no other
interest in the world and no friends that
I
ever knew of. I believe something awful has happened to Mum.'

She began to cry and I took her hand, attempting to comfort her, but she withdrew it, brusquely, and asked Grey why he had come if it was not about her mother.

‘Oh, well, a cop is not on duty all the time,' he said, and he explained to Jodie that he had rented her father's house.

Jodie was surprised, but she quietened down, and during the hour she stayed she commented on Molly's improved appearance.

I was pleased to see that she was kinder to Molly than she had been for some time, even asking, ‘Would you like to nurse Johnny, Aunty Molly?'

Looking rather pleased, Molly held out her arms, but the child snuggled against his mother and began howling. We all felt embarrassed, and Molly's face took on the hurt expression one always shows when a child refuses one's advances and certainly Jodie improved nothing by declaring in the obnoxious manner of young mothers, ‘There, there, precious, Mummy has got you all safe.'

Fond of Jodie as I am, I was pleased when she left, and also pleased when Grey offered to drive her home. It saved me from having to walk to the bus stop with her, but after they had gone Molly had another violent retching attack and I became annoyed when she flew into a fury, refusing to have the doctor called.

After Molly went off to bed, I took up my copy of
Shakuntala
, and read, ‘“I am indeed, deeply in love: but cannot rashly disclose my passion to these young girls …”' I lost myself again in a romance of ancient days.

Ruth, I resemble a person who has an endless race to run. A race in which the goal recedes as I run. My loneliness is decimating me and sometimes I go to the Bible. I open it at random to try to find comfort and this morning I read from the Book of Job, ‘“Fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones to shake.”'

No comfort in those words, but closing the book I realized that I had read a description of myself. Fear has been upon me for so long now and I become more and more fearful.

Ruth, ever since that night when Mr Grey drove Jodie and the baby home from our place, he, Mr Grey, has been different. I tell myself that I am only imagining things, but that does not help me at all.

He is not different in his kindly attitude towards me, it is the way he stands at his kitchen window, he just stands there staring out at the garden, and at my garden too, and it is in the way he now inveigles John into talking about our life before he met us, and John talks away to him with a freedom and frankness that makes me want to scream. Yesterday evening John said, ‘Yes, Grey, Molly and I were sorry from the very beginning that the Moystons were our neighbours.'

‘Sorry?' Mr Grey had broken in on John's spiel, ‘But, John, you speak well of Jodie, of her brother and of Moyston.'

‘Oh, yes, most definitely,' said John, ‘Ruth was the fly in the ointment. It was Ruth's treatment of her children that caused our distress. The woman has a violent temper. She always took sadistic pleasure in scaring, bashing away at
them. Not just straight out disciplinary punishments, but she would go to endless trouble to trick the kids into misbehaviour, and she was openly jealous of Ralph's love for Jodie, and poor little Jodie always got more than her share of chastisements.'

‘Quite a she-devil, eh?' said Mr Grey, as John paused and as though John was the best raconteur in the world, and that he, Mr Grey, could not bear for him not to continue.

John did continue, and Ruth, as he spoke on, even I felt that he was exaggerating your cruelty and your ugly character. John reads too much these days. His mind is over-nourished. When I actually heard him declare that many a time,
I
had gone over and interfered on the children's behalf, also that once, he had actually heard me say that I could kill you for your wickedness. I
had
to stop him, but I could think of no way of doing so. I was amazed at John's vivid imagination in saying that I had gone
many times
to interfere. For of course as
we
both know, Ruth, to our undoing I went but once.

And another thing, Ruth, a new law has been passed. I sat by, apparently calm, listening as John and Mr Grey casually discussed a new law proclaiming that a parent known to be abusing a child must be reported to the authorities. This is a bitter pill for me to have to swallow …

I had no way of stopping John and when eventually their conversation moved on to other subjects, Mr Grey became rather vague and soon excused himself, saying that he was tired and needed to hit the hay.

He said goodnight to John and he waved goodbye to me, not bothering to speak. He was not being impolite for he believes that it is difficult for me to hear, although these days I allow a little more sound to register. I waved back a goodnight to Mr Grey and after Mr Grey had left, John went off to bed. I said that I would follow soon, but I remained sitting in my chair. I sat there until morning.

I had lost my power to move, to think.

When John discovered me in the morning, he was most upset. He made tea for me and suggested that I spend the day in bed. I said that I would. I told John that I had foolishly fallen off to sleep the night before, and he looked sorry and upset about me. Then he went off to work and I came out here, as you already know.

Time passes very slowly, Ruth. I will be glad when Ralph returns. We are expecting him home shortly. His three months are nearly up.

I overheard Mr Grey telling John that his new apartment would be ready for him to move into just about the time that Ralph returns home, so it appears, Ruth, that I am going to be stuck with Mr Grey for the rest of my life, and my great hope is that my life will not drag on and on.

There is not so much confusion and noise on the building site any more. The work is nearly all interior work now.

Dear God! Ruth! I have just had a frightening, a shocking experience! This morning four strange men entered this garden and walked towards me—right here—to the rock-garden. They surrounded me—all four of them—I just stood here, I did not know what they wanted, but I felt, as I have told you, surrounded.

‘Good morning to you!' the tallest one said. ‘This garden of yours does you credit. I've never seen anything prettier.'

He had gestured to this rock-garden, saying, ‘I certainly hope we won't have to spoil
that
!' and he went on to say that he and his men had come to look over the property, to find out where the sewer and drainage pipes were. They were plumbers and the Council was going to renew the sewer pipes and … and … And do you know that people
can
fly, Ruth? They
can
. I did, I flew—well perhaps ‘fly' is not exactly the word, but certainly I have no recollection of walking. Somehow, I moved from the garden to the living-room. I searched for, and found, the plans of our land, and
in a floating-like trance I returned to the garden and handed them to the boss-man, and it seemed as though a swarm of bees buzzed about my head, and I swear that my feet did not touch the ground. They seemed to remain a few inches above it, and then, one of the men said, ‘Good news for you! All the piping is in the front of your property, so we won't have to muck up your nice garden after all!' My feet thumped down, hitting the ground so hard that my head jerked back sharply, and I had to move my arms wildly, to brush the bees away.

‘Are you all right?' one of the men asked, and I nodded my head, then the men all walked away, towards the front of the house, but suddenly, one of them stopped short, and came back—here—to the rock-garden. The other men waited and watched him, and I watched him too as he closed his eyes and began sniffing at the air, and Ruth, it is a difficult subject to bring up, especially to you, but when that man began sniffing, I began sniffing too, and there was a
shocking
stench. The other men joined us, and all five of us stood sniffing and looking at each other, questioningly, then I remembered—it was the blood and bone fertilizer. I leapt over to the sack-covered heap of fertilizer and really I felt like a stage magician as I lifted the sacking up, holding it away from my side, the way a toreador holds his scarlet cloth when he has foiled the bull. I laughed, loudly, and the men laughed too, and they laughed all the way down the side path to the front of the house.

Ruth, I am still standing here. Standing exactly where they left me. I am still holding the sacking in my hands. I feel strange. I feel so strange. I am unable to move …

I am deeply concerned. I do not know what is going to become of Molly. Returning home from work, I found her lying in the garden, lying on an old piece of sacking. She was unconscious.

The doctor examined her thoroughly, and after the examination he spoke to me seriously, saying that he was quite puzzled, and was insistent, saying, ‘Mr Blake, your wife is definitely under some great strain. Are you sure that you have told me all you can about her?'

‘Yes,' I had replied, ‘Yes, I am certain. Quite sure! Until the question came up about selling this house and moving away, my wife was an ordinary contented woman.'

‘But you have told me before that you have let the matter of selling your property go by the board, so to speak. Is Mrs Blake still nervous about that? Even if she were …' he continued, thoughtfully, ‘I don't believe that it would cause such tensions in her. There has to be something else. Now, I want her to remain in bed for a few days, at least, and I want you to be certain to have the sedative I am prescribing put in her milk drinks. I especially do not want Mrs Blake to know that she is having a sedative.' He smiled, saying, ‘She is a nice patient, but very stubborn. You know, Mr Blake, she reminds me of a bird, you know how birds move their heads from side to side, always on the look out for—well—birds, of course, are on the look out for an enemy attack. What is Mrs Blake on the defensive for?
That
is what I would like to know.'

‘I wish that I could help more,' I told him. ‘By the way,
Doctor, can anything be done about that leg of hers?'

‘Leg? Which leg?'

‘Her left leg. She has been dragging it for years.'

‘I have found nothing wrong with either of her legs. Tell me, did that condition also begin when the property problem arose? It might have begun as a kind of protest, and she has carried the habit on …'

The doctor's voice trailed off as Grey walked into the living room. ‘Sorry, John,' Grey apologized, ‘I'll come back later on.'

‘No, don't go, Grey!' I said and I introduced him to the doctor and then I told him that we were discussing Molly's health, explaining that she had experienced rather a nasty turn.

Then speaking to the doctor, I said, ‘No. My wife's leg began troubling her some time before that property upset. She had wrenched her ankle, it was a very severe sprain—'

‘That's correct!' Grey exclaimed. ‘I was here a few evenings after Mrs Blake had sprained her ankle. You remember, John, it was the first time we met!'

‘That's right!' I agreed. Thinking back, I suppose that was when the change really began in Molly, but apart from the concern that one would normally feel when a neighbour disappears into thin air, neither Molly nor I have given much thought to the matter.'

‘I don't recall hearing anything about that case,' interrupted the doctor impatiently. ‘Nevertheless, Mr Blake, it could be that the disappearance of her friend has preyed deeply on your wife's mind. I suggest that she have psychiatric treatment.'