by John Rector
The sound covers me, and when the screaming starts, I barely notice.
The Walls Around Us
Morris knew the police wouldn’t come; all he had to do was look out the window. The storm started that afternoon, and within an hour the woods outside dissolved into a haze of white and were no longer visible from the house. The radio was reporting road closures all along the western slope and advising people to stay indoors. He knew, even before he dialed the number, what the police would say, and he was right. When he set the phone back on the cradle, he told Evelyn the news.
“Frankly, I’m amazed the lights are still on,” he said. “Or the phone.”
Evelyn stood in front of the tall, arched windows of the living room with her arms across her chest. She was tapping her fingers on her elbow and staring into the storm. “Did they say when?” she asked.
“Tomorrow,” Morris said. “Maybe the day after. It all depends.”
Evelyn turned and looked at him. “I can’t stay here for two days.”
“I don’t believe we have a choice.”
She bit the insides of her cheeks and turned back to the window. It was getting dark out, but the snow had its own grayish glow that leaked into the room. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “Any of it.”
Morris came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She was shaking. “You holding up?”
Evelyn looked back and frowned. “Of course I am,” she said. “It’s not like that. Just a bit of a shock. Can’t blame me, can you?”
“I suppose not,” he said.
She’d been sober fifty-nine days. The shakes had been gone a while, but holding her now brought back memories of those nights in bed, the damp sheets, and the slick smell of her skin as they struggled to sleep.
“So, what are they going to do?” Evelyn said. She stepped forward and wormed away from him. “What did they say?
“They said if they’d been here this long, they’d be here tomorrow.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “They also said they’d probably need to consult a forensic anthropologist before removing them.”
“Great,” she shook her head. “What the hell are we supposed to do until then? Ignore it?”
“What else can we do?”
Evelyn walked to the couch and sat down. She leaned back and put her feet on a box marked ‘Kitchen.’ Morris heard the silverware shift inside. “I just can’t believe this,” she said, massaging the bridge of her nose. “I just can’t.”
Morris sat on the floor across from her and turned on a small table lamp. He looked around the room. The house was bigger than anyplace he’d lived before, and he loved its high ceilings and arched doorways. In the city he’d take long walks through the historic district just to look at these types of homes. He was fascinated by the architecture and the eclectic influences of the original owners, who’d settled there after making fortunes in the mines. A few chose not to leave, and they built their homes in the mountains. These were rare, and he felt lucky to have found one.
They’d moved in that weekend, and most of the boxes were still stacked against the far wall. They were all labeled and would eventually be divided and moved, but that was later. The first priority had been the wine cellar.
Evelyn said it was symbolic and wanted it torn out before they moved in. Morris disagreed, but in the end they compromised and decided to do it before they unpacked. He suggested hiring someone, but Evelyn wouldn’t have it. “It only means something if you do it yourself,” she said. “You need to get on your hands and knees and sweat. That’s how you know you’re in control.”
Morris went along with this, but the cliché affirmations and motivational bullshit she’d brought back from her meetings was beginning to wear thin. He understood the logic in wanting the wine cellar gone, but he could’ve done without the ‘Rah-Rah’ talk. Still, on some level he hoped she’d change her mind and let him call a professional but when she arrived at the house with the demolition tools, that hope died.
Morris stood in the driveway and watched her unload the truck. The snow was beginning to fall, and he hugged his arms against his chest. “You’re serious about this,” he said, as she handed him a sledgehammer. He’d never held one before, and it was heavier than he’d imagined. “How do you know we won’t bring the house down on top of us?” He waggled the hammer in front of him. “A place this old, you can’t be sure.”
Evelyn closed the back of the truck. She didn’t look at him. “The wine racks were put up after the house was built,” she said. “The brick is different than the foundation.” She picked up a canvas tarp and took the sledgehammer from him. She walked to the front door, stopped, and looked back. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We won’t even touch the support walls.”
Morris stood outside and watched her disappear into the house. He wondered where she’d learned about bricks and foundations and walls. She’d never shown an interest in construction, or an understanding of its concepts, and it made him think of all the things he’d never know about his wife, all the secrets. He tried to push the thought out of his head but couldn’t, he knew it would always be there. Above him, the sky was gray and filled with flakes. They were falling faster, and the pine trees were already dusted white. Morris turned and moved toward the front door. He wanted a drink, badly.
~
Evelyn was leaning back on the couch with her eyes closed. She was squeezing one of the pillows against her chest and absently scraping her thumbnail along the fabric. Behind her, the cellar door was still partly open, and Morris stared into the shadow behind it.
“Nemo me impune lacessit,” he said.
Evelyn opened her eyes. “What?”
“It’s a line from something I read in college,” Morris said. He motioned to the cellar door. “This reminded me of it, that’s all.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
“It was Edgar Allen Poe,” he continued. “About a guy who buries a man alive in his family’s vault under the city.”
She ignored him.
“It means ‘No one injures me with impunity.” He smiled. “Can you imagine? I bet I still have the book in one of these boxes.” He stood up and walked across the room.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Evelyn said. She didn’t open her eyes. “I’m really not interested.”
Morris stopped. “It’s a great story,” he said. “And, we can relate to it, that’s the best part.”
Evelyn opened her eyes and sat up. “Are you enjoying this?”
“Enjoying what?”
“This.” She raised her hands. “This whole night, our first night. Doesn’t it bother you?”
“It is what it is,” Morris said. “I’m making the best of it.”
Evelyn tossed the pillow aside and stood up. “It bothers me.” She walked to the coat rack by the front door, and searched the pockets of her jacket.
“You can’t tell me you’re not a little fascinated by it.”
“Fascinated?” She didn’t look up. “By a body?”
“It’s not really a body,” he said. “I mean, it was, sure, but not anymore.”
“It’s a body, Morris,” she said. “Bones. Same thing.”
Morris noticed the cigarettes on the floor by the couch. He reached for the pack and held it up. Evelyn walked back and took them.
“It’s like a museum,” he said. “History.”
Evelyn lit a cigarette and inhaled deep. “Not when it’s in my home.” She took an ashtray from the ‘Kitchen’ box and sat back on the couch.
They were quiet for a while, and Morris watched the smoke from her cigarette in the lamplight. “I wonder who it was,” he said.
Evelyn shook her head. “Christ, Morris, enough.”
“It’s our house. I’m curious.”
Evelyn looked down and brushed ashes off her lap. “Whoever he was, and whatever he did, I’m sure it was something shitty, and he got killed for it.” She sat forward and tapped her cigarette on the edge of the tray. “I don
’t see the mystery.”
“Why was he killed?”
“Don’t care.”
“Maybe he was a thief, and the owner caught him.” Morris walked back and sat on the floor. “Could’ve owed him money, or cheated at cards. Serious gamblers back then.”
“Or maybe it was alcohol and testosterone,” Evelyn said. “Can we stop this now?”
They were quiet. After a while, Morris spoke.
“What if it was a woman?”
Evelyn snorted. “I doubt it.”
“You don’t think so?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t”
“Could have been his wife,” he said. “Maybe she pissed him off somehow. Cheated on him.”
Evelyn stared at him.
Morris looked away. “I bet you can understand that,” he said. His voice was soft.
Evelyn crushed her cigarette in the ashtray and stood up. “Fuck you, Morris.” She reached in the box and grabbed a glass and walked to the kitchen.
Morris heard the faucet come on and the glass fill with water. He felt a small twinge of guilt but ignored it. Sometimes she needed to remember, he told himself, no matter what her counselor said.
When she walked back in the room, she didn’t take her eyes off him.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she said, taking a cigarette from the pack. “If it winds up being a woman, I’ll finish the cellar and unpack the house alone, but if it’s a man—” she put the cigarette in her mouth and smiled around it, “—you never bring that up again.”
Morris frowned. “Is that all it is to you? Just a game?”
Evelyn lit the cigarette.
“Do you have any idea what you put me through that night?” he said.
“So what are we doing here?” She threw the lighter on the floor in front of her. “I thought this was our ‘new start.’ Away from the city, like you wanted.” She pointed at him. “If you didn’t want to forgive me, you should’ve divorced me. I can’t apologize forever, Morris. You have to let it go.”
Morris stared at her. She held the cigarette by the side of her head and rolled it between her fingers. She didn’t look away. He thought about that night and the number of times he’d looked at the clock, or picked up the phone to check the dial tone. It’d been the longest night of his life, and he knew she would never fully understand. Morris took a deep breath and looked away. “So how do we tell?”
“The police report,” Evelyn said.
He shook his head. “No, we might never see it.”
Evelyn sat down and brushed the hair from her face.
“Clothes,” Morris said. “We can tell by the clothes.”
“You want to look at his clothes?”
“See if she’s wearing a dress,” he said. “Then we’ll know.”
“No,” Evelyn said. “I’m not going down there.”
Morris leaned close to her. “Then you lose the bet.”
Evelyn narrowed her eyes and stared at him. She was quiet, and after a moment she looked down, set the cigarette in the ashtray, and smiled.
~
The air in the wine cellar was damp and had the meaty smell of wet dirt. There was a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Morris turned it on and blinked against the brightness. The wine racks lined the wall in three large, brick arches. They had finished the first and started the second when they broke through the wall. The hole was there, and behind it were the bones.
Morris walked across the room, loose dirt and debris popped under his feet. Evelyn stood behind him at the bottom of the stairs. She was holding onto the railing and staring at the hole.
“You holding up?” Morris winked at her.
“Don’t do that,” she said. Her eyes never left the wall. “I’m fine.”
Morris smiled and turned back. All he could see was the gray top of the skull. It was facing down, and resting against the wall. He leaned in closer and squinted against the darkness. “I can’t see,” he said. “It’s too dark.” He sat back on his heels. “You look.”
Evelyn inched closer. “I won’t be able to see anymore than you.”
“Try,” he said.
She leaned forward, and looked into the hole.
Morris stood up. He looked around the room at the piles of brick and wood. “Is the flashlight upstairs?”
Evelyn nodded. “In the kitchen.”
Morris ran up the steps. He found the flashlight on the counter and turned it on. It worked, and he walked back to the cellar door. He stopped, and from the top of the stairs, he watched Evelyn’s shadow move across the floor below. Morris stood there for a moment then took a step back. He closed the door, and turned the lock.
He heard her footsteps rush up the stairs. “Morris?” She shook the handle from the other side. “What the hell are you doing?”
Morris backed away and clicked the flashlight on, then off.
“Open the fucking door, Morris!”
He smiled and sang the words to himself. “Open the fucking door, Morris.” Then laughed and walked to the stack of boxes against the wall. He shuffled through them until he found one marked ‘Office Books.’ He pulled it aside and tore the tape away.
Evelyn was hitting the door and yelling. He didn’t listen. He flipped through the books and took out the one he was looking for. As he closed the box, he noticed the bottle at the bottom. He picked it up and read the label, ‘Docetañidos.’ He let the word roll on his tongue, “Docetañidos. Doceta—… tañidos.” His grandfather had brought the bottle back from a vineyard in Spain and gave it to him as a gift the night before his wedding. It was the one bottle he couldn’t bring himself to throw out.
He walked back to the couch and opened the ‘Kitchen’ box. He took out a plastic cup and a corkscrew, opened the bottle, and filled the cup to the rim.
Evelyn was pounding on the door, and he wondered if she’d use the sledgehammer. The idea amused him. He imagined her swinging the hammer over her head, destroying the door to get out. That would be something to see, he thought. Morris smiled and opened the book. He began to read.
Evelyn was kicking the bottom of the door in a steady beat.
After a while Morris stood and walked over. “Listen to this,” he said. He read to himself as he walked. “This is really wonderful.”
Evelyn stopped kicking. “I’m going to fucking kill you when you open this door, Morris, I swear to fucking Christ, I will!”
Morris put a finger to his lips and hushed her. “Listen.” He cleared his throat. “He’s leading him through the catacombs and offers him a drink. This is his toast.”
“Morris!”
“Ev, listen,” he said. “You’ll appreciate this.” Morris read. “He says, ‘I drink to the buried that repose around us.’” He shook his head. “Fantastic line.”
“Fuck you, Morris!” she said. “Open the door!”
He ignored her. “There are others,” he said. “I’ll find one.”
“Morris!” Evelyn was screaming.
“Just a minute.” He flipped through the pages.
“Morris, God damn it, let me out!”
Morris slammed his fist against the door and screamed. “MORRIS, GOD DAMN IT, LET ME OUT!”
His breath was hard, and the sound of it mixed with the wind outside.
Evelyn was quiet.
Morris’ throat burned, and he walked back to the couch and took a drink. He could hear her shuffling behind the door, and wondered if she was beginning to understand. He tried to imagine what she would say to him in the morning, but stopped. It doesn’t matter, he thought, what’s done is done.
Morris sat down and opened the book. The wind blew hard against the house, and the light beside him flickered and went dark. He heard Evelyn gasp, and the handle on the door rattle. Outside the window, the snow was solid and gray.
Evelyn was crying. “Please, Morris,” she said. Her voice broke through tears. “I am so sorry, Morris. Please.”
Morris raised his glass and finished it
.
This time he said nothing.
To Lay Down with Animals
I didn’t care if it wasn’t my baby. A child is a child, and when God brings one into your life it’s a blessing.
“It’s gonna be a while, Jack,” Rochelle said. She put her hand on her stomach and looked down. “These things takes time, you know.”
Of course I knew. Who didn’t know about that? It bothered me, but I didn’t get mad at her for treating me like I’m stupid. She does that sometimes. She doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s just the way she is, I suppose.
“It takes ten months for a cow,” I said.
“You comparing me to a cow?”
“Course not,” I said. “All I meant was it’s different for other animals.”
“I ain’t no animal.”
“We’re all animals. Some of us are just more advanced, that’s all.”
“I ain’t no animal,” she said again. But this time it was more of a whisper.
We both stayed quiet for a while. I wanted to ask her who the father was, but I figured that would’ve been rude. I’d only known her for a week or so, and it really wasn’t any of my business. Someday she’d tell me, once she felt more comfortable.
“You sure you got enough room for me and the baby?”
“’Course I’m sure,” I said. “Twenty acres plus woods, fifty head of cattle, barn, and the house has got two bathrooms. We’re pretty far outside of town, so there won’t be a lot of people coming around. Maybe the Nielsons’ out on route eleven from time to time, but that’s about it.”
“And you don’t mind sharing it with me?”
“Why would I mind? I love you, I told you tha—”
Rochelle held up her hand, stopping me. “I told you not to say that to me, Jack.”
“But I do love you.”
She hit the passenger seat. “God damn it!”
“What’s the big deal?”
“Jack Edwin Meese, if you don’t stop right now, I swear I’ll scream.”