The Unspoken

by Don Zelma

Chapter Thirty-four

  An idea occurred to Ned in his sleep and he forced himself awake. He looked at the ceiling and lay there alert. It was extra chilly and part of him wanted to remain under the duvet. But he knew, if he stayed in bed, the idea from his dream would be lost. Waiting until morning never worked; he had tried many times and forgotten the ideas. It was here, at three in the morning, that your ambitions succeeded or failed.

  He slid out from under the duvet, naked and very cold. The bump in the road caused by the boxing tent now seemed a temporary phenomenon.

  ‘What drives you,’ he thought, ‘goes way way back, so far back you don’t even know how it started. Who knows why some are content to plod? This project, this quiet plan, is where I will stand and fight.’

  He approached the window, rubbing his head, and pulled up at his dresser drawer in the moonlight. Writing was a job, he thought, like an old granite block you chipped away at. Secrecy and long hours – it was hard work. His hand reached in under his folded clothes and he quietly removed his notepad. Despite the hour, he felt motivated and strong. Once again, he had his direction.

  He recorded the line of dialogue exactly as it had occurred in his dream and felt it was pretty good.

  One more year, he thought, and I’m gonna be home.

  Edith felt his weight gone from the bed and slowly awoke. She waited, listening to the silence, a draft tickling the back of her head. She sensed someone in the room, slowly turned and gently pulled the duvet away from her face. She saw a silhouette seated at the far corner. Ned was leaning over the dresser with a pen in his hand. She had no idea why he was up. He was moving his lips, as if reading to himself. Finally, he sensed her, slowly looked up and carefully turned his head. It was one of the most surreal things she had seen in the house.

  He waited, staring at her in the dark. ‘I thought you were asleep,’ he said.

  She kept her head on the pillow. She considered silence, pretending to be asleep, but her curiosity was uncontrollable. She remembered now, before the river, she had heard many noises during the night in her dreams. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  His black head remained still. ‘Never mind, for Chr—t sake,’ he said. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  She waited then propped herself up on her elbows. There was a long wait. Her eyes watched intently as he place his pen inside the book and closed it. He stood, put the pad inside the drawer and she saw his fat silhouette moving in front of the moonlight.

  ‘What the hell do ya want?’ he said, irritated.

  She hesitated. ‘What did you put in the dresser?’ she asked.

  He disappeared into the dark then she felt him lay on the mattress. The bed dipped then he moved inwards.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he mumbled. He faced the wall and pulled the sheet up to his chin. There was a long pause then he rubbed his nose. ‘Go back to sleep,’ he said.

  Edith remained motionless up on her elbows, staring at his black head. She knew he had long ago gone over the edge and taken her future with him.

  ‘Look, what the f—k’s wrong with you?’ he asked, after a pause. His voice was loud in the dark. Her eyes moved around his dark shape. Ned turned and stared at her and it suddenly felt a little cold in the house. Outside, a car passed; its headlights softly lit the room and she saw his face looking at her before the room went dark. She felt the old Ned lurking close and experienced her first twinge of alarm in a long time. He was silent and she rested her head back to the pillow.

  ‘What the hell are ya worried about?’ she heard him say.

  She pondered, five or six seconds, then pulled the duvet away from her mouth. ‘I don’t know,’ she murmured.

  Ned felt angered. Edith didn’t understand. She had never strived for anything in her life and was simply content with an ordinary existence. Yes, writing was a long shot, a ridiculous dream, but he didn’t need the drama.

  The bed moved and he saw her slide out from under the duvet. She opened the wardrobe, put on her nightgown and walked into the hall. He heard the click of the bathroom wall switch then her feet on the tiles.

  He slowly got up and quietly headed towards the light. His feet entered the glow, he looked around the door and saw Edith sluicing her face in the basin. She quickly reached up, opened the cosmetics cabinet and her wet face flashed in the mirror. She wasn’t happy.

  ‘What other things are you hiding from me?’ she said wearily.

  She removed a packet from the shelf and popped a pill out from the foil. She cast it into the air like a peanut and caught it in her mouth.

  ‘Just calm down, will ya?’ he said. ‘You’re being a f—king idiot.’

  Edith slowly closed the cabinet. She turned on the tap, filled a dirty glass and looked at him as she drank. Ned had never seen her this defiant. She placed the glass down and looked into the basin.

  Chr—t, he thought, she’s going to do it.

  ‘This is just screwing with my head,’ she said. ‘And I can’t live like this anymore.’ She slowly turned and looked up at him. ‘Ned, I have finally found the courage,’ she said. ‘I want us to separate.’ She breathed several times through her nose and looked down. ‘At last,’ she said, ‘we have reached our tragic end.’