by Dan Proops
‘Tell Sarah I love her.’
‘I’d meet up with Sam Kowalski. He’s met her a few times. He’s a bit weird, but we’ve been friends for ages. Here’s his business card. He’s seen her a few times. Guy comes from Arizona, but he’s been here for a couple of months. And don’t forget to ask him what he does for a living: weirdest job on earth.’
Adam stood up and took the card.
‘Tell Sarah I love her and miss her. Could you do that?’
‘Sure thing, Adam. She’d be happy to hear that. She loves you like mad.’
‘Did she tell you that?’
‘Sure did. She thinks the world of you, and goes on about her bracelet. And I’ve seen it: Sarah and Adam Forever. Beautiful sentiment. Lovely thing, that bracelet.’
‘I’m happy to hear that. I just wish I could see her.’
‘Like I said Adam, it’s outta my hands. Thanks for coming round. The fridge is awesome, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Harold, it is.’
Adam thanked his uncle for a pleasant evening and said he’d try bowling some day. After a handshake and a gift of six beers, he stood in the heat under the orange glow of the porch. He’d call Sam Kowalski in the morning.
Thirty - Five
The next day, Adam was in Prospect Park, the trees alive with birdsong, the sun high and bright, shimmering in the summer leaves. The transformation was dramatic, the grey film of winter replaced with flowers, wildlife and undulating stretches of green. Adam had arranged to meet Sam Kowalski under an oak near one of the pagodas. The woods were behind him, and he’d averted his eyes, but heard the sound of the breeze whispering in the boughs of the oaks and elms. It was a torrid day, uncomfortably so, and Adam welcomed the wind as it cooled the sweat on his face.
Ida’s mistaken remarks regarding Oliver were disconcerting; and there’d been Harold’s evasiveness. Ida’s only lapses in memory were related to Sarah’s situation, and the odd mistake over the price of Harold’s pizza cutters. In all other respects she seemed as sharp as a blade; argumentative, yes, but she had full control of her faculties.
Adam saw a young couple walk into the park, and take out some towels, then they delved into a picnic hamper and poured some white wine. A few children, a way off, were playing Frisbee.
One of the reasons he’d come to New York was to find out about Sarah, but his uncle had not been forthcoming, and Harold’s anger at his inquiries was perplexing. The boys with the Frisbee were approached by their mother and Adam watched as they pleaded with her for more time to play. He a saw man approach. He was as Harold had described, a nondescript and ordinary-looking man, like a civil servant. He had a grim face, gaunt, with high cheekbones, a pale pallor, and glasses. Sam Kowalski was holding a grey jacket under his arm. Without a change of expression and in a voice devoid of emotion he said:
’Hi, you must be Adam. Good to meet you.’
‘Hello.’
Sam had brought a copy of the New York Times and a bottle of mineral water. He folded the newspaper fastidiously, making sure the pages were aligned before sitting on a bench opposite. Sam’s eyes were blinking behind his glasses. He adjusted them and looked over to Adam. Sam was Harold’s cousin, and there was a shade of the South to his voice.
‘Windy, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Harold said you might know something about my sister.’
Adam took out a photo of Sarah, a recent one, taken a few months before she went missing, and laid it on the newspaper. Sam peered down and touched the edge of the photograph.
‘What do you want to know exactly?’
‘Harold said you’ve seen her. Whereabouts?’
‘Seen her in a bar she goes to downtown. And I met her once, here, by accident.’
Sam’s eyes had a granite stare, and he spoke slowly, pronouncing every word with precision as if he were reading from a script.
‘Where does she live, Sam?’
‘No idea. You’ll need to ask Harold about that.’
The wind became strong and eddies of discarded rubbish swirled around in front of the table, close to the pagoda. Sam’s newspaper took flight and he pulled back the loose sheets, catching them in time. Adam lit a cigarette with difficulty, due to the wind.
‘You smoke, Sam?’
‘No, but thanks for asking.’
‘What was Sarah doing when you met her here?’
‘Playing with her children. She’s got two nice kids. They were eating ice cream.’
‘Know a guy called Travis?’
‘He was a friend of Sarah’s. She met him round here somewhere.’
‘What do you think of him?’
‘He likes to feed the pigeons. I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s a little lamb.’
‘That’s an odd thing to say. Why would I worry about him?’
Sam Kowalski’s expression had been grim and unmoving, but now he was unsettled; something about the movement of his hands or his arms, and his composure was lost for a moment.
‘Not sure what you mean.’
‘You told me not to worry about Travis. I didn’t say anything about being concerned about him.’
‘Real windy, isn’t it. Lucky we’re not in the woods. Dangerous place, the woods in this weather.’
This caught Adam off guard.
‘Why is there danger in the woods?’
A hint of aggression was at the edge of Adam’s question and he looked at Sam intently, trying to catch his eye. He repeated his question. Sam put the fluttering newspaper inside his jacket.
‘Falling branches. People have lost their lives to falling branches.’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s it. Tell me more about your meeting with Sarah.’
Sam spoke about the day he’d seen her. He said she was wearing a pretty white dress, her hair tied back, and she looked different to the photo. Adam asked Sam for every detail and every action. Sam said it was a day similar to this one, warm with a high wind. Sarah was trying to keep Oliver under control as he was rushing around shouting expletives, then he was calm, placated with a sandwich and some chocolate. Maddie had been quiet and reflective, sitting near her mother, her head in her lap. Sam said Sarah was a beautiful woman.
‘Did she mention me?’
‘Yes she did. She said the bracelet was a present and she wore it every day. It’s special to her.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘Nope. I only spoke with her for a few minutes, then she made her excuses and left. She doesn’t like me.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘My job.’
‘Harold mentioned something about it. What is it?’
‘I’m a doctor of sorts.’
‘Sounds like normal work.’
‘I work in prisons. I help with the end, so to speak.’
‘The end? What end?’
‘I oversee lethal injections.’
When Sam spoke there was some sadness to his eyes and voice. He was solemn. He took a sip of water from his bottle. Adam sat back, his arms crossed loosely in front of him; it took a while for Sam Kowalski’s explanation of his job to sink in.
‘I work in the prisons in Arizona. I have various things to do when it comes to the crunch.’
‘Jesus, this country. You sleep well at night after murdering people?’
‘It’s not murder. It’s justice.’
‘Justice? You’re a fucking Eichmann! He killed people with no remorse.’
Adam thought of the book on the Holocaust Cassandra had showed him, and the cold children with the hollow eyes, with snow behind and barbed fencing rising in front of them. He imagined Sam tying people to gurneys and pushing tubes into them. Sam Kowalski’s eyes lowered. Adam’s hand was shaking, a few inches above the table.
‘Hope you feel bad about what you do. It’s madness. Justice?—heard of the expression: thou shall not kill?’
‘Yes, I have. I shouldn’t have told you what I do. I’m sorry.’
‘This fucking country. Don’t kill, it’s re
al bad to kill, and it’s really against the law, but if you do kill someone, we’re gonna kill you. Doesn’t that sound like hypocrisy?’
‘I don’t kill people. I carry out justice. I have a responsible job. I hold up the laws of Arizona.’
‘Sam, has it ever concerned you, you might have killed an innocent man?’
‘It’s been good talking to you Adam. I didn’t come here to be insulted. My fault, I guess. Shouldn’t’ve told you.’
Sam Kowalski, stood, braced himself against the wind and took hold of his water. His face was austere, his lips thin. He said he didn’t need to defend what he did, and that he was always wary of telling people about his work, but since Adam was family he’d hoped he’d show some understanding or compassion; he’d been mistaken, and was sorry if he’d upset him.
‘Sam, I didn’t mean to be so aggressive. Just one thing before you go. Do you believe in God? Do you go to church?’
‘Yes, every Sunday. My faith is as strong as my views on capital punishment. Look.’
Sam felt inside his shirt and produced a cross made of dark wood and a silver relief of Christ; it flashed in the sunshine. Adam reached out and touched it. He felt the cool metal. Sam replaced the cross and said he was late for someone. He held out his hand. Adam didn’t take it and Sam held it above the table for a moment, then it was withdrawn. He wished him the best of luck with Sarah. Adam watched the executioner walk away; a slow stride, pushing into the wind. He waited awhile, gazing across the trees and pagodas, thought about Sam Kowalski and wondered if he slept well at night. He had a vision of a man on a gurney pleading for his life with Sam watching on.
Adam spent the rest of the day exploring Prospect Park and found a bank of grass leading down to a lake. He sat on a bench and watched the water beneath a hollow blue sky. To his left was a bank of green leading up to some shrubs, trees and flowers in bloom, a fountain of colour below the sweeping forest. He saw birds in clusters at the side of the lake, their plumages shining like gems, blue, violet and silver. He was caught up with the beauty all around him. The flora of Prospect Park was all about him, illuminated by the distant sun.
A bird landed a few feet from him. It had blue and gold feathers and yellow eyes, and it pecked at the bench, and then looked up at Adam. He took his left hand and laid it on the bench and slowly unfurled his palm. The bird came closer and its beak nudged the edges of his fingers. Adam tried to be as still as possible so it would stay or come closer, and then he lifted his hand and gently reached for the bird; it flew from him and he watched as it spiralled up and was lost to the forest. He turned back to the water and small waves, caught in a gust, were lapping at the sides of the lake, and Adam was drawn into the natural order and beauty of the world, and he felt he was part of it, part of the majesty of all he could see. Near him was an evergreen, its needles white-green, caught in the sunlight.
The sunlight was very strong on Adam’s arms and forehead. He recalled Sam’s meeting with Sarah, and Oliver’s behaviour, and little Maddie. And as the breeze flowed through the canopies of the forest he hoped they were happy; wherever they were he wished them peace and tranquillity because he loved them so much, and the longing to see them rose within him: just to say hello, just to hold his nephew’s hand, to tell him that everything would be all right, to console him and hold him in his arms. He’d be patient and wait for the day he’d see them, and then he could offer his love, care and adoration. And as the sun became stronger, as the sweat stung his eyes, he wished them the glory of all things and the greatest happiness, because there, on that bench, Adam was at peace with all things as he thought of them.
He sat watching the water for a few hours, maybe more, and then walked through the park back to his apartment. Adam fell in and out of turbulent sleep, with visions of Sarah in the sunshine, Travis nearby with a knife, and Sam Kowalski finding a good vein.
Adam was wide awake at five in the morning. He turned on a light and sat up in bed. He was in the woods again and had found the fallen tree, and boldly walked towards it. Sarah’s body was nailed down, with many nails pinning her to the wood.
He wished he dreamt, but he didn’t; his sleep was dreamless, but his visions were lucid imaginings, his mind turning against him, like a malnourished stomach eating itself. He picked up a book on the life of Nietzsche. He read about the philosopher’s views on the Superman and how the Nazis had misinterpreted his work, and twisted his thinking to suit their own. He read a quote in the writings penned by the great man: Where there is peace, the warlike man attacks himself.
It was Adam’s last day in New York. He spent the afternoon packing, which involved throwing the books and odd socks back in his rucksack. He was looking forward to seeing Cassandra and was excited about the upcoming dinner with Eva. As the taxi took him to JFK Airport, he thought of Harold’s pizza cutter collection, Ida, the lake, and the man who murdered people for a living.
Thirty - Six
Adam was in his flat in Earl’s Court and Nigel had treated him like royalty, welcoming his host with a gracious, almost sycophantic gushing. Adam was tired from the flight; he took his rucksack to his room and the bed was clean and made. Nigel had not asked to use it. He heard the stick against the ceiling and went to Darius. His father’s face brightened when Adam walked in, and he looked genuinely pleased to see him. He wanted to hear all about New York, then said he’d bought Adam a present, and with his stick, gestured to the drawer in the side table. Inside was a beautifully crafted falcon carved in ebony, a few inches in length. Darius said he’d bought it when out for a walk with Nigel, and Adam said it was beautiful. Darius asked if he’d found out anything more about Sarah.
‘I really love you, Dad. This is a beautiful gift.’
‘It’s some oriental thing. I bought it to say thanks for encouraging me to go for those walks. I’m up to an hour a day now. I’m now a proud lover of walking and when I saw the bird, I thought of freedom, the freedom the walks have given me. I love you too Adam. Tell me more about New York. Maybe I’ll go there someday; maybe Sarah will see me. Maybe she’ll forgive me.’ Holding his father’s present, Adam told Darius everything about his trip to the States including his visit to Ground Zero. He said he’d been round to see Harold, and that his uncle was obsessed with pizza, then he mentioned Ida and her fractured memory. He finished the monologue with the meeting with the doctor who helped people to die.
‘I wonder why Harold’s friends with Sam,’ said Adam. ‘It’s terrible what he does for a living.’
‘That weirdo, never met him.’
‘Dad, thanks so much for the present. I have some more stuff to ask you about Harold, but I’m late for Cassandra.’
Jet-lagged and exhausted, Adam turned into the cobbled side street to the river and made his way to the restaurant. It was six, but still warm, the river rushing past him as he walked. Cassandra looked unwell. She said hello and that she’d missed him; she asked about New York, her voice weak and wavering. There were bandages around the ends of her fingers, and it took a while for Adam to realise she was wearing a wig.
‘Look pretty awful, don’t I? My nails have fallen off and I’ve got no hair.’
‘But is it working? Are you going to be okay?’
‘They say I’m doing very well and the cancer is on the retreat for the moment. I look more unwell than I am.’
‘I’m so glad, Cassandra. You’re going to be fine then.’
‘For the moment, yes. But the prognosis isn’t great. There’s only so much time.’
‘But you said you were doing well.’
‘Adam, I’m going to be candid, because you need to know. They don’t know how long they can keep me alive, but I’m going to die.’
Adam’s reaction to this was a demand to know how she could be so sure. He begged her not to die, that he needed her, and that she was the best friend he’d had.
‘You’re a good friend too, Adam, and I’m sure you’ll make someone very happy.’
‘I want to m
ake you happy. I want to make everything better.’
‘You need to meet a nice girl Adam. You’re a beautiful man—a beautiful person.’
He told her about his meeting with Eva and the guilt it had produced as if he were being unfaithful. Cassandra laid a hand on his and said this was no time for guilt and he should see the girl if he liked her. Adam was doing his best to hold back the tears; he released his grip on the side of the table. Her encouragement for him to meet someone else compounded her good nature and kindness.
‘I said I’d meet her again. She’s called Eva and studies the flute, but I don’t want to hurt you. I love you, Cassandra. Please don’t leave me. Please recover.’
‘I’ll only last so long, and you need to accept that.’
‘Well I won’t fucking accept it. You could get better. You must.’
‘I’m glad you’ve found Sarah. She’ll be there for you. I know what she means to you. And see your Eva. Try and enjoy your life.’
‘Enjoy my life? How exactly—by mourning your loss?’
‘You need to be strong my darling, and you are; you’re stronger than you think.’
‘I don’t want to be strong anymore. I’m sick of being strong. I just want everything to be all right. And it isn’t. Still praying to that idiot in the sky?’
‘Yes, I have, and my belief has come back to me like a homing pigeon. It’s beautiful, Adam. My faith is helping me. I can’t make you understand, but it has. When’re you seeing Eva again? Tell me all about her, my courageous friend.’
Adam was silent. His lips were pursed, the anger choking in his throat: the refusal to face more loss, the inability to accept it, and the pain of her kindness in encouraging him to meet Eva.
‘Please get better, please. I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I can’t take any more loss. I don’t have the strength, I don’t know how; help me to know how.’
‘If you only you had faith as I do. It would help you.’
Adam raised his voice.
‘Believe in what? A thief who stole my mother when I was a child, or the thief that’s stealing you, or the same thief that took Sarah.’