Thud.
The sound of the door shutting reverberated through the
empty house.
Click. Click. Click.
Only one set of footsteps echoed through the marble halls.
Wosh.
Edwin planted himself down on to the soft leather couch, shed the
black jacket, loosened his black tie, and sat back with a sigh. Finally, he had
this all to himself.
A bubble of laughter built up somewhere deep in his stomach.
He tried to push it down. No no, he was meant to be mourning, and indulging in tears, not laughter. But it could not be suppressed, and the sound of mirth
bounced off the tall ceiling for the first time in many years.
*****
Blacks, browns, greys, silks, satins and furs were all piled
into a great soft mound in front of him. In a moment of madness, he had ripped
them from their hangers and shelves, trying desperately to purge the house of
her presence. But he was back in his right mind now, and a little annoyed at
himself.
Edwin bent down, and sunk his hand into the downy materials.
There was a great irony he thought, that such a hard, commanding woman should
have such soft coats. All those years of grovelling, of ‘yes dear’ and
‘no dear’ and ‘thank you so much dear’, and to think that she had only left him
the house at her passing. All those years of servitude had surmounted to this hollowed
house.
One coat still clung on to its hanger, swinging gently to
and fro. It was a cream fur, once smooth and luxurious in the high of its
glory, but now worn ragged and bare on its edges. It had been her favourite. He
pulled it gently from the closet, and let it drown his hands. It pulled, heavy,
weighted, until his arms hung limply. It pooled underneath him, a halo of
butter-cream white, where it seemed to spread to the corners of the room. If he
closed his eyes, he could feel her hands rising from the coat, clutching at
his pants, trying to drag him under to where she had gone.
No, no.
The silence was broken by the curious crinkle of paper. A
white envelope. He turned it over in his hand.
‘To My Love’ was inscribed in delicate lettering on the
front. Edwin scoffed. Obviously it was not for his eyes. He tore at the letter.
‘Edwin’
He sat down slowly, the paper trembling in his hands.
‘For all of the years I’ve known you…’
*****
He’d first seen her at a party he had no right to attend. In borrowed suits, the three of them had sneaked into the country club ball, just
three ordinary working class men. It had been a joke to them.
When she’d accepted his proposal, no one was laughing
anymore. To Edwin, it seemed that everyone’s eyes had suddenly turned his way.
They bore holes in the back of his skull, haunted his nightmares. Even with
their backs turned towards him, he could feel their hatred chilling the air.
And their backs were always turned to him. He’d wondered for twenty years how
he’d maintained that smile he wore for everyone, while the smell of Cuban
cigars and twenty year old scotch sunk into his clothes and yellowed his skin.
But she’d always been a commanding woman. She saw to it that
he would live in comfort, and he’d not seen a cent beside. How he’d secretly
loathed her then.
With all my love, I fear that this is farewell.
Alice’
The paper floated gently to the ground, coming to a rest
silently on the coat that draped from his knee. For the first time, he noticed
the silence in the room. Not a sound. Even the trees had ceased their swaying.
This was the moment of ecstasy then. He was rich. He was
still young enough to be considered handsome, still of marriageable age.
Edwin tried to summon up the laughter that had eluded him
for so long. He stood up and shook off the lethargy that had previously weighed
down his limbs. He needed to take this letter to the lawyer.
*****
It was a brilliant spring day, the kind that mocked mourning
and made black seem inappropriate. The guests had fidgeted as the cask was
being lowered into the hole in the ground, half expecting rain clouds to pool
instantaneously. But it had remained deceptively cheerful.
As Edwin stepped out for the second time that day, the day
seemed unusually hot. The sunlight glared off the white envelop in his hands,
burning its after image into his eyes. His black jacket caught the heat from
his body and the sun, trapping it next to his skin until he could feel the
beads of sweat roll down his nape. He felt suddenly faint, washed out and
transparent. For the first time in years, he felt eyes on him again, peering
eyes that probed at all the hidden desires and suppressed hatred the sunlight
had revealed. He could hear their whispers. Suddenly, he was walking down an
avenue of disembodied eyes glaring down at him.
‘Look at the man that murdered his wife for money!’
No, no, he was no murderer. She’d died of cancer, wasting
away year after year in that bed, pale and frail, always calling for him,
clawing at him with her thin hands, grappling weakly at his lapels and always,
always whispering, ‘stay awhile longer, stay awhile’. And he’d sat by her side
in that dark, sickly room day after day, month after month, year after year
watching her shrink inside herself, wishing for the day he could scour the
entire place sterile white again. He'd vowed to burn that wing.
Still the whispers crescendo, grating, and bouncing off each
other; a swirling cacophony of noise around him. ‘My love, My Love, MY LOVE’. The letter
screamed in his hand.
Then silence.
He watched the letter flutter in space, hanging between the
bridge and the rushing waters below. He wondered how it had escaped his
clutches, but curiously, he was rooted to the spot and could only watch its
progress going down and down. The surge of panic that should have surely spurred him into action was only a curious tinge somewhere barely registered in the conscious awareness. The falling letter was only a tiny, pinpoint of white now,
floating away with all his ambitions, his fortunes…and now lost the in the brown
frenzy below as it was torn apart by grappling, wet fingers.
The soothing rush of water triggered a long forgotten
memory. He’d first spotted Alice by a fountain. Her hair had glimmered with
shimmering, reflected light. A half smile had painted those delicate, pink lips
in a graceful upward curve on her porcelain cheeks. For the first time in fifteen years, Edwin felt a swell of awe and admiration flood his heart.
