Bone Deep jb-5

by David Wiltse

  Metzger drove a mile in each direction when he came back to the main road, making a note of every parked car. There were none along the side of the roadway, but there were several in driveways. It was unlikely that it meant anything, but he wrote down the license plates and the house addresses, thinking to match them up later when he had time. When no one else was around to ask him what he was doing. If it turned out there was no good reason to report his incident in the woods, his close encounter with aliens-that was the take McNeil would have on it, he realized. A light coming from a crack in the earth, an eerie glow like massed fireflies? McNeil would make him look like an idiot, and it wouldn't be hard. He already felt like one. No, if there was no good reason to report it, he would not, he decided. And if any of the license plates were where they shouldn't be, if the cars were stolen, if anything was out of the ordinary, then there would be time enough to report it. He would find a way to explain the delay. The chief was understanding.

  Luv watched the car's lights creep away to the south, then turn and head slowly back to the north. He sat just inside the treeline where it came down to the road, resting his back against the trash bag. He was winded and sore from the two-way hike carrying Inge's remains, but he felt exultant as he saw the lights moving toward him in one last sweep. Luv eased himself slowly onto the ground, careful not to make any sudden movement to catch the driver's. He knew how difficult it was to see anything clearly eye in the headlights of a moving car. He had but to remain still on the ground-could probably even have stood bolt upright-to be undetected. This time past Luv saw that it was a police car, and stifled a laugh. Run, run, as fast as you can, he thought merrily. You can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man. Grunting with the effort, he lifted his burden again and moved as quickly as he could toward his waiting car. He would put Inge back in the trunk and wait for another chance to get rid of her. He would not let the police, of all people, panic him into doing anything precipitous. He knew how they worked, they would not be hard to avoid. There were hundreds of square miles of woodlands to choose from and he would not be interrupted again.

  But Inge would have to wait for another night, he had to get home to his wife before she awoke. She took two sleeping pills every night and slept like a bear in winter, then complained all day that she never got a wink.

  He staggered the last few yards to his car, his labored breathing breaking the silence of the night. If I had known how hard this was going to be, he joked to himself, I would have taken up another line of work. Luv was in a wonderful mood; the stupid cop had turned an ordinary bit of business into an evenin of excitement. It was almost better than luvvving.

  12

  Kom played tennis with the uncontrolled energy of a natural competitor with little athletic ability. He flailed away from the back of the court, impinging on his wife's territory on every ball that came her way, trying to do the work of two. He would surge to the net, calling "Up!" to Tovah who remained on the baseline, watching him dis dainfully. When Becker or Karen lobbed the ball over him, he would race backward awkwardly with a startled yelp, all widening hips and duck-footed shamble, calling "Mine!" no matter where the ball was headed. When he lost the point, and the game, as he almost inevitably did, it did not seem to bother him in the slightest.

  Sweating profusely, he pronounced it all "terrific," and looked dead keen for more.

  After the first set, a massacre, they changed partners and Becker walked to Tovah's side of the net while Kom traded places with him.

  Tovah watched Becker approach with the same look of disdain she had showered on her husband.

  "You'll hate me," Tovah announced.

  "Why would I do that?"

  "I can't play," she said.

  "Doesn't look to me as if you've had much opportunity yet," Becker said.

  "I'll just stay out of your way," she said.

  "And I'll try to stay out of yours."

  "Karen is such a good player. I can't play like that."

  "She's a tiger," Becker agreed. He looked across the court at his wife, already in position at net, swaying lightly on her toes, eager to get on with the game. She looked every inch an athlete, and was. It was hard to say just what Tovah looked like other than a model in a tennis outfit. She sported a wide red headband but had not yet moved enough to break a sweat, despite the heat. Becker wondered what she got out of a game like this, it certainly was not the exercise. Not that she appeared to need any. Tall and lean, she looked beautiful in whatever she wore, transforming even the worst of fashions into raiments of adornment with a mannequin's air of indifference. He realized that he was getting used to the jewelry-although it appeared that she was wearing fewer bracelets than at dinner-and the face paint, which today was an unnatural shade of pink.

  "But it's a team game," Becker continued. "One strategy we might try is to avoid the stronger player and concentrate on the weaker. What do you think?":,How?" 'Hit every ball to your husband," he said.

  Tovah burst into laughter, the first genuine expression of amusement he had ever seen from her.

  "Wonderful," she said with relish. "Let's kill him."

  Kom took Karen to see the gardens, enthusing over his flower beds and vegetables with a verve that seemed to equal his zest for tennis.

  "As if he does the gardening," Tovah said, as the others moved out of earshot. "He thinks memorizing the Latin name of things makes him a gardener."

  "You do the actual work, do you?" Becker asked. "We have a man who does the gardening," she said dismissively. "Stanley does the appreciating.

  To me, one zucchini looks just like another."

  "Well, it's good to have enthusiasms, I suppose," Becker said, feeling platitudinous.

  "Oh, Stanley has his enthusiasms," she said, chuckling bitterly. "He does have his enthusiasms."

  She stretched her long legs straight in front of her until she was almost sliding out of her chair.

  "You think I'm awful, don't you?" she asked.

  "You just need practice."

  "I don't mean tennis. I couldn't care less about tennis. I mean as a person. You think I'm awful and you think Stanley is great. You think he's so open and so much fun."

  "No," said Becker.

  "Why not? Everyone else does."

  "I mean I don't think you're awful. Stanley's fine-but so are you. You just seem-a little hard on yourself"

  "She thinks I'm awful," Tovah said, tilting her head toward Stanley and Karen.

  "No she doesn't. Not at all. Karen likes you."

  Tovah's chest heaved in a mirthless laugh. "No she doesn't, I can tell.

  A woman can tell. Your wife thinks Stanley is just so wonderful, so vulnerable, so damned all courant. He's the goddamned sensitive man they're always talking about."

  Becker looked at Karen and Kom and wished they would hurry back. He was pointing out a flourishing bed of blue and purple and burgundy blossoms, kneeling in front of particular plants, cupping the floral heads with one hand, gesticulating with the other. Karen was nodding, looking interested. Becker could not tell from this distance if she was sincere or not. He watched them turn the corner and disappear around the side of the house like a man on a lifeboat regarding a ship sailing over the horizon.

  "If she only knew," Tovah was saying.

  "Knew what?" As so often with Tovah, Becker felt as if he was missing the most important part of the conversation, the part that would tell him what she was really talking about.

  "What he's really like."

  "What is he really like?"

  "He's a toad," she said. "Not that you would think so. A man wouldn't think so. A man would probably think he's great, just the way you do."

  "What makes him a toad?" Becker asked.

  She sighed with a puff, like a tire losing air. "What makes any man a toad?"

  Becker was not sure he knew the answer, but he felt a fool for asking.

  As Karen and Kom stepped around the corner of the house, Kom stopped abruptly and his voice dropped to
a conspiratorial level.

  "What do you think?" he asked.

  "About what?"

  "How are they getting on?"

  Karen looked at him in some bewilderment. "Who?"

  Kom paused, a range of emotions crossing his features. His face settled into an expression of sadness and resignation.

  "You know, don't you?" he asked. "John told you?… About Tovah?"

  "He-uh-he said you had a good talk."

  Kom smiled, but his eyes remained sad. "He did tell you. God, that's terrific that you talk like that. That he feels he can tell you something like that. I envy him. I'd give anything to be able to talk to someone as freely as that. I sometimes I feel like I'm dying with all the things I want to say, all the feelings I want to share… We're not meant to live our lives alone, are we? Isn't sharing what makes it all worth-I'm sorry." He broke off, with emotion cracking his voice.

  Kom turned away from her, hiding his face. Karen touched his shoulder and his head sagged.

  "You're here to play tennis," he said, his back still turned to her.

  "What is it?" she asked softly. "I don't really know what's going on."

  "I didn't invite you here to burden you with my problems," he muttered, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

  Karen stepped around him and took his chin in her fingers as if he were a child. Slowly she raised his face until he was looking at her. His eyes were moist and he avoided her gaze in embarrassment.

  "Now what is it?" she asked. She felt as if she were talking to her son, Jack, but she knew that the problem could not be so easily solved as it could with a child. "Tell me."

  "Tovah has been-unfaithful. Several times, with different men. I should leave her. If I had any courage, any self-respect, I would just walk away from her… but I can't."

  "No," said Karen softly, without meaning.

  "You don't know what it's like," he said, lifting his eyes to hers for the first time. "I can't describe the pain. It kills me, it kills me every time. Do you know who she has her affairs with? My friends. Only my friends. So that it will ruin the friendship, I think… What else can I think? Does she do it to kill me, is that what she wants to do?"

  "No, I'm sure not," said Karen, but she was sure of nothing. She had been taken completely by surprise by his sudden candid outpouring.

  "Why else would she be doing it with my friends? My friendly! A woman wouldn't understand how hard it is for a man to make any real friends.

  You do it so easily."

  "I know it's hard for men."

  "Do you? Not for John, He's the kind of man other men m like. The kind they want to be. But me-look at me. I'm not the kind of man other men want to go have a beer with. There's something about me, I've never known what it is exactly. I talk too much, maybe. I'm too emotional, I don't know, but there's something, they know it, men sense it. Do you know Yiddish? I'm a nebbish, I'm a softy. The way John plays tennis, my God, like he's made out of spring steel. That's what men want to be around, that's who they want to be. Me, I'm, well, I'm what their fathers prayed they wouldn't grow up to be. I'm not gay, I don't mean that, but I'm the kid you never chose to be on your team…"

  "Stanley, you're a very successful man, you're bright you're doing extremely well, you've got a beautiful home. Professionally…"

  Kom put his hand on her arm to silence her, smiling wanly. "Thank you, Karen. That's sweet, but you know what I mean. There are some things from your youth you never get over completely. I've certainly tried, I've had the therapy, I've had more therapy than Freud, I've made myself over as much as possible, but hell, you saw me on the tennis court. I'm ridiculous."

  "Athletic ability has nothing to do with anyone's worth."

  "It's not athletic ability. It's a quality, a toughness. It's something to do with character, too. It's-I don't have it, whatever it is. Look, that isn't the point. I can live with it, all I'm trying to say is that it's hard for me to make friends with other men, I mean close friends, and when I do, I don't want to lose them. She knows that, and yet she takes them away. She makes it impossible for the friendship to continue..

  He walked away from her again, shaking his head, overcome with his frustration. "She kills me two ways when she does this," he said. "I feel-unmanned, the way any husband would. Castrated. I can't seem to please my wife, I can't keep her from wanting other men. And then she adds to it by taking away my friends. She leaves me with no one to talk to. No one. I should be able to talk to my wife. I love my wife, I do, despite everything. But I can't talk to her anymore. She's the one I need to talk to most and I can't talk to her, that's the irony. And then I can't talk to my friends, either, because she's made that impossible too."

  "Stanley, why do you put up with it?"

  "I wonder if you'd understand."

  "I think so-if you want to trust me with it."

  "I do trust you, Karen. I didn't realize that, but I guess I must trust you instinctively because I'm telling you all this. Is it all right with you? I don't want you to feel… I don't want to involve you if you don't want to get mixed up in all this."

  "I think I already am mixed up-because of John."

  "I guess that's true. I'm lucky it's you, though, aren't I? You're very sympathetic, you have a way of listening, I don't feel I'm being judged.

  I feel I can talk to you like a friend. "

  "Of course you can. I am your friend. So is John."

  Kom smiled ruefully. "For the moment. I hope… I have to trust them together, you do understand that, don't you? I can't stand there and watch over her every minute. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. If she betrays me, she betrays me. But I can't spend my life as a policeman-I don't mean that personally."

  "I know. Ultimately, you have to trust the people you love, or you can't keep loving them."

  "It doesn't bother you then, their being together, knowing that Tovah has a-well-a crush on John?"

  "John's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

  "But can he take care of Tovah?" Kom laughed bitterly "Why do you put up with it, Stanley?" Karen asked again. "I wonder if you can understand," he said again. They had moved to the front porch. Kom sat on the secondlowest step and took her hand in his. She was left with noplace to sit except the step below him. She sat looking up at him and he continued to hold her hand absently, as if he was not aware he had it.

  "I keep thinking I can save it, the marriage," he said. "I keep thinking that if I stick with it just a little longer, if I try a little harder, if I make some more compromises, if I keep trying to make myself into what she wantsmaybe, finally, I can do it. Maybe we'll make it. We've been together for ten years. I was lucky to win her, so lucky to get her to marry me, I can't tell you. Looking the way she does, she could have had anybody, anybody. I think she chose me because I'm a doctor.

  Because of what I do, not who I am."

  " No, no…"

  "I think so. I'm afraid so." He held Karen's hand and rubbed it gently but idly between thumb and finger, as if it were a stone or stick, a talisman to give him strength. "She thought I had power. A medical degree means that to some people, it's authority, it's power, it's position-but it's illusory. She wanted real power, masculine power. I have the power to cure-some things, some limited things. Mostly I have the power to pay the bills. What she wants is the kind of power that can kick down a door to get to her, then hold on to her as he swings through the jungle on a vine."

  "There is no such person."

  "John could do it.

  Karen paused. "But he wouldn't. Anyway, that's not what a woman wants."

  "That's not what you want, Karen. It's what Tovah wants. It's what I can't give her. But I'm not giving up. If this marriage fails, it will not be because I haven't given it every last ounce of my energy and my will and my love… But it's so hard… and it's so lonely."

  Karen squeezed his hand for sympathy. He lifted it to his lips and kissed her palm. Instinctively, she reached up with her free hand to touch his face.


  At that moment, Becker and Tovah walked around the side of the house.

  "Cute," said Tovah. "Real cute."

  Becker looked at the tableau with perplexity.

  "I know," Tovah said. "Don't tell me. She was bitten by a snake and you're sucking out the poison."

  Karen withdrew her hands from Kom. "We were talking," she said.

  "Well, sure, he's good at that," said Tovah. She indicated Becker with a dismissive toss of her head. "This one should be so good."

  "He is," Karen said defensively. Her tone toward Tovah crackled with scarcely disguised hostility, and Tovah's voice was similarly charged.

  "Must be a hidden talent." Tovah turned abruptly and patted Becker's cheek, causing him to recoil reflexively. "I'm only teasing, don't mind me… Ooh, jumpy."

  A beeper sounded and Kom withdrew an electronic pager from his pocket and glanced at the LED readout.

  "Excuse me, I have to make a call," he said, vanishing quickly into the house.

  "What else is new?" Tovah asked. "He's always dashing off to make calls, dashing off to the hospital. Never marry a doctor, Karen."

  "I'll keep the husband I have, thanks."