The Wall (24 page)

Europe and the airline was calling her to let her know that the plane

had disappeared in the Atlantic. It was never found—I remember

very clearly. They searched for a long time, and my mother flew to

the East Coast. I stayed with my grandparents and played with their

dogs.'

She shook herself out of the unhappy reminiscence and glared at

Greg aggressively. 'I want a two-pound steak, medium rare, with five

baked potatoes and three, heads of lettuce cut in a salad. After that, I

want five gallons of wine, assorted carbonated beverages, milk,

water, and anything else you might have, except orange juice—

yeuck! Then for dessert, I want twenty-five glazed doughnuts, with

chocolate sprinkles on top She giggled as a finger flipped her nose.

'Soup, toast, and hot tea coming right up,' Greg said firmly, and

disappeared. She was left alone to stare at the ceiling thoughtfully.

Beowulf came into the room and approached her hesitantly, and she

watched him with some interest. He looked as if he were committing

a major crime by slinking stealthily up to the side of the bed. Sara

clicked her fingers at him, and was rewarded with a hearty lick from

his long wet tongue.

'Ugh, you beast! What's the matter, boy?' she asked, scratching at his

ear gently. 'You look like you're about to be beaten to death!'

'He' should be,' said Greg, as he came back into the bedroom with a

tray loaded down with enticingly aromatic somethings. She shifted in

bed eagerly as he approached, and fell to with a will. 'I told him to

stay out of this room while you were sick, because I was afraid that

in your delirium he might scare you half to death. But I suppose it's

all right now since you're in your right mind, more or less.'

She protested at that, around a mouthful of toast. 'I resent that

statement, counsellor. It holds unsavoury implications, and I just may

have to sue you for libel. . .'

'In which, case, madam, we shouldn't be holding a private discussion

before the court date. I need to consult my attorney, and you should

do the same . . .'

'Oh, baloney!' she snapped elegantly, and glanced at her tray with

some surprise. The toast was nearly all gone, but she couldn't finish

her soup if her life depended on it, and the tea was nearly untouched.

'I seem to have filled up rather quickly after all, Greg. I don't think I

can manage any more—I'm sorry.'

He touched her cheek. 'Don't worry about it, sweetheart. It's

understandable. Your stomach has shrunk. I'd have been surprised if

you'd been able to handle much more. I'll just get rid of this tray

while you settle down, for a nice long nap.'

He whisked away the tray as she argued, 'Greg, I'm not sleepy. I want

to get up and do something. My hair needs washing and I feel so

sticky all over, it -'

'No,' she was told firmly, and her eyes took on a mulish expression at

the autocratic tone. 'You're too weak, and it's too soon to get your

head wet after the fever. It broke only a few hours ago. Just try to

relax, will you? I'll be downstairs in my study if you need anything.

Just holler, I'll hear you.' He kissed her forehead before leaving,

ignoring her resentful expression.

She thought for some time after he had gone. She had resented his

ordering tone of voice very much. Nobody ordered her around! She

had come to the place in life where she gave the orders, and if she

wanted to take a shower, then she would take a shower. It was a free

world, after all, and her choice. With that firmly and aggressively

worked out in her mind, she pulled back the covers and carefully slid

her legs over the side of the bed. She couldn't resist the impulse to

look over her shoulder, and that made her very angry. Why should

she be worried at what Greg thought? He didn't own her.

Her housecoat was draped over a nearby chair, and she picked it up

as she made her way slowly to the bathroom. Funny, how really weak

she was, and how the distance to the bathroom seemed suddenly

much more than she had first thought. By the time she had made it to

the bathroom, she was sweating from the effort, and trembling with

exhaustion, but she felt sticky and unclean, and she had it fixed in her

mind that she was going to take a shower no matter what. Then she

eyed the tub doubtfully. Maybe a bath would be better. And, just in

case Greg was very angry, she would lock the door.

That accomplished, she leaned over the side of the tub and turned the

water taps on full blast. The roaring, gushing, splashing sound of the

water rushing to fill the tub had her jumping in consternation. That

sound must be clearly audible throughout the empty house. Greg

couldn't help but hear it. She sat back on the floor by the tub and

listened anxiously.

In what seemed to her to be an amazingly short amount of time, Greg

was pounding on the door and bellowing with rage when he found it

locked. 'Sara! Dammit, Sara, unlock this door!' She jumped with

shock at the loud booming sound the hammering at the door

produced. He must have taken the stairs two at a time to get up here

so fast. 'Sara, if you don't get over to this door and unlock it right this

minute, I'm going to break it down!' He paused a moment, and after

thinking it over, she thought the prudent thing to do would be to open

the door. She inched carefully over as his voice changed and became

suddenly very anxious. 'Sara? Can you hear me? Are you all right?—

Oh, thank God!' That was as she clicked the lock open and turned the

knob.

His expression of relief, however, soon turned to anger, and he took

her by the shoulder to shake her hard. 'You stupid, selfish, idiotic—

why the hell did you do that when you know you aren't strong

enough to take a shower safely on your own? What if you'd got dizzy

and fell? What if you'd hit your head in the shower and drowned

before I could get to you? Of all the imbecilic things to do, this really

-'

Infuriatingly easy tears spilled over on to her cheeks at this rough

handling of her body. She was still sore in her muscles from the

fever, and so very weak that her knees buckled up on her and she slid

to the floor again, right out of his grasp. She crouched on the floor,

crying, and Greg suddenly knelt down beside her to try and take her

in his arms.

At this, though, she turned on him and spat with fury, 'How
dare
you

touch me like that! How dare you lecture to me! Just who gives you

the right, mister? Who the hell died and left you almighty God of the

universe? Don't you think I'm capable of a rational decision on my

own? I've managed pretty well for twenty-eight years without you,

and haven't died yet! Kindly credit me with a modicum of sense, sir,

and look around you. I'm taking a bath, not a stupid shower, and I can

manage quite well without your help!'

Her voice rang out over the sound of gushing water, and she was

shaking with the extent of her own outrage and fury. Still, one part of

her mind bemoaned her loss of temper as she watched Greg's face

grow rigid at her words. He looked like hard grey granite, but she

looked into his eyes and saw a molten hot rage. He spoke quietly in

contrast to her agitated outburst, and it was somehow more

frightening than anything her anger could produce. The words came

from between clenched teeth. 'I suggest, madam, that before you start

rejecting help out of hand, you may wait until some is offered to you.

I had no intention of doing so.' With that, he stood and left the room

as swiftly as he had entered it.

Shaken, tired, depressed beyond words, Sara crouched for some time

afterwards on the floor, crying her eyes out.

It was an ordeal to take a bath, but she managed it by going slowly

and resting often. She even managed to soap her hair clean, though

there was no pleasure in it any more. Then, sitting on the bathroom

stool, she carefully towelled herself dry and cursed her shaking

hands. She didn't want to be weak. She couldn't afford to be weak.

She was on her own, like she had always been before. She had to

handle things alone.

She barely glanced at the mirror as she carefully walked by. She had

put on her housecoat and wrapped her hair up in a towel. Even so, the

pale, huge-eyed apparition, a ghostly caricature of herself that had

been reflected, made her pull up with shock. Her cheekbones were

sharp and protruding, and her jawline more pronounced. She had

noticed in the bathtub that she had lost weight, and it showed in her

face. She looked at herself unemotionally before going on to the

bedroom. After that first shock, it didn't really matter to her what she

looked like. In fact, she didn't really care about anything. She longed

to sleep.

Her wet hair had to be taken care of, though, and she plugged the

hand dryer in a socket in front of the full- length mirror, sinking with

trembling limbs on to the floor in front of it Then she just sat there

and looked at herself dispiritedly, wondering how she was going to

get up the strength to hold her hands above her head for any length of

time. A flicked glance at the doorway had her stiffening defensively.

Greg stood watching her, his face inscrutable, impassive, serious.

Sara switched on the dryer with shaking hands and began to hold it to

her wet hair. He just stood watching for a while, then the dryer was

plucked from her hands and he was pulling up the chair that had been

by the bed. She stared, yearning, aching for something, some word or

touch, but what she said instead was, 'I'll do it on my own, thank

you,' and the words sounded cold.

His response came tiredly, 'Don't be a fool, Sara. Give me the brush,

will you?' Hardly realising what she was doing, she slowly handed

him the brush. He turned the warm blowing air on to her head and

began to rhythmically brush the thick strands out to aid the process. It

was hypnotising, relaxing, comforting, and he was very gentle,

teasing out the snarls so carefully, she never felt any pain. At first she

sat with her slender shoulders stiff and her face wooden, but she was

so tired, and the continued motion of his hands felt so good that she

gradually sank down until her cheek rested on his knee.

A drop of wetness fell on his slacks and soaked into the material,

then another followed. If Greg noticed, he never said a thing, and

Sara soon stopped crying. Really, this was a very weak habit to get

into, this crying all the time, she thought. I've cried more in the past

week or two than I've cried in years. It will have to stop. It's got out

of hand.

She knew why it had got out of control. It had happened at the same

time her emotions had gone out of control. It had happened when she

had met Greg, had become involved with a total stranger. It happened

every time a barrier came up between them, for one reason or

another. It happened every time he walled himself off from her.

Right now, he seemed a hundred thousand miles away. He was

helping her and being very good and gentle about it, too, but his eyes

in the mirror looked to be withdrawn. It made his ministrations even

more bittersweet and painful. She resented that look terribly. It told

her that he was somewhere else, but it didn't tell her where, and she

was too tired to go after him. She didn't have the strength to reach

out. All she could do was lay her head against his knee, dumbly

accepting his moving hands, while her heart bled all over the floor.

She was the loneliest person in the world.

She was also wrapped Up so tightly in her own miserable emotions

that the realisation that he had switched off the hair-dryer and was

now only brushing her hair came over her very gradually. She

became aware of the fact that her hair was totally dry, but he

continued to brush and smooth it off her forehead anyway. She

wondered if he was so far away that he didn't even realise that her

hair was dry. It felt too good, though, for her to open her mouth and

spoil it, so she kept silent and very still.

The conviction that he was far away in his thoughts left her totally

unprepared for his sudden movement. The shock of him scooping her

up in his arms to lift her on to his lap held her still for a moment. He

just held her, cradled her, and rocked very slightly back and forth. It