The Nightwalker

by C.P. Kemabia

It was without surprise that, when Ava phoned him the next day in the afternoon, Antwone sort of knew what the conversation would be about.

  He couldn’t detect in her voice anything that could suggest she was upset. But he could sense that some sort of upheaval had happened, either emotionally or physically, for she wanted to know what he and Hank had talked about the night before.

  Antwone wisely hedged the question by replying that they had talked about men stuff. Then he enquired if there was a matter with Hank.

  “This morning,” Ava said, “we had a very long and strange discussion about the current state of our lives, the trepidations of our marriage. He talked to me about his numerous affairs, about love, about sex, about life and death, about redemption and the power of forgiveness. You must have told him something, Antwone. What was it? I want to know––”

  “—Why should it be that I told him something?” Antwone said. “He’s your husband. He’s entitled. He can talk to you about any of those things if he feels like it.”

  “But that’s not like him.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “What?”

  “Did he do something?”

  “No,” Ava said. “I mean he didn’t do anything besides initiating this whole crazy talk. I thought he was out of his skull. That’s so unlike him.”

  “So you’re all right?”

  “No! I’m not all right,” she said with a temper.

  Antwone could tell she was now feigning the act of being upset. And he supposed maybe she was exaggerating things, adding more drama to whatever had really happened between her and Hank. She was very capable of doing that.

  “Are you even listening?” she asked in the same upset tone.

  “Give me a second––”

  Antwone held the cell phone out, away from his face for a moment. She had interrupted his writing. But that was fine because he was tired and he was actually thinking about calling it a day. Now with the cell phone still hung away with Ava on the other end of it, waiting on him to come on and pick up the thread of their conversation, he wondered if he was in a good mind to deal with her and her interpersonal problem with Hank. And realizing that he was, he smiled to himself because, at this very instant, he was seeing her problem as his, the same way a man with a definite affection for a woman does.

  “Alright,” Antwone said at last into the cell phone, “I’m listening now.”

  “Oh Antwone,” Ava said, “You don’t know what it was like to sit there and listen to him.”

  “Maybe you can tell me.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “You can try.”

  “If you insist.”

  “I insist.”

  “He told me things he’s never told me before,” she said. “The names of the other women he’s been sleeping with; how and where he met each one of them. I told him to stop with the confessions. I didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish; or trying to have me say.”

  “And?”

  “He told me I deserved better than what he was giving me.”

  Ava paused. Her breathing came out in frayed spurts. Maybe she wasn’t putting on an act. Maybe she was really worked up over something.

  “What else did he say?”

  “Somehow he knew I was ready to leave him. He was so terrible to look at. You’re sure that didn’t come from you?”

  “I promise you it wasn’t me,” Antwone said. “He must’ve picked up the warning signals by himself.”

  “His whole attitude of this morning was just so unexpected, so surreal. I wish I hadn’t left the two of you alone.”

  “What do you think happened,” Antwone said. “A cock fight?”

  “What do I know?” she snapped back. “Men like to brag, don’t they?”

  “I’d say your nerves took a serious hit.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Suddenly Antwone wished he was with her so he could pull her close to him and soothe her down. She didn’t sound too well on the phone. He thought she was usually stronger than this because she was the kind of woman who wasn’t afraid of many things and who always had a good handle on any given situation. But now, she sounded as if she might just break down at any moment.

  “Is there something I can do?”Antwone said.

  “Just talking with you helps.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it all day…”

  “What time is your flight?”

  “Later tonight… And after this morning, I don’t even feel like flying.”

  “You want to get together?”

  “No,” she said. “It’s not a good idea right now.”

  “We don’t have to do anything.”

  “Please, Antwone. Please––just don’t.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I won’t stand seeing you,” she said. “I just won’t.”

  Antwone was sitting at his writing table. He got up and moved over through the slide door onto the balcony. He felt the coming of an uncomfortable heat wave and it pooled over the back of his neck and along with the heat came a feeling of sickness and he needed to bathe in fresh air to clear that away.

  Presently, Antwone leaned on the balcony rail. The cell phone was cold in his hand but warm against his ear.

  “Should we keep away from each other for a while?” he asked Ava. And something primitive inside him began to fear the answer she could give.

  “It isn’t at all like that, you know,” she said. “It’s just not like that.”

  “Tell me how it is then.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “I can beg you if that’s what you want––”

  “Oh, no––I want to talk about something else,” she said. “Can we talk about something else?”

  “No.”

  “We had sex,” Ava’s voice broke as she said it. “Hank and I… This morning! Now you know.”

  Antwone’s stomach twisted into a nasty knot.

  “You’re right,” he said, feeling a strange sudden mental fatigue. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I feel like such a bitch.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “You don’t hate me, do you?”

  “I don’t hate you, Ava,” he said, looking out to the city below. The heat which had crawled onto the back of his neck had, just now, found its way over onto his throat. And it was a very unpleasant sensation. And this conversation, which he was regretting having as the seconds dropped by, was either causing or adding to the unpleasantness of it.

  “I’m really sorry,” Ava said again.

  “I understand.”

  “He says he loves me, Antwone,” she said after a moment. “And I believe him.”

  “I understand.”

  “Is that all you can say?”

  “What else would you rather I say?”

  “I don’t know; I just don’t want you to think ill of me, you know.”

  He wanted to hang up now and maybe have a few drinks and perhaps many more and smoke a whole pack of cigarettes and let himself enjoy the company of the coming cold, soulless night alone in his room or down at the hotel barroom. Did it really matter if he drank there or downstairs? The night was going to be all the same in any location.

  He thought his good resolutions to quit smoking could very well go to hell. Actually a lot of things could go to hell. A lot of things … he thought so.

  “You’re still there?” Ava said.

  “Yes.”

  “I meant it when I said I loved you.”

  “I know.”

  “But I love him too. It’s a selfish thing to say, I’d be the first to admit it. But he’s willing to change so we can have a normal marriage again.”

  Antwone said nothing.

  “He says he will change,” Ava continue
d. “He’ll attend therapy and go through their various programs to make it happen. I think I must give him the chance.”

  “I think you should too.”

  Her breathing sank down for a moment and quickly rose again. Even without seeing her, Antwone could imagine Ava being greatly taken aback by the easiness by which he was supporting her course of action which, she supposed, and rightfully so, would hurt him.

  “You really think that?” Ava said with a tinge of astonishment in her voice.

  “I wouldn’t say that if I thought otherwise.”

  “You make me feel terribly bad somehow.”

  “I’ve got to go, Ava.”

  “Please wait––”

  He stayed on the line. As she was hesitating about what to say next, Antwone could hear her slowly push the oxygenated air from her nice chest all the way up to her clear face and out her shiny nose. All the while, he could also hear her work her lips with her teeth. All those tiny parts that he loved about her face were, from this day forward, off-limits to the touch of his hands and the kiss of his own lips. He felt suddenly aggrieved as though he had lost something very important and could not remember what it was, and yet could not go on a second without thinking about it.

  “Antwone…” Ava finally said. Her voice was very low and very soft.

  “Yes?”

  “Am I going to be all right?”

  “Yes,” he said. “You will be.”

  “And you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Are you going to be all right?”

  “I’ll be all right,”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m always all right,” he said.

  Ava sort of chuckled. Antwone wondered. The chuckle made a sweet, compelling sound over the phone. It made Ava seem physically present on the balcony with him. And that made him smile a little.

  “Want to let me in on what’s funny?” Antwone said at last.

  “Nothing,” Ava said, “only that you are a walking contradiction.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “It means you are the hardest and yet the softest man I know.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment then.”

  “There’s not any other way to take it.”

  “I guess I’ll see you in New York,” Antwone said. “With the new manuscript.”

  “Yes, call me, hey?”

  “Sure.”

  “And let’s have a drink to celebrate when you’re through with the book.”

  18