by Chris Raven
However, it is not his number that appears reflected on the screen. It’s Lissie. Has he confessed everything? I can think of no other reason to receive a call from my sister, who never calls me, at this time of night.
“Eric, is that you?” I notice a tinge of hysteria in her voice.
“Yes, what is it?”
“It’s dad...” for a few seconds the only thing I hear through the line is her desperate sobs. “He locked himself in the garage and shot himself in the head... He’s dead.”
IX
After reassuring Lissie by telling her not to worry because I have a car and I’ll be there in an hour, I put my scarce belongings in the backpack at full speed, I put on the sneakers and the cowboy jacket and leave the room. As I close the door to the room, I think I should say goodbye to Eloise somehow. It’s not right for me to leave without telling her anything. I’ll have to leave her a note. However, when I turn to the stairs, I see that it will not be necessary. Eloise is standing akimbo in the middle of the aisle. She wears a white plush robe with blue sheep print and matching slippers. I’m surprised someone wearing like a stuffed animal can convey that image of authority.
“Where do you think you’re going in such a hurry?”
I try to talk, but words get stuck in my throat. My body is so invaded by grief, by guilt, by loss, that there is no air. I feel the fire of the tears burning in my eyes and all I can do is to throw my backpack to the ground, take the steps that separate me from her and throw me in her arms to weep like a little boy.
“What happened, boy?”She asks me in whispers as she rocks me.
As I still cannot utter a word, she waits for the first onslaught of my tears to lose strength and then takes my hand and drives me downstairs, until she leaves me seated at the dining room table. She brings up a chair, sits next to me and passes an arm around my shoulder.
“Tell me what happened, Eric. I won’t be able to help you if you don’t.”
I keep my head down, watching how my tears crash into the tablecloth, drawing small circles. I take a deep breath to get strength and start talking.
“It’s my father... He committed suicide... He shot himself in the head... He’s dead...”
“My God, I’m sorry.” Eloise is hugging me again, making my tears to gain force again. “What happened?”
“It was him, Eloise... It was all in the story, as they said. He killed my friends to save me...” Before she can talk and tries to convince me that this cannot be real, I raise a hand asking her to listen to me and I continue to talk. “I called him to ask him, he said he was sorry and hung up. And now he’s dead... It’s all my fault...”
“Stop blaming yourself for all the evils of the world, Eric. You’re not the center of the universe. Not all bad things happen for you and you have no responsibility in this. You didn’t pull the trigger, you didn’t kill those kids, you didn’t have the slightest ability to change what happened. By God, Eric... You were twelve years old...”
I don’t care what she says. No argument, as reasonable as it sounds, is going to get to fade my desire to die. I refuse with my head and I get up from the chair.
“Thank you for trying to comfort me, Eloise.” I make a real effort to smile to her. “I have to go. I told my sister I was leaving for Burlington.”
“Give me your phone,” Eloise tells me. “I’m going to talk to her. You just sit here until you calm down.”
I have no strength to argue, so I take out my phone, I look in contacts for Lissie’s number and I pass it to her. She takes it and goes to the kitchen. I hear the noise of the pots and the sound of the water running. I guess she’ll be filling the kettle to prepare some comforting drink. I don’t feel like anything. Just disappear, stop feeling...
“Lissie Armstrong? I’m Eloise Carter. You don’t know me, but your brother is staying at my house, here in Swanton... Yes, I was calling you about that. I’m very sorry for your loss, but your brother will not be able to go to Burlington tonight... No, I refuse to let him leave the house and crash in the first corner... What do you mean, who am I to decide that? I am the person who is seeing how nervous Eric is. The way he is, I would not let him drive even to the corner of the street... Yes, I understand the situation you are going through, but I do not think that, if he gets kill in a car accident, that situation will improve much... I’ll call you in the morning and, depending on how Eric is, we’ll make a decision. My heartfelt condolences. Good night.”
I can’t believe that Lissie has accepted Eloise’s decision without protesting. She’s used to always doing her will. I’m sure she’s bothering my mother right now, complaining that I don’t want to be with them and that an unbearable lady has spoken to her in bad manners. The truth is that I’m relieved that I don’t have to go to Burlington tonight. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to face my mother’s eyes.
A couple of minutes later, Eloise appears in the dining room with a steaming cup in her hands. She puts it in front of me while she takes a look at me and orders me to drink it without a question. I give it the first drink and twist the gesture.
“What is this? It’s very bitter.”
“It’s tea. Pour some more sugar in it.”
“This is not tea,” I say after hitting another drink. “Are you drugging me?”
“Don’t ask, and I won’t have to lie to you.” In spite of her smile, I see in her eyes that she is very worried about me. “What are we going to tell Dunning?”
“Nothing. We’re not going to tell him anything. Please...” I extend my arm over the table to hold tight her hand. “Give me a few days. Let my mother bury her husband and overcome this blow. I don’t think she can bear to know that the man she’s been loving all her life was a...”
I can’t talk anymore. I support the forearms on the table and I hide the head between them. I feel Eloise’s hand stroking my back. Knowing that she is by my side and cares for me, that I can cry without being judged, only gives new strength to my crying. I don’t know how much time I spend crying. I just know that I think I would never have imagined that so many tears could fit within one single person.
Eloise whispers to me reassuring phrases and, from time to time, insists that I continue to drink the infusion. I obey her, and I finish it in a few drinks. Little by little it’s taking effect. It’s very curious. I still have the same thoughts and I know they should hurt, but it seems that somehow the communication between my mind and my feelings has been cut. There is no pain, no anxiety, no anguish. My soul has become flat, like a robot’s. Even though it’s a very strange feeling, I appreciate it. I think I’d give anything for not going back to feel. I get to sketch a silly smile while I look at Eloise with squinted eyes.
“This shit is very good. I’m going to have to ask you to pass me a little...”
“Go on, don’t talk nonsense. I told you it’s just tea.”She gets up and pulls me. “I’m going to take you to your room before you fall asleep in the chair.”
We climbed the stairs with difficulty. In spite of her thinness, Eloise is strong enough to keep me up and save me from falling. When we got to the bedroom, I drop myself on the bed. I notice she takes off my sneakers and covers me with a blanket.
“Now rest. Tomorrow everything will be better.”She tells me before leaving the room.
I think nothing will be better tomorrow because tomorrow my father will still be dead. However, that thought, which should hurt me like a dagger in the bowels, cause no emotion in me. I close my eyes and let the emptiness invade me.
When I get down to the kitchen the next morning, I find Eloise preparing spaghetti with sausages. As it seems to me a very rare breakfast, I look at the kitchen’s clock that already marks one in the afternoon.
“Why did you let me sleep for so long?” I ask her, angry. “My family must be desperate for not knowing anything about me.”
“I have let you sleep that much because you needed it.”She answers as she stirs the ketchup. “And don’t worry about your
family. I talked to your mother this morning and she told me you don’t have to go to Burlington.”
“What do you mean I don’t have to? It’s my father’s funeral...”
“The funeral will be held here in Swanton tomorrow afternoon. Your mother had told me that your grandparents have a family pantheon in Riverside and your father wanted to be buried there. They’ll come to town this afternoon and meet you at the motel about five. Now sit down, let’s eat.”
I sit, thinking that I will not be able to try a bite, but as soon as Eloise puts the plate on the table, my stomach wakes up and I start devouring whatever she puts before me. I guess my body is trying to somehow fill the emptiness inside me. That or, as I suspect, Eloise’s infusion had something with the side effect of causing ravenous hunger.
When we finish eating, I tell Eloise I’m going to take a nap. She looks at me astonished. I’ve been asleep for over ten hours and it’s impossible that I feel like sleeping. But she doesn’t tell me anything. I think that she understands that I don’t feel like talking and that all I want is to be isolated and to think.
I lock myself in the room and, after smoking a cigarette, I sit on the bed not knowing what to do. I don’t even feel like crying. I think I’ve dried up inside. I still feel an infinite sorrow, an immense emptiness, as if the void was invading me, but my eyes no longer sprout a tear. I just feel exhausted, not wanting anything, not even thinking...
In the past, there has only been one thing that has helped me to evade from the grief: to read. Around the room dresser are the books we were using for research. I look in the pile and take out the one I had started, the history of the Native Americans of Swanton. I don’t feel like reading about this now, but at least it will help me keep my mind occupied until it’s time to meet my family.
At four-thirty I go down the stairs to leave and meet them. Eloise is next to the door, wearing a black dress that reaches to her feet. Her hair is picked up in an impeccable bun and she even has a flirtatious purse in her hands.
“Are you going out?” I ask her.
“Sure, I’ll go with you.” She hangs on my arm like the ladies in the old movies. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes, there is.”I answer with a mocking smile. “If we both get out of the house at the same time, who’s going to throw the salt at the door?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll throw it by the outside. I’m carrying it in my purse.”
When we got to the motel, my family hasn’t shown up yet. We sat outside, on a bench, to wait in silence. It’s strange how comfortable I feel with Eloise, even if we’re not talking. Being by her side calms me down and makes me feel better. If she weren’t almost thirty years older than me, I think I’d ask her to marry me.
Every time I hear a car approaching the road, I raise my head to see if it’s them. At last, I see them arriving in our old Ford. As soon as they park in front of us, my mother throws herself out of the car and runs to me. I stand up from the bench and wait for her with open arms. Her hug is so strong that it cuts my breath. We were hugging for a long time, without saying anything, letting our mere presence be a slight balm for the open wounds.
When we finally get apart, she looks me up and down. I think she want to check if I’m OK, if I have thinned on the days we haven’t been together, if I look like I take sleepless nights for having been from bar to bar... Her inspection must be satisfactory because she smiles at me and caresses my cheek.
“Can you help us with the luggage, son?”She asks as she returns with Lissie and Brad, who have opened the trunk and are emptying it. There are so many bags and backpacks to stay and live in the village forever. “Where is yours?”
“I’m not going to sleep at the motel.” I turn to Eloise and tell her with a gesture that she can get closer. “Mom, this is Eloise Carter. I’m staying at her house.”
My mother lifts an eyebrow, but she extends her hand without asking anything. I guess she would have imagined that Eloise was some crazy young girl I was spending a few days with and that she was surprised to find this mature, elegant, authoritarian-looking woman. Eloise shakes her hand and dedicates a smile of courtesy but says nothing.
“Well, son... We had thought of taking two rooms: One for Lissie and me and another for Brad and you.”
“It will be better that way. You can take a double room and ask them to install an extra bed.” I try to convince her. “It would be a lot cheaper for you.”
“As you wish, but I had thought that we would all be better off together...”
“And we will be. I’m just going to go to Eloise’s to sleep, but I won’t leave you alone for another second.” I turn to Eloise. “Is it okay with you?”
“Of course.” She nods and picks up her purse from the bench. “Now I’ll leave you alone, I think you need it. See you tonight.”
My mother dedicates a nod to her and stares at her as she moves away. Then she turns to me, waiting for an explanation.
“It’s nothing weird, mom. It’s Jake’s aunt and I rented her a room because the motel was very expensive.” I lie to her.
“And, if it’s only that, why was she the one who’s been answering the phone to us? And why did she accompany you here?”
“Well... I guess she saw me very affected yesterday and was worried about me. You know how I am.”
“Oh, yeah... My poor child.”My mother caresses my cheek tenderly as her eyes are clouded by tears. “Do not worry. Your mother’s already here, and as soon as the funeral’s over, we’ll go home together.”
“I can’t, mom. I still have things to do here.”
“Don’t even mention that.”Her gesture becomes hard and determined. “Don’t think I haven’t been watching the news: two kidnapped kids and one drowned in the lake. I know what you’re doing here, and I don’t want you to keep that up.”
“But mom...”
“Neither mom nor anything. This town has only caused you pain. I’m not going to let it hurt you again.”
My mother picks up a couple more suitcases and, without giving me a chance to replicate, she goes with them to the motel door. I decide that it is not a good time to discuss with her and, after greeting Lissie and Brad, I help with the luggage.
We spent the afternoon in the motel cafeteria. The coffin with my father’s remains will not arrive until tomorrow and my mother already did all the paperwork before leaving Burlington, so we have nothing to do besides talking, drinking and remembering.
It is curious how death modifies memory. We tell anecdote after anecdote, with a dreamy look and a sad smile, about how wonderful my father was. We remember the fishing excursions, the barbecues in the garden, his ability to fix anything, his enthusiasm to teach us to play ball, to ride a bike, to read... They do not realize that all those memories are from Swanton, that the father we yearn for stayed here, that the being who moved with us to Burlington was another person. Not a single comment is made about that in recent years he was only a shadow of himself, always unsociable and isolated. There is no mention of his drunkenness, that he spent much of our family budget on alcohol, that he had explosions of anger by any nonsense, that he screamed, banged the furniture or threw things against the walls. It’s very curious how death suddenly turns you into a flawless being. No one says he was depressed or aggressive. And, of course, no one says that he was a child murderer...
After midnight, I’m going back to Eloise’s house. No light coming out of any window, so I guess she’ll be asleep by now. I sneak into the house and, trying not to make noise, I cover the door with a trail of salt, smiling at the thought that tomorrow she will be proud that I have remembered. I climb the stairs trying not to make the wood creak, but she speaks to me from her room:
“It’s everything alright, Eric?”
“Yes. Thank you, Eloise. I’ll see if I get some sleep. I’m exhausted.”
“Rest. Good night.”
I get in the room and I sit on the bed. I don’t feel like sleeping. A thousand ideas and feeli
ngs is spinning in my head. I don’t feel like delving into them and spending a sleepless night crying. I take the book that I was reading from the bedside table, I open it on the pillow and lie on my stomach. I’m sure reading this will make me sleepy.
A couple of hours later, I’m still with the book, but little by little the dream is coming. During the last couple of pages, I am feeling that the eyelids weigh me more and more and that I do not understand very well what I’m reading when the magic “suddenly” that I had waited for so many days occurs. A single sentence gets me to wake up completely. I sit on the bed and read that phrase, again and again, to convince myself that I have not imagined it:
“Sacrifice three children of your people and I will spare your son’s life”
I turn back to the beginning of the chapter and start to read it carefully so that I do not escape any important information. After a boring explanation about the union of the six Indian nations that formed the Iroquois Confederation and how some of them joined the British in the War of Independence, the author describes the attacks and massacres of some of those tribes at the settlements of the American colonists of Vermont. Then the interesting thing begins. I think I’ve found the beginning of everything.
X
John Brodhead wore from the beginning of the war trying to stop the Mohawk attacks against the colonist’s settlements. One cannot speak of great battles since the enemy was not shown. They attacked isolated farms and small villages, killing and kidnapping their inhabitants. Brodhead could not fight openly against them, so he tried to get them to stop burning their houses and crops in retaliation. However, the effect he achieved was the opposite. Their attacks caused more tribes to be joining the struggle. Both sides fought to avenge each other’s attacks, in an escalation of violence that devastated all of Vermont.
