by Carrie Lange
The movie had been ‘Istanbul’. Dan had immediately liked Martin Klamsky, felt a kindred bond. This man could be him - driven, focused, mysterious. Clearly damaged, yet honorable.
Then Martin Klamsky had been revealed as a child molester and murderer. Dan was shocked and angered. Now he was supposed to loathe this man, hate him and be disgusted by him. And he was disgusted by him, but he couldn’t hate him.
Martin Klamsky had been trying to punish himself.
Searching for some form of Hell in which to burn.
At the end of the movie, the police took him away, just as he deserved, but Dan didn’t like the fact that he felt sorry for him when they did.
Tar had turned away from the darkness and looked out over the green rolling fields of a beautiful May afternoon in Tennessee, a faraway look in his eyes.
“Tar?”
Tar’s eyes remained fixed on the horizon. “What did you punish yourself for, Dan? Was it worth the death sentence you imposed upon yourself?”
Dan didn’t know how to respond. He looked back at the darkness, and saw the faint shape of a man. Its piercing eyes watched Tar from the deep shadows of despair. What was Tar saying? Was he supposed to feel sorry for this thing? Like Martin Klamsky, could he loathe it and pity it at the same time?
Almost as though it could hear his thoughts, it turned its gaze toward him, and for a moment their eyes locked. A shudder passed through Dan’s spirit, for he saw the depth of despair reflected in those eyes.
Then the front door opened and his parents came out.
Dan looked back, but the shadowy figure was gone, and only the shadow remained.
Chapter 15
And can it be that in a world so full and busy the loss of one creature makes a void so wide and deep that nothing but the width and depth of eternity can fill it up!
~ Charles Dickens
~~~~~
Anne sat alone, on the front porch of Rick’s house smoking cigarettes, one after another.
She felt the cold shadows around her. Whispering to her. Quiet, yet insistent. “He’s gone. He’s not coming back.” Sometimes the voice seemed so real, that she turned her head, hoping that someone, anyone, would be there.
The weight of grief was so heavy around her that at times she couldn’t move, or even breathe. Sometimes she would forget to blink. At first, she didn’t understand why her eyes burned, but now she knew, and she forced them to close until the burning subsided.
She wondered where Dan was.
Heaven?...Hell?
Yesterday, when she had been at Dan’s apartment, one of his neighbors had talked to her about it.
“It’s such’a shame,” he said casually, in that familiar, rolling southern accent that could either be charming or irritating, depending on the words spoken. “He seemed like such’a nice guy. And now he’s burnin’ in Hell.”
Another slap in the face, another silent response.
A nun at the Catholic high school Anne had attended told them God would forgive a person who committed suicide because they were mentally unstable, and not responsible for their actions.
Well, that seemed very nice of God. But just because it seemed nice didn’t make it true. God couldn’t forgive you unless you asked for it. The nuns had taught them that too. And if you killed yourself, how could you ask for forgiveness? It was too late. Straight to Hell you go.
Of course, none of that mattered if there was nowhere to go. And the truth was, Anne had lost her faith a long time ago. It was not due to any animosity toward the Church, or even to God. God just didn’t seem biologically reasonable or necessary.
Science had given her answers when religion had given her ghost stories. And as far as she knew, wars had never been fought over the theory of evolution. And that seemed nice too.
But what about now?
Could she throw out all that sensible logic just because she really, really wanted Dan to be there? Somewhere?
Can you hear me, Dan? If you’re there, give me some kind of sign.
The only voice she heard was that of her own guilt and despair. “He’s not here,” it whispered. “He died alone, waiting for you to save him.”
Dan had not believed in an afterlife either. Anne wondered if he had changed his mind at the end. He had been raised in some obscure religion of Middle Eastern descent. She couldn’t remember the name. He had said almost nothing about it, seeming almost embarrassed by it.
Even though Anne had lost her faith, she still felt drawn to the Catholic traditions. She felt at home in a Catholic church. The stained glass windows were like old friends, telling her their sad tales as she sat in the pews. Mass was quiet, hushed. The lights were soft, along with the voices around her. She always knew when to stand, when to sit, when to kneel. There, she was expected to keep her head down, and that was fine with her.
Dan told her he wanted to start going to mass with her. He said he wanted something to believe in that day in the hospital. That’s when she had given him her crucifix necklace. He had worn it every day since.
Anne had looked everywhere in his apartment, but had not found the crucifix, or the silver ring she had made for him. Looking down, she twirled the matching ring she wore around her finger. Had Dan died with his ring and crucifix on? Did that mean anything?
“The only thing it means,” the voice whispered, “is that you and Jesus weren’t there for him when he needed you.”
Her eyes burned. She closed them and saw Dan’s face.
“That’s all you’ll ever have now, just this memory...and it will fade.”
The front door banged. She jumped and opened her eyes. Dan’s parents came out. Anne had only met them twice, and she had not seen them after Dan’s attempted suicide. The last time she talked to Leonard, she told him his son was dead.
“Can we talk to you for a minute?” Grace asked.
“Of course.”
Grace sat beside Anne on the porch swing, but not too close.
The gentle creaking of the chain and the soft rustling of leaves in the trees echoed in the deep corners of Anne’s vacant heart.
A warm breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle and horse manure through yellow sunshine and fields of tall grass.
“Leonard and I owe you an apology,” Grace said after a moment.
Anne peeled her burning gaze from the waving tendrils of the old Weeping Willow tree and blinked at Grace. “Pardon me?”
“At first, we blamed you.” Grace’s eyes and nose were red and shiny. Her chin quivered and she dropped her head in her hands with a choking sob, unable to continue.
Leonard stood by the door, his head hung low, hands shoved deep in his pants pockets. “We…know it’s not your fault now. We’re sorry we ever blamed you. We just… didn’t know what to think.” His voice trembled and his eyes glistened.
“It’s okay.” Anne placed her hand on Grace’s shoulder. “I don’t know what to think either. I was afraid you still blamed me. Thank you.”
The chain creaked.
The sun shined.
The grass waved.
“Can I ask,” Anne said after several minutes, “what changed your mind?”
Grace looked up and took Anne’s hand. “It was seeing how upset you are. Looking in your eyes. We can see how much you loved him.”
They relaxed. They cried. They even managed to smile a few times. They talked about Dan. Anne told them about the neighbor’s comment that Dan was now burning in Hell. “So, what does your religion say? Is he in Hell?” she ventured.
“No,” Leonard answered. “There is no Hell. God loves everyone, and we all go to the same place after we die.”
Anne thought about that for a moment. “Wow, no Hell for anyone? Not even for, like...Hitler?”
A thin smile formed on Leonard’s tired face. “No. Not even for Hitler.”
“What about people from other religions? They all go to the same place?”
“Yes. We all go to the same place. God doesn’t care what rel
igion you follow.
This religion sounded interesting. Anne wished Dan had told her more about it. “What’s your religion called again?”
“The Baha’i Faith.”
The name didn’t sound any more familiar to Anne now, then it had when Dan first told her about it.
As she talked with his parents, and the gentle acceptance of each other grew, she thought, perhaps, she could try needing these people after all.
Chapter 16
Thou hast written of the severe calamity that hath befallen thee - the death (by suicide) of thy respected husband. That honorable man hath been so subjected to the stress and strain of this world that his greatest wish was for deliverance from it.
Such is this mortal abode: a storehouse of afflictions and suffering...The wise man, therefore, doth not attach himself to this mortal life and doth not depend upon it; at some moments, even he, eagerly wisheth for death that he may thereby be freed from these sorrows and afflictions. Thus it is seen that some, under extreme pressure of anguish, have committed suicide.
As to thy husband, rest assured. He will be immersed in the ocean of pardon and forgiveness and will become the recipient of bounty and favor.
~ Abdu’l-Baha (Teachings of the Baha’i Faith)
~~~~~
In the Bahá’í Faith, the deceased must be buried no more than one hour’s travel from the place of death. To do otherwise, might cause confusion for the departed soul, delaying their passage to the next life.
For Anne, the realization that Dan would be staying here meant losing him for a second time. Nashville had taken him away from her, and like a jealous, jilted lover, would keep him forever.
If I can’t have him, no one else can either, it seemed to taunt Anne.
The funeral would be tomorrow. Dan’s family was at the funeral home today to view and help prepare his body in accordance with their burial rituals. He would not be embalmed or dressed. Rose water would be sprinkled over him, and he would be wrapped in a cotton burial shroud.
The police had given Dan’s parents the personal effects he had on him when he died, the silver ring and crucifix necklace Anne had given him. She watched as Emily brought these things out of her purse, each one in a small plastic zip bag. Inside each bag, a small part of Dan. Each item was covered with his blood.
Emily handed them to the funeral director. “These will have to be cleaned.”
Anne’s hand intercepted the small bags as the funeral director reached out for them. “I gave these to him.” She pulled them carefully to her, as if claiming them. “Can I put them on him?”
Emily looked at Anne for a moment, perhaps wondering who she was, this woman that her dead brother had worn a crucifix for. “Of course,” she finally managed to say.
Anne pulled the items out, examining each in turn. She studied the smears of blood as if hoping to find an answer there. She put the ring on her middle finger, next to its mate, and the crucifix around her neck.
“Would you like me to clean those for you?” the funeral director asked.
“No.” Why would she want him to wash part of Dan away? She had so little of him left now.
As they were led by the director, through the funeral home toward Dan, the scenery around Anne blurred. They reached a door, which she instantly knew was the door.
That door’s gonna open, and I’m gonna see you dead, she had just enough time to think before it opened.
And she saw him.
Dead.
~~~~~
Dan had not spent much time with his body after it was taken from his apartment. Tar had tried to convince him to watch his autopsy, saying that it would help Dan let go. But Dan didn’t have the nerve or the stomach for it.
Now, as he looked down at his body, with his family around him, the truth of his situation hit him in a new and surprising way.
No, he had not been in denial, exactly. And although he had fantasized about finding a way back, he understood that it wouldn’t be possible. But there must have been a buried hope somewhere, so small, so hidden, that he had not even been aware of its existence. Because all at once, it opened the doors to its hiding place and cried out. A pitiful wail rose up from deep in his heart, and his legs grew weak. He faltered, and almost fell to his knees.
There were no more secret places now. It was over. He was dead. He would never again be alive. Never be able to walk with them. Talk with them. Breathe, eat, sleep, fight, with them. Those terrible, wonderful, hideous, beautiful, flawed but perfect people that he loved so much. They were all there, separate but together, on that cursed and yet glorious place called Earth.
They were there, and he was not.
The shades of despair which had clung to Anne for so many days swirled around him, reaching out to him. Here, they seemed to find another source of pain that was raw, pure, powerful. Maybe, if they couldn’t have her, they could have him. They caressed him lovingly and whispered in his ear. “Come with us...come with us...”
And then Dan did fall to his knees. And, finally, saw a long tunnel. He looked down that tunnel, into the means to his escape. Would he find release at the end?
He started to fall forward into it, the dusky spirits ready to catch him, when suddenly, someone shook him hard. He looked up into the face of an angel.
Tar.
The shades recoiled in Tar’s presence. Dan saw a man standing in the corner alone, just before the shades returned to him, and he disappeared into them.
Tar pulled Dan to his feet. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I-I- don’t know…what happened,” Dan said shakily.
“Why did you come here without me?” Tar asked.
Dan’s head spun and his vision trembled along with his legs. He blinked several times in an effort to reorient himself.
Tar sighed and shook his head. “You should have gone to your autopsy like I told you.”
They watched in silence, as one by one, his family left the room, leaving Anne alone with Dan’s body and Dan’s spirit, the two forever separated.
~~~~~
Dan’s body lay on a table, a white blanket pulled up to his chin. Anne wanted to touch him, but fear, colder than the refrigerated room she stood in, paralyzed her. Black and purple bruises ringed his eyes, and she saw faint traces of dried blood in his nose and ears. His hair, still damp from being washed, had been parted neatly and combed to one side. Dan would have hated it.
Working up the courage, she reached out and touched his arm through the blanket. The hardness of his arm startled her. She hadn’t been prepared for that feeling. Resisting the urge to recoil, she forced her hand to stay there.
Coldness seeped through the blanket and into her fingertips.
Anne closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and swallowed, fighting back a wave of nausea. Her hand moved up along his arm to his shoulder, then at last, his face. Bare skin, hard and cold.
Moving to the end of the table and standing in front of his head, she looked down at his face. In an effort to fix his hair, she ran her fingers through it. She froze when her fingertips caressed the jagged line which stretched across the back of his head.Thick, bulgy cord held his scalp together which had been cut during the autopsy so the top of his skull could be removed.
She put her hands on either side of his face, just below the holes which were filled with flesh colored wax. Resting her forehead on his, she closed her eyes.
Your poor broken head. What did you do to yourself?
His cheek twitched. She looked up hopefully, about to say something, when she realized that the twitching was just the result of some biological process of decay that she didn’t fully understand.
Resting her forehead back on his, she felt the muscle twitching in his cheek, and for just this moment, pretended he was alive.
Fear of his body faded.
She came back to his side and tried to interlace her fingers with his, the way they used to hold hands, but his fingers were so stiff that she had to squeeze hers between
them. Cold unyielding flesh, like a vise, tightened on her own. The pulse in her fingers throbbed, and a purple tinge shaded the tips. She released his hand.
“I’m sorry, Dan, but you’re hurting my fingers.”
She put his silver ring back on his finger, where it belonged. She touched the crucifix, but did not put it around his neck.
“Jesus wasn’t there for you when you needed him.”
She wrapped her hand around his and laid her head on his chest. How many times had she done this? More than simply listening to a heartbeat, this had been her affirmation, her confirmation.
There had been so much life churning inside him. She felt it, heard it, immersed herself in it.
Her head rising and falling with each breath he took. The vibration of his heartbeat caressing her face. The windy rush of air moving in and out of his lungs. The muffled thudding of his heart, the gurgling of his stomach, the creaking and popping of his joints.
His body had been a cacophony of sights and sounds and sensations which she delighted in, for it meant that he was real and he loved her.
Now his chest was hard and cold, like laying her head on a frozen piece of meat. Still. Quiet. She found herself holding her breath in an effort to hear even the minutest of sounds. Her heart pounded inside her chest and her ears rang until finally she took a choking gasp of air.
Dan remained still and quiet. He was no longer there.
And then the last of her hope - the small, buried part that she kept inside of her, broke out of its hiding place. The same sad, anguished wail burst forth from deep in Anne’s heart. The final bit broke away, the last vestiges of an irrational but sturdy piece of hope - the hope she held onto these last few days, or had it been years? It left her now, flying away, into the recesses of that still, quiet heart.
An unfamiliar feeling of helplessness crawled over her, an inky coldness seeped into her heart. The force of her despair came crashing down and she let it crush her. She had been fighting it for days, trying to hold onto her sanity and self-control, but now she let it take her.
~~~~~