The Carpenter's Wife

by G. H. Holmes

No. His heart thumped. Don’t go away.

  Now she stared at the floor in front of the camera. “Is Tom behind this?”

  “No,” he said quickly.

  “Because I’m going to his house now. I’ll tell him—”

  He laughed. “Go ahead. I’d love to hear that conversation.”

  She remained firm, but her grainy black-and-white hand came up to her face and she wiped a tear away—at least that was what it seemed—and the fluttering sparrow in his stomach changed into a swarm of wasps. The insects were coming and going and crawling all over his inside.

  “Ralph, I don’t want to go to Bert’s.”

  His inclination was to throw the door open and to hold her and to tell her all right, all was forgiven, if she’d only stay true—

  But he couldn’t act on impulse tonight. Tom had said—

  “At least let me have my makeup case.”

  He rolled his eyes. There she goes again.

  “And some clothes.”

  He depressed the intercom button. “Not a chance.”

  “I’ve got no money.”

  “Tell Bert.”

  Her shoulders heaved. “I don’t even have shoes; I lost one when you hit me driving off.”

  Ludicrous. “Tell the guy you want to marry to get you some. We’re through.”

  “Is that your last word?”

  “Count on it.”

  “What are you going to tell the kids tomorrow?”

  “That you left us—that you’re away on a course.” She’d been gone before. Last year she’d been away an entire week on a job training course, in truth visiting her father in America.

  She was weeping now, a flinty kind of weep.

  Suddenly Bert slid into the picture, stiff-legged and cane in hand.

  He’d stood there the whole time, listening and watching. Delors felt like a fool.

  “All right,” Bert said into the camera. “This is nutty, to keep your wife out here in the cold. You don’t want her; that’s between you and your conscience. She’s getting cold; come, Gina.”

  He saw how Müller grabbed her hand. But she withdrew it, making Ralph’s heart to thump again.

  Müller was undeterred. “One man’s trash, another man’s treasure. Come, dear; I have a roof for your head.”

  The wasps in Ralph’s stomach gathered in a tight clump. Perhaps it was all his own fault. Maybe he should apologize and ask them both to come in. She had to be exhausted, and Bert could spend the night on a rollaway in her office; he didn’t hate this man.

  But he couldn’t let her in. The plan. He had only this one chance and he needed to cure her of Müller—of other men—once and for all.

  He switched the monitor off and sneaked to the door.

  “Ralph?” he heard his wife say. She rapped on the door again. “Ralph?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Let’s go,” Bert’s muffled voice said. “My feet are going flat. We’ll need to get money someplace else.”

  The wasps in the carpenter’s stomach turned into molten lead. That scoundrel.

  That conniving little clown.

  And what did that make her?

  He heard car doors thud. The burning sensation stayed with him even as he heard them drive off. Tired, he sat down on the first step of the stairwell and began to weep.

  She’d lost.

  Never in her life had she lost a battle with her husband before. His reaction cast an entirely different color on her experience. This was no game anymore. He really, truly had left her penniless and without shoes—not to mention without makeup.

  Now she no longer had a choice, she was stuck with Bert.

  “Gina Gina Ginah…” he sang.

  Now she sat in his car again, flying through the night, not liking the gleam in his eyes. He looked like a paralyzed dwarf, a grimy wood-dweller, not like the interesting and witty official in charge of Customer Complaints who’d charmed her out of her pants. He desperately needed a haircut. Also, his A4 seemed narrow in comparison with her own A6; she couldn’t escape his right hand.

  “Ginah…”

  She winced and turned away, sticking her tongue out at the smell of beer and death from his mouth.

  “Ginah…!”

  She shoved his hand away. “Just keep your eyes on the road.”

  He grinned.

  She was amazed to find him able to drive. She’d driven back to Elmendorf with him by her side, but now he sat behind the steering and was obviously quite comfortable. And why not? His car had an automatic transmission. He needed only his right foot, and he was short enough to stretch out his injured leg in the footwell.

  For some reason she felt cheated.

  Plus, she didn’t appreciate the leer in his face. Bert sensed that she was thrown back on him. He couldn’t help but gloat, and she didn’t like it. One bit.

  “Gina Gina.”

  She stared out into the darkness beyond the passenger’s side window and didn’t reply.

  The car suddenly veered to the left, and she braced herself. Then the going got bumpy. He turned the lights off.

  She faced him. “What are you doing?”

  “Doing’s the right word,” he said, puttering down the country lane.

  “What?” She supported herself on the dashboard.

  “It’s warm. Up front’s a meadow where we can talk—”

  “Bert, I’m not in the mood.”

  “But I am, babe. Wait until you see where I take you. There’s a lake…”

  “It’s past two at night—“

  “Precisely. Nobody’s going to see us.”

  “I’m not going to sit in the forest and get eaten by bugs.”

  He pursed his lips. “Then you sit on the hood. I’ve got a blanket in the trunk we can spread out, and—”

  “Are you nuts?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Gina, I’m a hungry man. I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life. Now you’re here, and—”

  “Look at me. Do I care? I’m tired; I want to sleep.”

  He stopped and killed the motor. “I need you, Gina. Now.”

  Her arms moved without aim—when his teeth suddenly gleamed and he laughed.

  “What’s with you?” he said. “You love me, don’t you?”

  She massaged her temple. “If you love me, take me home.”

  “No no. I said, you love me. You love me.”

  “Bert—”

  Suddenly his left hand shot toward her like a claw and grabbed her T-shirt. She shrieked and reached for the door handle—only to find that the car was locked.

  Then he kneeled on the driver’s seat with his good knee. Both his hands reached for her.

  She gasped.

  She started to smack his face with soft fists, but he only laughed, a grimy, hairy, smelly monster; a stiff-legged satyr of the forest. Only when she pulled her legs up and began to kick him did he draw back.

  “Hey! Ouch!”

  He opened his door, took his cane, and heaved himself out of the cabin.

  Immediately, she scooted into the driver’s seat and fumbled for the key.

  He grinned and showed it to her dangling from his hand. Then he prodded her with his cane. “Come, babe, come. The night is right.” His breath ran short with insanity and desire. When she didn’t obey right away, he took her by her hair and dragged her from the car.

  “Ow, let go; you’re hurting me.”

  “I don’t hurt you,” he said, pulling her close. “I love you. And you love me.” He laughed his hoarse, rasping laugh again. Then he bit her neck. At least that didn’t hurt.

  She wriggled free from his embrace and stepped back a few meters. “Look,” she said, one arm extended in defense, “this is crazy.”

  But he didn’t hear her. “What is love by a magical moon,” he crooned. Then he slapped the hood of his Audi with his cane. “You hear?” he said, staring at the dent. “You hear?” He smacked the hood again.

  She stumbled backwards toward the trees
. The grass was cold under her soles and she scraped herself on some brambles. The wages of sin Tom had talked about flashed through her mind. And now Bert had gone crazy. The devil had taken him over.

  What now?

  Where was this preacher when you needed him?

  Wait; Tom?

  Tom was behind this; she was sure of that. Ralph would have never left her standing out in the cold. It was Tom—

  “Babe, I can see you. I can see in the dark, did you know that? I can see right through your cover.”

  She’d reached the forest, still walking backwards, not feeling the jabs of needles and twigs underfoot.

  “And do you know what I see? Love by a magical moon, that’s what I see. Yes, that’s what I see!”

  Gina turned and ran. The brush crackled, sending streaks of pain up through her feet.

  “I see you,” Müller shouted. “No matter where you go, I’ll be right behind you! I’m watching you! I’m in front of you; you’re running into me! See me? Hello! Hello!”

  His cane came down on the hood again while he whinnied like a horse.

  Ralph entered the dark hall downstairs, finding it impossible to rest. He’d tried, to no avail. Instead, he needed to talk. Tom had told him he could call whenever, but the carpenter was hesitant. The pastor was probably in bed now too.

  With Romy.

  She seemed so much easier to maintain than Gina.

  But it was Gina whom he loved and whom he couldn’t get out of his soul tonight. Truth be told, he’d rather talk with Romy than with Tom. She was easier, and she listened. She’d listened so well the other day. Tom knew more and talked more, and tonight, Ralph felt his own need to talk.

  It was hot in the house and he craved fresh air. And so he stood, his hand on the door, trying to decide whether taking a walk in a village the size of Elmendorf at two thirty at night was a good idea. Anybody who’d meet him would turn into a sack of questions before he’d have the chance to move on—if they didn’t already all know.

  He tried to think of possible answers for imaginary passers-by.

  The most likely candidate was Robert down the street. He’d be loaded. He’d talk loud and wake everybody up.

  Not good.

  Or what if he ran in to one of the Gillichs coming home late from a council meeting? All of them were Gina’s uncles. He imagined meeting Anton Gillich. “Hey boy, heard you kicked your wife out tonight? How come?” Then he’d suck on his cigar, squinting, waiting for a reply, exuding all the dominance of a village councilman.

  “She got rug burn while I wasn’t home.”

  “I see. A woman like her mother, eh? Don’t know why Alfred married her. He didn’t have to.”

  He’d nod thoughtfully.

  “Anything else?”

  “Also found a notebook she wrote for her lover.”

  Anton would chafe his chin with a frown. “Your wife?”

  He’d nod.

  “Now that’s bad.” Then he’d pat Ralph on the back and assure him, “We’ll be discussing your case at the next meeting. Take care now, and don’t drown the children just because they’re hers. They’re good kids. A little rambunctious maybe, but…”

  Ralph sighed.

  Worst would be if he ran into Erich or one of his allies. Erich played stand-up comedian at the fire brigade fest in two weeks and would mock him during his half-funny recital of noteworthy events. The good villagers would slap their thighs and laugh at him, because Erich surely knew about Gina and Bert driving off together too.

  Gina.

  What might she be doing right now?

  Standing in his dark hall, Ralph wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know.

  She stopped again and listened. A sough made the treetops to sway and far away an owl cooed. Other than that the night forest lay quiet. She no longer heard any footsteps.

  She’d fled, moving on and on in spite of her bruised feet, stumbling, tripping over logs, slipping on leaves slick from the rain, until she’d gained a vague sense of security. Bert was slow, but he wore shoes and she didn’t.

  But perhaps the footfalls hadn’t been his after all. Maybe those noises had just sprung from her imagination—or a deer. He’d quit calling after her while still down by the car.

  Now she happened upon a small clearing and decided on a whim to avoid it. Instead, she found a mossy rock close by and huddled in a niche where the shadow of a bush concealed her. She drew her knees up and slung her arms around them, and waited, while the morning cold crept through her damp clothes.

  God, I’m so sorry. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. I don’t have a right to speak. But bring me out of this, please. Pleeease. I promise, I’ll change. With your help. God, please, don’t let me die tonight. She meant to cry, but tears wouldn’t come.

  There was no voice or light or angel lighting up the clearing to indicate that God had heard her plea.

  Perhaps God had given her up. This time for good.

  God, pleeease.

  She shivered. These were the wee small hours and she’d never known how chilly they could be—even when daytime temperatures still set records. Upon leaving Bert’s apartment, she’d found her jacket hanging over the banister on the bottom floor, obviously deposited there by that friendly man, the biker. But she never did find her missing sandal, and so she’d left its useless twin in Bert’s car along with her coat.

  Now she missed both.

  She tightened the grip around her legs.

  Bert…

  What had gotten into that man?

  How could an intelligent, gentle, and caring individual like Bert turn into a rabid, driven monster? She would have given him what he wanted, gladly; she loved him, after all. She always gave in in the end. After all, he’d been there for her too. He made her feel like a queen while Ralph snoozed in front of the TV. She and Bert were a team. So, why this exercise in dominance? It was so totally out of character.

  Startled, she realized that she didn’t love Bert anymore.

  He’d slipped from her control, and now she feared him.

  Then she thought of Tom Stark, and hot anger flushed through her.

  It was all Tom’s fault.

  They’d been such harmonious friends, she and Bert and Ralph, until that wacko preacher came along and tore it all up with his stupid ideas of purity and sanctification. Who lived like this today? The pope maybe, and the priest, and Straight Face Tom Stark. No wonder his wife was such a pallid little person, so totally out of tune—

  No, no. She was good.

  She sniffled. Sorry, God… Romy was an angel, a true friend.

  But not Tom.

  How she loathed him. If it weren’t for him, she’d be cozy in her bed, with her children by her side and Ralph in front of the tube.

  And Bert would be asleep in his apartment, waiting, dreaming of her.

  She shivered. Bert had changed. He’d been foolish enough to confront Tom, and Tom had almost murdered him for it; Tom had shaken the screws loose in Bert’s mind while all Bert tried to do was talk.

  How hateful, to slug a talker.

  And now she suffered because Tom induced insanity in Bert.

  It was insane.

  This preacher was dangerous.

  No, he’s not, said a still small voice. He’s a man of God, who didn’t take you when he could have taken you.

  Puh!

  Bert’s a hypocrite, Ralph’s a hypocrite, you are a filthy dirty lying hypocrite and you know it; and Tom’s not, and that’s what makes you angry. He’s got convictions. And the guts to stick to them.

  He was a moralist fool, a hateful sourpuss.

  A man of God.

  She needed to get him out of her system.

  He’s good for you.

  No, he wasn’t. He was—

  Suddenly the twigs parted—and Bert’s face appeared. “Aaah!”

  She shrieked.

  “Got you!” He laughed hysterically.

  She shot up. “This isn’t fu
nny.”

  All she got was more laughter. And when he poked the rubbery end of his cane into the confinement of the niche in which she stood, she stepped forward and kicked the cast on his leg, making him to stumble. She darted out and shoved him, and he fell flat on his back.

  He gurgled. “Hold me tight…”

  “Why don’t you leave me alone,” she shouted.

  “Gina—”

  “I hate you!”

  He whinnied again.

  “I hate you!” She snatched up his cane and started beating down on him with the handle-end. “I never want to see you again!”

  Bert rolled over and moaned with a warbling, high-pitched voice like a hyena. He surely didn’t sound human. The hair on her neck bristled and the force with which she beat him drained out of her. Then she cast the cane away and staggered backwards.

  Bert grappled to get up on his elbows. “I’ll show you…”

  She turned and tried to run—but the ground below the clearing’s fluffy moss was a mesh of needles and pins. She bit her lip as she pranced away, feeling the solid shapes of dead branches; stubs dug into her feet.

  She heard Bert behind her; he wore shoes—

  She slipped and fell and squealed. Then she crawled on all fours, bruising her knees and elbows and forearms, until the hard stubs turned into leaves. She got up and ran—into the prickly embrace of a tree. She screamed through closed lips.

  Bert’s footsteps made the ground to crackle.

  Then something in her snapped, and she didn’t care about the pain anymore. A heightened sense of realism came over her and she became an animal of the wild. She could clearly distinguish between the shapes and shadows of the night, like an owl.

  She was going insane.

  Not yet.

  She pulled a pine branch back, leaning into it with all her might. Bert came closer and her heart began to pound. When he stood in front of her, she let go. The branch swooshed and struck his face with a thud, knocking him back into the clearing, where he tumbled and fell down.

  A long moment later he came to. She heard his muffled scream—but she was gone, galloping through he forest, expertly avoiding trees and branches, as if she’d been a woodsperson all her life.

  Then the forest had an end and she ran down into a ditch and up on the other side—and then something cold and smooth and flat was under her feet. She touched it and perceived an elevated band of concrete.