Liar

by Gosse, Joanna

  ~ ~

  The phone rang dragging China out of an exhausted sleep.

  “Hello,” mumbled China.

  “Did you get my letter?” asked Sam.

  “What letter?” yawned China.

  “I sent you a letter.”

  “What was it about?” said China viciously feigning ignorance.

  “Stop playing games.”

  “Stop phoning me in the middle of the night! Yes, I got your letter. It was a lovely letter Sam but it came much too late.”

  The silence stretched into a very long minute. China looked at her watch. It was 3 am. Bastard!

  “So you haven’t changed your mind?” asked Sam inanely.

  “Have you changed your mind about sending me some money?”

  “I don’t have a job right now. I’ve been ill. I’ll send you some when I can.”

  “Goodbye Sam.”

  Aug. 10/98

  I’m in a rage because the sound of his goddamned voice can still make me tremble! I loved him so much and he didn't cherish me. He treated me like shit. He wallowed in my love, thought himself the luckiest of creatures and the only way he could return it was to make love to me constantly. Then, he even trampled on that by not being there.

  Every time we fought I’d tell him very clearly what he was doing to me, to us, and he'd wait a day or two, or a week, until I'd let him back into me so he could prove how much he loved me, heal his transgressions with his penis because it's the only thing that works on him and even latterly that was failing. Probably bruised by my repeated rejections. He'd creep like a dog into my bed, tongue hanging out, Mea Culpa Baby. Let me lick your body, touch you with my healing snake, make you feel whole again, repair your love for me so that I can trample it again next week or maybe even tomorrow. DICKHEAD!

  My heart still bleeds but my mind is a cold warrior carrying me as I limp, sometimes screaming at me for being a wimp, sometimes soothing me with gentle words, you're okay China, you'll be just fine, you'll learn to love again. Perhaps, but I’ll never love like this again and maybe that's a very good thing.

  Even now, this moment, I'd give him my body, lie down beside him just to connect with the past. But he wouldn't be able to touch my mind and so my body would reject the ecstasy he once healed me with. He would be just another child to comfort with a hug and a kiss. No ecstasy, just sympathy. I would soak the mattress with my tears, drown him with regret and I would swim away.

  ~ ~

  Benign Neglect

  The phone rang at mid-night and China grabbed the receiver, her heart pounding.

  “Hello,” she said dazedly.

  “Hi,” said the asshole’s voice. “Did you have an affair?”

  “What? Sam, I know you get a perverse pleasure at waking me up but if you don’t stop it, I’ll sue you for harassment!”

  “I thought you’d still be up. So, did you have an affair?” repeated Sam stupidly.

  “I guess you forgot that I had a major operation a few months ago. I had a few things cut out of me so having an affair wasn’t even a remote consideration. Now I’m trying my best to cut you out of my life, but it seems that I might have to hire a hit man to accomplish this burning desire. I suppose you believe that no woman could possibly leave you just because you are an evil, lying, abusing son of a bitch!”

  “I guess that’s a nooo,” slurred Sam.

  “I guess you didn’t read about an affair in my journals, did you? Were you disappointed? Would you like me to send you a copy of the latest bulletin?” replied China sarcastically. I will not, she thought bitterly, I will not accuse him of having an affair, or several affairs, for all I know. I will not give him one more ounce of satisfaction!

  “That would be reeeally cool, sweeeetie,” chuckled Sam. “I really loved reading all your juicy little secrets.”

  “You’re drunk, aren’t you?” asked China, finally tuning in to Sam’s slurred voice and words.

  She hung up quickly and quietly and then screamed out loud.

  “You son-of-a-bitch!”

  She hopped out of bed and started pacing the floor like a madwoman. She knew that Sam hadn’t really read her journals. She’d seen Sam read. A sentence here, a paragraph there. When she was reading a novel he’d look at the back page, read a few more at random, which drove her crazy. He picked out the important words in the newspaper, just the facts, and managed to sound quite informed, just enough to make you think he actually read it all.

  All of that secret information in her journals and he was too lazy to read it properly. He was so self-absorbed he couldn’t possibly have understood the secret codes of her soul. He probably only wanted to steal her secrets to better manipulate her, or to find out if she had discovered his latest lie. How disappointed and confused he must have been by her words. This mixture of fantasy, fact, hopes, dreams, would have taken careful reading to understand her. His random reading of words and flipping of pages took her out of context, misquoted her, and probably confused him further. Idiot! He had the key to her soul in his hands and he didn’t even try to use it.

  Was he frightened by her anger? Did he realize that she was onto him, and would soon leave him, and if so, why did he do nothing? Did he decide to wait until she was so fed up that she’d leave him, because he just couldn’t make the effort to change, to become the man he had first promised? In the beginning he worked hard to be the man she conjured with her loveshiny eyes. Then slowly, surely, as she discovered his pathetic deceits, he stopped trying. She exhausted him with questions and her stricken eyes became too harsh a mirror for his shadowy reflection.

  Worse than the lies was his belief that she was stupid. Did he think that everyone walked around with a memory as defective as his? If only he could have lied with style like a real con-man. No, he bungled that too. She’d accuse him with the evidence in her hand and there he’d stand, face like a whipped dog, silent and bewildered.

  I know what you were thinking Sam. “China found me out but I didn’t mean to do it and it’s really no big deal so I’ll just keep quiet, the best defense being no defense, and she’ll eventually calm down and I’ll get her into bed and make her scream with pleasure and she’ll look at me again with her beautiful loveshiny eyes.”

  “NO! You asshole!” she screamed at the wall. “You saw the shine fading and you did nothing. You did not fight for me. Size has nothing to do with courage, you goddamn hulking coward! You chicken-hearted, lying piece of shit!”

  Her anger was choking her, a victim of his benign neglect. Sam was never actively mean, but he disappointed, frustrated, blocked, confused, hurt her simply by doing nothing, and even worse, doing it with excruciating charm. She preferred nasty up front where it was easier to recognize and deal with it. Creepy, crawly, insidious, manipulative, benign neglect was much more difficult to discover and deal with. His kind of love was a dory adrift in the sea without an anchor, an oar, a sail, or a direction in mind. The hunky out of control in a dory. A loose liar on witty wheels careening through life towards another unsuspecting woman. She had to stop him. But how? There was no law against lying. Only laws against Fraud, or Breach of Promise. Fabrication, deception, evasion, prevarication, untruth. Twisted, Clintonesque words employed to not call a lie, a lie.

  She poured herself a stiff drink and walked around and around her apartment alternately berating herself and Sam. She was sick of feeling helpless. Sick of his stupid phone calls. Sick of thinking about him and his lies and his sloppy way of loving. She poured another stiff drink and decided to write the son of a bitch a letter he’d never forget.

  Aug. 17/98

  Dear Sam,

  I believe you first read my journals out of curiousity, but then you became fascinated and addicted to reading my secret soul. The thrill of the voyeur. At some point the words must have frightened you, but you kept reading. Why? Did you know that I would eventually leave you, and you just wanted to know when?

  You thought the journal was me. You were wrong. The journal is
only a small part of me. All the fears, all the nasty things I said about you were just what runs through the mind all day long. I wrote the good stuff too. I guess the printed word is more powerful than spoken words. Spoken words can be forgotten. Written words remain, powerful and accusing. All those powerful words to tell you how I felt and you did nothing. As with the Thunder Ceremony, the single most horrific thing that occurred when we were together. You could have stopped it, changed the outcome, and you did nothing. Worse than the sin of lying is knowing you have the power to fix something and doing nothing. That indicates a great sloth of the spirit.

  You must be stopped Sam, and I’ve figured out a way to do it. I’ve got the goods on you, the proof that you are not who you say you are. I’m surprised that you didn’t fear my journals more. You must be stupid, as well as cowardly. I’ve placed the journals in a safe place where they will stay as long as you keep your side of the following bargain.

  If you ever lie with another woman, I’ll publish the journals. I’ll bring you down Sam. I’ll destroy your life, just as you tried to destroy mine, and I’ll do a better job of it. The truth will always triumph in the end. You need to learn that lesson, and quickly, because your lies will eventually kill you. I just want to make sure you don’t bring anyone else down with you. It is my duty to my sisters.

  Oh, by the way, should I meet an untimely end, my lawyer knows where the journals are. He will be sending you the divorce papers this week. Please sign and return ASAP.

  Sincerely, China

  China now knew that the truth was in the journals. The false was trying to live with Sam, wanting so much to love a man, that she was willing to, in public, in his presence, most of the time, live the lie of loving wife. However, after a while the truth in the journals joined the public lie. In spite of herself the truth came out of her mouth, sat with them in the kitchen, in front of the TV, came between them in the bedroom so that China could no longer sleep with Sam.

  All the little things she did during the day to construct the marriage, and it required careful renovation every day, disappeared at night. Her last wifely duty, making love to Sam, sometimes with honest passion, sometimes just giving in - have a go dear - the last duty before sleeping. Then, ten, fifteen minutes later the physical euphoria would disappear and her eyes would pop open and she would leave the marriage bed, unable to lie with a lie, lie with a liar, both of them lying in order to stay together, to keep the love fantasy they had both bought.

  Sam knew it was wrong to read her journals and had been too ashamed and afraid to ask the questions that could have saved their love. If you don’t understand the journal process, reading one could be very frightening, especially if you’re mentioned on almost every page. The power of her words, the truth of the falsehoods she had discovered about him and herself, probably terrified him, paralyzed him. How awful it must have been, stumbling through the days with all that secret knowledge dizzying his focus so that his eyes blurred when he looked at her. Did he see two women? The gentle, loving wife, and lurking behind, a towering Medusa, ready to snap and snarl and emasculate him with the truth?

  Poor Sam. What would he do now that he had no more journals to read and misinterpret?

  ~ ~

  Sarah called and China listened to a long rant about her so-called “rights.” Sarah had taken a part-time job with an art gallery because her paintings weren’t selling right now, her teenagers were bleeding her dry and her husband was being an asshole.

  “So, divorce him,” said China.

  “That would just add the divorce war to the living together war. According to my observations, if the children are still living at home, you still have as much trouble apart as when you’re living together, without the benefit of random acts of sex.”

  “Well I guess divorce is a bit like adding war to war. However, the foreseeable advantage is eventual peace.”

  “Christ, I don’t have the energy it would take to even think beyond the next minute.”

  “Okay, so, what you need is a studio away from the battle zone where you can find the peace and quiet you need to create.”

  “Great idea, China, except that I can’t afford a studio. I have to at least break even.”

  “Think of the studio as a piece of equipment you need in order to create, like a kiln, or a sewing machine. It’s not a luxury. And stop seeking the approval of your husband and children. They don’t give a shit. Nobody gives a shit. There’s no such thing as daily recognition. Just do what makes you happy and if you’re lucky, occasional recognition and a few pennies will follow.”

  “How did that Tampax asshole get recognition for such a disgusting exhibition?”

  “What are you talking about? What does Tampax have to do with this conversation?” asked China.

  “Haven’t you heard? There’s a new installation at the Montreal Art Gallery of used tampons gathered from all over the world.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, my dear, it’s a celebration of fecundity with a bloody display of tampons. Of course the gatherer of this trash is a man. If a woman had done this she would have been tarred and feathered and run out of town for being a rampant lesbian feminist. What’s next? Diarrhoea in a jar?”

  China was now choking with laughter.

  “Excellent idea, Sarah. A celebration of human excrement and our ability to trash the planet. It just goes to show you that we cannot compare our luck or lack of it to anyone else. That road can only lead to frustration and bitter, old womanhood. Besides you know bloody well, excuse the tam-pun...”

  “Ahhhhhhhhh...” screamed Sarah. Stop it, I can’t breathe.”

  “...that wannabe woman collector of bloodied souvenirs did it for shock value and will probably disappear tomorrow. We live in hope.”

  “I wonder if I can find out where he lives so I can dump my garbage on his doorstep? Thanks for the lecture darling. I must run.”

  “Sarah, just tell them all to fuck off. Period!”

  “Ha ha. Love you lots. Bye!”

  China then sent a postcard to Sarah to underline her advice. Underwrite it? Overword it? How did Sam survive without one true friend in the world?

  ~ ~

  Death By Lying

  Six months went by and China was feeling pretty good. Sam had duly signed the divorce papers and stopped harassing her. She had sold every one of her Sams - one, two, three, and four. Her ‘Drifting Faces’ were selling well, although she was now carving them out of pine and cedar, due to the scarcity of driftwood in downtown Toronto. In three months she would have an exhibition at the Ontario Art Gallery where she once worked. Best of all, she had given up her job as receptionist and was able to survive very nicely on the sale of her sculptures and charcoal sketches. Jane had found a new job and a nice new man and Tina was thriving with all the attention of her beloved grandma. Jane even thought that grandma was overdoing it just a little bit.

  China was congratulating herself that all was well, when she received an anonymous phone call from a familiar voice.

  “Heeyyy China, is that you?” said a husky voice.

  “Who is this?” asked China.

  “Just thought I should tell you that Sam is gonna marry the virgin princess, Lily Deer.”

  China suddenly recognized the drunken slur of Marisa’s voice. The line went dead and she hung up in a panic. Shit! Now I’ll have to publish the journals, thought China.

  She quickly called Sarah.

  “Sarah, what am I going to do? That drunken bitch, Marisa, just called with the disgusting news that Sam is going to marry Carrie’s daughter, Lily Deer! I can’t let him ruin that poor girl’s life. What lies is Sam telling everyone? He’s probably got the whole story twisted around with me as the villain. Has he got the whole village bamboozled?”

  “Go on China. Do it. Publish your journals. That man has never sent you a penny. You’d probably make a fortune. The perfect revenge. I love it!” crowed Sarah.

  “I was partially drunk and
mostly hysterical when I sent him that letter. It was like something out of a bad movie. How could I possibly keep tabs on how many women he’s lying with? I just thought it would maybe scare him a bit, stop him from harassing me, send him to therapy. I don’t know. He did stop calling me.”

  “China, China, you’ve got the power, you’ve got him by the balls, and you’re too chicken to fry him!”

  China burst out laughing.

  “Sarah, you’re evil. I’ll give the journals to you and you can burn the devil.”

  “I’ll do it, make no mistake!”

  “I know you will, but there’s one horrible thing I just thought about. If that stuff is published, Sam will have nothing to lose and he can come after me.”

  “True, but just think of the publicity. You’ll sell millions more copies when you’re dead. Sam will rot in jail the rest of his life, and Jane and Tina will be living on easy street. I’ll be your executor.”

  “Thanks, Sarah, you always have my best interests at heart.”

  “Listen, darling, I don’t care what you do. Maybe the best revenge is doing nothing at all. We both know that Sam will eventually hang himself. And Doctor Karen will just say that all those poor future female victims deserved the man they got.”