Save Johanna!

by Francine Pascal

  “What kind of an accident was it?”

  “An auto accident. They were both together in the car. I never wanted too many details, but Sephra said they were hit head-on.”

  “Tragic.”

  “Yes, it was. I’ll never forget how I cried when they told me. It seemed to go on hour after hour, day after day; once I started crying no one could make me stop until I’d fall off to sleep. Everything would make me think of my mother. I couldn’t eat, I wouldn’t talk to anyone, I could only cry. The people who took care of us brought me to a doctor, and he gave me some little white pills. They must have been tranquilizers because they made me sort of groggy, but it stopped some of the ache in my heart. It’s odd, I have such sharp memories of the time right after they died, but I’m very blurry on anything before that. I suppose that sounds strange; after all, I was four.”

  “Not really. When a young child suffers a great trauma he will often protect himself by suppressing everything associated with it. That’s probably what you did. Unfortunately those memories are only masked and tend to remain latent in the subconscious. And then sometimes they rise to the surface when you can least deal with them. Have you any memories of either of your parents?”

  “Not really.”

  “None at all?”

  I shake my head. “Just some bad feelings of fright when I think about them, that’s all.”

  “Were you afraid of them?”

  “Oh, no, I didn’t mean that. The fright is because of what happened.”

  “What happened?”

  “The accident. I told you.”

  “Were you involved in the accident?”

  “How could I be? It happened in the car. I was home.”

  “You remember being home?”

  “No. I just said that because I must have been.”

  “Were you supposed to go with them? Perhaps they asked you to, but you didn’t want to.”

  “That’s not true. I would have gone if they told me to. But they didn’t. They left us both home.”

  “Sephra too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you angry at being left alone with Sephra?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Did Sephra do something to you after they left?”

  “No. She wouldn’t come near me.”

  “She wouldn’t come near you?”

  “I mean, she didn’t touch me. She didn’t hit me or anything.”

  “Why would she hit you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I did something bad. I don’t remember.”

  “Were you being punished? Was that why your parents didn’t take you?”

  “Maybe. I was crying, but I don’t know if that was before or after.”

  “Where were you when you were crying?”

  “I remember wiping my tears on the edge of the pillowcase on the big bed. I must have been in their bedroom.”

  “Your parents’ bedroom?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Why were you crying?”

  “I don’t know.” At that moment nausea begins to stir in my stomach, and I tell Wyn that I think I’m going to be sick. “Please, I need some water.”

  He pours a glass of water from a leather thermos atop his desk and gives it to me, but my hands are trembling. The water leaps up and down in the glass, sending sprays over my jeans. I sip some, hand the glass to him, and lie back on the couch, cold and sweaty. Wyn is standing over me. He takes my hand, but I still can’t stop shaking.

  “Try to get past the sick feeling, Johanna; that’s just a subconscious defense barrier to keep you from uncovering whatever it is that is disturbing you. Don’t be frightened. It won’t be terrible. You were only four when it happened. Whatever it was you can certainly deal with it now. Put it to rest. Wipe it out of your life forever. Try to think, Johanna; what was making you cry?”

  For a moment I feel I can trust this man, and I dig as hard as I can into those old memories. I come up with something. It’s not very much, only a short flash, but it’s very clear. “My mother was angry at me.”

  When I say the words a sharp pain cuts into me. “She grabbed me hard by the shoulders. She must have been so angry . . . I don’t know why. . . . I remember being lifted up and half carried, half dragged into her bedroom. All the while I was hanging onto her and crying. She put me down on her bed and I kept clutching at her arms but she pulled my hands off, and then she left the room and closed the door. I never saw her again.”

  “You’ve almost got it, Johanna; now try to think. What happened to make her so angry?”

  “Enough, please. I don’t know what happened. I can’t remember. All I know is that the last time I saw my mother alive she was furious with me. She left because of me.”

  “That’s impossible. Think, Johanna, what could a child of four do to cause an adult to take such rash action?”

  “I don’t know, but it was because of me! I know that!”

  I see him shake his head, and that starts the words tumbling from me, opening hidden sores that have been festering at the bottom of my mind for all these years. “You don’t know! Only I know. If she hadn’t gone she would still be alive!”

  “Johanna, that guilt cannot belong to you.”

  “It does! Deep down inside I know it does.”

  “Your sister was there. She would know what really happened.”

  “Leave Sephra out of this! Don’t you dare talk to her!” I get up from the couch. I know I have to get out of here. “You hear me, Wyn, I don’t want you or David to contact Sephra. If you do I’ll . . .”

  “Johanna, please sit down. You have my word. I promise.”

  “Swear to me!”

  “I will not contact your sister without your permission. Now please come back; I don’t want you to leave like this.”

  “No. I don’t want to talk anymore. This was a stupid, bad idea, and I shouldn’t have listened to David. Every time I turn around he sabotages me.” I scoop my pocketbook off the chair and head for the door. Wyn is there before me, his hand on the knob.

  “Johanna, you’re in an extremely agitated condition. . . .”

  “Please take your hand off the door.”

  “I will. I just want to assure you again that I would never take any steps against your wishes.”

  “All right. Now let me leave.”

  He opens the door for me, and I move out quickly. I go directly through the waiting room and into the street without turning to look back. He calls out something to me, but I don’t hear him. I’m almost running now, heading across Fifth Avenue toward the park. Once inside the park I slow down and, finding an empty mound of grass, climb up and collapse out of breath on the top.

  I still feel some of the nausea I felt in Wyn’s office, but now there’s an anger and bitterness added. Most of it is directed at David for meddling in places of my life where he doesn’t belong. Places where no one belongs. Wyn was right about one thing. Obviously I had repressed that terrible truth to protect myself, and now that it’s uncovered I’ll have to live the rest of my life with the awful knowledge that somehow, in some way, I contributed to my mother’s death. I guess I’ve always carried the misery of that burden, but until now I never knew its contents. Now it will be much worse and much heavier.

  I sit in the park for an hour or so, trying to think about what I’m going to do now. How can my life ever be the same again? I’m certain of one thing. Though I was very young, I somehow precipitated the situation that angered my mother enough to make her flee the house. The only protection I have left for myself is never knowing what it was I did.

  My life has gotten out of hand. Out of my hands, at any rate. And that has to change. For the moment, my first priority is the book. I must hold onto that at all costs. Once it’s finished I can make the other decisions. However, in order to complete the book I must keep myself in a quieter frame of mind. That means temporarily relieving my anxieties in any way necessary for the time it takes me to finish.
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br />   With a deep sense of relief at finally taking some modicum of control over my life, I feel I can go home now. I get up and start to walk toward the west side of the park, forcing myself to concentrate on the people passing, the flowers, the trees, the buildings, anything that will keep me from aching.

  Once home, I take a couple of Valium and keep myself busy waiting for them to work by fixing a tuna sandwich. But when I finish making it, I have no appetite. The pills have calmed me enough for me to consider working. I realize I’ve grown somewhat dependent on them, but for the moment that’s the only effective way to handle my tensions. It’s a temporary situation that I can stop any time I choose and will as soon as the book is finished. I go to the computer and begin reading yesterday’s pages.

  The phone rings.

  I consider not answering it, but it’s probably Wyn checking to see that I’m all right. It’s important that he knows I’m calm and under control, otherwise he might alert David.

  I pick up the phone.

  “Johanna.” It’s David, and I can tell from the way he says my name that he knows everything. “Are you OK?”

  I answer as coolly as possible. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Wyn called me.”

  I knew it. I knew I couldn’t trust him. “He had no right to.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions, Johanna; he didn’t discuss anything that went on in his office. He just wanted to tell me that he thought you were very pressured now, and maybe I could help you ease up a little.”

  I don’t believe him, but all I say is, “Go on.”

  “I think we’d do better discussing this in person.”

  “There’s no need to. This will do just fine; besides, there’s no real point to any of this because I know exactly where you’re heading.”

  “You do?”

  “I most certainly do. You’re going straight for my work. Right?”

  “According to Wyn, that’s where a lot of the pressure is coming from.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t talk about anything that went on in his office.”

  “We didn’t. He came to that conclusion from the things I told him. Darling Johanna, all I’m suggesting is that you take a breather for a while.”

  “How long a breather would you suggest? Twenty to thirty years? Look, David, you’ve been trying to put a monkey wrench into this project from the very beginning, but I didn’t let you then and I’m not going to let you now.”

  “That’s unfair, Johanna. I won’t pretend I love the book, but I certainly haven’t done anything to stand in your way. In fact, I’ve tried to overcome my initial distaste and be as supportive as possible.”

  “You’ve torpedoed me at every turn. Everything I do on the book, every piece of research, is twice as hard because I know you’re back there sulking and disapproving. And you tricked me into seeing Wyn just so he could tell me not to do the book. Damn it, David, this book is my business, not yours, and I’m going to make my own decisions about it. I want you to stop interfering with my work.”

  “Johanna, for God’s sake, calm down. You’re getting hysterical.”

  “My voice may be raised, but I am not hysterical. I’m just telling you to keep your hands off my life. It’s mine and I’ll run it the way I want and write about whomever I choose, and, damn it, nobody’s going to tell me different! And, David, if I want you to call my sister I will ask you to. Otherwise, please, no more surprises.”

  “I don’t think you know what you’re saying. If you’d simply told me the way you felt about your sister . . .”

  I don’t want to hear any more. I hang up, cutting him off in the middle of his sentence. For the first time I really do know exactly what I’m saying and doing, and I don’t want to hear about how hysterical I am or any other damn thing. Not from David or anybody else. The only way I can stop them is to get far away from here. And fast.

  I’ve had an escape plan in the back of my mind for a while now. My old college roommate, Anne Bregmann, used to own a small cottage somewhere far out on Long Island. It would be perfect for me. It’s tiny, only two rooms or so, but it’s isolated and very private. Just what I need. If she’s not using it, I’m certain she would rent it to me.

  I call Anne, and luckily she’s home. Not only is she not using the cottage, but she won’t hear of my renting it and instead insists that I go out and spend as much time as I like there. The only drawback is that she was planning to sell the place and had moved most of the furniture out; but the bed and other essentials are still out there, and if all I need is some empty space to write in, it would be perfect. I tell her she’s saved my life and ask her if I could stop by and get the keys today because I want to leave immediately.

  “The keys are already out there,” she tells me. “I always leave them under the cement flowerpot on the front porch. Just lift the back edge a bit and you’ll find them. The phone is still connected but there’s no heat, so if it gets cold you’ll have to use the fireplace.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I say and thank her profusely. She asks if David is going with me, and I lie and say he’ll be coming out for weekends. She says we’ll both love it.

  As soon as I hang up, the phone rings. It has to be David. I’ve made up my mind, and talking to him can only endanger my decision. I don’t answer. It rings and rings.

  I try to pack, but the insistent jangling pounds at my nerves. Why doesn’t he hang up? Finally I can’t stand it any longer. I lift the receiver and immediately place it down on the hook. Now I take it off altogether. When David gets the busy signal he’ll know what I’ve done and come over here. I have to hurry if I’m going to get away before he comes. I throw a few necessities into an overnight bag, grab my manuscript, computer and portable printer, some blank checks, and any cash I have around the house. In less than ten minutes I’m ready to leave.

  As I open the door I come face to face with Claudia. We’re both startled. She’s got her finger on the bell, ready to ring it. Of course David’s sent her, and she’s caught me, suitcase in hand, escaping. What can I say?

  “Are you going somewhere, Johanna?”

  I have no time to play games. He could be on his way over right now. But I have to know. “Did David call you?” I ask her.

  “Yes, he said you were very upset and asked me to come over and see if I could help.”

  “Why didn’t he come himself?”

  “Do we have to discuss this in the hall? Can I come in?”

  I move back into the house and she follows me. I’m still holding my suitcase and computer.

  “Johanna, do you have time to talk for a few minutes?”

  I try to sound light. “Sure, I’m early. My flight doesn’t leave for another couple of hours.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Washington.” It’s the first place that comes into my head. “I have to do some research. I’ll only be gone a couple of days.” I put down my suitcase. Offhandedly I ask, “Is David on his way over?”

  “Not yet. He had to wait for a long distance call; that’s why he asked me to stop over.”

  “He’s not been himself lately.”

  She looks surprised. “He said the same thing about you. What’s happening with the two of you?”

  Obviously David didn’t elaborate, which makes it easier for me. “I suppose we’ve both been kind of edgy lately. I guess it’s a combination of the wedding and very busy work schedules.”

  I can see that she’s relieved to see how calm I am but still somewhat suspicious.

  “David didn’t mention that you were leaving,” she says. “Does he know?”

  “Of course he does.” I hate lying to Claudia, but I refuse to tolerate any more interference in my life. “He knows I’m planning to be away for a couple of days, but he’s become impossible on the subject of my book so I simply didn’t elaborate. I don’t know why he’s carrying on this way. It makes work very difficult for me.”

  “I didn’t know it was a problem.”
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br />   By now we’re both sitting in the living room, and everything is very normal. “I think he resents the book,” I tell her, “because he feels it takes time away from him. I thought we were different, but now it’s beginning to look like the same old story. His work is OK, mine is in the way.”

  “I can’t believe David feels that way. That’s just not like him.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Now I feel her moving over to my side. “He sounded so concerned, I expected to come over here and find you in pieces.” She smiles apologetically.

  “Hardly.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re OK, but I think David’s going to be very upset if you take off before he sees you. He should be here inside of fifteen minutes. Why don’t you stick around until he gets here and then he can see for himself that you’re all right? Johanna, for David to call me like that, he’s got to be very worried.”

  Quick figuring tells me that unless I get Claudia out of here fast, David will catch me, and the only way to get rid of her is to make her think I’ll wait for him.

  “I hate the idea of David worrying about me,” I tell her.

  “He really will,” she says.

  “Oh, to hell with it. I have enough time. I’ll wait.”

  “Terrific. I’m so glad.”

  “One thing, though, Claudia, if you wouldn’t mind, I think I’d rather be alone when he gets here.”

  “Absolutely. I’m on my way right now.” And, good as her word, she gets up and heads for the front door. Continuing the pretense, I thank her for her help, and she leaves, looking very pleased with herself. She’s saved the day.

  God damn them all!

  I wait, pressed against the inside of my door, listening for the elevator. I hear it slide open and shut, and I know that Claudia is on her way down. I grab my suitcase and computer and leave the apartment, taking the back stairs to be certain of avoiding David.

  I continue all the way down to the basement and leave through the Sixty-fourth Street exit. I get a cab almost immediately and take it directly to the car rental place on Fifty-seventh Street.

  I have no trouble getting a car, and once I’m in it, heading crosstown, I begin to relax a little. There’s no way for any of them to know where I’m going. I’m safe, and my book is safe.