Authors: Anne J. Steinberg
Manroot (26 page)
It was a private funeral.
Elizabeth could not bear to face anyone; her grief was too profound. Inside the bronze box that was put in the earth next to the Judge lay her unfulfilled dreams. She would not be the mother of a Governor or a Senator. She cringed within herself, and like a woman who cried often at small things, she sat grimly through her son’s funeral, her eyes dry.
R
yan seemed a broken man. He repeated over and over to April, “It’s my fault. We shouldn’t have gone there that night. It’s my fault. I had no right to ask him. Why, oh why did I even mention it?” he moaned.
“
He was a photographer; it was logical to mention it,” April reasoned.
In their sorrow, they did not realize that Kack had not been seen since the death.
She had locked the cabin, drawn the shades, and everyone in their private sorrow did not interact with each other.
April was afraid.
She remembered the dream; she was uneasy with the knowledge. The beloved land, house, woods – all seemed ominous now, threatening, cursed.
She forced herself to console Ryan, who sat for hours in the studio looking at his hands and the lump of clay that was to become the ow
l.
The house took on a cast of mourning; it seemed gloomy, cold, even though the summer came.
Tom and Hannah were hushed, serving Elizabeth in her room. They noticed the strain between the young couple as they sat in silence at the dinner table.
Summer turned to fall.
Elizabeth never left her room anymore. She grew frail. Her son’s passing, as well as her husband’s, made her passive; she wanted nothing! It was as if the small childish woman had already fled and left a dry husk behind.
Ap
ril, too, suffered terribly.
It was after seeing Ryan for so many days sitting immobile in the study staring at the blob of clay that she spoke.
“Ryan, please, please, seek help. Bradley knows a fine psychiatrist. This guilt is eating you up alive.”
“
What do you know?” he screamed at her. “You never had a brother – a twin. Kyle was part of me.”
She retreated, leaving him sitting alone in the studio until it was dark, when he would shake himself and leave the room, his work still undone.
The agency called, wrote, and after six months they demanded to know when the final figure would be completed.
“
Hell, I don’t know,” Ryan screamed over the phone. “Maybe never.”
April worried when the agency eventually threatened to rescind the contract, making it null a
nd void. It had been drawn up for a dozen pieces; only eleven were ready.
Every night for the past week Ryan had taken the gun and gone out with Tom to hunt for it, the owl, but tonight they came back successful.
Ryan’s voice could be heard laughing, a high, hysterical laugh. He stayed in the library drinking until April came down to see if he was all right.
Tom stood outside the door; he
’d had his suspicions, but now he was sure. He had watched Ryan all night, loading and reloading the gun with his left hand.
“
What is it?” April whispered to Tom
“
The owl. He shot him.”
Relieved, April stepped into the room.
She wasn’t prepared for what she saw.
Ryan had laid the bird upon the desk.
With the garden shears, methodically he had cut it apart bit by bit. The burnt flesh was acrid in the room, smoking in the fireplace.
April turned away, revolted, and fled back up to the bedroom.
It was sickening, but maybe he had cleansed himself of some of the destructive guilt.
It was late, very late, when she felt his b
ody crawl into bed. Roughly he pulled her to him. He kissed her harshly until she felt her lips bleed. He smelled of warm blood – she tried not to gag – and of whiskey and sweat. His fingers bit into her flesh, and he made no attempt to arouse her, but roughly mounted her, and with a body full of white-hot anger, he punished her for half an hour.
She arose, went to shower, and found bits of the creature, small slimy particles, gleaming wetly on her breasts.
She studied her face in the mirror and saw, stuck to her bleeding lip, a small feather.
She gagged, vomiting into the basin until she was so weak she could hardly stand.
She stood under the hot shower shivering with fear. He needed help, he desperately needed help, but how could she make him get it? Elizabeth was no use; she couldn’t confide in her. Bradley was a doctor. How humiliating. How could they force him if he didn’t agree?
Finally cleansed, she tiptoed into the bedroom.
The soft night light shone on him as he slept, uncovered, spread-eagled. She saw shimmering in the light soft globs, pieces of the flesh and intestines from the bird, on his body.
She opened the French doors, stepped out into the cold night, and stared up at the star-filled sky and mumbled a silent prayer.
It was a movement in the dark that caught her eye. She strained and saw Kack sitting at the edge of the forest, her knees drawn up, her arms closed around them. Her face looked up, offering itself to the moon and starlit night. Next to her the cat circled around and around, his leash growing shorter.
When Ryan returned from the lawyers in
St. Louis, his scowl told April that all had not gone well.
She waited for him to speak, as his touchy moodiness was som
ething she could not gauge anymore.
It was after dinner;
Elizabeth ate downstairs and had retired early. Ryan morosely downed his third scotch before he told her, “The contract’s airtight. They don’t have to pay a cent, even though they have the eleven pieces and are presently marketing them – the bastards!”
“
I’m sorry,” April said.
“
I’m not. I’m damn mad that they’ll make a fortune off the series, and they don’t have to pay me a red cent.”
She came
over and sat next to him and patted his hand.
Restlessly, he moved away, paced the room.
His words spilled forth in a gush. “I’ve decided to sell the property. I checked on that condo complex for Mother. It’s ideal, restaurant, beauty parlors, shows, stores, nurses and doctors in the complex if needed. I thought maybe we’d get her a companion.”
April gasped in surprise.
It wasn’t like him to go ahead with decisions without even talking to her.
“
Have you thought of the others – Hannah, Tom, and Kack? And Bruce? Where will they go?”
He still paced restlessly, an angry pulse throbbing in his cheek.
“I’ll pay them off.”
“
Oh,” she answered, knowing he was in no mood to talk reasonably.
She finished her drink and went up to bed.
It was hours before he came up. She lay stiffly next to him pretending to be asleep.
April was surprised when the next morning, without any warning, he told Hannah at breakfast:
“I’m selling the property, Hannah. You and Tom should start making other plans.”
Hannah dropped the platter in surprise.
April saw the tears in her eyes as she hurriedly tried cleaning up the toast. When she brought in a fresh platter several minutes later, her eyes were red, and she did not look at them.
April was furious at how coldl
y he had broken the news to the faithful woman. She took her coat and went walking in the woods. It had been eight months since Kyle’s death and nothing would ever be the same. She sat on a log and looked around and remembered happier days. She yearned for her husband to face his guilt and grief so they could go on with their lives.
She had left him in the library going over the bills, writing the checks.
It was clear he was not open to discuss anything.
He was annoyed when Tom interrupted his paperwork.
“I need to talk to you, Mr. Reardon.”
Ryan looked up, surprised, for he had never been called Mr. Reardon by Tom.
“All right, come in,” he said. He finished writing a check.
Tom closed the door softly.
Now he was sure he wasn’t crazy. He had seen it again and again, that telltale left hand, and now he
was
sure – absolutely sure
Ryan wasn’t Ryan
.
With an unaccustomed familiarity, Tom helped himself to a drink, sat down, put his feet on the coffee table, leaned back, and with a satisfied smirk on his face said,
“I’m here to talk to you about the ten acres west of the cabin that was promised to Hannah and me by the Judge.” He thought he was fair; he could have asked for a lot more and got it.
* * *
April was pleased to hear that he had been generous with Tom and Hannah; she wondered what arrangements he would make for Kack. Still, his foul mood prevented her from discussing anything controversial with him. The past nine months had deteriorated their marriage to such an extent that she wondered if they would ever be close again.
They slept like strangers, stiff and uncomfortable next to each other.
When Ryan had been drinking, he came to her rough and uncaring. She began to dread his touch.
It was the night that he reached for her and she pushed him away that hi
s anger flared. He held her against her will, pressed her lips tightly until she couldn’t breathe.
“
Stop,” she commanded.
He ignored her and roughly caressed her breasts.
“Stop it,” she breathed, and attempted to get free.
This resistance seemed to excite him more.
She writhed and struggled beneath the weight of his body. Anger, and for the first time fear, overcame her. Ryan was her husband, but she felt she didn’t know him anymore. She struck out at him. Without realizing it, she raked his face and saw the lines of blood rising where she had scratched him.
“
Ryan, stop. Please, Ryan.”
Her pleas further enraged him.
With her arms now pinned beneath his body, the unbelievable happened. He grasped her throat with his hand to quiet her, and continued. She felt faint. Her beloved Ryan was raping her.
It seemed a second; it seemed an eternity.
It stopped. He rolled over, and she could not even sob. He was sick; something was terribly wrong with him, and she knew no way to fix it.
H
e rose and showered, and when he came back into the bedroom, he was smiling and touching his cheek.
“
You were like a little wildcat, honey.”
She couldn
’t believe it. There was no apology, no explanation. Once again she experienced a deep fear of him. She felt lost, for she knew of no one whom she could tell. Maybe Bradley…but she’d have to find the courage to tell him. Somehow, some way she had to get help!
After she had showered, she examined her face in the mirror.
It was bloated, and a faint bruise had appeared on one cheek. Clear red marks glowed angrily on her throat where his fingers had hushed her protest.
She entered the dark bedroom and heard the even sound of his light snoring.
Taking her robe, she went out on the terrace. In her mind she mumbled a confused prayer. “Help me, help us. Dear God, I don’t know what to do.”
There on the edge of the forest, she saw the figure as she had seen her before.
Kack!
In the night she knelt, her face again offered to the stars, and April felt that Kack in her own
way, to her own God, was also praying.
The complimentary copies of the book arrived.
This revived April’s spirits, and she went excitedly to the cabin to show one of them to Kack.
Kack made them both some herb tea, then sat at the table smoothing the cover of the book and carefully turning the pages, handling the book as if it were a rare treasure.
“They work, you know,” she said proudly.
“
I know,” April answered softly. “I wouldn’t have wanted to put the book together if I didn’t believe in it.”
Kack stopped at a particular page.
“This one,” she said, “should be helpful today in this troubled world. Comfrey, marigold leaves, apple cider vinegar – it quiets and cleans the troubled mind.
As she finished the sentence, she looked up and caught April
’s troubled eyes. It was a bold, knowing look.
In that moment, April knew.
Here was someone she could tell. Without expecting to, she burst into tears, laid her head on the table and sobbed.
I
n her wisdom, Kack didn’t go to her, did not implore her to stop. She knew these cleansing tears were the release from pain and confusion that she needed.
Finally, when April could not cry anymore, she lifted her head, dried her eyes and apologized.
“It’s all right. Sometimes that’s the only remedy that works.” Kack looked down at the page and said, “But for a deeply troubled mind there are other things that cure and can heal.”
April knew she was referring to Ryan.
Slowly, in a muddle, she began talking – describing how different, how unthinking, how cruel he had become.
Kack let her talk, urging her on; she gave no opinion and no advice.
It was when the girl was talked out that Kack finally responded, speaking in halting sentences. “You believe in my remedies – you’ve shown me that by writing this book. There are other remedies, too, secret ones. There is one I cannot share with you, but I know in my heart it would heal Ryan.”
April
’s eyes lit up with hope. “Kack, you must help me. You must help him. I know you love him. He suffers so, and in his suffering, he hurts others.”
“
Then you must do as I say.” She reached into her apron. “Tonight, pour this into his drink. It is not harmful; it will only make him sleep.”
April reached for the small vial.
She trusted her. She knew Kack loved Ryan; she knew Kack would never hurt him. If it were only superstitious mumbo jumbo, what did it matter? Yet she had proved that the woman knew things beyond medicinal science – natural things. Maybe, by some miracle, she
could
help…
After agreeing to the conspiracy, April walked back to the house, her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket, her fingers touching the vial.
Here, out in the sunlight, it seemed crazy to hope that Kack could restore him. She was tempted to fling the little bottle in the bushes, but it clung to the bottom of her pocket like a burr.
That night,
Elizabeth joined them for dinner. She was a ghost of herself. Ryan spoke of a lovely condo in St. Louis and what fun she would have decorating it. She nodded politely and cocked her head and seemed to be listening for distant voices. They were not sure if she really understood when Ryan told her of the imminent sale of the property.
April was puzzled by Ryan
’s behavior toward Tom. She heard him mutter under his breath, “Bastard.” Tom these days seemed so out of character – brazen and often rude. It seemed peculiar, as he should have been pleased now that Ryan was going to honor the Judge’s promise and deed him the ten acres.
Elizabeth
’s conversation at the dinner table rambled on, mixing up the here and now with happier yesterdays. After her brandy, Tom assisted her up to bed.
The others watched television in the library.
Ryan’s face was flushed, his eyes feverish, as if he looked right through the screen. April suddenly felt a rush of fear, and her fingers curled around the vial that was hidden in her pocket. When he went to put another log on the fire, she hurriedly uncapped the small bottle and poured the few drops of liquid into his drink.
Ryan came back to the love seat, reached for his glass, and with a swift swallow, finished the remains of his drink.
She nervously watched his face for signs that he knew something was amiss. He gave none.
Reaching for her hand, he held it absentmindedly.
“Let’s go to bed,” she said. The words held promise.
“
All right.” He shut off the TV and followed her up the stairs.
He
undressed quickly. She went into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub waiting. How long would it take? She didn’t know. She delayed for what seemed a long time, then cautiously opened the bedroom door a crack. He was asleep.
He lay across the bed, h
is features at rest, mouth open slightly, his breathing slow and even. His face was so dear to her. She yearned for him as he had once been. She loved him deeply. If only this cancer of guilt that gnawed at him could be conquered.
Going to the French doors
, she saw Kack waiting at the edge of the woods. The dark figure moved forward, the quiet slap of Kack’s tread on the terrace stairs an alien sound in the night.
Under the cape, April saw the movement.
A small rabbit emerged, jumped to the floor, and began to hop across the carpet. A canvas bag, redolent with spice, was deposited next, and beneath her other arm, April saw that Kack held a second animal.
“
Go,” Kack ordered. “Go, and do not come back till morning.”
An urge to stop the craziness swept over Apr
il. Her husband needed a psychiatrist, not this black magic or whatever. It reminded her clearly how far she had gone; she was without hope.
“
Go,” Kack ordered loudly now, for she felt the girl’s doubt. Laying her bundles on the floor, she took April’s arm and led her to the door and closed it after her, turning the lock with a final click.
April stood outside.
It was too late, she had allowed it. She knew it was crazy. She went to the green room, took two sleeping tablets, and quickly fell into a dreamless sleep.
Kack
’s hands shook as she lit the candles. She had done this before. It was different; she had loved the Judge, so she had saved him, to touch, to hold, to love in the small bundle of fur. The flame flickered in the room, which grew fragrant with the scent of bayberry. She shuddered as she watched the rise and fall of his chest, this alien thing that lay before her. It did not house Ryan’s soul – no – his soul was here in her hand, waiting under the soft fur. She dipped a finger into the jar of burnt ash, drew it on his chest – a large yawning entrance.
He stirred, a soft murmur in his throat.
With trembling fingers she painted a small mouth on his forehead, the lines enclosing the pineal eye.
His eyelids fluttered and were still.
She waited: only the soft sound of the rabbit thumping across the floor could be heard. The creature sensed the importance of the moment. When she reached for him, gently pressing his body to the floor, the rabbit’s nose quivered. He strained to understand. The meat cleaver gleamed in her upraised hand; her eyes caught his and begged him to be still. The rabbit blinked, and in that moment swiftly the sharp edge crushed down through the soft fur, through the thick pile of the carpet, and lay wedged into the wood floor.
The sou
nd of the Oh mu rose from the severed head.
Kack held her ears and rocked back and forth gently on her heels.
She watched only one thing. The opening she had drawn on her son’s chest.
Her hands against her ears could not exclude the sound.
The Oh mu searched. She heard its moan above her, behind her, until it settled like a gathering of dust on the satin ruffle of the bed. It slithered under the cover, creeping slowly onto the warm flesh.
His chest heaved.
The mouth of ash worked violently – sinking in momentarily to puff outward. The movement went on. The mouth seemed to breathe. A violent pop was heard, and the body began to tremble and thrash about the bed as if fighting an invisible intruder.
Katherine took the sleeping cat and stood at the head of the b
ed and watched the struggle. Her son quieted. She leaned closer, placing the cat’s loose mouth near the pineal eye. A small blister formed, quivered, and then burst. The cat inhaled deeply. Katherine held her breath; she felt the subtle wind, a stench, fill the room. It flowed stream-like, inward, and the cat arched as he became the unwilling host.
She peered fearfully at the human face as its stiffness dissolved.
The mouth softened, a tear slid from under a shuttered lash, the cheeks bloomed, and like the sand – the hourglass shifted. She sobbed softly, gratefully, for Ryan was back and sleeping peacefully; the exchange perfect.
“
Forgive me. If there is a God, forgive me,” she murmured. “It is worse than the forbidden rug; I deserve to lose my sanity and my soul.”
She cradled the sleeping cat and cried into its fur.
She stayed until the first light of day, putting the remains of the rabbit into the canvas bag. She dreaded the moment when the other creature would awake.
It was as she prepared to leave that it stirred.
The cat’s eyes blinked stupidly. It rose on wobbly legs, circled the room, and stopped before the mirror, where its tail switched back and forth with a newfound anxiety.
A paw
reached out gingerly and touched the mirror. Its eyes met those in the glass. Recognition – fresh knowledge. It let out one agonized roar.
Kack gathered the leash and struggled with it.
It tore her flesh, scratched her arms. She welcomed the pain; she deserved it. Before she had the cat subdued he had managed to fish the rabbit head out of her bag and savagely devoured it while her stomach heaved with disgust.
She was the caretaker.
He was hers to guard forever until he died a natural death.