“Here, kitty, kitty. Tirith!”
I go one way, then the other, first forward, then back, keeping my eyes fixed on the ground. Where could he be? Where does a cat go? I shake my head. What if Alex had voluntarily allowed me to leave? Would everything have turned out differently? That’s something I’ll never know. A big branch suddenly snaps back and slaps me right in the face.
The pain sends white flashes through my mind, burning everything away. When my vision clears, the ax is lying on the ground. I bend down and pick it up. My cheek is stinging, and I wipe off something sticky that turns my palm red. The same hand that I stabbed with my earring a little while ago.
A little while ago? I stare in surprise at the delicate bright-pink skin on the spot where I stuck myself. No puncture. No blood. Is it healed already? How long ago was it that I actually got cut? It feels like it just happened, but was it yesterday? Or even the day before? Was it before or after the well? I frown. The well? Yes, the well out on the island. There’s no well on the island. Then what was it I pictured when I stared down at Lake Malice’s dark water? No, he never leaned over any well. But did I cut myself on the earring before or after my hands shoved his shoulder blades?
Every time a clear thought is about to take shape in my head, it evaporates. Somewhere inside me a voice is shouting, as if in protest, but it’s so far away I can’t tell if it’s real or imaginary. I’m fumbling blindly, both here among the trees and in my own consciousness. The only thing left is the sense that I’m searching for something. There’s something I need to find. Something or someone.
I run through the woods, pushing my body to its limit. I hold out the ax in front of me like a shield, an invocation against evil. The only sound is the rustling of the anorak and my own ragged breathing. I don’t know how long I’ve been out here or what direction I’m heading in. Maybe I’m going in circles. Finally, I see light among the tree trunks, and the crazed beast spinning inside my head gradually calms down.
I stop to catch my breath. The world is again clear, at least with regard to the more tangible details. There’s no sign of Tirith. Or of Alex and Smilla. Of course not. My skin is prickling; my head is spinning. The truth is right there in front of me, hidden under the ax. Now and then, light glints off the blade, like fish scales underwater. But each time I reach out my hands, it slips out of my grasp, as slippery as a fish.
I don’t allow myself to rest for long before resuming my aimless wandering. Find Tirith. Find Smilla. Find Alex. As soon as I find Alex it will be over. If only I can find him, it will finally be over. Sweat trickles down my face and my back. But the feeling of being the one searching is increasingly replaced by the feeling of being hunted. Silent footsteps creeping behind me. Something that slips behind a tree trunk when I turn around. Maybe it’s Alex coming back for revenge. Revenge? For what? Again thoughts whirl haphazardly through my mind. Without meaning, direction, or goal, they break loose. All reason flees. I see what’s happening, but I’m helpless to act.
A faint vibration against my thigh brings me to a halt. Even though I hear no sound, I dig the phone out of my pants pocket, but without letting go of the ax. My cell phone. My only link to reality, to the outside world. The thought makes me feel both relieved and uneasy. There’s a new text from Katinka. She writes that she’s on her way home from some after-party, and she’s wondering why I haven’t answered her last text. The disjointed phrases and messy syntax indicate she must be drunk.
The phone beeps again, and then again. Katinka sends more texts, one after another. I halfheartedly skim over her reports of cute guys and aching feet. I’m just about to stuff the phone back in my pocket when I suddenly get a text about my mother. Apparently, Mama tried to get hold of me at work again, even though she knows I’m not there.
Upset. Wanted to know where you were. Tried to get me to tell her. Thought I knew.
Is Katinka mad that I didn’t tell her where Alex and I were going for vacation? Or is she just stating the facts, that Mama asked her where I was but she couldn’t tell her because she doesn’t know? I have no idea. I lost the ability to decipher those sorts of normal but unspoken signals between friends long ago. Maybe I never had it. You should see someone. Maybe you should see a doctor at the clinic.
So much has happened since that day when Katinka noticed I was having trouble walking because of my thighs. There’s an ocean of thoughts and deeds between that day and this one. I have a strong desire to text back, tell her I’m pregnant. She doesn’t even know that. But on closer examination, there’s really very little she knows about me. I stand still for a moment with my fingers hovering over the keyboard on the display in front of me. But no sensible reply comes to mind.
With my phone back in my pocket, I start walking again. Would it be possible for us to be real friends, Katinka and I? So far I’ve chosen not to think about that. So far what has governed my relationship with Katinka—as with all my acquaintances before her—is the thought of Mama and the best friend she once had. It’ll never be like with Mama and Ruth. I can’t risk getting too close.
The trees are thinning out up ahead, opening on a small clearing. I stop near the edge, right in front of something low to the ground. My mind conjures up events from long ago, remembering how things played out during the last dramatic period of the friendship between Mama and Ruth. An incident that began with a failed trip to see my maternal grandmother and ended with Papa falling out the bedroom window. Although it actually ended several months earlier, of course, with the slap.
I’m so immersed in my thoughts that at first I don’t process the object at my feet. Then my gaze moves down, fixing on something brown and knotty. Two sticks fastened together in an ancient symbol. I stare at the object for a moment before the realization sinks in. A cross. But why…? What…? I take a step back, staring hard, first at the little wooden cross, then at the mound of earth in front of it, then back again. An icy wave washes over me, sweeping away everything else. Leaving behind only the knowledge that this wasn’t just any object hidden in this clearing. It was a grave.
Then I hear a rustling very close by, and this time I’m sure. Someone is standing behind me. I spin around, keeping a tight grip on the ax.
29
Before we locked the apartment and picked up our suitcases to leave for Grandma’s, the last thing Mama did was phone Ruth. She sat on the bed in the room she shared with Papa, her back to the door. She was on the phone a long time, speaking in a low voice, though she mostly just listened, as usual. Occasionally, she would murmur brief remarks, which mainly seemed to affirm Ruth’s words of wisdom.
“Yes, I really need this. I have to get away, try to rest a little. Get some distance from… well, from everything.”
I waited in the front hall, impatient and eager to get going. Summer vacation had just started, and I was dying to see Grandma. And to get away from the claustrophobic bubble of life with my parents. I was looking forward to Grandma’s vanilla rolls nearly as much as the calm in her apartment.