Mary

Tonight he finds her in his living room, seated in her favorite chair, gazing out at the view of the city beyond their window.  “Mary?”

“Who else?”  She turns to greet him.

“It is you, Mary!  It really is you!    Why here, of all places?”

“Oh, Richard, come on, you’ve been here before – often.  You are always dreaming of us together, in this room, but tonight I thought I would join you.  I want to be part of your dream. Why should the geography matter?”

“No, but you are different somehow; as if you were really, really here!  I mean – you seem so young!  You look no older than the day we met, all those years ago.  And isn’t that the dress…?”

“…I wore on our first day together?  You remembered.”

“Dearest, I’ll always remember.  Twenty-four years, and every detail of that day is as vivid now as then, but this – this is special:  I want…I want so much to touch you, to hold you…”  The regrets – the regrets come flooding in again, the sorrow for the wrongs, the penitence he may not serve.  It is all too late – too late for that.

“Richard, you are sleeping – this is a dream.  In your dream you can do many things.  You can touch me, hold me, love me if you like.”

“Please, don’t torment me, Mary.”

“A little, maybe.  Should I not?  Don’t I have cause, Richard?  Or reason to tease you, or fear you?  I have been, you see, very afraid. I‘ve many good reasons to curse my fate, because I have the misfortune to be a memory of yours. Yet this night is a special night, and I will make it your own.  Tonight I am a ghost to do with as you will, I will not leave you until dawn.”

“Is this forgiveness at last?  Can you forgive me?”

“For pushing me from the balcony that lies behind those windows?  For insisting I was suicidal?  For telling the world that I leapt to my own destruction?   My forgiveness is what your conscience craves?”

The ghost revives the memory again, and often as he has relived the betrayal, the jealousy, the fury of that night, it can still bring tears.  “It was an accident,” he weeps. “I didn’t mean it to happen.  You must know that.”

“No, of course you didn’t.  Nobody means to kill.  Anger takes over and you find strength you did not know you possessed.  You can look for excuses, for justification; as you have upon so many nights – it is not the issue here, not the reason I have come to you – not my cause to hope this will be a unique night for you.  This morning is a very special morning, is it not?  Christopher is twenty-one, Richard.  Our son is twenty-one today.  Or have you entirely forgotten that?”

“No.  No, of course not!  How would I forget my own son?”

“Well, let us see.  You sent him away to live with your parents in England when he was five years old, sent him to boarding school when he was eight.  This was his home, Richard, but you swept it from under his feet, uprooted him from his little universe and despatched him to the other side of the world while you stayed here.  He lives in England, you in L.A. How many chances have you taken to refresh your memory since?”

“That isn’t fair!  After…after us, I couldn’t bear to be near him.  I tried, I did honestly, but his every look reminded me of you, my darling.  So what I did was for him, as much as for myself.”

“His every look reminded you of your guilt, you mean, don’t you?  Is that why you never so much as visited – sent a card at Christmas, or a telephone call on his birthday, congratulated him at his graduation?  Richard, he is your son – your son and mine!”

“He never knew what really happened.  I’ve done my best.  I left him a gift, a special coming-of- age gift.”

“Ah yes, the gift.  Remind me of your gift…”

“But you are Mary; you have been watching; you already know.  This morning, when he wakes for his twenty-first birthday, Christopher will receive the key to a safety deposit box I placed with my bank’s London office sixteen years ago.   When he opens it, he will find bonds and share certificates inside – enough to make him financially secure for the rest of his life.  He will never have to work, or worry.  That is my gift to him, Mary.”

“How good it must make you feel – to be able to trade all that for a childhood!”

Richard smiles because he has often congratulated himself for this rich gesture.  Yes, his benevolence must do more than compensate for Christopher’s lack of a father.  “It is generous, isn’t it?  Few children can ever hope to receive such a gift: and it is not that I don’t love him – in some measure.  I said so on a tape I placed within the box – a tape I made the day after we laid you to rest.”

“And the day before your parents took him away.  What did you say on this tape of yours?  How you adore him, how you repent?  ‘Grow strong, my son, and learn from the failings of your father’.  Does it say that?”

“You’re judging me unfairly.”

“Am I?  In this respect, at least, you are wrong: I was not ‘laid to rest’ – could not rest while my philandering, guilty assassin walked free. Yet in all the generosity of my heart I wanted to be with you in these small hours. I offered you anything you wanted, a last gift. You should have taken it. Dawn is almost upon us; it is too late, now.”

“I don’t follow you. How is it too late? Why the finality?” He genuinely does not wish to lose the spectre that he has kept secretly in his thoughts for so many years. “Are you leaving me?”

“I left you, as you put it, out there on that balcony, a long time ago. But I can answer you: with the dawn, yes.

“Richard, my dear, you didn’t even press playback, when you prattled into that little recorder of yours.  You just offered excuses, dismissed your love in a few sentences and you tossed the tape into the safe deposit box.  Such a shame, Richard.  Such a shame.”

He frowns, suspicious at last.  “What are you keeping from me….”

“I?  I would keep nothing from you.  Tonight I came to give you peace.” Mary’s smile is chill enough to freeze the marrow of his bones. “Come close to me, Richard; come close and I will whisper to you – such sweet words.  I will tell you – no, come closer – I will tell you of a woman in fear for her life, in this room, sixteen years ago.  I will tell you how, after you had telephoned her in your rage she knew you were coming to her with murder on your mind, so she took your little tape recorder from its drawer and switched it on.  And I will tell you that tape was never erased, and how that woman’s every cry of terror and despair, and every word and blow of yours was etched upon it.  And then I will tell you that is the tape you sealed in Christopher’s safe deposit box.”

“No!  That isn’t possible!  I recorded on a clean tape!”

“You believed the tape was clear, because before I switched the recorder on, it was.  But your fingers shook as you pressed the ‘on’ button.  You didn’t record.  You should have replayed the tape, Richard.  You should at least have taken some of your precious time to do that.”

Panic overtakes him, a fear as debilitating as the moment when Mary, overbalanced, slipped from his grasp, all those years ago.  Can he think back so far?  Did he check the red recording light had responded to his finger on the button?  “I can telephone him!”  He cries.  “I can tell him there’s a mistake, that I’ve sent him the wrong key.  I can stop him opening the box!”

“Oh, my darling Richard, you have forgotten, haven’t you?  It is early morning here in LA, but the sun is high over London.  Our son has already opened the box; the tape is already played.  It is time to wake up, beloved murderer because your dream is over.  Any second now the telephone will ring.”

© Frederick Anderson 2020.  Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from the author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Frederick Anderson with specific direction to the original content.

Photo Credit: Feature photo: Free-photos from Pixabay

Omnia Caelum Studios Valencia…A Conversation…

A rich celebration of colour and form from Francisco Bravo Cabrera’s blog, and his fascinating story. Do visit!

Omnia Caelum... Poetry, Art, Music

(“En el mar azul”, acrílico sobre lienzo, Omnia Caelum Studios Valencia, Derechos Reservados)

I painted this small painting, 50 cm x 40 cm, back in 2006, I think…

But it really does not matter if I recall the exact year. It was during the period between 2003 and 2008. That was my first most prolific period. During those years I was exhibiting constantly and also participating in all the festivals I could get to all over. I was living in Miami, Florida, USA and I travelled all over the East Coast of the United States.

Well, not really…I did exhibit in Sarasota and Bradenton, Florida, as well as in the South Florida area, which is composed of Miami, Ft. Lauderdale and Palm Beach, those three counties, which are the largest…and in my opinion…the most important in the state. Miami-Dade county alone has over 5 million people, counted, and many more…

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And I Can’t Sail my Yacht…

How am I a lucky man?

I’m a natural ‘Lockdowner’ – an instinctive hermit!  It’s my nature to sit on the sidelines – it’s just that the sidelines are a little more to the side, these days.  Retired and retiring – that’s me!

Alright, time to stop gloating.  I wouldn’t presume to instruct anyone how to live their life, but if your toes are beginning to twitch and you’re picking fights with the dog, here are a few possibly helpful tips from an old head.

1.  Married Bliss:

If you’re young and in love, being in each other’s arms for every minute of every day will be wearing a bit thin by now.  If you have grown cynical with age, it probably never held a great deal of attraction for you.  Either way, avoid extremes: criticizing your partner as they go about their daily tasks will start to carp after a while, ‘constructive suggestions’ may induce violence.  If you must offer ‘advice’, pick upon activity with potential for a soft landing – when the blinds need to be drawn and when not will merely result in a broken blind; commenting on deficiencies in ironing technique could end in physical injury.

2. Give each other space.  When you agreed to live together you never agreed to twenty-four hours of actual proximity.   You were both working.  You met briefly,  morning and evening.  That’s all you ever agreed to.  Change that arrangement as little as possible.  If you can’t, plead ‘self isolation’ and go and live in the shed.

3.   Manage your space.   This is particularly difficult in the UK, as very few of us inhabit mansions or castles where sat nav is needed to find the bathroom.  For most, the standard three-bedroom house can still, with a little ingenuity, afford ‘office’ space for each grown-up.  Once achieved, that’s PRIVATE TERRITORY.     If you want to share, use the router.

4.  Manage the children.    You can’t manage children – don’t try.  However, if you have a household PET you can corral them together as much as possible (this works best with dogs and cats – Iguanas, tarantulas and snakes might yield less satisfactory results).

5.   Avoid ‘news’ as much as possible. 

In UK ten minutes twice daily is all that’s necessary to keep up with the latest rules.  The rest is mawkish repetition of slogans meant to subdue the most obtuse of us, and propaganda to persuade us we are doing everything better than everybody else (untrue).  

6.  Take the six-foot gap convention seriously.  Social distancing means a reappraisal of our subject matter, unless we can be sure our conversation with the added volume required won’t be overheard;

“Mervyn!”

“Fred!”

“How are yer, lad?”

“Fine now, like!”

“How are the warts?”

“Clearin’ up.  That ointment’s marvellous

“Helluva weekend, wasn’t it?”

Save conversations on personal matters for texting, or, if you prefer, confidential chats with your fridge, microwave, or dish washer (avoid discussions with the cooker, they tend to get overheated:  nudge, nudge).  I read of someone who was outraged to think he had started talking to his fridge – I couldn’t understand that:  doesn’t everyone talk to their white goods?   I’ve had some the best advice from my tumble-dryer down the years.  Try it!

7.   Keep yourself interested.  Read, but target your reading.  Research something you can learn from – become knowledgeable in the sleeping habits of the Pipistrelle bat, or study  Welsh, so the next time you go to Portmeirion, you’ll be able to discuss china with the girls in the shop. 

Remember, boredom is at the heart of this thing.   Boredom is more deadly than any virus.

Enjoy lockdown, and above all, STAY SAFE!

Picture Credits:

Sharon Mccutcheon on Unsplash

R.I. Butov from Pixabay

Omni Matryx from Pixabay

Banner: Omni Matryx from Pixabay