The Unspoken

by Don Zelma

Chapter Six

  Dan hammered a nail into the office wall and lowered the frame onto the backing wire. His fingers slipped his glasses down to the bridge of his nose and he studied the picture of their new house on the bay. He glanced up at the other photographs on the wall. Each frame represented a chapter in his life – his wedding day or Ruth in the hospital ward the day their son was born.

  He stepped off the chair and slowly sat at his desk. A tiny bell tinkered towards him from the corner of the room and Mini stop at his feet. She stared at him a long time, her pupils moving over his face.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ he said. She remained still, gazing. He reached down and stroked her tiny head. ‘Go out and play, you curious little thing,’ and he gave her a gentle push. Mini turned and trotted dutifully out of the room, heading towards the backyard. He slowly swivelled towards the desk and then heard Mini bark. He turned around and saw she was back at the door, staring.

  He peered across the room towards the bookshelf at the photograph on the middle shelf. A decade old, it showed two of Jay’s friends standing in the background beside their motorcycles. They were tardy men, with denim vests and sunglasses hiding their eyes. Dan remembered he had sent word through a friend that no one from the club was welcome at the funeral and had later seen several figures watching the ceremony from a distance. He now gazed at the strangers in the photograph a long time. And Jay’s tattoo? He remembered the day he had first seen it – a wolf with its hind leg caught in a spring-loaded trap. Its appearance had bothered him pretty seriously and he had expressed as much to Jay. Dan was angry he had brought such negative themes into the house.

  He turned and looked through the glass louvers. It was almost dark, and ash from a nearby farm had begun falling, fluttering silently down like black snow. He slowly reached for the pigeon hole and removed his resignation letter. He waited, then glanced back at Jay’s photograph. Something was happening – but, again, he couldn’t qualify it. He looked back at his typed letter.

  ‘Retire, Daniel,’ he told himself. ‘You will never learn his secret. Live the rest of your life.’ He reached out for his fountain pen and rested it on the page. He signed, and that was that.

  He slowly leaned back in his chair, swallowed and felt his throat begin to tighten.

  Heavens, he thought, this isn’t easy.

  He could hear Ruth walking around above him in the house and looked at his son once more. For several minutes he stared until his attention was finally broken by a wet muzzle on his ankle.

  Dan dressed in his pyjamas and prepared to kneel. The bedroom window was open and he inhaled the country air. The ash had stopped falling and the crickets were quietly chirping. He looked across his neighbour’s yard and saw the many porch lights of the street. His elbows rested on the dressing table, kneeling in the dark, and began thinking back to those final days. Near the end, Jay had not lived at home – he had joined a club and become a mystery to his parents.

  Dan’s old knees were sore from kneeling and he repositioned them. Ruth turned in her sleep and he glanced back. He waited, listening to her breathing, but after a moment he detected a pause and knew that she was awake. He slowly stood, straightening his stiff legs and walked quietly towards the bed. He sat on the mattress facing the window and heard Ruth sigh.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she muffled into her pillow. ‘I can hear the gears turning in your head.’

  He remained quiet, glanced over his shoulder and stared at her in the dark. She waited then propped herself up on her elbows and Dan saw her face come into moonlight.

  ‘A wonderful achievement isn’t it?’ he said, looking down at his hands.

  Ruth hesitated. ‘What is?’ she said.

  ‘My long line of photographs.’ He knew it sounded petulant but that was pretty much how he felt. He sensed her staring at him.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You have helped countless people. I believe you have often been their only means of support. You have much to be proud of, Daniel.’

  He looked back at her. Sensing something, she moved across the mattress and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. She studied his eyes. Suddenly, the muscles in her face fell loose and he looked down at the floor.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ she said. She laid back down on the mattress. ‘This is about Jay.’

  He looked at the window and a short pause followed. ‘I am a counsellor,’ he said. ‘Remember that last year? He wouldn’t even confide in me – not a bit. He changed so much in the end. We didn’t really know him.’ He looked down at his feet.

  ‘Daniel?’ she said, reaching out and resting her hand on his arm. ‘There was nothing we could do,’ she said. ‘Do you understand?’

  He worked his big toe into the webbing of his other foot. ‘I know,’ he said and put his soles flat on the carpet. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘when I left college I had pretty high expectations for my career. Now, here I am – getting on – and I don’t feel the satisfaction I once dreamed about. Why is that?’

  ‘You’re being a little silly,’ she said. She gently moved her hand away. ‘Either way, Daniel, there’s nothing we can do now.’

  Dan fell silent for a moment. ‘Ultimately,’ he said, ‘I guess… I want to know why our son committed suicide.’

  The room fell silent.

  ‘Daniel,’ she said, ‘we don’t know that. We don’t know what happened.’

  He could not speak and Ruth sighed and moved slowly back in under the duvet. He felt a deep, deep hollowness inside him. It was a feeling that had come and gone ever since that day, but now it was palpable. ‘I need to know, Ruth,’ he said. ‘For some reason it seems so important now.’

  He needed to hear her soft voice, but Ruth wasn’t in the mood.

  ‘Heavens,’ she said, mocking him, ‘you’re talking like you’re going to die tomorrow.’

  He swallowed. Ruth had gotten tough but he recognised he had deserved it. He looked down and picked at a finger.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said softly, finally understanding his need. She reached up and touched his face. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  He waited then slowly shook his head. ‘No, thank you,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Then come to bed,’ she whispered.

  Ruth lifted the duvet and Dan turned and got in under the covers. He reached out and gently rested his hand on her waist and considered himself very, very lucky. An hour passed and he felt a little better. He was almost normal again, comforted once more by his wife’s constant and pragmatic love.