I positioned myself so I could put both my arms around his upper body, grasping him just under his arm. Then, with all my strength, I pulled him away from the rocks. He was so heavy, which surprised me, for I knew that when someone was in the water, the displacement made him or her much lighter. I struggled to move him along with me, barely able to keep him out of the water. His head lay against my shoulder and I began to back up as carefully as I could, afraid that if I stumbled and fell, he would go down and I wouldn't be able to bring him up.
The rain pummeled us both, but I concentrated on getting us to the shore of the river until I felt myself rising higher. When I stepped on the land, I pulled with all my strength and dragged him up and out with me. It was then that I finally permitted myself to fall back to rest.
My eyes had grown used to the darkness enough to see him well. His eyes were still closed. Gasping myself now, I lowered him gently to my lap. It was then that I saw it, and my heart surely stopped and started.
There, tied to his ankles, was a thick, heavy pipe obviously designed to keep him down under the water. The river current, however, had brought him to the rocks, where he had become embedded. I quickly searched his head to see if there was a bruise and felt the warm flow of blood.
I didn't hear him breathing, so I quickly moved to perform the CPR I had learned in my science class. I blew into his mouth twice and began pumping his chest quickly. I waited and then did it again. Nothing was happening. Was I too late? I tried one more time, and this time, I heard him choke up some water and then start to gasp.
Nature had saved him long enough for me to come along, I thought.
Death had sent him back.
I worked on the knot he had used to tie the pipe to his legs while he moaned and groaned and the rain fell harder and harder around us. I wanted to rush out and get some help, but I had this fear that if I left him and he discovered he was still alive and out of the water, he might very well go back in, and with the pipe still tied to him, he would surely drown this time. I continued to struggle with the knot. The water had made it almost impossible to get it loose. With the rain falling about me, Duncan's head bleeding, and my own body aching and screaming, I was quickly falling into a desperate panic.
Finally, I gave up on the knot and worked and worked at slipping the rope off his ankles, pushing and pulling until I managed to get it over and off, nearly exhausting myself completely with the effort. Nevertheless, I found the strength to drag the heavy pipe to the river and push it into the water so it would fall deeply enough not to be retrieved. In this inky darkness, he surely wouldn't find it anyway, I thought.
I went back to him He was groaning, confused. I had to work on getting us help now. I surely couldn't carry him through these bushes to the car.
"I'll be right back, Duncan. Don't try to move or anything," I told him.
I was pretty sure, however, that he didn't hear me.
This time, I was able to find the pathway Duncan had cut for himself, where he'd taken me through the first time. My hip ached more than it had since I was in the hospital. I was sure all the strain and the cold water had aggravated the old injury. I swallowed back the pain and got to the car, which was still running When I got in and shifted to reverse, however, I saw how difficult it was going to be to back out of the gravel road without going off into the brush. I couldn't see anything behind me. I opened the door and leaned out, trying to steer as I moved, but it was too hard for me to coordinate, and I did go off the gravel and into the brush. I felt the car sink on the right, and my heart sank with it. Sure enough, when I put it into drive and tried to pull forward, the wheels spun in mud. I was stuck.
Maybe death hadn't sent him back after all, I thought. Maybe death was just playing, tormenting us.
I got out of the car and started down the gravel road. The sound of the stones was enough to keep me on tracks, and finally I reached the harder pavement and could see an occasional vehicle on the main road ahead. Hobbling along as quickly as I could, I stepped out onto the road and waited for the next vehicle. Either the driver didn't see me or hear me or simply was too frightened to stop. The car whizzed by. Another car in the opposite direction did the same. I
considered stepping onto the highway and holding out my arms. In this rain and on this slippery dark road that was very risky, especially for a girl with a bum leg, but I was desperate now. I had to do it.
The vehicle heading toward me was clearly a truck. As it drew closer, I screamed and waved and prayed. The driver hit his brakes, swerved away from me and managed to come to a stop not far ahead.
"What the hell are you doing?" I heard him scream back at me.
"Please, help us. Please!" I cried.
He put the truck in reverse and backed up to me. "What are you doing out here? What's going on? Are you nuts?"
"My friend, he's injured badly down by the river. He nearly drowned. I can't get him out. Please help us."
"Huh? Where did you say?" He looked past me. "I'll show you. Please," I said, backing up toward the side road. He watched me for a moment.
"Not me!" he screamed. "I know these tricks. You ain't robbin' me!" he shouted, put his truck in gear and started away.
"N00000!" I screamed. I started after him. "It's not a trick. Please help us!"
I watched his taillights disappear around a turn.
The road was quiet again. The rain continued to pound the macadam and my face, the drops mixing in with my tears, making them indistinguishable. Hope seeped out of my body like blood from a fatal wound. I lowered my head.
Maybe this is the way we should both end up, I thought. Maybe this is fate's final blow
The glow of oncoming headlights washed around me, but I didn't turn around. I stayed in the middle of the road, waiting, anticipating a car smashing into me. I heard the brakes and then the car come to a stop.
This time, when I turned around, I saw the bubble light on the roof spinning.
A highway patrolman stepped out. I nearly co]lapsed in his arms before I managed to explain enough to get him to put me into the car and start down the side road, radioing for an ambulance. He grabbed his oxygen tank and told me to just stay put. I smiled to myself. I doubted I could do much more anyway.
Duncan looked semiconscious when they carried him out on a stretcher. Moments afterward, my aunt and uncle showed up. I was wrapped in a heavy blanket the policeman had given me. The rain had slowed but was still coming down steadily. Uncle Tyler spoke to the policeman. A tow truck was ordered for Aunt Zipporah's car, and then they took me back home.
I kept apologizing to Aunt Zipporah. She was very silent, which made me feel worse. Uncle Tyler wanted me to tell him everything, so I rattled it off as best I could.
"She saved his life, Zipporah," he told her after I had finished.
"I know," she said. "Let's get her warmed up and into bed," she added.
He drove faster, and as soon as we arrived at their house, Aunt Zipporah started a warm bath for me. She helped me take off my soaked clothing. Uncle Tyler had to go back to the cafe to close up, but I heard him tell her not to yell at me. Again he said, "She saved that boy's life."
Nothing felt as good as the warm bath when I lowered myself into it. Aunt Zipporah brought me a hot tea with a little whiskey in it to sip as I soaked.
"I'm sorry about your car," I told her.
She stared down at me.
"That's the least of it, Alice."
"Are you going to call Grandpa and Grandma to tell them?"
"Do you want me to?"
"No," I replied quickly.
She smiled. "You mean, you don't want to tell them the truth? You aren't tired of a little deception?"
I lowered my head. She was making me swallow my own words, but I deserved it.
"It's all right," she said. "It's all right that you aren't as tough as you thought you were. We'll tell them what has to be told to them when the time is right. No need to spoil their holiday."
"Okay," I said. "Thanks."<
br />
"How did you know to go there?" she asked me.
I shook my head. "It just came to me. As if it was supposed to come," I added.
"Maybe it was," she said. "I'm proud of you, honey, as proud as your mother would be," she added, and the dam that had been holding back my tears since the policeman found me on the road finally broke.
Later, I sank into sleep as easily as Duncan would have sunk into the river.
I didn't even dream.
I was that exhausted.
19 Another Trip to the Hospital
. I didn't visit Duncan in the hospital until late the following afternoon. First, I didn't get up until it was nearly noon, and second, Aunt Zipporah wanted to be sure Duncan's mother wanted him to have visitors. Anyone brought into the hospital after an attempted suicide was referred to the psychiatric department, and Aunt Zipporah wasn't sure they wanted him to have visitors--or me in particular-- yet. She said she would find out for me, and she called me early in the afternoon to tell me.
"Duncan's mother called us at the cafe just a little while ago, Alice. The doctors say it's all right for you to visit him I'll take you there at about four, okay?"
"Thank you, Zipporah." "I'd rather be taking you to Disneyland," she joked. I laughed.
"Maybe you will next," I said and prepared myself for the hospital visit.
Although she went along with me, Aunt Zipporah remained in the lobby. I told her she didn't have to take me. I could have gone myself, but she was insistent. When I pressed her, she confessed to being worried that "a second shoe might drop." Who knew how I would react to Duncan and what I might do as a result? I was too unpredictable as it was, and I knew that she and Uncle Tyler were still reeling from the shock of what had happened and all that I had done.
I couldn't blame her for being concerned. She and I both knew it wasn't going to be easy explaining all this to my grandparents when they returned from their vacation. We had decided there was no reason to call them yet.
"Your grandmother will be angry at me for not calling her right away, but you and I both know she would ruin your grandfather's holiday. Hopefully, the remaining weeks of this summer will be relatively uneventful," she said. She said it more like a prayer than anything.
I took the elevator to the psychiatric wing and made my way down the corridor toward Duncan's room. Before I entered, I stopped at the nurse's station to announce myself. The head nurse saw me and nodded her permission. I had expected some special instructions, but no one told me anything. I took a deep breath and entered his room.
Duncan was lying back in his bed. His head was bandaged and his eyes were closed. For a few moments I just stood there looking at him. I didn't want to disturb him if he was asleep. After a few moments, his eyes opened slowly. He stared at me without expression, as if he was trying to decide if I were real or not.
"Hi," I said. "How do you feel?"
"I don't think I've ever felt this tired. I have a debate with myself when I want to raise my arm. The effort seems enormous," he said.
I had so many questions to ask him. Why did he make his mother out to be such an ogre? Why did he tell me all those false things? Why did he want to get to his father and berate him before his father died? Why did he decide to drown himself?
I was silent. I was afraid that if I brought up anything, it would cause greater problems. Now that I was here in his room, I truly felt as if I were walking on thin ice. Should I go forward, remain where I was, retreat? What should I do?
"So I understand you saved my life," he said. "Don't expect me to be grateful," he added before I could even think of smiling.
"I didn't come here to hear you thank me. I can't imagine why you would be any more cordial now than you were when I first met you in the cafe," I added, and his lips softened.
"I'm afraid to laugh," he said. "It hurts too much."
"How bad was your head injury?"
"They told me it needed nearly fifty stitches. You bleed a lot when you injure your head, but apparently I don't have a concussion. I'm on some pain medication, so I drift in and out."
"I remember that sort of thing after I came out of my operation," I said and went to the chair beside his bed. "I hated it and almost would rather suffer with the pain, but the doctor told me it was better that I wasn't under stress. I would heal faster."
"Yeah," he said somewhat bitterly. "I'm on my way to healing myself."
"Do you remember any of it?"
"Not much, no."
"Am I permitted to ask you why you did it?"
"Why not? Everyone else around here is. I don't know why anyone expects me to provide a
satisfactory answer."
"The answer that satisfies you is the one you want," I said.
"Wow. That's deep. Maybe you should put on a lab robe and be the doctor here."
"Maybe I will, smart-ass," I said, and this time he couldn't help but laugh and then grimace, bringing his hand to the back of his head.
"Ouch."
He looked at me, the smile quickly fading, and then he looked away.
"I'm not a psychiatrist, Duncan. I'm not even an amateur psychiatrist, and I'm certainly not anyone who should give anyone else advice. I can't deny that there were times I considered doing what you tried to do. I fell into pools of depression and darkness from which I never thought I'd emerge. I got to the point where I ran out of tears and sobbed dryly. I never stopped asking myself why I was horn if my birth brought so much unhappiness to the people who were supposed to love me."
"Maybe you should check into the next room," he said without turning back.
"Maybe I should, but that's not the point now, is it? You and I shared some intimacy, trusted each other with our pain and sorrow and hunger for happiness. I deserve better than what you gave me," I said. "Than what you're giving me now."
I held my breath and waited. Would he just explode at me, go into some mad rage, or would he continue to sulk and be agonizingly silent, forcing me to give up and leave? Slowly, he turned back to me.
"You're right," he said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be taking anything out on you, especially on you."
"Then give me some answers," I said firmly, casting all caution to the wind. "Why did you lie about your mother? Why did you say she destroyed every picture of your father? Why did you pretend to be unwanted, to lead me to believe your mother saw you as what you called a child of sin? All those quotes from the Bible, that stuff about inheriting sin . . . why?"
"Because I liked you. I liked you very much. You're the first girl I felt comfortable being with, talking to."
"Liked me?" I shook my head. "How does that explain why you lied to me?"
"I saw how important it was to you for me to be like you. You had the same distrust of people I did. When you called us birds of a feather, I wanted to keep that special relationship. I wanted to hold onto that idea about us helping each other, being there for each other. We said so many things like that to each other.
"Besides, it wasn't all a lie. I never stopped resenting my father for deserting us. I did believe that he didn't want the responsibility of having a family."
"He was an alcoholic, wasn't he?"
"Yes, and I did like drinking, too. My mother doesn't know to this day how much I did drink when I could. Remember I told you about my finding his stash of whiskey in our basement?"
"That didn't mean you'd be like him, Duncan."
"It seemed to me I would. I have no real friends and I didn't pine over it. I know everyone at school thinks
I'm weird and I let them think it, maybe encouraged it. When you told me that same sort of thing had happened to you, I thought again that you liked me because I was like you, because we were experiencing the same sort of things."
"But you had me believing that your mother thought I was evil. She was just worrying about you the way any parent would worry about her child. Why did you pretend to be afraid of sinning with me, treating a kiss like a blasphemy or something?"
"You answered the phone that time and pretended you were your mother, didn't you? You were the one who called me Satan, not her."
"It was all part of it," he said. "I'm sorry I did that, but I thought if you continued to pity me, you might grow more fond of me, maybe even fall in love with me."
"Real love doesn't come out of pity, Duncan. Sympathy isn't love. Compassion isn't the kind of love you wanted to have with me. It's not enough. If that's all you have with someone, then when he or she gets better, you move on. There's no commitment, no more reason to care."
"You're right. I'm sorry," he said. "If you came for an apology, you have it."
He turned away again.
"I didn't come for an apology, Duncan. I came for understanding. Yes, I was upset when I visited with your mother and learned the truth. No one likes to be duped, Duncan. I felt betrayed."
He nodded, his face turned away from me, then slowly turned hack.
"I knew you would. I figured you would hate me now, think I was as weird as everyone else thinks, and you wouldn't want to have anything more to do with me."
"Don't tell me that was why you tried to drown yourself in the river," I said. "Don't lie there and tell me I'm indirectly responsible. You know how I feel about that, how I still feel about it."
"It was a part of it, I guess, another nail in my coffin, but not your fault, no. I was just tired of it, and I didn't want to face you afterward."
"Now you are facing me," I said, "and being honest, too. Would you rather be dead?"
"I don't know. I haven't had the chance to com pare."
"Yeah, well I can tell you this, Duncan, my uncle's great pasta sauce is not being served in cemeteries." He laughed again.
"Ouch, but a good ouch," he said.
"Look," I said. "I'm not going to say I wasn't very upset with you, but when I 'hear your reason for doing all that, I'm also happy, even flattered, you would go to such extremes to win my favor."
"You are?"
Secrets in the Shadows Page 28