The Reluctant Trophy Wife

by Judith Petres Balogh

  “So you are a small German child lost in angry waters,” she told him after he was safe in the boat. Her voice was soothing and of course she spoke in English. “How did you escape the attention of your parents, who no doubt are dying of fear and worry? What possessed you to move out so far and away from safety?” She knew that he did not understand a word she spoke, but hoped that the calm voice would chase away the horrible fear he just experienced. She slipped off her beach coat and wrapped the trembling child into it and for extra warmth put her beach towel around the shivering small body, then turned the boat toward the shore.

  The wind was now roaring, but it was blowing from across the lake, giving the boat a mighty tailwind, easing her efforts to reach the shore. It started to rain, first gently but then it was coming down relentlessly with increasing fury and soaked them both instantly. He sat huddled in the stern, just a little bundle of wet misery. Lena’s beach robe and towel, now uselessly wet, clung to his shivering body and he bent down his head to avoid seeing the raging storm around him. He was terrified of the waves; she was terrified of the lightning. The blue streaks hit the water with the sound a red-hot iron makes when dipped in cold water.

  An excited crowd watched her struggle and then rushed to the pier to wait for her. She directed the boat with the last of her strength into its place and already hands reached out to secure the boat and to help her against the gale force wind, which was already lashing water across the landing area. When people saw that the child was with her, a great roar went up to alert the distraught parents. His mother, reduced to helpless sobbing was among the people running to the landing. Sirens wailed and soon police and ambulance arrived on the scene. It was much later when she wondered who called them and when; at the time, it seemed natural that they were there the moment she reached the pier.

  The ambulance attendants grabbed the boy, and with the professional close-mouthed seriousness of their trade, administered first aid. They wrapped him in dry blankets and in a few minutes the ambulance screamed away with the boy and his mother.

  The drama ended. The rain was coming down in heavy streams and people ran to shelters or to their cars. In a few minutes the beach was empty. Someone handed a dry towel to shivering Lena, and then she and the father of the boy were invited into the relative dryness and warmth of a police van to answer some questions. It was the second time in a few months Lena had to face a questioning police officer and she felt ill at ease, as if she were guilty of some crime.

  “Papers? Your papers please,” the officer addressed them both. The German, always prepared for all events, promptly presented his, but Lena had to brave the storm once again and had to run through the rain to the entrance where she deposited her purse into a safe when she arrived at the lake. In a few minutes she was back and attempted to dry herself in the not very dry towel.

  Herr Bachweiler, the boy’s father, spoke a passable English and the police officer a tolerable German; thereby a three-way conversation was established. The formalities were quickly and politely completed, name, date of birth, location of birth, occupation, local and permanent home address dutifully entered. There was only one point where international communication came to a standstill.

  “Your mother’s maiden name?” asked the officer. This Lena misunderstood and gave her own maiden name.

  “No, no, no,” the police officer objected, when looking through her papers he realized that Lena gave her own maiden name. “Not yours. Your mother’s.”

  “But why? If you need a maiden name, then why not mine? What does my mother’s maiden name have to do with my helping a little boy in the storm?”

  “It is the law, inherited from the Romans” the German interpreted. “It states ‘Mater semper certa est’. In principle it means that the mother is always certain, while the father may not be; therefore, for identification the mother’s maiden name is foolproof and watertight.” Obviously, he saw nothing strange or unusual in this request.

  “Just how foolproof, since in-vitro fertilization has become rather common?” she asked but was not sure that he understood, then shrugged and gave her mother’s name although she was tempted to give a made-up name, just to be ornery. How would this police officer know the difference? However, habitually obeying all laws and rules, she resisted the temptation. After the initial formalities she had to explain how she noticed the boy and how she pulled him into the boat. The police wanted to know whether she knew the child or his parents before the mishap and also why was she out in the lake and why did she fail to notice the warning lights. Her answers and the father’s statements seemed to satisfy the guardian of law and order. She was free to leave

  When it was all over and she arrived at the house, Juli néni was already gone, the storm was magnificent in its fury and Lena was both keyed up and exhausted.. Because she cared for her figure, she always watched her alcohol intake, but after this near-tragic incident she needed, really needed a drink. She sat in the dark living room with a glass of good bourbon warming her and watched the blue lights as they hit the lake and listened to the earsplitting thunder following each heavenly display.

  The horror of the near-tragedy came back to her in small installments. Disconnected pictures of the storm and her role in it flashed back and she shuddered. During the first excitement and the confusion of official paperwork the details were temporarily lost, but in the dark solitude of the familiar room they came back and assaulted her. She imagined a series of “what if” scenarios, and trembled. How fragile human life is, and how close are the dangers that could so easily destroy it! She needed time to exorcise these ghosts. The bourbon helped some, but not much.

  It was puzzling to her that it happened without any sort of premonition. In her past she had no close encounters with true disasters, but imagined that a tragedy always has some sort of ominous forewarning. And indeed, on that fateful afternoon, when she gave the cottage keys to Adrienne and hugged her, she was strangely emotional, although at the time she did not understand what caused it.

  She read about animals that felt the coming of an earthquake or a storm and knew about rats leaving the ship about to sink. She believed that humans also have similar warning arrangements; however, there were no indications, no omens about an impending disaster this afternoon. While she was alternately restless and despondent in the morning, she ascribed it to her inability to write, the unpleasant heat and to the disturbing thoughts about father Paul and her future. There were no premonitions of any kind. Rarely did she feel as much at peace and as tranquil as during the hours just before the storm broke. So much for sensitivity or extra-sensory perception.

  She marveled at the manner in which one event lead to another that day, as if a carefully designed plan was carried out. First, there was that strange urge to be at the lake, and later her unusual intolerance of humanity’s noise and intrusions, which made her flee the beach. Her sudden impulse to rent a boat instead of going home as planned was also part of the plan, which however was unknown to her at the time. After she realized that a storm was about to break and started to row back toward the shore, something made her stop the boat and she spent time daydreaming until the brutality of the sudden waves shook her back to reality. It was so contrary to the safety rules with which she grew up, namely that when the weather changes one has to get to the shore without delay. But she permitted herself to be caught in open water when the storm broke. According to the family creed it was an unforgivable sin; yet, she dawdled. This unusual delay made it possible for her to hear the call for help. And anyhow, what energy or foresight made her boat move on its own directly to the spot, where the boy would have perished a few minutes later? She suspected that events do not just happen randomly without antecedent causes. In view of this insight, she considered the experience all over again and saw how one event led to the next. The ultimate question arose: was there a plan behind all these events, or was it merely a chain of coincidences? Was it ultimately the misguided beach ball of an unknown child that saved
the German boy’s life? And why was the boy saved? What mission awaits him in later life?

  A stiff drink never tasted better and never soothed more, but it did not offer answers. She knew what Father Paul’s answer would be, but she also knew that those answers would not be her own. Not wholly. Not yet. She could not yet successfully silence that insistent voice of doubt. It was not a voice of denial, just of doubt.

  The following day, Saturday, Sarah congratulated her on her brave act and Father Paul also came by.

  “I saw it in the paper, front page story, no less. You were great. That family and this village will never forget you,” he said with a smile that was like a caress she longed for.

  “It was not a big deal,” she protested sincerely. “I did not rush out into a raging storm to save somebody. It just happened by luck, or by heavenly intervention, that I was at the right place at the right time. It was not a great deed to pull that scrawny kid into the boat. What I did does not belong into any sort of Hall of Fame, or in the case of the Germans into the Walhalla.”

  “Modesty is admirable, but the kid’s parents do not see it that way. You are their superwoman.”

  TWENTY

  She stopped thinking about the incident, when on Monday Clyde called in the morning hours. She was surprised and as always when she received a phone call at an unexpected time, panic was inevitable.

  “Clyde what happened? It is still dark on your side of the globe! What are you doing up at this hour? What happened?” Without the usual preliminaries, he spoke directly and although he was polite, she sensed that he was greatly upset, or angry.

  “Lena, how could you? How could you do this to me?” She was baffled, because she had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Do what?” she finally managed to ask.

  “Just that the Sunday editions of several local papers carried the story of your rescuing a child. You are a saint, a heroine and everybody wants to talk to you and about you. By ‘everybody’ I mostly mean the newspaper demons from the popular press. This fleet of sharks now knows where you are, because the paper mentioned the name of the village. Heaven only knows how they ferreted out this piece of news in the first place! Our careful plan of your exile is blown away. It was the most irresponsible and foolish thing you ever committed.”

  She was so shocked that it took her a moment before she could speak.

  “Clyde, I don’t believe you said this.” Now it was his turn to be silent for a spell, before he could answer.

  “Good heavens, Lena don’t misunderstand me. Why do you keep thinking that I am a perfect monster? I am not. I did not indicate that you should have let the kid drown in the storm!”

  “How kind of you!”

  “Don’t. Please don’t get sarcastic, and listen to me. I was, and still am angry because you were careless. You offered the police and the local reporters all the information, such as your US address and your married name. Reporters here, who somehow found out about it, lost no time in making the connection and my phone has been ringing constantly as nosy newspaper people wanted confirmation and information about your heroic deed.”

  “There was nothing heroic or even slightly dangerous in what I did, so let us drop this part of the story. You object that I gave them my married name? Why, they even wanted to have my mother’s maiden name! They did want to see my identification card, my driver’s license and my passport. I complied, because I am fairly sure that it is routine and legal. They made notes. This might surprise you Clyde, but these police fellows here know how to read. They were even sharp enough to notice, when I gave them my maiden name instead of my mother’s. I could not possibly deny giving them the information they asked…”

  “Lena, please…”

  “Don’t interrupt; just listen to the end of the story. I do not see how I could have handled this differently. There were no newsmen there, nor did anyone ever come to me later for more information. Apparently word got around, or the police gave away the story, or the parents talked to the newsmen. I have no idea how it happened, but it ended up in the local paper. After all it is a very small place that you selected for me. Nothing ever happens here to offer excitement; for them it was a big deal, especially since both the victim and his rescuer were foreigners. The locals made me into a small-town heroine for a very short duration, and that was that. It upsets me that you expect me to apologize for a sin I have not committed.”

  “I do not expect such a thing, and you know that very well, but lately you seem to have developed a talent for getting into compromising situations. I thought that several thousand miles and the width of an ocean could keep you out of trouble. My mistake.”

  “Clyde, I want to say it now for the records and please keep it in mind in order to avoid future arguments: I refuse to accept your accusations. I was not in any kind of trouble now, and not a few months ago either. Things happen, but I am not guilty of anything.”

  “Suit yourself; I am not going to argue over semantics. This was a most unfortunate turn of events, whatever you choose to call it. However, talking about dramatic issues over the telephone is fated to be misinterpreted. Let us just close the subject for the time and concentrate on damage control. The best solution is for you to leave the village immediately, before these scandal-hungry monsters hunt you down. I will arrange to send the same driver who picked you up in Vienna and he can take you to an acceptable place, where they cannot find you. I’ll call you back to tell the details.”

  “No!” Her answer came quickly and harshly. Like a gunshot it was sharp and to the point.

  “I beg your pardon…”

  “No.”

  “Lena, for heaven’s sake, why can’t you comprehend the consequences of this unfortunate incident? This is hardly the time for childish stubbornness. Please understand that my suggestion is the only rational possibility.” His voice told her that the gun she aimed hit the target.

  “Rational, indeed!” her voice carried venomous malice. “Rationality had taken an unauthorized leave of absence ever since that fateful afternoon when murder happened in my cottage. If you really want to know, I regarded your decision then, just as now, highly ridiculous. I cannot understand how you see monsters where none are present, and can only explain it as a case of pathological overreaction on your part. I did not believe for a moment that the tragedy of Adrienne would hurt your career; yet, for the sake of peace I consented. I was willing to leave our home for an undefined period of time to be in exile in a foreign country. I was willing to be disloyal to my friend. But I am not willing to be part of this foolishness any longer.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “I just told you. I am not about to leave this place. I am not about to feel guilty, or to take on the role of a fugitive, because you have this idée fixe of doom descending upon your career. Right now, I have an unexpectedly lovely time here and have no desire to leave. I am staying here as long as it is pleasant for me to stay. I am certainly not moving to another place in Hungary, in Europe, or anywhere else on the planet. When I had enough of it, I will return home with or without your permission.”

  “Are you finished? I don’t know you in this new frame of mind.”

  “I have news for you; I too am surprised at the change in myself.”

  “You are childishly stubborn.”

  “Clyde, forgive me, but at this point you are hardly qualified to declare who is childish. Perhaps a psychologist could clear the question for you.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  “You are quite welcome, and I agree with you, we should not discuss this over the phone. At this point I am far too disturbed and cannot stand to hear another thing about the near-tragedy, which you called an ‘unfortunate incident’. I can hear the tinkling of broken glass as the elephant enters the crystal and porcelain shop.”

  “A touching, although not very complimentary or novel comparison, Lena. Go and rest now. I’ll call when we both calmed down.”

  After they hung up, she was shak
ing. He upset her, which was bad enough, but she did not handle the situation well and that bothered her even more. This was the first time she permitted herself to lose her temper, and this was their first fight after so many tranquil years of marriage. She also knew that he would not back down. She fervently hoped, that neither would she.

  For years her grievances were bottled, carefully sealed, but now the unfortunate way in which he formed his concern made her explode. She acted like a volcano in which the pressure had built up to the point when a slight geological, almost non-event was sufficient to shoot off the crater’s plug and let the mountain disgorge its fatal lava, gases and ashes. At his clumsily formed, but in reality harmless statement she reacted with vehemence, quite out of proportion to what he said. The scene was also out of character, but of course, it was bound to happen. Marital fights, or perhaps even the major wars of the world, seldom break out because of one isolated and visible issue; most of the time the pressure of carefully stored grievances causes the detonation.

  She hurt him, but she too was hurting. She fell out of her mild, husbandpleasing role and presented to him a new and uncomfortable side of her personality. At the same time she did not feel comfortable in this new combatant role, and regretted the fall from her position. She was no longer the marble goddess, no longer the ornament he valued. For the first time in their marriage she asserted herself, but for that fragile victory the payment was harsh: she had to abandon the Pythian cave into which he placed her and which was safe, even pleasant. The priestess rebelled and so changed the course of their life. Her emotional blast turned her into a bickering, stubborn woman, the kind that horrified him.