“Who the fuck cares? It’s not important. The important thing is that you didn’t run off. You stayed, and that means you passed the test.”
A whirling dizziness sweeps through my body, making my legs go limp. I’ve never fainted, but from what I understand, this is what it feels like before it happens. This chaos both inside and out, this darkness slowly sucking me in. Is that really what all this has been? A game? A test?
“Don’t you understand it was for your own good? All those stupid things you said… I wanted to give you a chance to come to your senses. It’s as simple as that. Make you realize that you can’t live without me.”
In my mind, I picture the black silk tie. I see Alex’s hands pulling the knot tighter and tighter around my neck, while I, with my hands bound, arch my back in an attempt to get away. My eyes glaze over, my lungs are about to burst. I’m convinced that he’s actually planning to strangle me. For real. Then, at the last instant, he lets me go. Lets me breathe again. Realize that you can’t live without me.
Everything falls away, leaving behind only the truth, as hard and uncomfortable as the tree I’m sitting on. By subjecting me to this ordeal, Alex has purposely yanked away the already-rickety foundation on which my life rests. It was for your own good. The morning breeze sweeps through the trees, stroking its icy hand across my throat. Of everything he’s put me through, this is the worst assault of all.
Somehow, I get up from the tree trunk and pick up the ax, but I leave the anorak where it is. Everything shimmers before my eyes as I walk back through the woods, not looking more than a couple of feet ahead. Branches scratch at my face, but the pain seems to be coming from somewhere far away, as if it’s not part of me.
“And the child?” I hear myself ask.
“What child?”
“The baby that I’m…”
“There is no baby. You know that, Greta.”
His words are charged with meaning. What he’s saying, what he expects, is that it will just be the two of us. Until the next time he decides to play with my life. Because it will happen again, there’s no doubt about that. Maybe he’ll use the tie again, or maybe it will be something totally different. The only thing I know for sure is that he’ll go one step further next time. And then one more step. He won’t let go until I give up. Maybe not even then.
Alex is talking, listing all the clothes and toys they left behind in the cabin. Things that need to be reclaimed. And he’s sure I realize that he can’t possibly get away right now, so he wants me to pack up as many of his belongings as possible and bring them back in the car. He’ll come over to my apartment as soon as he—
“No,” I say.
“No?”
“No.”
I’m thinking about the well, the one I pictured the other night when I was staring down at Lake Malice’s dark waters. If it really existed, I could have pushed you into it. That’s what these days have taught me. That if I’d had the chance, I could have done it. A person either gives up, or she fights back. And I am my mother’s daughter. God help me, but I am. I know that now.
“I’m leaving you, Alex. I’ve made up my mind, and I’m more sure about this than I’ve ever been about anything else in my life. If you ever come near me again, I swear I’ll kill you.”
He doesn’t say a word. Almost thirty seconds pass before he speaks.
“Like you killed your father?”
“Exactly.”
I hear a hint of something in his voice. A slight quaver.
“Would you really do that?”
I let the silence speak for me. Let it be my only reply. Then I end the call. I hold the phone in one hand, the ax in the other. I plow my way between the tree trunks. Apparently, Alex has understood nothing about who I am. Absolutely nothing.
33
I rage my way through the woods. There’s no other way to describe my progress. Dry branches jab at me, scratching my cheeks and forehead. Something warm is spilling from one eyebrow. My vision gets murkier instead of clearer; the shimmering before my eyes gets worse. When I finally emerge from the trees and come back out on the forest road, my whole body seems to be swaying, like I’m in the middle of an enormous, stormy ocean.
My legs carry me forward, and I let them take me, without knowing whether I’m heading in the right direction. And besides, what is the right direction? Something is coming toward me on the road. Something or someone. My hands tense painfully, and even though I can’t really see the objects I’m holding, I know they’re there—both are like extensions of my own body. The cell phone and the ax. At this moment, I’ve become one with them, clutching them tightly, vowing not to let them go, no matter what happens.
The beast coming toward me is dark and hairy. It moves quickly, agilely. I stop, thinking that it might not be real. To see something that doesn’t exist, or not to be able to take in what actually does exist—maybe those are two sides of the same coin. Like what happened with Papa, that which escapes me. Is my memory failing? Why am I unable to correctly interpret what I see? The beast is close now, it comes right up to me, and I feel something soft and cold against the back of my hand. A dog’s muzzle. Reality seizes hold, the veil is pulled aside, and suddenly I see clearly. Not looking outward, but inward. It’s not a matter of a faulty memory or distorted experiences. What I’m missing is the will to acknowledge what happened to Papa. Who and what it has made me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and my eyes fill with tears.
I seem to see that the dog has taken a step back and is now licking his nose. Then he gives a loud bark, not sounding angry, but confused. Appealing to the person who comes walking up behind him.
“Hello again,” says the man from the brown house.
Alex’s explanation for how he and Smilla left the island and made their way through the woods echoes in my mind. I turn to look from the shaggy creature at my feet to the elderly man. I stare at him.
“You must have seen them when you were out walking your dog,” I mutter, slurring my words. “You really did see them.”
Something about my appearance seems to startle him. Then he calls the dog. A wave of nausea sweeps through me, followed by a strong pang in my abdomen. As if someone were sticking a knife into my guts. The pain makes me double over. I hear the man’s voice, sounding both concerned and suspicious. Before I can answer, the stabbing pain comes again, and I almost fall to my knees. A thought races through my mind. The baby. I can’t lose the baby. Not that too.
I force myself to straighten up and start forward. But the man is in the way. His features are hazy, his expression unreadable, but his voice now sounds very worried. Something lands on my shoulder, squeezing tight. Is that his hand? Is he trying to stop me? Trying to keep me here? Panic creeps over me, giving me renewed strength. Making me suddenly furious. Loud screams ring out across the road, spreading to the nearby woods. My throat is stinging, burning, and I realize the person screaming is me. Then it’s there again, the hand, wanting to hold me in place. I lurch back to pull free as I raise my ax.
The wind subsides, the world stands still, and the only sound is the dog’s pitiful yelping. The man steps aside. No, he doesn’t step aside, he turns on his heel and leaves. He may even be running. Fleeing. Only when both he and his dog are gone do I realize that the man held out his hand not in a show of force but in self-defense. It wasn’t intended to hold me there. It was to keep me away.