But even knowing all this, the way out was a drastic one, and he wondered what it would be like without her hair to brush every morning, without the sight of her body, without the soft caress of her voice.
Death, he thought.
Death.
“That’s enough, Jonas,” she-said.
He handed her the brush. “I’ll tell the cook, Mrs. Hicks, to...”
“No, stay.”
He looked at her curiously. She always dismissed him after the brushing. Her eyes always turned cold and forbidding then, as if she’d had her day’s sport and was then ready to end the farce... until the next morning.
“I think something bit me yesterday. An insect, I think,” she said. “I wonder if you’d mind looking. You natives... what I mean, you’d probably be familiar with it.”
She stood up and walked toward him, and then she began unbuttoning the yoke neck of her gown. He watched her in panic, not knowing whether to flee or stand, knowing only that he would have to carry out his plan after this, knowing that she would go further and further unless it were ended, and knowing that only he could end it, in the only possible way open for him.
He watched her take the hem of her gown in her fingers and pull it up over her waist. He saw the clean whiteness of her skin, and then she pulled the gown up over her back, turning, her breasts still covered, bending.
“In the center of my back, Jonas, do you see it?”
She came closer to him. He was wet with perspiration now. He stared at her back, the fullness of her buttocks, the impression of her spine against her flesh.
“There’s... there’s nothing, Mrs. Hicks,” he said. “Nothing.”
She dropped the gown abruptly, and then turned to face him, the smile on her mouth again, the yoke of the gown open so that he could see her breasts plainly.
“Nothing?” she asked, smiling. “You saw nothing, Jonas?”
“Nothing, Mrs. Hicks,” he said, and he turned and left her, still smiling, her hands on her hips.
He slit his wrists with a razor blade the next morning. He watched the blood stain the sand on the beach he’d always kept so clean, and he felt a strange inner peace possess him as the life drained out of him.
The native police did not ask many questions when they arrived, and Mrs. Hicks did not offer to show them her torn and shredded nightgown, or the purple bruises on her breasts and thighs.
She hired a new caretaker that afternoon.
The Innocent One
This little story by Richard Marsten appeared in Manhunt in 1953. There is little to say about it except that it is a quintessential Innocent Bystander story — and it still remains one of my favorites.
It was the next poor bastard who got it.
You must understand, first, that the sun was very hot on that day and Miguel had been working in it from just after dawn. He had eaten a hearty breakfast, and then had taken to the fields early, remembering what had to be done and wanting to do it quickly.
There were many rocks among the beans that day, and perhaps that is what started it all. When Miguel discovered the first rock, he reached down gingerly and tossed it over his shoulder to the rear of his neat rows of beans. The sun was still not high in the sky and the earth had not yet begun to bake, and so a smile worked its way over his brown features as he heard the rock thud to the soft earth behind. He started hoeing again, thinking of Maria and the night before.
He would never regret having married Maria. Jesus, she was a one! There was the passion of the tigress in her, and the energy of the rabbit. He thought again of her, straightening up abruptly, and feeling the ache in his back muscles.
That was when he saw the second rock.
He shrugged, thinking, Dios, another one!
He lifted it, threw it over his shoulder, and began hoeing again. He was surprised when he came across more rocks. At first he thought someone had played a joke on him, and he pulled his black brows together, wondering who it could have been. Juan, that pig? Felipe, that animal with the slobbering lips? Pablo?
Then he remembered that it had rained the night before, and he realized that the waters had washed the soil clean, exposing the rocks, bringing them to the surface.
He cursed himself for not having thought to protect the beans in some way. Then he cursed the rocks. And since the sun was beginning to climb in the sky, he cursed that too, and got to work.
The rocks were not heavy. They were, in fact, rather small.
It was that there were very many of them. He picked them up painstakingly, tossing them over his shoulders. How could a man hoe his beans when the rows were full of rocks? He started to count them, stopping at ten because that was as far as he knew how to count, and then starting with one all over again.
The sun was very hot now. The hoe lay on the ground, the rich earth staining its long handle. He kept picking up the rocks, not looking up now, swearing softly, the sweat pouring down his neck and back. When a long shadow fell over the land before him, he almost didn’t notice it.
Then a voice joined the shadow and Miguel straightened his back and rubbed his earth-stained fingers on his white trousers.
“You are busy, Miguel?” the voice asked. The voice came through the speaker’s nose rather than his mouth. It whined like the voice of the lamb. It was Felipe.
“No, I am not busy,” Miguel said. “I was, at this very moment, lying on my back and counting the stars in the sky.”
“But it is morning...” Felipe started. Miguel’s subtle humor struck him then, and he slapped his thigh and guffawed like the jackass he was. “Counting the stars!” he bellowed. “Counting the stars!”
Miguel was not amused. “You were perhaps on your way somewhere, amigo. If so, don’t let me detain you.”
“I was going nowhere, Miguel,” Felipe said.
Miguel grunted and began picking up rocks again. He forgot how many rocks he had counted thus far, so he started all over again.
“You are picking up rocks, Miguel?”
Miguel did not answer.
“I say you are picking up...”
“Yes!” Miguel said. “Yes, I am picking up rocks.” He stood up and kneaded the small of his back, and Felipe grinned knowingly.
“The back, it hurts, eh?”
“Yes,” Miguel said. He looked at Felipe. “Why do you nod?”
“Me? Nod? Who, me?”
“Yes, you. Why do you stand here and nod your head like the wise snake who has swallowed the young chicken?”
Felipe grinned and nodded his head. “You must be mistaken, Miguel. I do not nod.”
“I am not blind, amigo,” Miguel said testily. “I say my back hurts, and you begin to nod your head. Why is it funny that my back hurts? Is it funny that there are rocks and stones among my beans?”
“No, Miguel. It is not funny.”
“Then why do you nod?”
Felipe grinned. “Maria, eh?”
Miguel clenched his fists. “What about Maria, amigo? Maria who is my wife.”
Felipe opened his eyes innocently. “Nothing, Miguel. Just... Maria.”
“You refer to my back?”
“Sí!”
“And you connect this somehow with Maria?”
“Sí.”
“How?”
“This Maria... your wife, God bless her... she is a strong one, eh, Miguel?”
Miguel was beginning to get a little angry. He was not used to discussing his wife among the beans. “So? What do you mean she is a strong one?”
“You know. Muy fuerte. Like the tigress.”