Rain

by Leigh K. Cunningham

  Joseph activated the Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon (EPIRB)—its GPS receiver would direct rescuers to their exact location, and the unique serial number would identify the vessel and the hired crew. Rescue was on its way.

  Ethan and Jim wrestled with the life raft, at pains to keep control of it for Joseph and Marcus to enter. They did not tie the raft to the wire railing so the sinking yacht would not drag it, and its occupants, to an ocean floor to float like an orange flag above the carnage. Ethan fell on the slick decking, and braced his legs against the stanchions to fight the sea as it tried to rip the raft away. The yacht purged as Jim stepped into the raft, throwing him atop Joseph, and rolling Ethan back into the cockpit. He scrambled to return to the raft, but the wind, gravity, and a violent wash pushed him away. He made it, eventually, only to find the raft was gone. He jumped into the water in pursuit. Of all of them, he had the best chance against the current. Jim, Marcus, and Joseph yelled from the raft to guide him toward them and out of the black wall of water. The safety light on Ethan’s vest flickered in and out of sight in the undulating waves. They continued to call his name, but with every stroke, the distance between the raft and Ethan grew, until finally, they could no longer see the light.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  November 2003

  THE dead can live, Carl knew from first-hand experience. It had been two years since Ethan had not come home, and she had been dead all of that time. Her life was a riptide—pulling her from a peaceful shore out into another ocean, but not the one that took her love, her life, her reason. She held on to the belief that Ethan was out there, alive on a remote island somewhere, and she envisioned the moment they reunited, how she would hold him and cry. He would be weak, drawn, unshaven, but alive.

  All four wives: Carl, Karenna, Jo, and Robyn, had received the embassy call that morning in June 2001. The male voice told Carl about the storm, three survivors, and no search initiated for the fourth man given all the circumstances. He made no mention of Ethan as the missing, as he would have, Carl believed, if that were the purpose of his call. Someone, though, one of them, had lost a husband, and Carl was ashamed to be glad that at least it was not hers, not Ethan.

  Karenna and Jo had arrived at the townhouse shortly after the calls. Robyn’s absence established for Carl that Marcus was the one adrift, presumed dead. While Carl made coffee Jo explained that Robyn was not present because she was on her way to Cape Town.

  Carl shook her head. “What a tragedy,” she said.

  Karenna and Jo exchanged glances then Jo added that Robyn was on her way to Cape Town to be there for Marcus when the freighter docked.

  “Marcus?” Carl had asked. “They found him? I thought they weren’t searching…”

  “They’re not searching, Carl,” Karenna had said after the longest while.

  “So they’re all safe?”

  “Ethan…” she heard someone say then china fell onto the Sydney Blue Gum floorboards.

  Father Paul officiated at the memorial service held in Maine. There was nothing for Carl to inter, nothing to become dust or ashes, for that was lost in the ocean, or perhaps was still intact on an island somewhere. Father Paul was gracious enough not to say, “I warned you,” as he had done, back when he had counseled the two before marriage as was required at that time. Their union, he had prophesized, was high risk, not because they were not suited as a couple, but because their identities had fused already when in marriage, each part must continue distinct and independent of the other. Oneness, he had said, was idealistic and dangerous because when one part dies, the remainder cannot exist alone. Father Paul, Carl concluded, was a prophet, for she would never exist again.

  Suicide should not be a sin, she told him after the service, and asked for proof that it was since there was no commandment that said as much. Only God knows how long your life will be, he had replied. It was God’s decision, not hers, and it was not for her to play with mortality. It did not matter: she had died though she lived and Sophocles had once said that this was worse than death itself.

  Carl finalized the closure of her life: she quit her job, sold the townhouse with the first offer and left Sydney for Maine. She sold the bungalow to the tenants, and settled back at Orchard Road with Helena and Walter. In the wardrobe, where green skirts, white blouses, and fake tartan ties had hung decades before, she hung Ethan’s clothes. Each time she opened the door, she could smell him, and it brought her comfort. She kept his comb and toothbrush on the bedside table, and she touched them every night before sleep hoping to connect with him in his spirit world.

  She had no need for her clothes, which stayed packed in a suitcase. She chose instead to live in a white dressing gown in summer and a tracksuit in the winter. She went nowhere, did nothing, and even Walter became invisible.

  There were no occasions to break the cycle. Baden family Christmases were historical events and Carl started to remember them as her father did as a cherished time of family unity and happiness—time was a remarkable modifier. Matthew spent all of his in any non-Christian country, preferably one at war, and one with a religious war even better. God was a fiction he said, and the Baden family was cursed. Carl had not subscribed to either theory in the past, but now believed in the curse. There was plenty of evidence through the generations, like the disappearance of Uncle Robert, the burning down of the mill, the death of their grandfather, Brian, William, and Ethan.

  The poster on the wall still talked to her, ‘I asked of life, what have you to offer me? And the answer came, what have you to give?’ She had nothing to give. Everything had been taken.

  Carl did not bother to ask God, “why?” for he was not about to descend with an explanation, but she knew Ethan was there, with Him, and not on an island or in a wardrobe in Maine. She had to reach him, and then she might find some healing, perhaps.

  Leaving Helena would not be so difficult the second time around—she had chosen Walter and accepted her life for what it was, unwilling or unable to change any part of it.

  Carl arrived at the monastery with one suitcase, her life condensed into a single moveable object and half of it taken up with Ethan’s clothes. She stood before the decorative iron gates like Orphan Annie, but more abandoned. The cloistered existence she craved was ahead of her, away from the life that persisted even though Ethan had died and no one seemed to notice that he had once walked the Earth. If they had known him, they would understand the futility of it all— the price of fuel and the shortage of bananas.

  Sister Mary Catherine ushered her in from the rain. Carl was oblivious to the cold, wet spikes that pricked at her face causing no pain, only relief. The day was late to darken in the summer sky, and Carl was weary with its duration. She would write home when her heart and mind were less fragile.

  15 November 2003

  Dear Mum

  Well, here I am at the monastery, settled into a modest room without trappings, which suits me just fine. I have no need for material things that only make life without Ethan seem even more futile. I feel strange, but then I don’t know what normal is, but I do remember pure happiness and they are not the same.

  They say it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, but I don’t know – if I had not loved Ethan, I would not know this pain, and it’s hard to imagine living the rest of my life feeling this way. If I could end it all, the answer would be different – then yes, it is better to have loved and lost, but what if my life goes on for another fifty years like this? Can there be any way to bear it? I guess I know the answer because I have witnessed your life, twenty plus years of it since Brian and William died. I do not know how you find a way to go on every day, but I understand now, what it has been like for you.

  It’s been two years since I lost Ethan, and I do not know where the time has gone. I miss him every minute and my stomach still churns every time I think of him in that ocean. I try to focus on the good times we had together, but that does not work. All I can do is remember the
times that I could have been a better wife, like when I stopped riding on Sundays because of a spider. It doesn’t seem so big or scary now, compared to my life ahead. Why couldn’t I do that for him? I would now. Regret, regret, regret – I hope I never have to regret another thing in my life.

  I am glad to be here though, away from civilization, away from stupid people who pretend to understand how a ripped heart no longer feels anything but sorry for oneself. They do not understand yet they judge me because I cannot go on. Why can’t I give up? Don’t I have a right to quit my own life? I don’t have children who need me, you do not need me – you have Walter. No one is dependent upon me, but life must go on, they tell me, like the show – what a foolish cliché. Repetition goes on, rituals go on, routine goes on, but that is not life. I guess this proves the world is full of the living dead and most do not even know it has happened to them.

  What seems stranger to me is that every single person will experience losing someone they love more than life, and come to wish they had been a better person because of the pain. If only they could know now, how bad it will be and perhaps less hearts would be ugly, and more would think twice before speaking or acting. I am ranting again, I’m sorry. Maybe I will find peace here, from myself.

  We did not talk much these past two years, but I knew I did not need to tell you what was happening in me – you understood without the words. It was more to do with him, I think, and here I go again even though I am chastising myself as I write. Why do you need to be with Walter? He treats you so badly, and try as I might, I cannot find a good word to say about the man. Maybe the nuns can help me discover something, anything. Who goes through life saying he, or she, does not need to change? Is this not the purpose of life, to be a better person at the end than you were in the beginning? Does he believe he is perfect in every way? He must. Surely, we are all in need of change. Ethan changed me – I lived in his goodness and wanted to be just like him. I was so calm with Ethan, with no sign of my once mighty Baden temper. Now I have to change again, in another way, to be someone else I don’t yet know. The nuns have their work cut out for them, putting this broken soul back together.

  I wish we had been able to say a better goodbye, but as usual, he was lurking about, not giving you a second alone with me, or anyone for that matter. I expect he is reading this letter before you get it, if you get it.

  I almost did not leave – you looked so sad. If I had one wish, no two, my second would be to put you back together again. Now I feel guilty for putting you second, but no guessing what my first wish would be. Without a wish or two, I cannot begin to think how we might repair ourselves, but I do know you would be better off on your own than with him. It is a shame you cannot see it, and that you are so afraid of being on your own.

  I should explain a little about monastery life. My being here must seem odd to everyone who knows me, and I heard it said on the Maine grapevine. It is true I have not been a religious person at all during my life, although I have always believed, so I guess it’s fair enough for them to say this is a peculiar decision, but I could not think of what else to do other than more of the same.

  Life here is monastic, naturally, which is what attracted me to this place. It is beautifully humble, intensely quiet, and no one is absorbed with the ordinariness of mortal life and its minutiae. I love the seclusion and the people, and I do feel closer to Ethan. I will not recover from losing him, but I hope to find a way to exist without him – I have to, there is no alternative.

  Before you ask, no, I do not wear a habit, and I am not a nun and may never be – that is one path too far down the road for me to contemplate. For now, I am a resident, a ‘live-in’ and going through what is expected to be a lengthy discernment process – not just for me to decide if I belong here, but also for the nuns to decide if I am right for this life. Time will tell, but the fact that I have not yet mentioned God in this letter is somewhat telling. I should have said I feel closer to God being here, and I do, but Ethan as well, mainly.

  Anyway, a little more about the life here…we pray in the chapel seven times a day – not seven times a week! I have prayed more in one week here than previously in my whole life. Holy Mass is the highpoint of each day. There is also a daily exposition of Blessed Sacrament, two hours of contemplative prayer, and we pray the entire Liturgy of the Hours. In between, there are chores – working in the kitchen, infirmary, general cleaning, laundry and sewing, office work, and the part I enjoy most, the gardens and acres of forest and open fields. There is also a lake here, which reminds me of home, although this lagoon does not compare with Maine’s gem.

  It might all sound quite hectic, but it’s not. There’s plenty of time for relaxation. It’s quite a sight to see the nuns playing volleyball and riding bikes in their habits. There is only one communal television here, which I do not watch – I spent two years stuck in front of one, and would not be bothered if I never watch another minute of it. Study and learning is encouraged, so I plan to get involved helping others learn if I can.

  I must go now to evening prayers. Do you have a current address for Matthew? Is he still working for CNN? It is sad that we have all gone to different corners and each living such solitary lives, even you with Walter. I will make an effort to contact Matthew and stay in touch this time. I would like to try to keep what is left of our family intact. It has taken quite a battering over the years.

  A plaque hangs above my bed, which says, ‘I will lead you into the desert and there I will speak to your heart.’ My heart is waiting to hear from God and I hope you hear from Him too.

  Love

  Carl

  30 November 2003

  Dear Mum

  I was so relieved, and surprised, that you received my letter. I should not be so derisive of your Walter. I do pray to end the thoughts I have of him, and look forward to hearing from you that he has changed for the better, or moved out.

  To answer your question, no, I am not angry with God for taking Ethan. I am angry because Ethan is gone and because the world goes on without him, but I do not blame God or anyone. I blame myself for words I wish I could take back. Anyway, it’s easy to understand why God would want Ethan. He was such a good, good man. I wanted to be like him and still do – he still touches my life. I used to ask myself, “What would Ethan do in this situation?” and this always led me to say something positive or to do better when I might otherwise have done nothing or worse. I guess now I should be asking, “What does God say I should do?”

  I hope the ink does not run on this letter – it is still so hard to speak or write about Ethan and not cry. I must be grateful though for our years together. I was lucky to have had my life blessed in that way. When someone dies, they take something from you, so you can never again be the person you were before they left. You would understand this better than anyone would, and I suppose this is why I am here – to find the person I am with the piece missing. It probably depends on how big the missing piece is. I am trying to learn this much – I am not the only one who has ever lost someone precious.

  Mum, you do not become a nun simply by living in a monastery. There are a number of steps in the process and you must be able to show a calling from God into this life. I am still a long way from basking in the glow of that candlelight. I know it, and Sister Mary Catherine knows it too. She is trying to help me, to guide me, but it is so hard when you do not even recognize what is inside of you. I feel an overwhelming emptiness nothing seems to fill. We talk of broken hearts, but the heart is not injured – it does not shrink or scar, as far as I know. The emptiness is not the heart, but the mind for it knows to think incessantly about what has been lost.

  I must go to prayer now, but before I go, something has bothered me for the longest time and I need to ask for your forgiveness – when I was in grade six, you came to pick me up from school one day and I walked straight past you directly to the car. I remember you smiled at me and bent down to kiss me, but I strutted past pulling away, not wanting anyone
to see me with you, because you were – I have to say it – fat. I’m ashamed that I treated you that way, ashamed that I was ashamed of you, and ashamed that I cared what other kids said about you. For this and anything else I cannot recall, I am truly very sorry. You were, are, the best mother anyone could ask for. Please forgive me.

  Good news to hear Matthew will be home soon for a break. It has been a long time since he was back in Maine. I hope I will get to see him and will certainly try to be home at that time. Please let me know the dates as soon as you hear more from him.

  Love

  Carl

  14 December 2003

  Dear Mum

  I tried to call you yesterday, but you were not at home. I left a message with Walter – I hope you received it.

  I continue to work toward settling into the life here. I still feel distant and an abstract part of all that goes on around me. It is as if I am on auto-pilot, just going through the process, attending prayer etc., but I am not really here, if you understand what I mean. Perhaps it will come with time, a sense of true belonging.