Something Down There

by Nancy Widrew

  He nodded, kissed her once, then savoring the taste on his lips, kissed her again. As she removed her clothes, he took pleasure in watching. Following suit, he stripped off his own clothes, climbed in beside her, and fell into her waiting arms.

  #

  Someone smelling of bacon and buttered toast gave her a gentle shake. “Oh, Mom,” she said. “It can’t be morning already.”

  “Wake up,” said Jeremy. “It’s me. You’re talking in your sleep.”

  Karen groaned, rubbed her eyes.

  “Look. I got it. The string.”

  Careful not to show her disappointment as reality set in, she asked, “What time is it?”

  “Time to get up. You’re running late. You wouldn’t believe the mess Helene left—stuff thrown every which way. Norman’s sure gonna be pissed. He’s such a neatnik, but who cares? I found the string and that’s all that counts.” He patted the bulge in his pocket.

  With Jeremy’s help, she heaved her unsteady body to a sitting position and put on the clean change of clothes she had laid out the night before.

  “You’d better make an appearance in the dining room. Remember, act natural. I’ll stay here until the time is right.”

  “Aren’t you going to get something to eat?”

  Jeremy pulled a soggy sandwich from his shirt pocket. “This will do. Remember, tell them I have a stomachache or something.”

  Karen crossed her fingers and brought them to her lips. Then reaching over, she marked his cheek with her touch. “Good luck,” she said, climbing out of bed as he tumbled in.

  Jeremy fell into a light twilight fog, but sprang up upon hearing Randy’s approach. He put on an anguished face as he rocked back and forth, clutching his gut. “Sorry kiddo,” he groaned, “but I’m not up to it. Be a good boy and catch lots of crayfish.”

  Randy’s face drooped.

  “You don’t need me,” said Jeremy. “You’re the best fisherman I’ve ever seen.” Knowing this was to have been their last day together, Jeremy hoped his compliment would neutralize any hard feelings. Then when he felt certain it was safe to proceed, he placed the two balls of string in his pockets. He left his backpack behind, sprawled across his bed, in case some busybody came by and noticed it missing and surmised he was up to no good. Then lantern in hand, he slunk off and made his way to where the tunnel branched out, sorry Karen wasn’t with him to note his progress. Remembering her Midas touch, he pressed his fingers to his cheek where she had anointed him earlier that morning. Then he took out the second ball of string.

  Being methodical, he chose the branch farthest from him, working left to right. He pumped himself up with clichés, certain he’d never succeed on the first try. Nothing good comes easy. As predicted he was right. The path, after circling around, exited where the second began. Worse than he thought. Now there were only two possibilities left. “Please, please, please,” he cried. He resisted the impulse to fall to his knees.

  After retrieving his string, he began again. He tried to prepare himself for failure, but after walking an identical number of paces and seeing the pathway continue on unobstructed, he felt a resurgence of hope. “Stay calm,” he warned himself, along with an order to slow down and pay attention.

  With caution, he planted each foot solidly on the ground, aware each step could lead to potential disaster. Loose stones, a wrong turn, a sudden slip off a ledge, and it would be over. Sweat pooled under his armpits and dripped into his eyes.

  When the tunnel kept going, he told himself that it meant nothing. So what if he was heading up. So what if the walls looked a more normal brown instead of the potpourri on the lower levels due to their high mineral content. At any moment, it could end like before with an indifferent finality, leaving him nothing but shattered dreams like the crushed pebbles under his feet.

  He slowed down to catch his breath and unbutton his shirt, now totally soaked. He placed the lantern on the ground and extended his arm. “Good God!” he screamed, as his worst fear materialized. The tunnel, though not circling around, came to a comparable fate—a dead end. He pounded the wall with both fists until his knuckles split open. But instead of persisting until he broke a finger (or worse, his whole fist), he stopped. With his thoughts racing a millisecond faster than his hands, he gulped down a swig of foul air. Something else was off. He knew it down to his toes. His toes!

  He wiggled them in his shoes, and his thoughts coalesced until the unknown became obvious: the lower half of his body was out of alignment with the upper half as if his feet were trying to walk on, leaving his torso to struggle behind.

  He dropped to the ground and saw that—“Dear Jesus!”—the tunnel continued on after all. On closer inspection, it looked as if someone had carved out the entranceway by himself. Jeremy ran his finger along the rim. Yes, it felt smooth, too even to have happened naturally. Perhaps it had been a tiny hole once, too small to climb through. Yet someone saw fit to expand it. Why? Could this be a way out?

  With the possibility of escape before him, he put all answers on hold, and flattened his body on the ground. Arms extended, he squirmed through the foot-long passageway, eating dirt and undulating like a snake with a series of forward thrusts. After exiting, he turned around and reached back to retrieve the lantern, careful not to knock it over. He stood up, grateful the ceiling allowed him to stand to his full height.

  As he struggled on, he remembered his mother’s advice before she died: in the face of adversity, puff yourself up to the size of a truck, a plane, a rocket. You decide what size is needed, she had told him, but whatever you decide, remain coolheaded. You can always break down later, not when it’s time to act.

  With that in mind, Jeremy trudged onward, visualizing himself a hero, the remaining soldier in a lost platoon, until he arrived at a point where longing mixed with reality. The mixture fused, and peaked, forming a pinnacle where he could no longer trust his senses. Light appeared to be infiltrating the cave. Was this the equivalent of a mirage or reality? Please, please, let it be real!

  He rushed ahead, breathing heavily. In the distance, he could make out an open space with a heaven-sent radiance. Like a quasar in an ancient galaxy, its glint seemed to burst into flame. Being unaccustomed to natural light for so long, he shielded his eyes as a wail of joy escaped his lips.

  He laughed and cried, rolled in the dirt, rose and flapped his arms as if he expected them to lift him and carry him away. For a second, he contemplated forgetting about Karen; just run off where he was safe and free; but he could never do that.

  Dizzy from hyperventilating, he staggered as the walls and ceiling swirled before him. Pinpoints wavered but as a cohesive unit in a choreographed display. The tiny dancers pulsed, seemed alive, but, of course, they couldn’t be. Certain he was having visual hallucinations he blinked, wiped the film from his eyes, and concentrated. Then he heard it: intermittently at first, then a city of sounds, some soft and rustling, others high-pitched and chirping. Unsure what it was, he remained still as the acoustics swelled into a crescendo. At the same time, he became aware of a familiar odor, pungent and foul. Like shit, he thought, taking another sniff. Definitely, like shit.

  The sight, the sound, the smell … What was it Rahm said months ago? Months that now seemed like years. Jeremy, using his mind, filled in the blanks. Of course. Bats. Guano.

  Thousands, perhaps millions were packed together like peas in a can, but more noteworthy was the merciful hole he could see farther off where they left the cave on their nightly hunt for insects. His stomach pitched knowing he’d have to pass beneath them, but he told himself they were harmless, even shy creatures with a misunderstood reputation; besides they were his saviors and he should be grateful. They would lead him and Karen out.

  He ran his eyes from the floor to the ceiling. There appeared to be only one feasible way up, but one was quite enough. He licked his lips and headed off to check it out, but froze statue-like as his feet began to stick to the ground. Looking down, he saw brown muddy goo under
his shoes. Pulling a rag from his pocket, he reached down to clean them off.

  “I wouldn’t bother if I were you.”

  He recognized the voice; he’d know it anywhere.

  “I’m afraid this is not the answer to your dreams,” said a poker-faced Rahm, emerging like some evil ghost creature from the reaches of hell. His lilting tone made clear his amusement at the situation’s unfolding absurdity. “If you look closely, you’ll see it’s impossible for you to get out this way.”

  Jeremy, still reeling from the shock, stood speechless as Rahm continued. “You were about to touch the guano. If you walk out another ten feet, you’ll be in a sea of filth with all kinds of live bugs—worms, maggots, cockroaches, spiders—crawling in your mouth. Years ago scientists came in from above to study the bats. That time’s over and now no one comes. And, by the way, don’t bother with that forth offshoot. Just like this it’ll lead to a disappointing end. Of course, this finale’s far worse—a stinking, suffocating, gruesome way to die.”

  Jeremy stared at the world outside, within his reach yet so far away. Nothing mattered and the tenuous connections that had held him together gave way in an instant. Beyond desperation, he swung out toward Rahm and was surprised to find he had connected by hearing the thud of bone hitting bone. A triumphant “Ha” had barely escaped his mouth when he felt the air forced from his lungs by a series of expertly placed blows to the trunk of his body. His head spun around and he clutched his chest and midsection before staggering to the ground. Rahm, after satisfying himself that his opponent’s injuries weren’t serious, left at once, having the decency to let him suffer in private.

  #

  Karen finished with the mushrooms and began walking back to wait for Jeremy’s return. With each step, her smile grew bigger, her happiness surged higher until it welled up and burst forth like a “cup runneth over.” Then drawing the curtain around her and Jeremy’s room, she totally dropped her guard and drifted off to that warm beach he had promised to take her to, in exchange for coming to this godforsaken hole in the ground. As she was about to sip her White Russian, she heard his approach, unexpectedly wobbly and unstable, one leg dragging behind the other. The glass vanished from her hand, along with its contents of vodka, cream, and sweet, frost-nipped liqueur.

  The dark rings under Jeremy’s dead eyes spoke volumes, yet he felt compelled to recount all the details from his first gleam of success to his ultimate state of despair.

  Karen rose, howled in anger. “It isn’t fair,” she said, “to have come so close. I hate Rahm. I hate them all. Are you sure it’s impossible to escape that way?”

  Jeremy nodded yes, tears streaking his face.

  “Still, I want to look. Take me there.”

  “I don’t want to go back.”

  “Then I’ll go by myself.”

  “What for? It’s hopeless.”

  “Because I need to see for myself,” said Karen—“to make it real. But also because I want to see the sun again.” Karen reached for her husband, to give and receive consolation, but before she could touch him, he collapsed on to the mattress, whimpering out loud.

  “Tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll go tomorrow. Right now I have to rest.” Quivering like a feverish child, he pulled up his knees till they almost touched his chin. Karen remained close by, dry heaving, no longer able to help him or even herself. Finally fatigue overpowered sorrow, and she toppled sideways onto the cold ground, letting the earth mix with her own tears.

  The next day, as promised, Jeremy led her up the now hateful course without bothering to use the string; he no longer cared about nor feared getting lost. From the smell, Karen knew when they were getting close. Working with guano every day, she’d grown accustomed to its odor as Rachel had predicted. All the same, here in such concentrated amounts she felt her throat close in protest and a wheeze escape her mouth.

  Jeremy had already warned her to shield her eyes from the light, but as she opened them with the expectation of seeing fiery orange streaks, she looked at him in puzzlement. “Where’s that sunlight you mentioned? All I see is a gray smudge.”

  Jeremy stared, the lines near his mouth deepened. “What are you talking about? Can’t you see it?” His jaw dropped as he grasped that she couldn’t.

  “Oh, Jeremy!” she screamed as the realization hit her too. “I’m going blind.”

  He held her to his chest to offer the small measure of comfort he still possessed for the giving. Then together they cried in grief, in rage, and in horror for the death of deliverance.

  Chapter 16

  For Karen’s sake, Jeremy kept going; just barely. He still explored but only on those occasions when guilt pushed through. Rahm, aware of his prisoner’s chronic depression, once again sent Randy to accompany him out on the lake, but Jeremy, a picture of defeat, no longer attempted to pry information from the boy.

  Karen, too, tottered at the precipice of despair, made worse as images of unfinished shapes with tail-like appendages took hold of her dreams. Although she could no longer remember them in the morning, they left her drained as if she had dragged a thousand-pound secret on her back. As a result, she often arrived late at the garden.

  Yet more troubling was the queasy prickliness in her stomach. Each day became more difficult than the one before. She struggled to keep food down. The thought of getting sick in a place without modern medical facilities frightened her and she tried telling herself it was just nerves, but a seed of anxiety, growing like a tumor, stroked her intuition.

  After a period of constant nausea, she noticed additional changes: her breasts, her two measly protuberances, began to enlarge and feel tender. Her face took on a fuller, almost puffy shape. Fortunately, Jeremy was too disheartened to notice.

  Unable to put it off a moment longer, Karen snuck into Brian’s quarters when he was busily feasting on seconds after a day of good fishing. She found the calendar he spoke about on top of the minutes from the last community meeting. She counted the days. She counted again. Dammit! A full two weeks late.

  She’d been late before but never two weeks. It can’t be, she told herself, running her hands over her abdomen, rock hard from her daily physical labor. For a moment, she felt a measure of consolation. I’m sure I’ll get my period today or tomorrow. Instead her nausea increased.

  Mere days later, she awoke with an urgent need to vomit. She knew she wouldn’t make it to the toilet and struggled a few feet from the bed where the contents of her stomach erupted with projectile spasms.

  Jeremy, hearing her mews and groans, sat up and rushed to her side. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry,” cried Karen, wiping her mouth on her shirt. “Oh. Jeremy. What am I going to do? What are we going to do?

  “What are you talking about? Are you sick?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Sick and pregnant. Oh, my God. Oh my God.

  What’s to become of us now?”

  #

  Joan had just returned from her doctor’s appointment to find Carl hungry as usual and sitting at the table, nibbling on last night’s leftovers.

  “The rabbit died,” she said, turning off the TV so he’d be sure to hear her announcement.

  Carl scrunched his face, annoyed and confused. “Hey, put it back on. The Bruins are playing. They’re about to give the score. And what are you talking about?”

  “I’m pregnant!”

  Carl dropped his spoon into his bowl of soup, a spot splashed on his shirt, but he barely noticed. He looked at her as if she had just fallen from the sky and sprouted three eyes. “You kidding?”

  “No,” she said, suddenly afraid. “We planned this, after all.”

  Carl pressed his fists against his cheeks so hard they stung. “Jeez Louise!” he said. “I can’t believe it happened so fast.”

  “I guess we hit the jackpot at the get-go. You’re not sorry, are you?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, no. Of course not. I’m just surprised, that’s all. In fact, flabbergasted is more like
it.” Looking at her face, now bearing worry lines along her mouth, Carl went to her, drew her up, and took her in his arms. “It’s great, Joan. Really! I just can’t believe it. I mean you don’t look pregnant.”

  Joan laughed with relief. “I guess I’m just a little bit pregnant,” she said, repeating that oft-used joke as she pushed her palm against her flat belly.

  “Hey,” he said. “Did they really have to kill a rabbit?”

  “No,” she said. “All the little cottontails are fine, and so am I. In fact, the doctor said I’m healthy as a horse.”

  “Wow,” he said. “Imagine me a father! Who would have guessed?” Carl turned the radio on, moving the dial until he found the perfect song. With Billy Joel singing, “Just The Way You Are,” he twirled her around the room.

  #

  Time stopped. Someone coughed and shuffled in the distance. As Jeremy’s head slumped against the stone wall, the corners of his mouth drooped into folds of anguish and disbelief. “That’s impossible. At least, almost impossible. Tell me you’re joking.”

  “I wish I was.”

  “Karen, are you sure?” He watched her dry heave, leaving traces of half-digested food on her mouth. There was no need to ask again. “Well, that’s just great; it’s just what we need.” Lowering his face, he pressed his fingers against his temples. When he spoke again, his words and tone shifted, becoming clear and calm. “I suppose we both knew this could happen, even though the odds seemed slim. But if you really are pregnant, we have no choice but to accept it. There’s not much we can do about it, is there?”

  Karen sat silently. She thumbed through a book and then tossed it away. She picked up another and did the same. Finally she gathered her nerve and asked for clarification. “What do you mean by ‘not much’?”

  Jeremy answered, without any further hesitation, surprising himself with his position and resolve. “Abortion would be out of the question down here. No one would do it, and if anything went wrong … No! I won’t even think about it. And besides—he reached over and placed a hand on her belly—“if you’re pregnant, it’s our child in there. My child. I couldn’t hurt it, and I’m sure, after thinking it over, you couldn’t either.”