The Carpenter's Wife

by G. H. Holmes

  Tom shrugged, indicating an okay.

  Romy pondered the idea for a moment. Then she nodded haphazardly.

  The silver Beamer flew along on the Autobahn. It was getting dark outside, when Sarah suddenly asked, “Daddy, can you tell us a story?”

  Her brother, lulled into semi-sleep by the vibrations of the car, woke up instantly. “Hey, great idea.” He folded his hands, squeezed his eyes together like a larking choir boy, and said, “Please, Daddy, pleeease.”

  “You bored back there?”

  “Yeees,” the choir of two said.

  “All right,” Tom said genially. “I’ll tell you one.” Staring at the sea of tail lights ahead, he reflected for a few seconds.

  “And?” Ben said.

  “Okay, here we go.” Tom adjusted in his seat. “Way up north, close to the castle of the Great King, there once lived a brave hero named Sim—”

  “Daaaddy,” Sarah interrupted. “Just cut the beginning.”

  “Yeah,” Ben said, his voice dismissive. “Heard it a million times.”

  “But, guys—”

  “You always say the same thing,” Sarah pleaded. “Just tell us the real story, not that goofy beginning.”

  Romy turned around. “What do you say?”

  Sarah sighed. “Pleeease.”

  “Okay. Here we go. Once, Simselim—”

  “That’s better,” Ben said. “Much better.”

  “Guys, if you keep interrupting me, I’ll quit. Or I’ll tell the story to Mom.”

  “We’re quiet.” Sarah reached toward Ben. “Ben, be quiet.”

  Ben sighed.

  “Can I start now?”

  The kids’ voices said, “Yeees.”

  “So.” Tom gathered his thoughts. “Once Simselim rode on his white horse—”

  “—with the black mane.” Sarah groaned.

  “—whose name is Albiragh... Anyway, he rode into Elmendorf and said hello to Princess Sarah and Prince Ben, who stood there and begged, ‘Let us ride with you, let us ride with you,’ like they had done so many times before. And since they were nice and polite children, clean, with kempt hair and blown noses, the hero allowed them to ride along. First he picked up the princess and put her on his shoulders, then he lifted up the prince and dropped him into the saddle behind himself.

  “They held on, and he dashed off like a lightning, galloping across seven hills and five oceans, three mountains, and two deserts—he even jumped over the moon once, until they arrived by a dark, scary forest. There he stopped and they all alighted.”

  “What’s alighted?” Sarah asked.

  “They got off the horse,” Ben explained.

  “Right,” Tom said. “Then he told the children, ‘Now, little lad and lassie, I have to go into this forest, because there’s a cave, and in that cave is a dragon, and that dragon terrorizes the village around the corner, and since I’m a hero of the Great King, I’ll have to slay him to deliver the village, because slaying dragons and delivering people is what heroes of the Great King do.’”

  “You a hero, Daddy?” Sarah sounded drowsy.

  “Sure,” Tom said. “You can be, too. But Simselim told the children something else. He said, ‘Now, while I’m going for the dragon, you wait here, and if somebody comes and tells you to go with them—doesn’t matter who they are—then you say no, we’re not allowed. And you don’t go with them, not even if you know them.’”

  “Even if it’s their mother,” Ben said.

  “Their mother is in Elmendorf, remember? They are far away in a deep dark forest.”

  “Right.” Ben was content.

  “The two children lifted their right hand and pledged, ‘We will not go with strangers.’ Simselim was happy that they were such smarties. Then he pulled out his golden sword—”

  “—with the silver hilt,” Ben said.

  Tom nodded sagely, looking into the rearview mirror. “—and then he bounced away and disappeared among the trees to look for the dragon.

  “When he was gone for about an hour, a pleasant young man in expensive red robes and black pants and with a feather in his cap appeared on the road by which they were standing and said to them, ‘Are you perchance the royals Benjamin and Sarah?’

  “‘Yes,’ the children answered dutifully.

  “‘I have news from your friend Simselim,’ said the young man.

  “‘Oh,’ said Prince Ben. ‘What is it?’

  “‘Well,’ said the young man, ‘He slew the dragon, and I’m supposed to bring you to him, so you can have a look at the deep dark cave of this atrocious monster. There’s gold and silver, and pearls for the Princess. Fear not, Simselim sends me.’

  “But Princess Sarah furrowed her little brow and said, ‘We are happy that the hero’s endeavor was crowned with success, but know, brave messenger, that we cannot go with you on account of an order of the hero himself.’

  “‘Oh, that,’ said the young man and laughed. ‘The hero recants his order herewith and right now. So come.’

  “But the children remained steadfast and did not join the pleasant stranger. Kids,” Tom said, “you hear me? This was a pleasant stranger.”

  Both said, “Mmh.”

  “When the handsome young man realized that they wouldn’t come, his countenance changed and he became very mad—and suddenly he exploded in a puff of smoke. And in the smoke they could see the outline of—a dragon. It stomped and spewed fire, and the children shrieked because they realized that the young man had really been the dragon who’d changed his form by ill will and magic. They shouted, ‘Simseliiim!’ and the hero appeared. His blond mane—“

  “He’s blond?” Romy looked at him, amazed.

  “Always has been. Now, don’t you interrupt me either, because I’m getting good.”

  She lifted her hands in defense.

  Tom continued, “Simselim’s blond mane swirls around him as he jumps to avoid the monster’s steel-clawed paw. Fire shoots from his nostrils—the dragon’s—and Simselim jumps to evade the flame. The forest begins to burn—a few trees at least—and birds explode from the bushes that are hit. Sim’s sword begins to rotate like a propeller blade and Simsie is lifted up; the dragon, green and scaly, begins to squint—when Sim lands on the ground before him and strikes his heart. A river of blood gushes forth and washes Simsie away—”

  “Tom!”

  “Okay.” He grinned. “Forget the blood. Green goo oozes out—”

  “Gross.” Sarah frowned.

  “And then?” Ben said, undistracted by mother and sister.

  “And then all the air goes out of the dragon like of a balloon when you stick a needle in. The dragon squeaks—like a balloon with a leak—and disappears. In the end there’s a small puff! and some smoke, and then the dragon’s history.”

  “And then?” Ben again.

  “And then Simsie cleaned his sword and sheathed it.”

  “And then?”

  “And then he commended the children for being so obedient. And then he took them, and then rode home with them.”

  “And what have we learned?” Romy asked.

  “Yeah, really.” Ben said with sarcasm.

  Sarah cast him a disapproving glance. “Don’t go with strangers,” she said.

  “You don’t know what they’re up to.” That from Ben.

  31

  Friday, 8 August 2003, Night, 28°C

  They had just tucked the children in, who were already sound asleep when they lifted them from the car.

  “I’m not sure I want to go,” Romy said to Tom on their way down the stairs, where Coco lay snoozing.

  “What’s your problem?” he said.

  “I’m really tired and it’s already after eleven. It was a long day.”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday, you won’t have to get up.”

  Both carefully avoided the dog. When they entered the downstairs hall she said, “What are we going to do there?”

  “Swim,” Tom replied. He’d already changed in
to colorful swim trunks.

  “I don’t want to get my hair wet—”

  “It’s dusty.”

  “And my bathing suit is too tight.”

  “Then buy one that fits.”

  “But—”

  “Woman, look,” Tom said, “We don’t have a pool, they have one. We had a nice day. They invited us, and I for one wouldn’t mind to cool off. We got wet at night in Tulsa too—”

  “You swam in Tulsa.”

  Tom sighed, reminded of his lonely trips to the community pool of their apartment complex. He never stayed there long.

  “There won’t be any bachelors tonight,” he said. “This time it’s just four people, us and them, and we’re friends, not strangers. And it’s dark out, sparkly night kind of thing. You might like it.”

  “But—”

  “For crying out loud, get over yourself and come. I can’t go alone.”

  Her gaze danced over the worn living room furniture. “All right.”

  He exhaled. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Let me throw something on—and I want to be back before midnight.”

  “Well, hurry then.”

  Gina wore a kimono.

  Sitting on one of the upholstered lawn chairs by the pool, she got up when Tom and Romy came around the corner into the garden of her parents’ home.

  Stark had never been here. He stopped and looked around.

  The garden was not large, but pleasant. The house sat dark; only the starlit sky illuminated the scene, the streetlight up front effectively blocked out by the giant rectangle of the two-story building. A few solar-powered lawn torches stuck in the grass, but those were dim and served merely as ornaments. Further back, tall trees stood like sentinels, its leaves unruffled by even the faintest breeze. Only the moon wasn’t out.

  An eager cricket chirped close-by.

  Tom stood and breathed deeply. All around, the air still quivered with life. Here on the edge of the village it tasted of metal—the red dust of the fields—or perhaps the darkness just heightened his sense of taste. Stark remembered that today was Assumption Day, when Catholics celebrated the ascension of Mary.

  His gaze fell on the blonde floating up.

  “Hi,” Gina said. “I’m glad you didn’t forget us.”

  “Oh, no.” Romy shifted from one foot onto the other.

  “For a moment I wasn’t sure if you’d still be coming, and I didn’t want to call…”

  Romy waved her off. “We just needed to change. We’re here.”

  “We did forget to bring a present,” Tom said.

  “No need,” Ralph said easily. He swam toward edge of the pool and put his arms on the concrete. “Don’t need no presents from you. Blessed us enough already.”

  Tom pulled his T-shirt off and tossed it onto a chair. Both Delors inadvertently looked at him, but he had his back to Gina, and so only Ralph perceived the discoloration on his chest.

  “Still in shape,” Ralph said. “When’d you quit the service?”

  Romy’s head turned toward Tom.

  “Early Nineties,” he said, slipping his Indian sandals off. He sat down by the edge of the pool and stuck his feet in. “This is nice.”

  “And that’s the scar.” Ralph swung his chin toward the pastor. “Looks sort of like a half-moon.”

  Stark squinted down at his chest. “Got that right,” he said. “Used to be a sickle. But when communism petered out and terror came up, it turned into a half-moon. Devil’s the same.” He lowered himself into the pool and swam toward Ralph.

  “Rom’,” he said, “come in.”

  She stood by the glass table and was struggling with her T-shirt. The ornery thing didn’t want to pass her elbows and so she had to untangle herself to start again. Then her head got stuck and she had to try once more—and a third time. But then it came off. Her baggy shorts on the other hand simply fell away—scaring her—when she opened the button. She stepped out, picked them up, and laid them on the nearest lawn chair. Her folded T-shirt went on top, and on top of that her beach towel. She inhaled and blew a strand off her forehead. Then she stood, her black bathing suit contrasting starkly with her white limbs.

  Gina stepped back and studied her. “You must be awfully uncomfortable…” She made a serious face.

  “A little tight here and there,” Romy admitted.

  “You’re punishing yourself.” Gina cast another probing glance. Then she curled her index finger. “Come with me and we’ll find something for you, make you a little more comfortable.” She walked toward the hedge separating the Gillich from the Delors house.

  Romy still stood by her chair.

  “Come,” Gina said.

  So she followed her, and together the two women entered the Delors’ home through the terrace door.

  Tom and Ralph followed them with their eyes.

  The lights came on by themselves.

  The marble tiles felt cool to her soles when they left the carpet of the living room and stepped into the dining area, where Romy marveled at the chrome-flashing luxury surrounding her. Everything radiated quality and newness; plus, everything was immaculately clean. Gina knew how to keep house.

  On a counter separating the kitchen from the dining space sat a punch bowl and four large glasses.

  “We’ll need to take that with us when we go back,” Gina said in passing.

  “What is it?” Romy looked at the grainy liquid. It was red and yellow with blue steaks.

  Gina came back, reflecting for a moment. “Grape juice, orange juice,” she counted, “pineapple juice… some gooseberry.”

  “Gooseberry…!”

  “And some other stuff. Plus mineral water for the bubbles. See?” She tapped the bowl with her fingernail and a string of carbon dioxide floated up.

  Suddenly Romy became aware of her thirst. “If you don’t mind, I’ll have a glass right now.”

  “Sure,” Gina said. “I made it for you.”

  “Didn’t drink anything since we left Günzburg,” Legoland.

  Gina took the dipper from the bowl and poured a full cup, which she slid toward her guest.

  Romy tasted the fruit juices, and the water prickled her tongue. The liquid was cool, so she emptied the glass with one draft. “Mmmh,” she said, wiping her mouth.

  Gina looked at Romy as if she’d just learned something new and profound about her friend, a secret perhaps, a scrap of essential knowledge revealed only to true intimates.

  “Little bitter. Did you put spices in?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “You want more?”

  “Sure. Tastes good; looks interesting too.”

  “I’ll have some myself.”

  Gina’s fair hair flew about like feathers in the light of the halogen lamps. The dipper plunged back into the bowl, and she filled Romy’s glass a second time, then her own.

  The vessels clinked and they said, “Cheers.” Then they drank and drank, until both glasses were empty again.

  Romy relaxed immediately. She sighed. Then discovered two sturdy bottles by the end of the counter. One, with a label that said Bombay Sapphire, was empty; the other had an orange tag. “What’s that?” She looked closer.

  Gina hesitated. “Rum.”

  “Oh.” Romy recoiled gracefully. “Tom wouldn’t want any; he wouldn’t touch it.”

  “Oh, I use it just for baking.”

  Romy found a cameo of Queen Victoria on the bottle from Bombay and thought of Victoria’s Secret. One of the girls in the singles group at Hope—Marsha or Marcia—had worked in the store at Woodland Hills Mall. How could she do that? It just didn’t—

  “Well, let’s go.” Gina got up from her stool.

  When they ascended, Romy found the staircase astonishingly warm and pleasant in color. The entire flight seemed to glow and she marveled at the grain of the wood; its intricate patterns were so… interesting. Of course, she’d seen Gina’s house before, every single room of it. But never at midnight. The lighting made all the dif
ference; very nifty, very effective.

  On the first floor they tiptoed down the hall past the children’s rooms and entered the couple’s bedroom—and Romy was struck by the sheer austerity of the place. It was small and consisted of white walls and a bed without frame. A pale-green door led into the walk-in closet, an unusual setup in Germany, where most people had large wardrobes for their clothes, lining sometimes the entire wall; oversized lockers really. The Starks had one in their house; it even had mirrors in its doors.

  Gina’s frameless bed was covered by a coarse gray prison blanket and seemed to hover above the floor. On top of a slim dresser sat the carved heads of a Madonna with child, a work in what seemed ebony.

  Romy wiped her eyes.

  “Come here,” Gina said, looking back from the walk-in door.

  When Romy entered, she stood by a shelf, sorting through swimsuits and bikinis. A floor-to-ceiling mirror was fastened to the enclosure’s back wall and Romy realized that she was only slightly shorter than Gina.

  Why’d she always think Gina was taller?

  The heels; because she wore high ones. That was it.

  “I, um,” the carpenter’s wife stuttered, her gaze on the pile of clothes, “I want you to know that Tom and I still e-mail sometimes.”

  “I know,” Romy said; it didn’t matter. Why shouldn’t the two e-mail if they wanted to?

  “He helps me a lot.” She reached for a sheet of paper under a stack of pastel sweaters. “Here’s what he wrote on the New Birth, if you want to read it.”

  Romy didn’t; she waved her hand dismissively.

  “Printed it out so I can read it again and again.” Gina held the leaf with both hands, unsure how to go on. “Protects me...” She folded the paper up and stuck it back under her sweaters. “Just recently he wrote about the infilling with the Spirit...” She began to search another stack of clothes.

  Romy noticed a Gucci label.

  “Printed it out too. Let me see where I have it.”

  “It’s okay,” Romy said. “You don’t have to show me.” She didn’t care. Everything was okay.

  Gina gave her an almost concerned look. “All right.” Her hands returned to the pile of swimwear on the shelf. “What do you think of this piece?” She held up a red top.