by Lee Moan
Twelve Minutes
Jude was careful not to slam the car door, even though he knew nothing in the world would rouse Cathy. Not yet, anyway. She would awaken at the same time she always did, not a moment sooner or later. Nothing he ever did could change that. Not a damn thing.
He leant against the driver’s-side door, looking in at his wife’s inert frame in the passenger seat. That unpleasant throb in his chest, the ache which had been with him for weeks now, had grown more intense in the past few minutes.
Was it guilt? Despair? Sadness?
All of the above, he decided.
He turned and walked away from the car, hands jammed into his jeans pockets. He looked up at the moon, cursing it silently in his head.
Piece of shit!
How many times had he done that? And how many times had he felt like an absolute fool for doing so? What good would it do throwing all his anger and hate at an inanimate object? Yes, the moon was supposed to be the cause of all this, but hating it was like trying to strangle a cloud. Pointless.
He checked his watch, 6:10, and took a deep breath. In exactly two minutes Cathy would wake from her coma. Her eyes would snap open and she would have those few moments of wide-eyed panic before she gradually grew accustomed to her surroundings, and then . . .
Then he would have to tell her.
He closed his eyes and saw an image of her running barefoot along the beach on a sun-scorched summer day. The image was so vivid, so startling, he forgot for a moment that it was a memory. He could see the fabric of her peach summer dress, hear the whisper of her feet through the fine sand, taste the salt in the breeze as it rolled in off the sea.
How long ago was that? Not so long.
He opened his eyes on that same stretch of beach, now washed in moonlight.
Darwin Bay. They’d spent so many good days here, so many good nights, too. He thought it would be the perfect place for what he was about to do, but now . . . now he wasn’t so sure.
He looked back at the car. He could just see Cathy’s head and shoulders, her staring eyes. Even in that state she still looked beautiful to him. What a cruel twist of fate it was that had turned her into this awful mannequin.
The syndrome was a variant form of encephalitis lethargica, the dreaded ‘sleeping sickness’ which swept the world once before in the nineteen-twenties. This global epidemic was compounded by what the scientists referred to as a ‘super lunar effect’, an anomaly which kept the sufferer in a semi-permanent catatonic state.
Except for twelve minutes each day.
In this hemisphere that was between 6:12pm and 6:24pm to be precise. Just like the previous occurrence in the Twenties the exact cause remained a mystery, but everyone, experts and laymen alike, had their own theories, everything from the scientific to the spiritual to the downright outlandish.
Jude didn’t know what to believe. All he knew was that his beautiful wife had been taken away from him, and in her place he was left with a lifeless waxwork, an echo of his former lover. Except, of course, for those twelve minutes.
He saw her body suddenly twitch in the passenger seat.
He glanced at his watch.
6:12.
Her head whipped rapidly from side to side as she struggled to orient herself. Over the past two years she had become better at it, adapting to the shock of waking much quicker. She jerked her upper body forward only to be stopped by her seatbelt. She looked down at the strap as if she had never seen it before, then slowly, patiently, she felt for the release button and undid the belt. Her eyes fixed on him through the windscreen glass and he saw the tightness in her expression fade. A smile spread across her face. As always, she remembered him instantly. He was her comfort zone, her constant in a world of confusion and darkness.
Don’t smile, Cathy, he said to himself. Please don’t smile. It’ll only make this harder.
Unable to bear it any longer he looked out at the calm waters again and tried to regain control over his breathing. He heard the car door open and then shut; heard her bare feet padding over the hard cobbled surface of the promenade as she came up behind him.
Then she was at his side and her cold fingers slipped into his own warm hand. He squeezed her hand before turning and looking at her. The sight of her bright eyes and her face filled with light and life robbed him of breath for a few moments.
“Hello, honey,” she whispered. Her voice was husky, the way it always was after she woke up.
“Hello, you,” he said.
She was as beautiful as she had always been, ever since he first saw her in the park all those years ago. A vision of flowing chestnut hair and brown eyes in a stunning white dress, walking barefoot across the grass. She hated shoes, always had done.
He glanced down at her bare feet and smiled to himself. Why had he done that? Why had he deliberately left off her shoes? To make it harder for himself to do what he was about to do?
Probably. He’d always been a masochist.
She looked out over the glistening moonlit water, a smile spreading across her face.
“Darwin Bay,” she said. “You brought me to our favourite place.”
He nodded, his ability to speak stolen away. He was unable to share in her reminiscence because he knew the real reason why he’d brought her here. Yes, it was for sentimental reasons, but it was also to soften the blow.
“Cathy—”
“We’ve had the best times here, haven’t we?” Cathy said, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Remember when we brought your parents down here for a picnic and the water came in and washed away all the food?” She laughed, a little girl’s laugh. “Your dad was furious. He didn’t see the funny side at all. Still doesn’t, does he?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, even that can’t spoil this place for us. Our special place.”
“Cathy?” he said, more forcefully this time. He waited until she looked up at him, until their eyes were locked, and in the next few seconds he watched as her smile crumbled. She knew what was coming, some part of her knew instinctively.
“Cathy,” he said. “I’m leaving you.”
Her eyes searched his face, desperately looking for some sign of a crack in his façade, some hint that this was just his idea of a cruel joke. It was all he could do just to keep looking at her.
“Leaving me?” she said.
He expected her to let go of him, but her grip on his hand tightened. Security. She relied on him so much. She was clinging to him like a drowning woman to a life raft. Only this life raft was treacherous.
“You’ve met someone else?”
“No,” he said. “No. Absolutely not. That’s not the reason—”
“Then why, Jude? Why do you want to . . .?” She trailed off, shaking her head.
He had thought this through so many times in the past few weeks and it had all seemed so well-reasoned, so clear in his head; but now he was being called on to say it out loud, it was like spitting stones.
He pulled away from her, breaking the handhold. It was impossible to tell someone when they were so physically close to you. He needed a little distance. He moved a few steps away, running his fingers through his hair.
“Cathy, this is so hard. So hard. I’ve stood by you all this time. I’ve been loyal to you, I’ve done everything I can for you, but . . . It’s like being loyal to someone who isn’t there.”
“But I am here, Jude. I never went away. I can’t help what’s happening to me.”
“I know. I know that. But that’s what makes it so bloody hard. There’s no one to blame, no one I can get mad at. Cathy, I love you.” The sound of those words coming from his own lips stopped him, his emotions swelling. “I love you so much, Cathy, but it’s not enough. How long am I supposed to be this loyal person, loyal to a dead woman?”
“I’m not dead,” Cathy said, her voice taking on a harder edge.
“But you might as well be, Cathy,” he said, instantly regretting it. “I know that sounds awful. I just . . . I just need more
, Cathy. Twelve minutes. It’s not enough. I want to live a life with you.’ He shook his head. ‘This is no life.”
They stared at each other. The sound of the waves rolling and tumbling filled the silence. Tears sprang into Cathy’s eyes. Then, without warning, she turned and broke into a run, over the barricade and onto the sand. He watched her run in a wavering line towards the edge of the water. He thought she was going to run straight into the dark waves, but she drew up at the foaming line of the tide. She stepped carefully into the shallow water and stayed there.
For a moment, just a moment, he thought about just leaving her, jumping in the car and driving away . . . but that was insane. He was still responsible for her. His watch said 6:19, which meant that in five minutes she would fall back into her coma and he would have to take her home.
He exhaled long and slow, then marched down the gentle slope of the beach until he was standing a few yards behind her.
“Who’s going to look after me?” she asked without turning round.
“Your mum,” he said.
“You’ve already arranged it then?”
“Cathy, we’ve talked, that’s all. She’s always been willing to take you in. She understands.”
“Oh, really?” Cathy said.
Silence.
“This might end, you know?” she said. “I thought that’s what we were both waiting for? For this to stop?”
“It might not,” he replied. “So far, no one’s come out of it. Not yet. And it’s been two years. The experts say there are no signs to suggest it’ll ever lift.”
“But . . . it might,” Cathy repeated, glancing over her shoulder at him.
“Cathy, I’m trying to be realistic here. Do you really want to stay married to a man who ends up resenting you so much you don’t recognise him any more? Just for the sake of loyalty? Is that what you want?”
She shook her head. “No, Jude. Of course not. I just want a husband who’ll want to be with me no matter what.”
“Christ, Cathy!” He spun round, wanting to punch the air. “I can’t believe you’re being so . . . All right, what if the tables were turned? What if it were me in the coma? How long could you stay in love with me when all you had from me was twelve bloody minutes a day?”
Her gaze faltered. She blinked rapidly, and for a second he thought she was succumbing to the coma already; but she turned away, running her hands through her well-brushed hair. He liked brushing her hair every day. It was a lasting sign of affection.
“You know,” Cathy said, “the first time I saw you I was captivated by your looks. I remember thinking ‘what a beautiful man’. Not just handsome, but beautiful. It was only when I got to know you that I actually fell in love with you.” She kicked at the water, sending a spray of foam into the air.
“Cathy, what are you going on about?”
Sometimes, just before the twelve minutes expired, she would ramble, lose the thread of whatever conversation they were having. He didn’t want their time together to end that way. Not this time.
“You said you loved me earlier,” she continued. “What do people mean when they say that? I mean, really? I’ll love you as long as you’re beautiful? I’ll love you as along as you don’t get fat? I’ll love you as long as you don’t go into a coma?” She turned around and fixed him with her eyes. There was no malice in them, just a genuine curiosity. “You want to know if I would do the same in your place? Jude, I would stay with you no matter what. I would die for you, and that’s the truth. I guess . . . I guess we have different views of love.”
“Damn it, Cathy, that’s not fair. This is killing me. I don’t want to have to do this, but I can’t help how I feel.”
“I know,” she said in a calm voice. “I know, honey.”
“I’ve made my decision, Cathy, and it was hard enough to make without you trying to make me change my mind . . . out of guilt.”
“I’m not,” she said. “Really I’m not. We have to do what we have to do in life, just to get through.”
They fell into silence, her eyes drawn back to the moon.
“What the hell did they do to her, Jude?”
“Who?” he said.
“Our moon. Didn’t you say there was some kind of exploration going on up there a while back, that something went wrong and caused all this?”
He followed her gaze, finding the bright glow of the lunar surface strangely calming. Conspiracy theorists had accused the American space program of disturbing the orbit of the moon two years ago, setting in motion the super lunar effect. He’d forgotten telling Cathy about that. How long ago? Weeks, maybe even months. He was always surprised by how much she remembered.
“I don’t know,” he said. “There were rumours, the government denied it, though. They said it could have been a meteor impacting on the surface, but there’s no evidence of that.”
“Maybe it’s a test,” she said in a soft voice.
“What?”
“Maybe God is testing us . . . Humans, I mean. Testing our ability to love. Testing our worth.”
He stared at her. She still clung to her faith in God, which amazed him. How could you still believe in God when you only had twelve minutes a day to think about it? He’d lost his faith a long time ago.
“Maybe it’s just a messed up world, sweetheart. Maybe shit just happens and we have to deal with it. Whatever happened to the moon, it’s not going to change anything—”
“Jude, what time is it?”
Jude glanced at his watch without thinking. “Six twenty-five.”
She looked over at him. “What?”
“Six—”
They stared at each other for a protracted moment.
“Six twenty-five,” Jude said in a hoarse whisper.
Cathy looked down at herself, at her hands, her legs. “Jude, I’m . . . I’m still standing. I’m—”
“Listen,” he said in a calm, level tone, “don’t get your hopes up, Cathy. Sometimes we go over the twelfth minute. You know that. It could end any second.”
She looked up at the moon, a smile starting to spread across her face. She blinked as tears of joy began to bead in her eyes. She looked back at him again, excitement shining in her face.
“Nothing’s happening, Jude.” She started to breathe fast, but it turned into a laugh, a high-pitched chuckle deep in her throat. “Nothing’s happening!”
She clamped her hands to the sides of her head and walked away from him, bare feet kicking through the silver surf. Jude watched her, frozen, a hard lump lodged in his throat.
What was happening here? Was this what Cathy thought it was? And if so, what did it mean . . . for them?
Cathy stopped several yards off, still with her back to him. They stood like that for a while, the tide coming in soft surges of sound.
Thirty seconds passed . . .
A full minute.
“Cathy?” he said, not wanting to break the silence, wanting more time to think, to decide what he was going to do next. But he had to know. “Cathy, are you okay?”
She spun round and faced him, her cheeks still glistening with tears.
“Am I okay, Jude?” she said. “Yes, honey. I’m absolutely fine. Look at me, Jude. I’m absolutely fine!”
Her smile was so wide, her eyes brimming with joy; and then, slowly, her smile crumbled and she tilted her head so that she was looking at him sideways, as if the sight of him had suddenly become too painful to bear.
“Cathy,” he said, “about before . . .”
“Don’t,” she said softly, but her voice was stretched thin over anger.
He felt the chill of fear in his chest. He had betrayed her. Somehow, it had been easier to say what he had said earlier because he knew she would fall back into her coma soon after, that she would become that lifeless mannequin again. At least, she should have.
But now . . .?
“Don’t even try,” Cathy said. “You’ve had the power for too long, Jude. But, d’you know what? I’m back
. I can make choices again. And the first choice I’m going to make . . .”
“Cathy,” he said. “Cathy, don’t. Listen, we can talk about this.”
She shook her head. “The first choice I’m going to make, Jude, is not to get back in that car with you. Not tonight. Maybe never again.”
Jude’s arms dropped to his side.
“You said you wanted to leave me. Well, Jude, I’m leaving you. And if you want to talk, well maybe we will talk. In the future. When I’m ready.”
She glanced up at the moon again, and a thin smile touched her lips.
“That’s my choice, Jude. I’m leaving you. I’ll make my own way back.”
“Cathy, this is not fair. I looked after you. I did everything for you. Everything!”
“And it was too much for you, Jude. I accept that. Really I do. I don’t have to like it, but I accept it.”
Jude couldn’t believe things had changed so suddenly, so totally in just a matter of minutes. He had stewed over his decision to leave Cathy for so long, had finally convinced himself that it was the best thing for both of them, only to have the rug yanked from under him now. If only he had waited one more day to make the choice . . . . just one more day.
“So, that’s it?” he said. “That’s the end?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe.”
He felt a surge of anger, but he forced it back down. Maybe she had a right to be angry now. He just hoped it would pass.
He looked over at the car. “I’m heading back now,” he said.
“Okay,” she said, folding her arms and gesturing for him to leave.
He pointed at her bare feet. “Cathy, you can’t walk home. It’s eight miles to your mum’s and you haven’t even got any shoes.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said.
“Cathy—”
“I’ll be fine,” she repeated with a defiant glare.
He could only look at her, studying her frame, her slender legs, her face. Oh, her beautiful face.
What have I done?
He turned slowly and walked back up the beach. With his back to her, he allowed himself to cry. He never cried, even after all he had been through the past two years he had never let his emotions unravel, so it surprised him how easily the tears came now.
Behind him he could hear the rush of the sea as it flowed in, flowed out. He imagined her dancing in the surf, kicking up sprays of silvery water like some magical sea sprite. The rebirth of the free spirit he had known.
In that moment he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone in his entire life. He paused just a few feet from the car and made a quiet decision. He would fight for her. He would win her back, he would make things so good that she would have no choice but to forgive him. He would be the husband she wanted, the husband she needed. He would . . .
He turned slowly and searched the beach for Cathy’s silhouette, but it was not where he had expected it to be. He found her eventually, her limp form lying on the sand just a few feet from the edge of the surf.
The sight of her body lying there, so pathetic, so utterly helpless, broke something inside him. The twelve minutes had been exceeded, but only for a couple minutes more. Just an aberration, a freak occurrence, an exception to the rule. Nothing more than that.
He doubled over, hands on the tops of his knees, and struggled for breath.
Oh God, he said to himself. This is so hard. So hard.
But he straightened up, wiped the tears from his face and, after a steadying breath, he began the slow walk down the beach to collect his wife and take her home.
