The Barefoot Evangelist (Book; Part XIII)
The collapse of the family
The dawn had already broken when Erik awoke and found himself lying full length on the bed without his wife next to him, something very unusual because he was an early riser and she was in the habit of sleeping late. Then he realized that after the burial of their son, she had chosen to sleep on the couch in the living room. At first he couldn’t bring himself to believe the reality of it all, but when he heard no one in the house he was assured of the bitter truth. While lying there he thought of his wife’s state of mind and distress. In his own mind, he assessed, as a token of consolation, that women, the most tender and most fragile of nature’s creatures, were probably able to withstand sorrow, adversity and distress better than men, because they held in their hearts an inexhaustible running spring of affection, patience and devotion for the infants they carried and brought to life and for whom nature enables them to live longer and to be stronger survivors than men, in order to care for those new lives.
As for himself, Erik wallowed in unkind thoughts of his own selfishness, thoughtlessness and reckless behavior and felt that he had caused his family an irrevocable catastrophe. Man or God should impose harsh and continuous punishment on him, he thought. Since no man’s law was broken, God alone should inflict the punishment.
He should be allowed to live to a very old age and the balance of his life should be nothing but a miserable existence from now until his last hour. He should be condemned to walk the cold, lonely, loveless and merciless streets searching for, but never finding, a kind eye directed his way. He should live without any hint of good in his memory, and every eye of a merry face should change and glare at him with a deep scowl of malice and ill humor as he passes. The holidays should be his loneliest days, having no one to bid a fond wish or a glad tiding to him; he should be cursed to walk alone in the snow and freezing wind only to see the cheerful lights of blazing fireplaces, to hear the loud laughs and the joyful shouts of those who gathered to wish each other the best for the holidays, to smell the many savory scents steamed up from their kitchen windows, with no one to speak to or anywhere to go but to a desolate corner away from all eyes and ears, to pass the holy nights alone.
Finally, after a meaningless existence, his insignificant body should be found by ravenous stray dogs and torn to pieces before humans have a chance to bury it. Sentenced by those adverse thoughts and hostile feelings, he felt like a condemned man.
A quick thought came to his mind that his wife may need him, so he got out of the bed, cleaned up, dressed, and headed for the kitchen where he stood by the door. He noticed a large suitcase sitting on the floor, a long black umbrella leaning on the wall, and the car keys on the table next to a cup of steaming coffee.
Susan sat there still dressed in black, looking like an altered woman; those observations suggested that she had decided to go, hoping to shake off some of her grief, to seek and find bread and shelter elsewhere. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, having misplaced her confidence for the last few years with Erik, so she tried to feel as wise as she could, coaxing herself to believe what her husband had told her many times before, ‘The universal law was not created to stop the strong from winning but only to stop the weak from losing.’
Still standing by the door that led to the kitchen and seeing Susan in that attitude, he paused long enough to realize that another unexpected event was about to happen; the end of a marriage. That thought was sending a cold chill down his spine, along with the indescribable feeling of a greater loss than he could imagine. At that moment Erik thought there might be something he could do to stop the destruction of his family, what family was left. He slowly and timidly went down on his knees at Susan’s feet and with a pitiful broken voice said, “You are not leaving me, sweetheart, are you?”
“It’s very hard for me to leave you, Erik, but it’s God’s will, and you must bear it for my sake. God has taken our boy! He had a reason. He is happy now. I know Randy is in God’s hands, but he is not here with me. What will I do without him, Erik? I do believe that I am an anchor around your neck, Erik.”
“You must stay. Susan, you must stay here with me,” pleaded the husband, as he stood up, stepped back a few paces, and running out of his last traces of hope, pulled his hair lightly with both hands as if he thought an enlightening thought would be invoked and speak out in his defense in an attempt to convince his wife to grant him another trial. He got down on his knees again, embraced her legs and added more calmly, “Be yourself, be merciful, my dear wife, stay with me; I need you more than ever. Don’t let all the love we felt and still feel for each other to drown and die in sorrow.”
“Never again, Erik, never again,” she said, with a string of tears running down her face. “I shall leave this dreadful place. I can’t stay here another minute or I shall die.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Erik, getting on to his feet with some enthusiasm.
“No! Erik, no, my love, I have to go alone.”
“No! Susan, not alone, what will I do? What am I going to do without you, Susan? Where will I go?” I’ve burnt all my bridges behind me and if you leave me, I’ll be lost. I cannot live here in this cursed house without my Randy and you. I caused God to take Randy; don’t let yourself take you away from me.”
“Erik,” said Susan, caressing his face, “go on! Live your life. Find another love, Erik. You must have love in your heart to live.”
“How can I live? You are taking my life, how can I love? You are taking my heart. I am sorry for all the bad things I’ve said and done to you, my dear Susan,” cried Erik, sinking his face into her dress and sobbing violently.
She gazed upon his head and wiped away the teardrops that streamed plentifully from her eyes, after hearing his weeping and feeling his heart and spirit breaking.
“Erik, you said one time to me that everything in life is temporary; happiness and sadness, neither are permanent,” said Susan, caressing and looking down at his hair. “Please, Erik, let me go peacefully. I have no more strength to defend my actions. Don’t place more guilt in my heart, God knows it’s full already.”
After an extended silence and thought, Erik stood up and looked down at his wife. “It’s too late for us, isn’t it?” exhaled Erik, with a deep sigh.
She shook her head in sullen assent and looked away to hide her emotions, seeing no further reason to plant a greater grief in his heart. The great loss, the deep despair and the want for his wife cut fierce ravages on his face and form in those few minutes, causing his face to go deadly white and his body to stoop forward as if stricken with old age. Thoughts of desperation entered his mind and pierced his heart, bringing both to a state beyond repair. He looked at her for some long moments, not one more tear or sound of despair escaped from him. He sat on the chair and faced the bloody spot on the wall, his boy’s blood, leaned his body forward, rested his arms on the table and gazed vacantly straight ahead. He was about to be left all alone in the world he thought, the world he had so many chances of clenching his teeth upon to chew, devour and enjoy so much, if it weren’t for his enemies, but the worst enemy he could point his finger at was himself.
Susan stood up and walked to the window, stared out for a few moments, then walked towards the door. She stopped and looked at Erik who had his eyes cast away from her.
Feeling her glance upon him, he turned to look at her; their flooded eyes met. They stared at each other in silence. She broke her gaze, bent down and, picking up her umbrella and suitcase, walked to the front door.
He could see her from where he was sitting, standing by the door with one hand on the doorknob, the other holding the suitcase and umbrella.
She put down her suitcase and turned her eyes to him, still holding onto the doorknob; his face had already turned away. She looked up towards the clouds and then very slowly turned the doorknob, picked up the suitcase and went out of the door, closing it behind her as methodically as she had looked up.
Erik, hearing the door close and not knowing whether she left or stayed, turned hastily around, but seeing nothing, closed his eyes and kept them shut until he heard the car door slam. Shortly thereafter, he heard the car engine start and then he said lowly, “Have a nice life, Susan.” Saying this and without any further thought or delay, he turned his face towards the bloody spot, placed his head in his hands, and knowing he was away from all eyes and ears, wept intensely.
He passed the whole day there without moving a hand or a foot, in silence and in desolation.
At length, Erik, displaying the most definite symptoms of having been convicted, cursed, condemned and severely sentenced, stood up and went into the bathroom. There he studied himself in the mirror, noticing the thickness of his whiskers, a testimony to the accuracy of his state of mind, but caring not about his personal appearance in this sad hour of his life, out of habit splashed cold water on his face, combed his hair and strapped on the holster holding his gun and having checked its readiness, walked into the living room. The front door flew open and the big stomach of officer O’Reilly appeared, closely followed by his face and the rest of his body. The officer stood there staring with a calm eye and a fixed grin, switching his weight from one leg to the other, as he often did, in a steady and certain way.
“Are you okay, Mr. Karas?’ asked the officer.
τ “I’m okay, officer O’Reilly,” replied Erik, in a tone thick with ferocity. “ I’m fine, sir.”
“Oh, very well,” said the officer advancing a few paces.
“I believe there is no man anywhere who can say that I am not alright,” said Erik, placing his revolver into its holster.
“I understand, sir.”
“Officer O’Reilly, it’s rather a startling thing the honor a visit from a distinguished officer of the law who told my wife that I was shooting my pistol in the forest accompanied by a woman,” said Erik sarcastically
“I must apologize to you but we were misinformed, Mr. Karas.”
“It is too late for apology. State you business, O’Reilly, and then get the hell out of here.”
“Oh, are you going to shoot me, too?” said the fat officer, raising his eyebrow.
“O’Reilly, never mess around with a man who has nothing left to lose,” said Erik, advancing a few steps towards the officer whose face was beginning to pale.
“Are you threatening me, sir?” interposed the fat man, in a voice that rattled in his throat.
“No, I’m advising you, sir; I’m only giving you friendly advice,” said Erik, turning and walking away from him.
“In my opinion, sir,” said the officer, now speaking a little louder and unbuttoning his coat to show his armor, “First, the death of your son was not an accident.”
“I don’t really give a shit about your opinion,” said Erik, suddenly turning around sharply and imparting a blow that hit the officer under the chin with such unerring aim and force, the officer tripped backwards. First his body, then his feet hesitantly followed as he fell back with a part of his rear end landing on the floor and the rest on the couch.
Upon this, Erik rushed to him and jerking out his own revolver, he planted it on the officer’s temple.
“You thought I was crazy before, now you have the chance to really see me. I told you, don’t screw around with a man who has nothing to lose! There is an unwritten rule of nature’s way that a man who has come to lose his friends, home and happiness acquires the freedom to behave recklessly. In plain English, he doesn’t give a shit about anything. Do you understand, O’Reilly?“ uttered Erik, pressing the gun harder into the fat man’s face, “and if I were a stray dog, dying alone in some ditch in the woods, I couldn’t be more forgotten or unheeded than I am now. I am a dead man, dead to all and to myself.”
The excitement that had cast an irate look on Erik’s face while he spoke subsided as he concluded. He suddenly yanked the revolver back from the officer’s face and shoved it into its holster.
The fat officer, coming to his feet with great difficulty, massaged his face and chin where he had been hit and where the gun had left an imprint.
Following their confrontation, they stood and fixed on one another. The officer was obviously affected and the two men stared at each other, not with ferocity or contempt, but with discernable signs of sympathy and misery that spoke more of their feelings and their state of mind than two hours of verbal explanation could have.
“I want to tell you, off the record, that I came here of my own accord and more or less to warn you.”
“Warn me?” interrupted Erik loudly with indignation, not necessarily directed at the officer but at the idea and whoever was behind it.
“Wait!” said the officer, raising his hand as to be allowed to continue with his appeal. “This is a lousy world we live in, take it from me, because I am right smack in the middle of it. Half of the people are breaking down the doors to get in jail, the other half are being pushed in by Captain Benson. Your wife was questioned, as you well know, just like you were, but with her Benson was trying hard to put words in her mouth. He has another case against you, Jake’s death. He can’t make one, because the driver of the truck that ran over Jake testified that there was only one man standing by the curb. It has been ruled that Jake must have slipped on the wet curb and landed under the truck. The pistol was found empty and was not fired. There is no evidence of a quarrel, but Benson can make your life miserable, because he is miserable. God, I know what you are going through. Forgive me for approaching you so recklessly; I wanted to make one last attempt to verify the truth that I already know.” said the officer. “Go with God! Erik, forgive me for what I have done to you. Please give me some peace of mind. It is easier for you to forgive me than to forgive myself,” said the officer, endeavoring to discharge his true feelings in an upright manner and giving him his hand to shake. While his hand was in Erik’s he added, “Erik, find a reason to live, because there is no prize for dying.” Saying this, the officer, acting in an honest spirit, turned as fast as his fat body allowed him to and headed for the door. There he stopped and turned once more, this time only twisting his head. He looked benignly at Erik and said, “I’ll take care of the rest. Go before tomorrow morning, Erik! A reason to live is better than a prize for dying.” Thus repeating his statement, officer O’Reilly turned away again, fixed his gun belt and hat with great precision and left abruptly, closing the door behind him.
That scene was an impressive one, well calculated and well delivered to strike sense in Erik’s heart and mind. O’Reilly’s earnest entreaty did not penetrate to Erik’s thoughts, those having been laden with all the disastrous recent events. His disheartened visions were beyond repair; his courage was lost and he could not go on without his wife and child. His mind was blurred with shadows and a perpetual darkness hovered around him. He could see no light at the end of this real nightmare. He was in the middle of a storm with no twirling winds, no sparks of lighting, no sounds of fury, no ray of hope; neither the breath of life nor the threat of death was anywhere near or far. He stood there in the middle of the floor with no rebellious feelings, no anger to vent, no strength to think, no aspiration to leave and no plan to stay.
In this hopelessness he bent his steps towards the kitchen aimlessly, approached then stood by the window and looked out with no purpose or intent. He just gazed into the flowering garden that his wife had created and cared for, where she had spent all the mornings of the spring planting flowers and half the evenings of the fall picking up their remains and cleaning their beds. There she devoted her time toiling and spending the little money that she had accumulated from ingenious and honest ways, as many women of fair mind do, instead of dispensing it on her personal adornment. It was a garden to please her son’s and husband’s eye. The sky was cloudless and the sun shined out bright warm beams. The birds’ caroling and the hum of the myriad of summer insects filled the air all around as far as the eye could see and the ear could hear. The garden, crowded with flowers of every rich and beautiful tint, sparkled in the morning dew like a bed of glittering jewels with some tucked away and some scattered about in various corners and circles taking on the forms of petunias, impatiens or sweet peas. The roses were looking happy and the snapdragons looking up, while the cicada’s song certified that summer was here, but Erik neither heard nor saw any of those natural wonders. He had only a vague and nostalgic recollection of himself coming home from work, being received with a storm of delight by his wife and child. He turned away from the window, walked to and sat on that same chair. Resting his eyes on the bloodstained wall, he fell into very deep thought. He was not thinking of his future’s greatness, but wracked his memory to find someone somewhere whom he could call upon for some words of guidance, wisdom or gentle consolation. He sat there for hours, never moving a hand or a foot, with his whiskers getting thicker, his vision more blurred, and his mind even more perplexed. Finally he fell asleep with his head resting on the edge of the table. After what seemed a short eternity he opened his eyes and perceived the birds waking up, getting ready to welcome the new day. Eventually raising his head, he looked about trying to gather up an organized thought or a tad of strength. He tripped into the bathroom where he splashed handfuls of cold water on his face and hair. He returned to the kitchen looking as if he were half ready to find his destiny. He stayed there surveying that room as if he hadn’t seen it for a long time.
He then walked off into his boy’s room and with flooded eyes and quivering lips examined it closely. Reaching into his pocket he took out the toy he had intended to give his boy a harmonica. He held it tight, then carefully placed it on the boy’s pillow. He turned hastily and walked sadly back into the kitchen, stood by the door looking in the darkness for a little while.
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