by R. L. Fox
Then suddenly the gun explodes, seemingly of its own accord with a flash and a loud Crack! Simultaneously Mike’s head snaps back and he collapses on the floor with the top of his skull torn away. The blood spreads rapidly over the floor. A reddish mélange of bone and brain matter is splattered on the wall.
Julie is shouting for her husband in a choked nightmarish voice, “Mike! Mike!” She jumps off the bed and lunges at Frank, teeth and nails bared. Frank turns around and punches her squarely in the face. She crumples to the floor and lies still.
I drop the gun. For a moment I cannot draw breath. Then I recoil in horror and howl like a mournful bird. My big brother, Mike, so sturdy and so powerful, now with a dark run of blood from his head, lies on the floor like a puppet abandoned by its master. I hide my face in my hands.
“Yes, he’s dead. You killed him,” Frank says coldly.
I look at Frank, and despite his mean, pinched expression, there’s shame in his eyes. When I try to speak, a sob breaks from my throat and echoes in the room. Then I blurt, with the gloomy submissiveness of one who has surrendered his will, “Go on, kill me, kill me.”
Frank is holding the knife. “I will, if you don’t give me that diary,” he says matter-of-factly.
Vaguely, I hear a voice—my own? In a whisper the voice seems to reply, “If you don’t kill me now, while you have the chance, you’re going to regret it.”
A trembling begins deep inside me and spreads to my chest and legs and arms. My mind is muddled by the absurdness of my act. I’m having trouble deciding what to do next. Slowly, I reach out with my hand, supporting myself against Frank’s dresser. I’m biting the inside of my lip so hard the blood comes again. I know only that my crime is beyond expiation. Then I am seized with a spasm of cold terminal agony, such as the anguish of a fetus when it batters its way into the world, and as I run from the room I sense the emergence within myself of a totally new condition of being, some surprising new emotion that sweeps upwards from the depths of my soul.
21
Daniel
Friday night, August 8
El Cajon Valley
The black and silent mountain retains its mystery. It has withstood the wind, the rains, the frost, the heat, the destructive ways of humankind. It is afraid of no one. The mountain does not need redemption; it has already been redeemed.
Nearing the cave I climb like blind Oedipus, guided not by Antigone but only by my instincts. I know my way well enough to move swiftly, with the help of the moon, that indifferent orb overhead, tight as a fist, filling the night with illumination. My vision is bleary as I blink away the tears. I’m certain Sarah will be waiting for me. I trust her. There’s no question, despite her tender age, about my love for her. She’s my girlfriend, my best friend, and I need her, now more than ever. I want to be comforted and consoled by her. I have no one but her.
As I reach the end of the footpath that runs parallel to the ravine, I get my bearings like a comic book hero standing atop the Empire State Building. I move through the low weeds next to the cliff, and then climb up the short track leading to the cave.
My steps are slow and deliberate, but when I see Sarah, standing outside the cave, holding the diary, my heart reverberates with joy and I hasten to reach her.
22
Sarah
Friday night, August 8
El Cajon Valley
“Daniel!” I shout.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
His voice sounds strange, like a young boy’s, and I notice that his face is pale, his eyes cloudy. His face is a mixture of compassion and fear.
“I’ve never been so scared,” I say, “except when my mom told me that my, uh, dad died. I found my way easily enough, although I had to keep asking myself, ‘Which way? Which way?’ I’ve been hearing all sorts of snakes and things moving in the bushes. I couldn’t go into the cave, it’s too dark in there.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I hated sending you away all by yourself when you were frightened.” Daniel looks at me, and his gaze gives me the sense of being irradiated. I remember what he told me about the fifteenth night of the moon, the full moon, and how at sunset in certain moments, the moon and the sun were equivalent lights. Then he runs his hand through his hair and casts his head down. “I knew you’d be here for me.”
“I had to make a quick decision: go to my mother, or come here and wait for you. I chose you because I love you and there’s something important I have to tell—”
Daniel starts trembling, and all the blood seems to drain from his lean face. On the edge of tears, seemingly, he stares disconsolately at the ground, muttering incomprehensively. I’ve never seen him in such a state, and I suddenly feel as if I don’t understand him at all, as if I might never penetrate vast areas of his nature, never capture the essence of him. I can’t bear the thought, the weight, of not knowing him, all of him, and I plead, “Daniel, why are you shaking? Quick, tell me, Daniel ... Why?”
In a flat walled-off tone, he says, “I killed my brother,” and he closes his hands into fists and beats them against his forehead in self-recrimination. His face is twisted with the torture he must be feeling. “I shot Mike with the gun, and I can’t stop the pain.”
My loud gasp mirrors my shock. But I slide my arms around Daniel and kiss his lips and then hold him tightly with my head on his chest. As he strokes my hair, I begin to cry because Mike might have been my brother, too—well, I don’t know for sure, and besides, I’m so sorry for Daniel.
A moment later I smooth my cheeks back towards my ears and say, “You were just trying to help.”
Daniel takes me by the shoulders and looks into my eyes and I see his sad eyes. “I really helped Mike, didn’t I?” he says sarcastically. “What can I do to get him out of my mind?”
“You shouldn’t try to get Mike out of your mind,” I reply. “If you do, that means he died for nothing.”
“I’d rather not think about him anymore. Then the pain might stop.”
“You can keep Mike alive in your heart. You can talk to him, like I did with my ... dad. You can tell him how sad you are. It’s all right to let your feelings out.” Already I’d seen how his grief has changed the way he walks and the way he looks at everything.
Suddenly a flicker of light in the distance below catches my eye.
Daniel turns and looks. “It’s a flashlight,” he says. “Must be Frank. He wants the diary.”
“Why are you calling him ‘Frank’?” I had noticed how Daniel’s face became very stern as he said “Frank,” like he hates that word.
“He’s not my father,” Daniel says angrily.
“If we give him the diary, maybe he’ll leave us alone.”
“No, we can’t trust him. He’s batshit crazy; he’s dangerous. Let’s get in the cave, he’ll never find us there.”
23
Daniel
Friday night, August 8
El Cajon Valley
Like a bobcat expecting trouble, I slowly extend my head into the cave. Using the flame of a lighter to see, I examine the rock shelter for the presence of snakes or lizards. Finding none, I start the kerosene lantern and motion for Sarah to join me in the warm shadowy space.
Sarah enters, carrying my mother’s diary, and when she tries to hand it to me, I ask her to watch over it a while longer. I won’t be ready to “get to know” my mother, or to read Julie’s account of my mother’s death, until the more immediate problem of Frank is resolved.
I stretch out beside Sarah on the dirt floor of the cave. Her body warms me. She rests her head on my shoulder and I stroke her hair as we wait quietly. The silence is a bond between us I feel more keenly the longer it continues.
I’ve never really been in love before, I decide, even with Liz. Because of the way in which I love Sarah, without clinging to her, wanting to possess her, without having to substantiate my virility around her, I realize I was infatuated with Liz, perhaps because she’s older than me, and because she was so
rt of “wild and crazy.” My love for Sarah is true. It’s meant to be; we are soul mates.
The awful pain I’m feeling over Mike is softened by Sarah’s love, by her nearness. To be sure, I’m still in my own private hell, and Sarah sees me there. She can’t do anything more about it. I’ll never forgive myself. The accident will always dwell within the inescapable fact of Mike’s death, which now seems a kind of ominous extension of my mother’s death.
I prop myself on an elbow. The light of the lamp reveals a mist creeping in from outside, which, with the shadows playing on the walls of the cave, creates an eerie aura.
My jaw aches from the blow my father dealt me, but I’ve been able to ignore it. I bring my face close to Sarah’s, to kiss her.
“Maybe we shouldn’t kiss,” she whispers, surprising me. She sits up and smiles.
“Why not?”
“Daniel, I’m sorry. I’m sort of kidding really, but I should have told you—”
“Told me what?”
“I’m trying to tell you, silly. I’d hoped to tell you before. I want you to know.”
She looks me full in the face. “My mom says I’m your sister.”
As I get to my knees, my head strikes the rock ceiling. “Are you crazy?” I say, in a feverish whisper.
“My mother told me I was conceived on the night before she married my, well, William, in 1998. The photo? Your father ... possibly our father, Frank, and my mother went to Belmont Park that night, and they made love on the beach.”
“How would your mother know for sure?”
Sarah is on her knees now, speaking in a smothered tone. “I don’t know. She’s convinced. But my heart, Daniel, tells me otherwise. And besides, the next night my mother had her honeymoon with ... uh, William, my dad. I just thought you should know, that’s all.”
“It can’t be. Now that I know you, and love you, not as a sister, but as my girlfriend, and with everything else that has happened, I’ve begun to rediscover my true self. I can feel it, and it feels good.”
With Sarah, I’ve finally reached the point around which all of life turns, and I remember just how the revelation, about loving her, had begun, in the moments before she got her period, when Sarah was waiting for me to make love to her. The thrill of being in position to bring about the end of her innocence had brought with it a truth I could never have discovered in any other way. It’s hard to imagine the thrill of actually doing it could be any greater.
Sarah smiles faithfully, as she grasps my hands and holds them firmly. “I love you that way, too.”
I sharply raise my finger. I’d heard something, outside, a movement in the brush. I sit on my haunches, tensed and alert, listening for Frank’s footsteps. The sweat runs salty into my eyes, and my legs begin to cramp.
Just then the dry sizzle of a rattlesnake sounds in the cave. A large brown diamondback has stolen inside. Sarah’s face contorts with terror. She lets out a loud shriek. The snake retreats into a corner of the cave and coils, raises its triangular head, preparing to strike, its rattle vibrating.
I put my hands on Sarah’s waist and push. She grabs the diary and crawls out of the cave. I’m following closely.
Outside, Sarah says, “That was a narrow escape.” She begins to cry softly.
I pace back and forth with a finger to my lips indicating we should remain quiet. When I hug Sarah, I notice she’s trembling.
“Are you cold?” I ask.
“No,” she whispers. She raises a pitiable moan and starts to shake so hard I urge her to sit down on the dirt path. The full moon mirrors itself in a teardrop on her cheek. She sits with her arms clasped around her knees, trying to still the shaking. The heavy ethereal fog reaches up from the earth. Like the breath of ghosts.
Then I notice a shadowy figure looming at the base of the path leading up to the cave. In the hallucinatory darkness I can’t make out the face, but I know it’s Frank and I do not hesitate. I shout, “You bastard!” and charge down the path. As I near Frank I leap with all my strength and soar through the air, crashing into him. Entangled, we roll over the escarpment and tumble into the low weeds next to the ravine.
When we break apart I get to my feet and Frank, standing, swings the flashlight at my head. The metal weapon passes inches from my bruised cheekbone. I close in and elbow Frank sharply in the ribs. Frank backs away, sniffs ferociously and spits on the ground.
We square off, several feet apart, both of us panting, tiptoeing about with eyes locked together like the horns of rival beasts. The rush of silence leaves me face to face with my own apprehension. I notice the butt of the gun, Mike’s gun, protruding from Frank’s waistband. Why hasn’t Frank used it? The answer comes quickly: he wants to get his hands on the diary first.
There is no feeling that compares to having your life on the line. This is what I had sought in Afghanistan, but my mind then was clouded with fear. Not now. My mind is as clear as morning light.
As Frank inches towards me, I yell scornfully, “Did you kill my mother?” A trickle of sweat rolls down the side of my forehead.
The oddest smile lives on Frank’s face, and in his eyes I see the wet light of pride. “Yes, I killed your mother,” he shouts, as though some elemental craving has been grossly and spectacularly satisfied. “She would have killed herself, boy, but she changed her mind, because of you. The foolish woman was willing to go on with that suffering mind of hers, for you, you little grunt. She couldn’t bear to leave you. I did her a favor, and myself as well since she had caught me red-handed with Julie. What do you think of that?”
I glare at Frank with a rancorous hatred. I think I see a flicker of envy in his eyes, a source perhaps of the deep-seated malevolence that Frank has amassed for me over the years. I shudder, not with fear, but with revulsion. There has never been a maniacal rage in me as there is now. I want to bring Frank down and fulfill the promise to my mother, exact the tribute her memory so rightfully deserves.
Then I see Sarah, out of the corner of my eye. Frank has seen her, too. She’s climbed down the escarpment, holding the diary.
24
Sarah
Friday night, August 8
El Cajon Valley
My knees are watery weak; I can hardly stand. I want to help Daniel, but I can’t. I feel transcended by it all. I know that I am paralyzed with fear.
For a second I’d thought Frank glanced at me in a fatherly way, only to realize I was mistaken. He just wanted to see if I was holding the diary. When Frank looked away I flung the book over my shoulder, into the dry brush.
Now as Frank rushes at Daniel I yell instinctively, “Watch out, Daniel!” Daniel with the full force of his fist strikes a blow to Frank’s stomach. Frank doubles over and drops the flashlight. Daniel jumps on Frank’s back and hangs on.
As the scuffling grows nearer, a scream rises in my chest and erupts as a wordless gasp. Black clouds move across the sky, eclipsing the moonlight and casting a long shadow over everything. For a moment all is shrouded in darkness. When the moon obligingly lifts itself clear of the clouds, I see that Frank has freed himself from Daniel’s grasp. Frank punches Daniel in the face, and Daniel staggers backwards, struggling to stay on his feet. He’s near the edge of the cliff, above the Kumeyaay fertility site. He falls to the ground and Frank jumps on him, swinging his fists. Daniel tries to block the punches with his arms.
I run towards them with clumsy stumbles. A strangled cry comes out of my throat, “Stop it, Stop it ...”
Frank is sitting on Daniel. I draw near and extend my arms to knock Frank away, but he backhands me across the face. I fall to the ground. A fierce shudder runs through my entire body with the pain.
While I’m sitting in the dirt and weeds I put a hand to my aching cheek as a long roll of thunder reverberates in the hollows of the mountain, increasing my sense of anguish and desperation. Then a flash of lightning illuminates the black body of the mountain. I catch a glimpse of my mother, down the path, in the momentary brightness, but I don�
��t have time to think about it. I realize now that Frank, maybe my father, is going to kill Daniel. Frank has his hands around Daniel’s throat in a death grip, and Daniel is emitting a muffled gurgling sound, like the zebra on National Geographic braying madly as it fights against death in the jaws of a crocodile.
I need to do something fast, yet I don’t know what. Then I notice a rock the size of a softball sitting on the ground beside me. As I stand, I inhale deeply, pick up the stone and rush towards Frank. He sees me coming, and as he releases a hand from Daniel’s throat, I’m shaken by the ferocity of his expression, but I do not stop. I feint to the left, and Frank goes in on the feint and loses. As his fist sails past me, I swing my rock-laden hand forcefully in a sidearm motion and meet Frank’s head directly. Frank lurches sideways and topples into the dark hole of the ravine.
25
Sarah
Friday night, August 8
El Cajon Valley
Ihad let go of the rock when it hit Frank and then I’d dropped to the ground and wrapped my arms around Daniel. Now as my mother approaches on the run, Daniel lets out a soft moan. I’m on my knees, holding Daniel’s head in my lap, consoling him. He’s coughing incessantly and massaging his throat with a hand.
My mother arrives and stands by quietly. Daniel sits up and puts a hand on his swollen jaw. It seems he’s all right, despite the bruises and the bloody lip. His neck looks as red as my face feels.
I get up and walk over to my mother, and she hugs me. She brushes the dirt from my clothes. As I speak, I stutter with wrenching sobs: “Mom, I think I killed ... huh ... huh ... Frank. Maybe I killed my ... huh ... real dad. I know I’ve sinned, and I’m ... huh ... huh ... going to hell, but he was ... huh ... hurting Daniel.”