The Carpenter's Wife

by G. H. Holmes

  “No, I barely moved, and—”

  “Okay then—“

  “—but she might be hurt, and I…”

  “Did you run over her?”

  “What? I… no, I didn’t.”

  “Okay. Do you want her back?”

  An unsteady hand wandered down Ralph’s face. “You know it.”

  “Then let her go and come back here.”

  “But isn’t that prosecutable manslaughter? I mean, what if we’re—?”

  “Don’t kid me, you don’t die from stepping away from a hood, and right now she needs to feel deserted, as if she’s lost you forever. You always want what you don’t have, and now she can’t have you for a change; she’s taken you for granted way too long; you’ve been her useful idiot—”

  “But—”

  “—but that’s over now. She needs to feel the pain, Ralph. Don’t mess it up now, you hear?”

  He sniffled. “Sorry, but this is…” He shook his head.

  “You’re nervous, I understand, but right now we’re in the shock part of the plan, Ralph; the awe comes later.”

  The carpenter exhaled, staring at the house across the street. He was calming down.

  “Ralph?”

  “Okay. I’m coming.” He flipped the phone shut and massaged his eyes. Then he motored back out onto the road. Twice more he slowed down, thinking of turning around. But each time he stepped on the accelerator and drove on, disappearing into the forest.

  Her hand flew to her mouth; she stepped back. “Sorry I didn’t see you.”

  “Everything okay?” the man on the bike asked. His bare arms grew out of a tight leather vest.

  Gina saw him grin under his jet helmet; a drop of water dangled from his nose. “Yes.”

  Still breathless, she glimpsed her missing sandal in the cone of the headlight and rushed across the street to pick it up—and found it was just a piece of soaked cardboard. She stood and balled her fists.

  Then she felt his gaze on her.

  “Can I help?”

  “What?” She turned around.

  “You look like you could stand some help.”

  “No, I—”

  The motor died. He swung his leg over the bike.

  “I really don’t need any help.”

  He took a few leisurely paces in her direction.

  She saw how tall he was—his helmeted head loomed like a gigantic black bulb. She raised her palms toward him. “Don’t…”

  “No need to get scared…” he said.

  He came closer with big clomping steps and her heart began to race; she backed up.

  The entrance to Bert’s apartment building lay beyond the man. If she’d reach the house, there were doorbells to hammer and people who’d come and who’d call the police—and there was Bert. Her eyes bounced, calculating, oscillating between left and right as she tried to decide which way was best to get past him. Left or right. To the left was nothing; to the right stood the motorcycle; if she reached it, the bike would be between him and her; she’d have an edge; she’d have to run in a semi-circle, and—

  She dashed off.

  “Lady, calm down. Did somebody do something to you?” He braced himself and spread his arms to catch her.

  But she was quick. “No!” When she passed him, he grasped the back of her jacket and jerked her to a stop. Her arms went into a mad thrash; she squirmed—slipped on the wet cobbles and fell flat on her stomach.

  He took a step and stood over her and reached down with his heavy hands, trying to help her up. “Missy, you’re out of your mind.”

  She grappled with him, kicked, got up—and ran on, leaving him holding her coat.

  The rain slapped her like hail as she sprinted across the sidewalk. Then it stopped and she slammed into the door of the apartment house, shoving it open. For a moment she stood, her back on the door, catching her breath; then she clattered up the stairs with her one sandal toward Bert’s one-room dwelling below the roof.

  She came around to the last flight when she heard the door downstairs close with a thunk. She froze to listen.

  “I’m bringing your coat,” the biker’s voice said.

  The hall lights came on.

  She didn’t answer. Hands to the wall, she sneaked up the remaining stairs. Then, with a trembling finger, she depressed the button by Bert’s door and a shrill rattle sounded for as long as she held the button down.

  A dark voice called from below. “Hello…?”

  She heard the biker’s boots on the stairs. Wiping hair out of her face, she rang again. Please God, let him hear me; please God, please.

  “I have your jacket.” The voice sounded from just below her.

  “Bert!” She pounded the door with her fists. “Let me in!”

  Then she screamed.

  37

  Saturday, 30 August 2003, Dead of Night, 19°C

  “What’d she take with her?” Tom said.

  “Nothing.”

  “No clothes, no wash bag?”

  “Nothing at all.”

  “Money?”

  Ralph shook his head.

  The pastor made a commending face, ignoring the eeriness of the carpenter’s smile.

  Barely three minutes ago, the door had hissed and the lord of the house had returned. Now they sat on opposite sides of the breakfast table in the kitchen. Earlier, Tom had found the key pen left for him under a mat outside. He’d been the guardian of the children’s sleep, waiting for Ralph, reading his New Testament in the spotless environment of Gina’s realm. She knew how to clean, you had to give her that.

  Her inner hygiene was a different matter.

  Tom inhaled. “That means she’ll be back tonight.”

  Ralph’s face still bore that frozen smile. “You sure?”

  “Sure I’m sure. If nothing else, she’ll want more clothes. She works on Monday, right?”

  “Right.” Ralph hesitated. “But I don’t let her in.”

  “No. You don’t let her in; you don’t yield an inch. You lose if you do.”

  “But…”

  “What but? You’re mad now, Ralph; you’ve had it. You had mercy on her before, you were loving and kind. But she’s gambled her chance away. She didn’t want your grace; she spit in your face and betrayed you in your own house, that you built with your own hands; remember the rug burn.”

  “And you don’t think we’re…”

  “What?” Tom said.

  “We’re too harsh…?”

  “For crying out loud, man, where’s your self-respect?”

  The carpenter’s glassy eyes were on the table. He hadn’t slept in more than twenty hours.

  “You need to give her the impression that it’s over, once and for all; let her feel that she’s at her rope’s end and dangling—that there’s an abyss beneath her with crocodiles snapping at her heels. Her bourgeois life is at an end. From now on she’ll live in the gutter, away from her children and her house, in a one-room apartment with an invalid.”

  “And she won’t like it.”

  “Trust me.”

  “And she’ll want back.” Ralph’s upper body began to sway back and forth. When Tom touched his arm, he twitched. Then his smile broadened until his teeth showed. Old Will Colgate would have been proud of him.

  “If nothing else, she’ll want her prosperity back.” Stark said. “What does Bert have to offer her? Nothing, especially with a wife and five kids in the background.”

  Ralph nodded.

  Tom leaned forward. “Women crave security. Prosperity is the illusion of security—Christians know that apart from God there’s no security even for rich people; stocks crash, companies go broke—but given a choice, women go for prosperity and security every time.”

  Ralph’s gaze danced around on the table.

  “Your wife has a foible for older men—”

  “How do you know?”

  “Let’s just say, I know.” He leaned back, fingers drumming. “Older men are usually able to offe
r greater security; your wife finds them attractive, which tells me that she craves security more than others.

  “It’s not just her.

  “Security’s why educated Russian women marry Western factory joes so old, they could be their uncles, as long as they take them out of Russia and into the West. Now, Gina’s not Russian—”

  “And she’s not educated.”

  “But she’s a woman.” Stark’s eyes were cold as ice. “She’ll be back in a few minutes; they’re probably already on their way—but don’t you let her in; not for the next three days anyway. Let her feel the pain. Let her cry if she wants to. Desperation is part of the plan, Ralph.”

  “Right.”

  “First, she’ll be defiant; but if you’re strong and don’t let her in, she’ll sober up in a hurry. Then she’ll want to negotiate. But you don’t negotiate. After three days she’ll come crawling, then we negotiate. The success of this operation rests with you, Ralph. It’s called tough love.”

  “Right…”

  “Don’t mess it up; all you’ve got is this one shot. If you miss it now, it’ll never work again.”

  Tom checked his watch. “I better get going. There’s no need for her to see me.” Standing, he said, “Don’t ever let on that I have anything to do with your outrage. This is your thing; you finally snapped. She provoked you once too many.”

  He took his New Testament and walked into the hall with Ralph trailing.

  “Somebody once said, ‘Beware of the fury of a patient man.’ You’ve been patient, now you’re furious.”

  He opened the door. “I’ll be praying for you.”

  Then he stepped out into the night.

  Gina stood by the window of the dark room and stared down into the empty street. The biker was long gone. Perhaps he’d been harmless, his perceived malevolence just a trick played by her imagination—

  “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  She turned to face him.

  Bert lay on the bed, studying her. His head was framed by a frizzle of sleep-matted hair which he’d tried to brush back with his fingers; his bad leg was stretched out in its cast, his right foot on the floor. A myriad of empty bottles lay under his bed, stale tobacco smoke filled the bedroom air. He looked so sad to her… so destitute, so wounded, despite his grin and his gleaming eyes.

  A pinch pricked her bare sole. Ouch. She stooped. She’d stepped on the sharp corner of a small white carton. The brown print on it said Desoxyn. ‘Dispense the enclosed medication guide with each prescription.’ Pills. Probably to kill his pain.

  Then her gaze fell on the leftover pizza in its box under the table and the sock that garnished it, but her frown was hardly noticeable. He hadn’t had time to clean up.

  “I mean it, Gina.”

  “I know you do. I love you too.”

  Twenty minutes ago, he’d opened his door, squinting at her out of a wrinkled face. She’d dashed past him, the door had slammed shut. Then she’d lain in his arms, sobbing her heart out.

  She’d calmed down by now. Some. She’d also left his embrace.

  “What he did to you tonight was plain cruel, physically and psychologically. After tonight, any judge in his right mind is going to grant you a very favorable divorce. If that’s what you want.”

  She cast her eyes down. His voice sounded tinnier than usual.

  “You’ll definitely get to keep the kids, no doubt about that…”

  “Think so?”

  “Why, sure.”

  She sniffled.

  “Ralph’s behavior is an offense against your civil rights, an assault on your dignity. If you’d want to, you could probably sue him in the Strasburg court.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That new European Human Rights court. They might use you to establish a precedent for other battered women.”

  She nodded thoughtfully.

  “But any court’s going to make him bleed. At least half his money will be yours, and of course you’ll keep the house. You’re a mother with dependent children, the house is their home. Let him go sleep under a bridge, or in a carton, or in some piddly apartment…” His voice tapered off.

  “If I’ll get the house, you’d have a new home too.”

  Bert began to beam.

  “Of course not right away; Elmendorf’s a village. And we’ve got to think of the kids, and…”

  “First comes your year of separation,” Bert said in the tone of one in the loop. “However that may look.” In Germany a couple had to live apart for a year before a divorce became legally possible. “But then you’re rid of that buffoon.” He leaned on one elbow. “Then you can finally love those who’ll love you back and nobody can say anything.”

  She cast him a smile. “That’s wonderful, darling.”

  “I’ll return all the love you’ve given me, precious.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  He patted the bed. “Come now, get some rest.” He glanced at the clock. “It’s almost one thirty.”

  She swung away from the wall. “But the bed’s narrow. I’ll fall out if I lie down next to you—or you’ll fall out and hurt your leg.”

  His head swayed. “We’ve managed before…” His hands mopped his grimy face. Then he scooted back and leaned against the headboard.

  She noticed the rescue rings forming on his stomach.

  “Bert, I can’t sleep now. I’m worried about the kids. What are they going to think if their mother’s not home when they get up in the morning?”

  “Let Ralph answer that.”

  “I don’t know…” She picked on her lower lip. “Besides, I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “Don’t need anything right now.”

  She snorted.

  “You got any money on you?” he said.

  “Not a cent.”

  Now Bert frowned. “Of course, I’d buy you anything you need—anything at all, but, um…” He fell silent.

  She huffed. “Did you already spend the hundred I gave you last week?”

  “Well, Norbert wanted roller blades, and I can’t refuse my littlest a set of roller blades if I see him only every second or third weekend. We’re estranged as it is. The others are doing well, doing all right in school. But my youngest…”

  “You don’t have to apologize,” she said softly.

  He sighed, deeply and from his heart.

  “I forgive you, if you’ll take me home.”

  He blinked. “Right this moment?”

  She nodded. “Right now.”

  He caressed the bed again.

  “Knock it off, Bert,” she said, “can’t you see I’m not in the mood?”

  Ralph had recited the Lord’s Prayer at least five times since Tom left. He paced the floor between kitchen and dining room while his eyes were wandering over Gina’s chrome-flashing appliances, across the polished tile floor, up the counter and over the ceran field atop the oven; a fresh rose from the garden stood in a vase on the table.

  He missed her already.

  A sparrow began to flutter in the pit of his stomach even before the full recognition of his foolishness burst into his mind: he’d dumped his lawfully-wedded wife on the doorstep of another man; she’d be sharing bed and table with another man! From tonight on, because he’d made it so.

  Forever.

  But then he thought back of Tom’s soothing voice. Tom was a pro who dealt with situations like his all the time. For Stark, this was nothing but a routine case. He was a man of God and his advice had been sound so far, it had worked. He’d read Gina’s mail; he’d read Tom’s mail. Plus, Tom had nothing to gain in the situation. Stark was a genuine friend, motivated by love and God’s wisdom, and nothing else.

  And besides, he didn’t have anybody else to talk to. He suddenly became painfully aware of his loneliness.

  He shrugged it off. The plan would work. God was with him. Why else would the children still be asleep? Kids were sensitive; they’d pick up if something were wrong. They’d come, awak
ened by some sudden, inexplicable impulse, asking with fear-widened eyes why their mother wasn’t here. But they were sleeping, covered by God’s peace.

  “Our Father who Thou art in Heaven—”

  The doorbell buzzed and he started.

  Mindful of Tom’s assertion that she’d come back, he’d muffled the chime so the kids wouldn’t wake up when she rang. He rushed into the hall and switched the small black-and-white monitor on.

  Gina stood outside, avoiding the little camera with her eyes.

  Stark had been right.

  Again.

  Her face seemed hard, almost flinty. He saw her lift her hand, then he heard her rap on the door.

  He punched the intercom button. “What do you want?”

  “Come on, Ralph, let me in.”

  She still didn’t look into the camera. Instead she stared at a point on the door. She avoided his eyes.

  He swallowed. “This is not your home anymore.”

  Her gaze flitted toward the camera for a split second. “Don’t be silly.”

  “I’m not silly. You had your chance.”

  “Look, I’m sorry about that notebook—”

  “Sorry’s not good enough.” He bit his lip.

  “I didn’t mean it.”

  “Then why’d you write it?”

  “I didn’t mean it. You can see that by me being here.”

  He breathed deeply. No discussion. Tom had said, no discussion. The house needed to be a castle, impenetrable and forbidding. He had to show her the proverbial cold shoulder.

  “I’m not going to let you in.”

  Her face didn’t change. Just her eyes seemed to stare even more. But she was calm. “Come on, open up now; I’m getting cold.”

  “No.”

  “My mother’s got a key—”

  “I changed the lock frequency—and what are you going to tell her anyway, huh? That I kicked you out because you’re sleeping around? She’ll laugh at you, because you’ve been too dumb to hide it.”

  “I’ll ring the bell until the kids wake up.”

  He reached over and switched the chime off. “Ring all you want.”

  “I’ll scream.”

  “If people come asking why, I tell them.”

  She turned and stood with her back to the door.