War in a Beautiful Country

  Not even by those who loved her best, and well.

  All gone. She’s all gone.”

  Regina was shaken. “You know, I’m not even related to her and I think I’m grieving more for Doris’s death than Roscoe is!!”

  “No, I know you were fond of her, but I don’t think so....” Marius told her, “I think you are probably misunderstanding Roscoe. You know, when it doesn’t hurt so much, you can afford the pain.”

  “But that’s the point! He’s not avoiding the pain. There isn’t any. At least not much. He seems to be putting the fun back in fun-eral”

  “Good god, Regina, what do you want! Do you want him to be dead too?!”

  “No. No, I don’t want him to be dead too. I just can’t help noticing that people like Roscoe...the ‘pleasant’ ones....somehow we always think they are more devoted, more committed, more involved. They’re not. They’re just more afraid.

  Oh. But he’s not afraid now. No.

  You should see him, tooling around town. Doing all the business Doris used to do. No more Mr. Nice Guy, with her as the Big Bully.

  Now that she’s not yelling at the plumber, he is.

  Oh, yes.

  And you know that little stand he always wanted to set up outside the house to sell those antique bottles he’s got in the basement, well, he’s enthusiastically planning to get that started now too.

  You know what he dared to say to me the other day!? Granted, it was after a couple of glasses of wine. He said, “‘All this happiness is making me exhausted. My happiness muscle had become flabby, and now I find I’m having a little trouble keeping up.’ He’s happy! Can you imagine that…just weeks, and he’s happy!”

  “Maybe he’s just in shock, or at the hysterical stage…..” Marius said, “Sometimes before grief sets in there is a heightened sensation of life.”

  “No. That’s not it. Why couldn’t he have done those things...felt that way.. before she died. He’s obviously capable of it.”

  “Maybe Doris wouldn’t let him. She wasn’t exactly an accommodating....”

  “It wasn’t her fault. Doris wanted Roscoe to do all those things. She wanted him to start that stand, but he always moved himself aside from ever taking action. I think he used to make it up in his own head the things she would, or would not, let him do. As it suited him.”

  “Well, now that she is dead, he isn’t doing that anymore,” Marius concluded.

  “Exactly! And I resent it!”

  “Regina, are you crazy?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe I think it’s a shame that someone has to die before another person will allow himself to reach his full potential. It’s a kind of murder. It’s a person’s responsibility not to demand another’s life so they can live their own!”

  “Come off it, Regina. Roscoe has done no such thing.”

  “He has! Don’t you see, she had to be dead before he would allow himself to be what he could be. Doris has been taking a bum rap all her life as Roscoe’s oppressor, when actually it was he who never spoke up, who decided she could rule him; he was responsible for their hotbed of unhappiness.

  Now in death he becomes a living testament to how much better off he is without her.

  Well, he had a right to know he could have been better off WITH her too, if he had played straight with himself and didn’t make her assume the responsibility for his not making his own choices.

  It was easier to blame her in life for his failing and now it’s easy to attribute his new-found ‘self improvement’ to her absence. This is an evil game...to barter someone’s entire life for your small ounce of courage. When you could have had it anyway. He had an obligation to make himself happy while she was alive. Instead, he apparently needed her not to exist before he could do it.

  I say it’s murder....metaphysical murder!

  God damn it!

  I’m furious with him.”

  “I can see that. But you’re talking as if he killed her,” Marius said,” Or even as though he feels he is better off without her in the world, which he obviously doesn’t.

  You’re talking such utter nonsense I don’t know what to say to you.

  I think this bomb business must still have you under a terrible strain for you to have lost your perspective like this.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  i.

  Yes, the strain from “this bomb business” was back.

  True, Doris’s death hurt her, distracted her. But, if anything it left an empty space, not the lingering anxiety she now felt.

  She would soon be home again.

  And what would she find?

  Suppose she opened an innocent piece of mail and this time a real bomb threw her body against the wall of her apartment, her blood splashed all over, as if an orange or a peach had been broken open and splattered. So what? she thought. After all, what were we anyway? Just other pieces of pulp and liquid, but with our skins still on.

  My god, I’m still depressed , Regina thought as they approached a toll gate and Marius tried to search his pants pocket, caught impossibly snug under the seat belt, for exact change. And drive, dangerously, at the same time.

  “Here, let me,” she said.

  Regina dug through her purse and didn’t have much better luck, but at least she wasn’t driving She was still fumbling and counting out the dimes and nickels, giving them slowly to Marius one at a time as he threw each of them into the tollbooth basket. Their shoulders were unconsciously hunched for the expected blare of impatient horns behind them that surprisingly never came.

  “How does either of us ever manage to get through a day” Marius asked, half-chiding the petty, unpreparedness that humbled everyone’s daily lives.

  “Actually, it’s getting harder,” Regina said.

  Then she asked Marius: “Do you ever feel that we never learn?”

  “What brought this on?”

  “I don’t know….maybe after a lifetime of not paying attention, I’m finally beginning to understand the importance of… history. Before, if it didn’t happen to me or in front of me, it didn’t happen.”

  “You can understand that,” Marius said, “it’s hard enough to grasp the present, never mind the past.”

  “Even so, I wish I hadn’t been such a big discounter of other people and their stories.

  I wish I had the sense and interest to get some history from those who lived it while they were alive. Now there is nobody left to tell me.”

  “Do you mean Doris…?

  “I mean now that I may be on my way out, I suddenly see where I came from and realize fully that it didn’t all start with me. Why do human beings have such a long learning curve? What purpose does it serve that we hurt other people by not understanding or celebrating them.”

  “On your way out!? History….? What are you talking about?” Marius said, gently taking one hand off the wheel and reaching for hers. “You’re overwhelmed by everything that’s going on right now. Whatever happened to the strong, sensible woman I used to know? You used to be such a fighter. Especially with me.” He grinned.

  “OH! MARIUS! LOOK! THE DOG….!”

  They whizzed by the broken body and open eyes of a noble, long-nosed German Shepard.

  “Was it still alive?! Was it?” she implored Marius.

  “I don’t think so,” he replied. “Besides, we were going too fast.”

  Regina understood that given their speed, and all the cars rushing behind them, they did not have the choice of stopping. This wasn’t a country road.

  “Suppose it were still alive! We could have saved it.”

  “And kill ourselves? What’s more important?”

  “They’re important too!” Regina said, visibly upset, “It’s wrong to think they are just some dumb animals….”

  “I know, hon,” Marius said. “I don’t like to see them hurt either, but in this case….” He put his signal on and changed lanes to avoid the car tailgating too closely behind him. “Talk about dumb!….I would love to get a bumper sticker
that said ‘ I Slow Down For Tailgaters,’ but that would probably only make it worse…. no, I don’t think animals are ‘dumb’… and maybe being around humans has made them more intelligent….”

  Regina guffawed.

  “No, seriously,” he continued, “it may be a kind of evolution. If a species can become more complex as it adapts to its environment, why can’t animals, whose environment is human society, begin to think somewhat the way humans do, as a result of reacting to the same stimuli.” Marius laughed at himself.

  “Don’t laugh,” he said, “but sometimes I wonder if –you know how ‘naturalists’ tranquilize animals in the wild, gather data, put tracking collars on them, and then let them go….well, I wonder if to the animals that’s the equivalent of an alien abduction, and the scientist’s jeep is the UFO. Can you just see it: the animals go back to their herd, or pack, or flock, and tell the others that these strange funny–looking creatures drugged them, examined them, implanted them with electrodes, and then released them…..

  ‘Uh, huh,’ the other animals say, and roll their eyes…..”

  Regina did laugh.

  “That’s better,” he said.

  ii

  Marius dropped her off but didn’t come up for coffee. What did she expect? He had already been very generous with his time. Although she was emotionally disappointed that he left, on a practical level she did not think it would be good to have Marius back in her life. To have to go through his morning routine again: brush teeth, have a bowel movement, get in a fuck, shower, put on a clean shirt, dress distractedly, and rush off to work. Regina hated it, hated feeling like just one more of his regular bodily functions. But Regina knew she could have been more accommodating. Refusing him had become one of the many unspoken protests that hurt them. She only recognized this later. If she had understood it sooner, she might have been able to work something out. She always found out later that she could have worked something out. People work things out.

  It was still early, yet she was tired. Too tired to unpack. While she was away, Drew had come by a couple of times to see that everything was all right in the loft and to bring up her mail. He had left a large pile of it on the dining room table.

  Well, I’ll just wake myself up with a cup of coffee, Regina thought, then slowly sort the mail. If I can face that chore first and all goes well, maybe I can get past the strain Marius noticed.

  Regina put the hot coffee mug on the colorful Mediterranean tile table she loved, pulled over a small bench to put her feet up on, and after a few sips actually felt ready and interested in tackling the mound of paper. To her surprise, it was beginning to feel good to be home again.

  It was unlikely there were any real letters. Everybody called or emailed each other these days. She put all the catalogues, bills, magazines, and charitable solicitations, in separate piles.

  She enjoyed looking through the catalogues at things she would never buy, to go with a fantasy life she would never have. She would do that first to escape the shock of the bills, and the woes of the world that required money. As she moved through the papers, she could see among the magazines a small, square envelope that looked like “real” mail.

  “An early birthday card,” she announced to herself. She would get other cards next week for sure, but she liked to set the early ones up around the loft, like first birds heralding the countdown to the big day. Or small day, depending on the year, her mood, and life in general.

  She tried to avoid birthday celebrations with Drew. She was always afraid he would be thinking: “You’re how old now? My god!”

  No other plans were set for this birthday. Except that she and her twin sister would go somewhere, perhaps to dinner, for a modest double celebration. They did that whenever they could, trying to be together on their mutual birthdays since childhood.

  Regina actually smiled when she remembered how, before the accident, she and Nina, had started a unique birthday ritual of their own.

  Across the street from their house was an American Legion Hall which, because of its affordability in a blue collar neighborhood, was rented out for weddings almost every weekend. Out of curiosity, she and Nina were often drawn there by the music which could be heard on the street. As drunken guests exited and then reentered the wedding celebrations, it became clear to the two crafty little sisters that no one would stop them if they went in.

  The first couple of times they were uncomfortable, standing out in their play clothes as they helped themselves to the soda and cold cuts and potato salad and danced with each other in the corner. Mostly no one paid any attention to them, although once or twice they got quizzical must-belong-to-the-other-side looks. They soon realized that they loved doing this: the decorated hall, the gooey cake and sweet soda. The festive music.

  And it was all theirs, free and for the asking. They could just waltz right in. They decided that, although they did this as frequently as they could before their mother would surely stop them, at least once a year they would consider this their birthday party. They caught on that their confidence level would be higher if they got all dressed up like the rest of the guests. Soon, while their other friends were in old clothes playing in the street, Nina and Regina would get into their party dresses, including the patent leather shoes. Now there was absolutely no chance of getting caught as pesky interlopers. In their dress-up clothes, the fishy looks stopped, they moved to the middle of the dance floor and even danced with the other guests.

  They danced hard and fast until they became wonderfully exhausted.

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  It still amazed him that he could get the information he wanted.

  Of course, nothing really amazed him anymore. But who would have thought that instead of just making license plates or doing prison laundry, well-behaved inmates also had technology jobs, processing the personal information of ordinary citizens across the country. For the government, no less.

  And since he had access to the internet, at first he thought he would email the women. After all, he was on the computer almost every day. It would certainly solve the constant and dangerous cajoling of his fellow prisoners to put themselves at possible risk by taking the letters out for him.

  But as “in-your-face” as email could be, it did not have the impact he wanted. An anonymous threat in the internet ether could be disconcerting, but in the end one could think, “Well, the machine knows I’m out here somewhere but maybe it won’t find out where.”

  It had the same density of danger as an obscene phone call. After overcoming the initial fear, one could just sigh and hang up. He felt that old-fashioned hold-in-your-hand mail heightened the direct contact from person to person, as compared with machine to machine, and created a much more sustained and frightening reality than any virtual reality could do.

  By email, all she would know is that someone had found her cyberspace designation.

  A letter, she would see, found her.

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  And though it was still too early, she couldn’t resist. She opened the small envelope first.

  She read the pretty computer-generated greeting that said:

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY, REGINA.

  YOUR SPECIAL DAY WILL BE

  MORE EXCITING THIS YEAR....

  I don’t think I need any more excitement, she thought.

  Reluctantly, she opened the cover to read what was inside, when that gesture sent the ashes into the air and onto her lap.

  Startled, she saw a burnt out match taped to a drawing of an exploding birthday cake above the words:

  ON YOUR BIRTHDAY,

  A BLAST……

  AT LAST!

  FROM YOUR SPECIAL FRIEND

  LOVE, GOD.

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  She recognized how tacky and amateurish this was. More like a “knock-knock” joke. She was familiar with the tone by now.

  By now she felt the real threats were not in the messages themselves, but that he sent them at all, and in all the on-go
ing, unanswered questions surrounding them.

  How did he know? Who was he? What did he want from her? Where was he?”

  He was everywhere so he could be anywhere.

  “Corny,” or not.

  “Nuts,” or not.

  “Existential,” or not.

  What did it mean “…..AT LAST!?”

  When would it end?

  She had hoped it was all over, it had been so long since any other note arrived. She had half succeeded in keeping her anxieties somewhat below the surface during her extended stay at the country house and all that had happened since.

  But now, repetition and exhaustion made the hot flame of fear shoot up again.

  Enough was enough. It was too much. There were too many.

  This man, whatever else he was or was not, was clearly unstable. The danger obviously wasn’t going to stop, and there was obviously no one to help her. She could not bring herself to turn to Marius again. She felt he had begun doling out his time with her in smaller and smaller increments, and she had just used up several of them at once. Besides, he had no way of providing protection any more than the police could.

  It didn’t surprise her that she had no instinct to pick up the phone to call Drew. The weekend Doris died, she hardly noticed Drew was there with her. He might as well have been furniture for all she let herself receive from him. In her mind, the big life events just weren’t his area. Perhaps that was because he didn’t make them be. He left the shore house before Doris’s funeral. Regina noticed that.

  Her first thought was to stop the threats by taking Marius’ old advice and move to a new place with a new address unknown to the “bomber”.

  “Should I move?” she had asked Nina once before.

  “To where?”

  “Florida? Arizona?”

  “If you don’t get blown up, you could get bitten by a rattlesnake, drown in a pool, hacked to death by a crazy neighbor. Anywhere you go, you are subject to acts of god and mistakes of man. You can’t make your life safe. You can make it dangerous, but you can’t make it safe.”

  Even so, maybe she would move eventually. But what could she do now—right this minute when every window, every closet, every corner she couldn’t see around seemed full of potential menace Who could be there?

  Her own home felt like the enemy. She was now psychologically homeless. She wanted to get away from the house, but she might be more vulnerable outside. She was afraid to stay in; she was afraid to go out. Her feelings chased themselves around like a hamster on a treadmill. Regina never volunteered to be afraid—not at the movies or on an amusement park ride.