And, didn’t countries, in some ridiculously perverse way, prosper during wartime? “Stocks climb with onset of war.” “Explosive rally in stock markets as investors bet war imminent and inevitable.” “There is no longer any uncertainty that war is coming and as a result stocks rallied today.” The headlines drummed though her brain.
What had Dallaire said? “Do you kill children who kill? And if the answer is yes, can you live with that?”
Put that way, how could there be anything good about war? “God damn fucking war!” She squeezed her eyes tight and tried again to control her thoughts. Everything stilled momentarily and then exploded again in terror. Fuck!
“Em?” Ron called urgently.
“What if…?” She kept her face averted. “What if war is a good thing? Maybe humans aren’t doomed to kill each other. Maybe they are destined to.”
He pulled the frying pan off the burner, grabbed her shoulders, and gave her a little shake. “Em, no!”
“What if war serves some useful purpose?” She persisted. “What if I’m actually making things worse?”
“Em, you talk about the powers you feel control you. Don’t they determine what is right? Don’t they take that decision out of your hands?”
She paced, twisted her hands in an agony of doubt. What if there are no Powers? What if I’m deluding myself? What if? There were too many what ifs. “If it is Powers, maybe they’re wrong. Maybe they don’t know either. Maybe Powers don’t exist and I’m using the idea of them as a ruse to defend myself. I don’t know. I don’t know.” She could hear the desperate edge in her voice. Ron held her tighter. She thought she would cry, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. If she started she’d ever stop.
She wrapped her arms around Ron’s waist and held on tightly. “If war is necessary and I stop it? What will replace it? Something much worse?”
“Shush,” Ron soothed. “It’s okay.” He repeated the words over and over until they became a lullaby. Finally, she relaxed and sagged in his arms. He guided her to a chair and knelt beside her holding both her hands in his.
“Em, are you okay?” He examined her closely.
“I think so. Yeah.” She was shaky, her face flushed, and her breathing labored. “I’m sorry Ron.”
“Don’t! Don’t ever apologize, Em. I’m glad you feel you can talk to me.”
She shook her head. “I'm sorry Ron. I’ve spoiled our morning.” She put her fingers over his lips when he started to protest. “Ron, having you here makes all the difference. I can’t explain it. I just know I need you.”
“Miracle Madame needs me?”
“No, I need you. Me.”
She could almost hear his unspoken thoughts. Who is “Me,” Em? Who is the woman I love?
“I am what you see and who you have come to know. No more.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Em. You’re way out there compared to the rest of us. How can I ever hope to match that?”
“You don’t even have to try. I exist in two different halves, but I don’t change. Only my job changes. Both my halves need you. Please, Ron, you have to believe me.”
“Okay,” he agreed reluctantly and she knew he’d need more reassuring. “Em, there’s something I want to ask, but….”
“You’re afraid of the answer?”
He nodded. “Yes. Are there others?”
“You mean do I have a sailor in every port?” She caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. “No, just you.” She toyed with the belt on his robe. Ron, however, was not to be sidetracked.
“Why me?” Ron asked. “You could be with anyone. Certainly someone much better looking, younger, more virile.”
“Not more virile surely? Three times last night.”
“I haven’t been this horny since high school.” He grinned widely. “In fact we could make it four.”
She let her eyes grow wide. “I have that effect on you?” He blushed. She reached under his robe to caress him, grinned wickedly and pulled him down to the floor.
*
Now, see that confused me. Em had met so many men and had let them flirt with her. Then there was François. She really liked him but not “that way.” So, why was it different with Ron?
They made love. On the floor! They lay, panting, her head on his chest, her legs entwined with his.
You are mine, all mine,” a voice deep inside him growled fiercely.
I recognized the voice. It was mine. I hadn’t known my thoughts could be transmitted like that.
“Be more careful!” Mentor snarled.
Chapter 30
“Sue,” Tom called. “You here?”
“In the supply room. Gotta check the back-up tapes. What do you need?”
“The Boss in?”
“Haven't seen her.”
Tom took a step back, and surveyed the office. “Her door's closed. Coast is clear. Listen Sue, what's up with her?”
Sue shrugged. “I don't know. She's been vague and forgetful lately. Not like her at all.”
“Loses her train of thought. Did you notice her struggling for words at the staff meeting? That's not like her at all. Normally sharp as a tack.”
Sue glanced out the door. Two teachers were passing through the office on their way to the staff room. She waited until they'd gone and lowered her voice. “Do you think we should talk to her?”
“I tried. As diplomatically, as I could.” Sue arched her brows. Tom chuckled. “Okay, so I asked her outright if she was okay.”
“And?”
“I don't know. It was like she didn't hear me. Like she was someplace else.”
“Do you think we should call her family?”
“Yeah, you should.”
“Me!?”
Em didn't need to overhear that conversation to know she was slipping away. Away to that other world.
*
Em covered Ron with his robe and left him dozing on the floor. She un-muted the TV, concentrating first on a German news channel, then flipping to Canadian, to Spanish, and back to German again.
“God, Em, you’re perfect. Beautiful. Sensual. Seductive.” He leered at her from his position propped on one elbow on the floor. “You’re in great shape, obviously work out and your skin is perfect, not a blem…. What’s that?” He sounded alarmed.
“What?”
“Em, did I do this to you?” He rose and walked over to her.
“What?”
“The bruises.”
“Oh, Ron.” She laughed.
“Em!” His grip on her shoulders tightened, his hands rigid with the same tension that filled his voice. “This is no laughing matter. Did I do this to you?”
“No.”
“Then how did you get them?”
“Fighting.”
“Fighting!? What on earth are you talking about?”
“Sparring, ground fighting. You know, grappling.” He had a bewildered look on his face. “Jiu jitsu. I train regularly with a group that is mostly soldiers.”
“Soldiers! Em that makes no sense. You’re out there trying to stop war. Why on earth would you do anything with soldiers, let alone learn to fight?”
His question shocked her. She closed her eyes and prayed for an answer. “I came to have a whole new respect for soldiers when I worked with them,” she said. “They choose to fight and die for us, often for the wrong reasons. Deliberate death at the hands of another human. What could be worse? Deliberate killing at someone else’s command? How can I not respect that?”
“And if you have your way, they will all be out of jobs.”
“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” She beamed and her eyes sparkled.
“But, jiu jitsu? My God! You could get hurt. Badly.”
“Nah. The guys go easy on me. The older ones call me young lady and I remind the younger guys that I could be their mother. I’m training for my brown belt. Sensei says it will take five years. I say two, three at most. We’re negotiating.” Em grinned and clapped her hands. “See that’
s what I mean about parts of my other life creeping in. It’s like I can answer your questions from my subconscious if I don’t think about it. Ask me more stuff.”
He seemed happy to comply. “Your fingernails?”
“No matter how short I file them, I always manage to break a few.” She laughed with the sheer pleasure of the conversation.
“Why jiu jitsu?”
“I kind of got into it by accident when I participated in a couple of self-defense sessions with a guy from the military. I started with his club. At first it was scary and intimidating. Not the people, they were great, friendly and welcoming, but the sport itself. But, I love the physicality of it.” That was true, she realized, not an exaggeration. “This is embarrassing, but I almost bit a grappling partner once, stopped myself just in time. I guess that means that I would do whatever it took if I was ever in a real fight.” She stopped suddenly. “Wow, did I just say all that?”
“Yeah.”
She threw herself at him and kissed him soundly. “Thank you, thank you.”
Before Ron could ask another question his stomach rumbled loudly. Em giggled. “More later. Let’s shower and eat.”
Em watched as Ron finished preparing the omelets, moving expertly about the kitchen, knowing instinctively where to find what he needed in the unfamiliar surroundings, handling the utensils with an ease that spoke of experience.
“You done cutting the fruit?” he asked.
“Excuse me a sec.” She ran from the room cursing under her breath. “Not now, damn it. Not now!”
Ron,” she called as she peered into the kitchen. “You there?”
“Back already? I thought you were going to check the laundry.”
“Uh, I….”
“Breakfast’s about ready. Have a chair, Madame.”
The television blared. “What the hell,” Ron said and headed to the living room to turn the volume down.
“United Nations forces took control of the army posts after Miracle Madame neutralized the junta leaders and their inner circle. She then appeared in the flooded areas and facilitated the entry of relief workers. We take you now….”
Em waited in the kitchen twisting her napkin into a tiny ball.
“Jesus, Em.” Ron stood squarely in the doorway, his face a mask of fury. “You were there at the same time you were here. Are there two of you? Who am I sleeping with? You or an identical twin? Or an alien? Fuck! Do you have any idea how hard this is?”
“You think it’s easy for me? I’m the one out there facing the bullets.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I see the news. I watch helpless to protect you. Helpless!”
Hell, this conversation is going nowhere but downhill. Em had no idea what to say. She didn’t want to have to say anything. She wanted someone else to take the responsibility for a while.
Ron’s face crumbled. She thought he was going to cry. He swallowed. “I’m sorry, Em. Please, come have breakfast.” She released her breath and relaxed in her chair. “Do you own an apron?” he asked.
“No. Why?”
“You don’t seem particularly domestic.”
They were leaving the fight behind. He was fixing it. She said a little thank you under her breath. “I’m not. But you like to cook. I bet you collect aprons when you travel and you actually use them.”
“Yep.”
“What kinds of things do you like to make?”
“Antipasto, shrimp stroganoff, crab crêpes, cannelloni, beef Wellington. Stuff like that.”
“Wow. Gourmet. I’m impressed.”
“You might be impressed, but the kids would rather order pizza.”
“They’re too young to have an appreciation for the finer things in life,” she said. “But, what about spaghetti?”
“Never. Not even to impress a date.”
“Not even to impress me?”
“Nope. Stereotypical.”
“Will you make dinner for me sometime?” she asked with no hint of teasing.
“Of course. What would you like?”
She thought for a while. “Surprise me.”
*
When Em stood naked in front of the TV, Ron had taken advantage of the opportunity to study her in full light, somewhat sheepishly, knowing that she was unaware of his scrutiny. I studied her too. Come on, name one man who wouldn’t.
Ron saw her not only as hard and determined, but at the same time as soft and yielding, and terribly vulnerable. Studying her, Ron believed there was more to his love for Em than filling empty spaces and finding security. It was the completion of one soul by another.
Guardian, humans went so overboard. It was sex, man, sex. Nothing more than hormones.
Bruises on her thigh and three angry red spots on her wrist as if someone had gripped her too hard; the words “abusive husband” flashed across Ron’s brain only to be immediately dismissed because everything in him revolted at that image. The image revolted me too as did her jiu jitsu training. I cringed each time I watched her in the dojo.
I sent her on a quick mission. I wished I could do more to keep her away from Ron, but too soon she was back. That’s when I had the brainwave. It would blow Ron’s mind to see the latest news. I turned up the volume on the television. And they had a beautiful colossal argument. A lovely little monkey wrench in the works. Maybe she’d see now that her darling little Ronnie wasn’t for her.
“Or maybe not.” It was Mentor hovering at my left shoulder.
*
They chatted away the afternoon. Answering Ron’s questions continued to fill in gaps for her. She told him that she'd gone sunbathing topless once, had been to a rifle range, and learned to shoot a .38 Special, a 9mm Glock and a Ruger. She’d been such a sharpshooter that the owner offered free rounds with both a .44 Magnum and a .357 Magnum. Beginners luck, but it had been fun. She’d gone to the range to see what it was like and no, she could never imagine pulling the trigger to shoot either animal or man. From jiu jitsu, she had some idea of what she would do in a fight, but wondered what it might take to drive her to kill. She couldn’t come up with an answer. Neither could Ron.
Ron confessed the hurts and frustrations of his life, admitted his bitterness at the judgments based on looks that limited his choices, and still prevented him from being considered for roles he prized. He even talked about his humiliation at Susan’s hands.
“God, Em, I’ve told you things I’ve never discussed with anyone, not even Tony. I’ve never even examined them this closely myself.”
“Where did you find the strength to remain so positive about life in spite of all that?”
“I’d be dead without my sense of humor. For me, the only truly serious things are losing one’s health or being in a life-threatening accident. The rest of it; if you can’t laugh you’re truly fucked.”
Not to mention the strength of humor as a shield against all the hurts, Em thought.
“Are you married? Do you have kids?”
Oh God. Her mind went blank. A crucial question and she had no answer. Why? Why don’t I know?
“I think you do. I saw tiny marks on your stomach and thighs. Stretch marks I think.”
“Show me.” He pointed to the faint lines. Her eyes filled with tears. “God, how could I not remember something that important?” She sobbed, tears streamed down her face. Ron held her, rubbed her back and wisely kept silent until the sobs lessened.
“Em, memories are coming to you slowly. The knowledge is in you. It will come back to you. It will.” Eventually she stopped crying. They lay on the patio divan and she dozed fitfully in his arms.
*
“Will you let her remember everything?” Mentor asked.
“I don’t think so,” I hedged.
“Too painful?”
“Yes. She loves them too.”
“Well, then.” Mentor’s words carried neither censure nor approval. Shit, now what was I supposed to do?
“Stop using those bad Earth w
ords, for one thing,” Mentor said as she walked away.
*
Em muttered and fumed as she flipped through the channels looking for the news.
“What’s wrong?” Ron asked.
“I don’t believe this. Some actor has been found guilty of assault and is being sent to jail but the judge is going to let him out every day so he can finish his film.”
“Makes sense to me. His absence would hold up the whole movie.”
Em glared at Ron. “I can’t believe you said that. Anybody else would simply serve his or her jail term. Are you condoning a double standard?”
“No, but a lot of money is involved.”
Money! The best argument he could come up with was money. Surely he wasn’t that shallow. “Don’t get me started on money. Money should not run the world and actors’ salaries are obscene.”
“I disagree. We actors work hard for our money.”
“For God’s sake, get real. If anyone deserves that kind of salary it’s the doctors who put you back together after an accident, or the teachers in the classrooms with thirty plus kids, or the social workers trying to save families.”
“Of course they are deserving, but they have job security. Their careers don’t depend on the vagaries of public opinion and popularity. An actor might have only a few years to earn a living.”
“Well, break my heart. The big stars can make anywhere from hundreds of thousands to a few million a year times, oh, let’s say one year, and never have to work again. How does that compare with a social worker or a teacher? Talk about unfair. Then some sitcom starlet who trucks bundles of money to the bank each week is having ‘the hardest year of her life’ and ‘oh such a difficult time’ adjusting to marriage to Mr. Beautiful.”
“Just because she has money doesn’t mean she doesn’t have problems too.”
“I know that. But does she have to broadcast her woes to the world? Whatever happened to ‘discretion is the better part of’?”
“For some people, talking helps,” Ron said.
“Well, they don’t have to blab indiscriminately. Anyway, that’s not the really offensive part.”
“It gets worse?”
She should have heeded the anger in his voice, changed the topic, and avoided the whole stupid argument, but she was too worked up. If she didn’t yell about something, she’d explode. “She has a chat line to help young girls because she has gone through many of the same experiences.”
“What’s wrong with trying to help?” He sounded bewildered.
“Oh, come on Ron, it’s nothing more than an excuse to snag more bags of dough.”