Eloquent Silence

by Weise, Margaret

The potential to trust was long gone from Julia’s repertoire of capabilities and she felt overdue to attend to attend to its resurrection, as this frightening fact made her aware that she may possibly never be able to have a meaningful relationship again. Regaining the capacity to count on people once more, to believe they meant well towards her and would not willingly tramp her feelings into nothingness, grinding them into dust seemed essential to the healing of her psyche. Surely two such experiences would be adequate for this lifetime and third time would be lucky. Everyone knew that was a fact. Or did they?

  Belief in the sincerity of others had completely disappeared for her when she had found out what Felix was up to, lost by the wayside somewhere between doubt and experience. However, if she wanted to have a long term companion again she would have to take the chance on Ralph’s sincerity and forget how her trust had been sacrificed on the road from flirtation to deceit. To believe in him was necessary. Doubt would destroy yet another attempted association and that could make her bitter, she reasoned.

  Basic trust had been swept away by the maelstrom of male ego asserting itself in the whirlpool of choices at their fingertips where the odds of courtship were one man to ten women and loyalty seemed to be lost by the wayside for her as she thought about meandering men.

  Or she recalled how deception was lurking on the other end of the telephone in those days of multiple partnering for the second time around when people were hurt, their egos bruised and their attitudes sadly much changed from when they were young and open to the world. She must forget the treachery and learn that not all men would do her wrong if she let go and trusted again.

  Somehow she must find a way to believe and have faith in another again before the iron settled into her soul, causing her to become cynical and skeptical for all time. Julia was at the magical age of forty-five, a time when a lonely woman can feel the rest of her life bearing down on her, crushing her into brutal loneliness of the rest of her days.

  She had hair the color of dark honey and eyes to match, with feathery little lines appearing at the corner of her eyes, while traces of laughter lines stretched at the corners of her mouth.

  Her philosophy of life had assured that she would survive the sadness experienced over the loss of a beloved baby who had died from whooping cough at one month of age, too young to be immunized against the dreadful disease. Painful and difficult as the baby’s death had been for both parents, the loss had formed a wedge between her and husband, Sonny, which had eventually widened into a breech and then a gulf which could not be healed by either party. Julia knew the sadness and futility of breaking up a marriage in this way but neither could build the necessary bridge towards the other and any endeavor seemed only to make matters worse.

  They had gone their separate ways with a certain amount of hostility, as Julia had discovered the ugly truth of Sonny’s infidelity when she had found him with a much younger, very pregnant woman in a restaurant one evening when he had failed to return home for dinner.

  Ralph was large, tall and well-padded, more muscular than simply overweight, as his body was toned from long days in the construction industry in which he had a vested interest. He as conversational and friendly but only at a certain level, Julia discovered over many following meetings. Beyond that, no connection. He could make eye contact without revealing anything of himself one way or the other, a gift that Julia was certain would hold them back from gaining any traction in the relationship. Yet he seemed to really like her company and sought her out repeatedly, which she really appreciated.

  She told herself she could find a way through his obvious guardedness, thinking she could love him if he let her as he was bright, good-looking, firm and strong, humorous and upbeat. And handsome. But had possibly been hurt as much as she had.

  Julia admired his rugged looks, his broad shoulders and large, sinewy hands with their long, strong fingers. Each time she saw him she felt a sudden rush of affection towards him along with the surety that they would get closer and closer as time went by, simply convincing herself that it was only a matter of time and patience and that worrying about it would not achieve anything.

  Telling him of her perplexity regarding his guardedness, she begged him to always be honest with her.

  ‘Please just tell me the truth, whatever it may be,’ she entreated him through a tight throat. ‘Some men are less than honest with their partners, you know.’

  He threw back his head and roared with laughter, a laugh so meaningless that Julia would wonder later on what the attempted relationship had been all about.

  ‘That’s a good one, that is? Seriously? Ha ha, Oh, ha ha. Do tell.’ With difficulty, he pulled his face back into some semblance of seriousness and ran his hand over his receding hairline, turning his face away from her. ‘You do have some issues, don’t you?’

  She felt slightly deflated but thought perseverance would probably win out.

  Fond of him after some months of going out and about together, she needed to get closer to him, deciding to confide matters about her life experiences, hoping he would do likewise and they could build a mutual bond.

  He listened to her stories, made little or no comment, never confided in return. She decided he was a difficult man to draw close to but time would doubtlessly remedy that as they really were enjoying their shared experiences.

  They continued along with their relationship, loving their outings, singing loudly together as they drove along, making much small talk, but with few further confidences exchanged. They loved each other, they said, and both agreed that what they had found was precious. They saw a great deal of each other and spoke almost daily on the telephone.

  However, she ceased confiding in him, thinking she couldn’t afford to take the risk. What if he never started to confide in her? There was no single incident that brought the knowledge to her that he was not playing straight, that she was in trouble and could have the rug pulled out from under her at any moment. The irrepressible doubt had simply crept up on her as one closed door followed another. He had made the mysterious transition from married to single without seeming to have left a trail worth talking about.

  She knew he was single or at the very least separated. She had been to his house many times. But he was hiding something. Having met his mother at his house, she wondered about Mrs. Prosser’s line of questioning.

  ‘So who are you? And what do you do? Where do you work? Where do you live? What did your former husband do? Who are your people? What business are they in?’ asked the hard-faced woman in her seventies with jet black hair in a lacquered beehive style reminiscent of some decades previously.

  ‘I’m Julia Henry; I work for an insurance company; I live in Berry Street; my former husband was an insurance broker; my people, as you call them, are on a property at Black Plains; they farm alpacas and llamas and grow crops,’ Julia informed her with foreboding.

  Mrs Prosser sniffed loudly.

  She gazed at Julia from head to toe through her hard, almost black, beady eyes. A trim, tight-lipped woman in a tweed suit kept in mothballs since of World War Two with the obligatory string of pearls around her crêpy neck, all of which were her last link with the fashion of a time when she had been Queen Bee in the town of Rushmore.

  She had sat as still as if she was carved out of stone while Julia explained her place in the world and her right to breathe the exalted air in Ralph’s house. When she had finished listening to Julia and eyeing her with that sweeping, steely gaze, the Queen Bee rose and sailed majestically into another room.

  Julia had the feeling that she didn’t measure up to the old girl’s expectations for her middle-aged son but nothing was said either way.

  At least, not to Julia.

  Julia’s slightest queries to Ralph were met with,

  ‘What’s this? Forty questions? One day I’ll talk to you.’

  She could not help but wonder what the index to his character was. Why was he so afraid to unbend, to confide? Didn’t he realize after all
this time that she was on his side?

  Uneasy, she endeavored to pass over her discomfort. Why was he holding back, failing to open up to her, not acquainting her with his dinner guests? Introducing his family members only when she happened to meet them accidentally at his house? What had he to hide?

  Julia was unable to face her fears, to put a name to them, knowing that the response would be, ‘Forty questions! Ha ha,’ in his deep, throaty voice accompanied by gusts of meaningless laughter.

  Bewildered, she would sink into silence at his failure to include her in his socializing. She had no reply to his comments of,

  ‘Lip-dropper, hey? Green-eyed monster, hey?’

  Sadly, she began to realize he was insensitive as well as secretive.

  Unimpressed, she tried to explain further to him, failing pitifully in her attempts. His comments overrode her each time. She tried to see past his often withdrawn expression and look deeply into his eyes to endeavor to see the man living in there. Nothing was visible inside those heavy-lidded eyes. Nothing. Behind his eyes there was only the blankness of secrecy.

  Ralph’s birthday came around. Julia chose his present with as much care as she could, cooked a special dinner, tried to show him that he was loved. The night went well and Julia assumed they had found a closeness not so far reached in their relationship. But it was only an assumption that would soon be shot down in flames.

  A few nights later he informed her that he was being taken out for dinner for his birthday by certain members of his family. Knowing that in a reverse situation she would have included him in the invitation, she found herself unable and afraid to put her queries into words as he would poo-poo them and make fun of her in an effort of distraction.

  She sat dumbly on the sofa beside him as he chatted away about this and that—how much he loved her and how fortunate they were to have found each other. She replied in monosyllables. In her mind questions roared, alarms sounded in her brain, fears clambered over one another. His actions and his words did not match.

  What’s it all about? Why I aren’t I fit to meet these people, his mother, his sons and their wives? Yes, I’ve met his mother by accident. That didn’t auger particularly well. Is he ashamed of me? Perhaps there’s another woman who’s included at these times? Does he pretend to still be faithful to the wife he’s separated from? Divorced from, so he says.

  He stopped speaking and stared at her coldly.

  ‘Come on. Up you get. Home you go.’ He stood and handed her the keys of her car.

  ‘No, no, we must talk,’ she objected, ready to cry.

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ he said as he walked swiftly towards the front door.

  He returned to her, grabbed her hand, opened the door. His face broke into a warm smile.

  ‘See you when you’re in a better mood. I’m off to bed. Goodnight.’

  Arriving home, she phoned him, knowing she was in emotional difficulty.

  The television was roaring. He hadn’t gone to bed at all.

  ‘Ralph, darling, I’m trying to tell you there’s something I’m not comfortable with. I can’t put my finger on it, but something doesn’t fit.’

  ‘Go on to bed, Possum. I’ll give you a buzz tomorrow.’

  Tomorrow came and went. No contact. She wrote him a short letter, trying to communicate the questions running around in her head after six months of having these issues dodged. No response. She rang him.

  ‘I have to talk to you, Ralph. We have to talk. We simply can’t let it all end like this. We’re supposed to love each other.’

  ‘I know, Sweetheart. I’ll give you a buzz on the weekend. We’ll get together and talk then. Okay?’

  Saturday arrived. They had made previous arrangements to attend a dinner dance that night. Waiting until 3pm for him to ring and discuss the proposed outing as well as their big discussion, she could stand the tension no longer, deciding to go to see him. She drove the few blocks to his house and entered through the front door.

  He was sitting watching the football.

  ‘How are you? I was going to ring you soon,’ he said as he laughed low in his throat, a smile of welcome, however temporary, warming his face.

  ‘I’m a little upset, Ralph,’ Julia replied. Her large brown eyes swum with unshed tears. ‘I was wondering if we were still going out tonight and whether we could talk about all this, I hoped we could find out the cause of our problems.’

  ‘No, not tonight, Darling. I’m going over to my mother’s for dinner.’

  ‘But what about the dinner dance. My friend Ellen and her husband Stretch will be expecting us.’

  ‘Not in the mood, Honey. I’ll give you a ring when I get back from Japan. We’ll see how we’re going then. Don’t give up on us, will you? I love you.’

  ‘When will you be going over there?’ she asked, mystified at this new information.

  ‘I’m going in three or four weeks.’

  ‘Please don’t do this. Don’t just cut me off. Can’t we discuss our feelings? Our problems?’

  ‘Sure, Sweetie, we will. But go now. I don’t want to talk. I haven’t slept for the last two nights. I don’t need that. But I do love you, you know.’

  Standing, he again handed her the car keys and opened the front door as he had on Monday night.

  ‘Don’t give up on us yet, Baby. But I’m not ready to talk to you. I will, though.’

  ‘Please talk to me, Ralph. Don’t hurt me this way.’

  She walked to her car, then returned to where he stood at his front door.

  ‘There’s no one else, you know. I just can’t talk to you,’ he said, patting her shoulder.

  Defeated, she went home.

  Ralph went to his mother’s for dinner. At 10pm he was home and answered the telephone.

  ‘Please, Ralph, I’m sorry. Forget I ever got upset,’ she told him. ‘This is tearing me apart. I love you.’

  ‘What do you think it’s doing to me? I haven’t slept for two nights, I told you. I love you, too.’ He sounded tired and distressed and she longed to be close to him.

  ‘We must talk. We must be honest with each other,’ she told him, blinded by tears.

  ‘I know, Darling,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll give you a buzz through the week. We’ll get together and talk it all out.’

  ‘Have you been at your mother’s all evening?’

  ‘What’s this? Forty questions? Ha ha ha. I don’t have to answer to you.’

  Chirpy again, switching his emotions on and off.

  What was this man’s problem? Of what was his make up constructed?

  ‘No. But we have to be able to communicate, Ralph.’ Julia was beginning to realize the futility of her wishes.

  ‘I’ll give you a buzz through the week. Okay.’ Sending a few kisses, he gently hung the phone up.

  On the other end of the line, Julia gazed at the instrument in bewilderment, almost certain there was no honesty in her relationship with Ralph, as hard as they both had seemed to try for a time.

  Trembling between hopeful and teary, she tried to turn her despair into something she could live with, aware by this time that she had been led up the garden path to a situation where there was no garden present and she would have to turn away before she was injured again. She must needs right her toppled life while surviving yet again. It was the only way.

  The moment arrives for every couple when they have to learn how to deal honestly with each other if they are to survive as a twosome. This time came. It passed. There was nothing left to say. There was no common ground on which to stand.

  As another song says, sometimes love just isn’t enough, especially if you are mixed up with a deceiver who has no truth to tell.

  Julia found herself to be totally over musical comparisons to her life and loves. Some enchanted evening was just another anecdote to add to the many others that left her deflated as she picked herself up, dusted herself off and found herself to be up to living her life without Ralph the Roving Ragamuffin,
renowned for his racketeering slant on life.

  8. See You Next Time

  Maureen met him at a party. It was just an average, run-of-the mill sort of party, but then they were just average, run-of-the-mill sort of people with their small worlds about to be turned upside down. His name was John. John Richard Donohue, third generation Australian with a voice that carried more than a hint of Irish brogue in it and the air of a wild, restless Irishman about him. He had sharp, chiseled, ruddy features and was powerful through the chest and arms from decades of wrestling with contentious animals, bagged grain and heavy machinery. His shoulders were slightly bowed as though for altercation, arms slightly bent as if for action. Yet the face was that of a peaceful man with a mouth displaying a slight line of cynicism. Tall and agile, he ate well, slept deep and had the contented soul of a hard-working man.

  All these matters were little more than an impression she received as she sat on the couch in these people’s lounge room, a vivid room painted mauve with trimmings of gold-colored paint and a lime green lounge suite. A little bewildering to the eye, a certain amount of time was needed to settle the shock to the occipital area of the brain. On a feature wall hung a large framed painting of can-can dancers, by a particular dwarfed French painter, Maureen thought, unable for the moment to recall the name of the man who had given his heart and soul to the painting of these particular women. Oh, yes, she remembered after a while of searching through her mental index filing system. Toluouse la Trec, a dwarfed man, genius painter.

  When she saw John enter the front door Maureen had an innate sense of familiarity with him as he entered the room but had never met him in her life that she could recall. She did not know if he had noticed her and didn’t particularly care as all she wanted was to go home.

  Who were these people she was sitting in the midst of feeling disorientated and alone and how did she end up at a party in the home of a couple she had never met in her life? Miles from home and feeling out of kilter, in fact, drop-dead miserable to put it mildly.

  That’s right. She’d agreed to come with a male friend who had promptly gone outside to hang around with the men who were gathered close to the beer keg out beyond the rear patio. This was, of course, positioned as far away from the women as possible and closer to the back fence that bordered on the scrub on the side of the hill.