Short Story

I would imagine that in her own senility that was mourning. In the twenty odd years I had been married to the empty vessel that was her daughter, she never really parted with any tears, any jeers, complaints, compliments or actual actions that would set her apart from the chair she was wheeled around in. But, today, in this lugubrious procession, she wasn’t simply living. She was observing the body of her dead daughter. She was staring at my dead wife’s body.
My sister-in-law had been shrieking incessantly since she walked in. Although, prior to crossing the threshold, she was complaining about the amount of hours she was putting in at the office. Victoria worked as a secretary but would make it seem as if she were a miner. The only sibling of my dearly departed, and I despised her. I can only imagine that it was Vicky’s mouth that drove her sister Maria into such an incommunicable state. It would be impossible to be raised around that trite and constant jabber and not learn to ignore most of the auditory intake of the surrounding environment. And even if it were able to tune out the high shrill voice, Vicky had the annoying habit of jumping in front of who she was addressing.
At the funeral she ignored me completely, and made damn sure I knew. That could be expected from her. As soon as she noticed my eyes fall on her, her face shriveled like she had the odor of a rotten corpse drifting from her feet and her eyes trailed the same path they had the few minutes prior, from my Florsheim shoes, to my combed back hair. I knew she wasn’t disgusted by what she saw. Her attraction to me was made as clear as my illogical one to her, at the dinner in honor of my “literary achievements” where, drunk on jealousy of her sister in the main hall, depression over her recently failed marriage, and the glasses of wine she had guzzled down she shoved me into a restroom of the hotel. Our affair hadn’t gone past that drunken night but I knew it would have had I wanted it to persist.
Her disgust was not found even at the reason of her contemptuous glares. No, the banality of that would be too much for even her to believe that . That repulsion wasn’t very legitimate and we both were aware of it. But, despite that fact, she tried with all the effort she could muster to convince me of my sins- or what she saw as sins.
After two painful hours of trying to squeeze out a tear for the corpse, the emptier shell of an empty shell. It was as futile as crying for the fossil of a nautilus shell. It is the same impersonal forced emotion squeezed out of a cubic inch of steel. I eventually placed my head into my two palms and jerked my shoulders to not attract attention. In a room of crying people and crocodile’s tears, my sincere indifference would have seemed crude, and I’m not one to offend the dead.
With that laborious event behind me, I left the church into a heavy world. The overcast was thick and dark, but the air was dry and cold. The sky seemed to strain to fall and bring down rain but something invisible held it in place and restricted it from any kind of release and relax. Like the globe on Atlas’ shoulders, so were the clouds a burden to this day’s sky. Now, I could finally start my life, and even without the help of the sky, I would go home, and clean out the shambles of a broken life. At 52, I’d be reborn, but first I had to clean out the house. I knew it would be acceptable to toss out all the trash she kept out of “sentimentality” because it’s so easy to simply say “It is to hard to see all her things everyday and know Maria’s really gone.” So I got into my car and drove home a new man.
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I got home as the sun was setting, hypothetically of course. It was about six o’clock and had the sky been even somewhat clear the sun would be setting, but the clouds turned the vibrant orange sky that would be there a dull dark gray like a chimney going unkempt. The long gravel driveway crunched under the slowing tires like bones grinding and breaking, as the motorized gate closed behind me. The two story house before me was one of the benefits of marrying into a wealthy family with a history of heart problems.
I walked upstairs and down the long hallway, into the master bedroom. She slept in this room. I usually tried to sleep across the hall in the guest room. Maria had a way of starting arguments before bed. It had become a simple ritual to lay down together, have a trivial argument, and then sleep in separate rooms. The past four years had made that a nightly occurrence, and before that it was every other night. Our moments of intimacy only came in the forceful sex with which I quelled her incessant complaints. I regretted it. After the second year of marriage she learned to complain every time she wanted her fix.
Within an hour of arrival, her room which previously reeked of femininity was bare and clean. The floral décor and romantic ostentation was expunged, and replaced with the bare white wall. The way the architect had intended. Three trash bags lined the wall, brimming with every one of the worthless ornaments that Martha Stewart had convinced Maria she needed. I went to work on her wardrobe and closet. Four tall trash bags were filled. Maria’s death was Goodwill’s fortune.
The walk-in closet was long and covered in mirrors. Maria’s ego overstated her mild beauty. She was beautiful, but never more than that. She had an affinity for extravagance but always accentuated her average bust and combed back her hair in an awkward fashion. The only time of the day that I was mildly attracted to her was in the morning right after her shower. Of course even then I preferred to keep my eyes on the morning news. After all the clothes and shoes were emptied out, a dearth boxes in the back were left. The four boxes were foreign to me. They were white boxes with black marker on the side reading “DON‘T THROW AWAY.” I was forced to smile. Even in death I could defy her. But, I couldn’t completely disregard my poor wife. The boxes sparked curiosity and I sat down to rummage through them. Here were more sentimental mementos from childhood. There were cute cards of cakes with ten candles, and cards for other Hallmark occasions with the twenty, fifty, hundred dollar bills still sitting in the card. She had such an extreme affinity for expenses but still she saved even the money from the cards. One box held nothing but those cards. I took the money from each of them and found a few thousand dollars would just be rotting if Maria still had any strength.
The next box was filled with legal documents and other important insignificant garbage. Her immunization records, diplomas, birth certificate, and many other papers that I could have sworn were downstairs in the safe. Vicky had handled most of the legal procedures after her sister’s death so I wasn’t too surprised by the revelation.
The box next to that held a collection of folded notes that looked archaic. The aging papers had hearts printed on them. I saw the phrase “I love you” on almost every piece of paper in that pile. They were the love notes she’d accumulated over the years. Apparently at sixteen, Maria was superb at felatio. Her then significant other, Marcus, attested to it, and their undying love. She wasn’t that great. I quickly grew tired of this box. It was all juvenile combinations of over stimulated teens’ awakened sexual drives and romantic ideals and misconceptions of love and passion. They were allegedly “destined to be together.” I was never much for that sappy bullshit.
I moved on to the next box after moving the first and third box into the driveway along with the accumulated garbage and putting the second box on the dining room table. In the third box there was a combination of unsent letters and received ones from family back east and some other names I hadn’t ever seen prior. Most of the letters were superficial and trite. A couple of them were to high school friends. The majority was family. After those had been sorted, there were a collection of letters mailed from only an address, no name and the letters from my wife, to an address again, with no name. The first one I read read:

Dear,
My husband has been growing increasingly distant. I hate him. The only reason I have for living is you. The perfunctory fool still seems to believe I want to make love to him. He repulses me. I need some sort of escape. I don’t know what I aim to achieve by writing this. I need to see you and am going to call you within minutes, but I find some solace in writing this with you in mind. Can’t you run away with me? The only reason I stay is my parents, but my father is dying and my mother is succumbing more and more to her dementia. I don’t think I will stay with him beyond the death of my parents. Then we can really be free. I think he is having an affair. I love you.
Yours undoubtedly,
Maria

My head reeled. Maria, the widely acknowledged saint was cheating on me. I continued to rummage through the letters. Apparently the two had met a couple years ago and had set the affair in concrete that same night, on the very bed I was sitting on. I was on a business trip. The anonymous man was very explicit with the details. My wife had given him the address and he found his way there “by following the scent of fresh cunt.” They apparently hadn’t slept at all that night. Maria made an impression on him. He was sure that they were in love. The affair lasted up until recently. The more recent letters were increasingly plaintive. He needed the affair to be public. He needed their “love to blossom in the sunlight.” Anonymous felt the situation too immoral to continue in the direction it was going.
My first reaction was to call Vicky. I told her she had something to see, and said it pertained to her sister. If I had said it had anything to do with me she would have hung up, but she instead contemptuously, reluctantly agreed.

_______________


When Victoria had arrived, I greeted her at the door with the first letter I read. She began to cry. It stunned me. That was the last reaction I expected. Victoria, the voraciously tongued debutante was in tears because of the letter. It was poorly written and sappy, yet she was so moved that she was in tears. It had nothing to do with her either, the irrational beast. “Hey, stop, shouldn’t you be happy?” I interrogated, repulsed by her emotional state but compelled to quell the leech of attention that was sitting and sobbing.
“Why would I be happy?” she managed to ask through her sobs.
“Well, don’t you feel vindicated? Your sister wasn’t as sweet as we thought. We didn’t take candy from a dying baby. We had an affair on a dying infidel. Don’t you feel better?”
“How can you say that? She’s dead! She died and your talking about how we were fine for betraying her because she was human? You’re sick. You aren’t human.”
“I’m saying that all your babble and anger about how we did this to someone so innocent and pure isn’t real. She was human, and so deserves all that humanity must be put through.”
“So, y-you say you deserve what she did to you? What makes you so special? You’re no better than her. You don’t deserve any vindication.”
“You’re not understanding me. Or, you’re understanding me perfectly but not getting what it means.”
“Shut up.”
“Your sister was as bad a person as anybody. She loved, hated, lied, and cheated. Just like we did. We all deserved this, because we’re human. We aren’t as responsible-”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“because we’re all on even ground! Why should you care that you ruined a marriage that she never wanted to be in from its incipience? Where are the morals? We are on this even ground where infidelity is nothing. An eye for an eye.”
“Oh spare me the biblical quotes, oh righteous one. You whore, you infidel whore. You’re in no position to quote the bible. You weren’t taking an eye for any other eye. You were just fortunate enough to take the eye from the right person. You’re justification is nothing more than coincidental luck.”
“That may be, but it’s justification, nonetheless. At the end of the day, when all this is in retrospect. The two sides exchanged blows so ended tied.”
“But, she loved him.”
“What does that matter. She thought she loved him, or at least she told him she loved him, and he said he loved her. She told me she loved me. I never believed her but she said it. What is the difference now?”
“You read the letters. You know what the difference is. I can feel it.”
“Oh don’t be cliché. You think all that really matters. All that was blanked away when her heart stopped. Why should I care what feelings she had. Her thoughts and emotions are irrelevant and all that remain are the actions that extend to us now. And those actions right now, is her fucking some other man. That’s the fucking legacy she left, her whoring around town, and what that says to me is that you need to get over all this. You didn’t kill anyone.”
“Oh yes, Its not like I slept with my sister’s husband!”
“You call this thing a marriage? We weren’t even amiable. This was some sick charade. And it was worth it. She’s dead now, and you’re only here so you can shut up about what I said. Just consider this letter your redemption, that’s the only reason I called.”
“How can you be so inhumane.”
“You’re inhumane, with all of your idealistic bullshit. It’s unnatural. Love and fate are so far in the sky for you, and yet you people treat like dirt. Family and honor are such high priorities only for you to have more to repent for when your sins are committed. You’re calling me inhumane for being natural. I’m not cruel for being an animal. I act in my own interest and you would do well to do the same. With hypocritical ideals you only get to ruin the world you’re living in and retard you progress. Are you being the altruist? Do you think you’re being the righteous one? We committed the same sin. Just while you’re hear moping around about it, I know she doesn’t give a shit! She’s worm’s food, and the sooner you understand that, the better. There is no betrayal of dirt. A pile of bones wearing a golden band, is still a pile of bones. It’s past died with its brain activity. There are no memories in that empty skull. Get your ideals out of your ass and then you might understand where I stand. Only then can you call me inhumane.”
Vicky was in tears. The mascara was running down like black rivers of tar or oil seeping from some mechanical beast. There weren’t any thoughts behind this, there was no reason. She was acting robotically, controlled and manipulated by the capricious emotional whims. This is humanity? A predictability based on the most likely emotional reactions. Stupid bitch.
“Get out.”
______________
I slept easy that night. Despite my dead wife’s infidelity and the stains of black tears evaporated on the marble floor downstairs, I slept easy, for the first time since my marriage. At about noon of the following day I woke up. My book had a deadline today, but it got pushed back about a month for “mourning.” There were letters on the floor in the living room. Three pre-approved credit cards, two bills and one last letter from the same address with no name. It was addressed to my wife. It read:

Maria,
My previous decision stands. I cannot wait for someone to die and believe that this love is noble. I said it before and I’ll say it again, this is over. Please, don’t try and make this hard for us. I’ve sent too many letters explaining to you why I was done, I’ve explained it over the phone and I don’t know what else to do. Stop. I loved you, truthfully. But, that was then. Go back to your husband, reintroduce yourself to him. Goodbye
Sincerely,
Able

When I dropped the letter, I finished with the toiletries and sat down to a cold breakfast of cereal and leftover eggs. The food was terrible, the milk was nearing its expiration date and the cereal was stale. I had coffee but was out of sugar and I despised black coffee. After some curses at the empty box of sugar, the phone rang.
“Sir, are you the husband of the late Maria Sandoval?”
“I was.”
“There was an extreme amount of narcotics in your wife’s blood stream, and we have found that to be the cause of the-” I stopped paying attention once he said what he called for, until “Sir, your wife committed suicide.”
_________________
I walked in the house late in the afternoon, reaching evening. He couldn’t have expected me to come. He wouldn’t have expected me to come ever again. But, why would I let him get away with the way he treated me last night - the way he treated my sister. He doesn’t have the decency to respect either of us, or repent for what he has done. He isn’t a man, in any sense of the world. A real man wouldn’t do that. A man like my father was decent, he cared for his family, and appreciated his wife, even in her senility. Maria deserved better. I’m glad she had an affair. I’m glad she found love.
I stepped through the door and instantly a glint of light faintly hit my eye. A polished revolver lay gleaming on the floor. The handle was brown and the silver was as bright as the sun it was reflecting. I stepped forward to clear my view and saw a hand lying limp about three inches from the gun. Blood was splayed against the back wall. The glass door to the patio was painted red. There was a crash of lightning outside. It began to rain.