Chapter 23
INSIGHT
Clifford Dexter got out of the hospital in a few days, and went home to Maria and Heather. Heather reported to George that he appeared to be a chastened man; the beating administered by Johner had gotten his attention. He made no violent moves, and no threats, although he continued to drink a great deal of whiskey through his wired jaw.
As days went by, Johner began to smile again and to make jokes; after the first few days he resumed making love to Sarah, but she felt a reserve in him that didn’t go away, that didn’t even lessen. She was reminded of the days before they became lovers, when his reserve had shut her out of his inner life.
In those days, he had had something to hide: his love for her. Now Sarah wondered what it was that he was hiding; that it was painful to him she had no doubt. He wasn’t sleeping well; she woke up often in the night to find him gone. On the nights when she went looking for him, she found him in the kitchen, drinking coffee. But as time went by, she got up to join him less often. He had almost nothing to say to her during these nighttime vigils, and she had a strong feeling that she was intruding on his thoughts.
He began to lose weight, and Sarah’s concern for him quickened. At last she could stand it no longer, and when she woke once again to find him gone, she followed him to the kitchen.
She sat down across from him and leaned toward him. "Johner, I want you to level with me; Something is wrong with you, and it’s not getting better. I’m scared for you.
"I know it’s about what happened at Dexter’s house that night. I want you to tell me what happened, Johner. Now. Start right now." She took both of his hands in hers, holding him tightly when he tried to pull away. "I mean it. Tell me, right now."
His hands relaxed in hers as his body slumped wearily. "OK---OK. I’ll tell you what I can." He shrugged. "I don’t know what happened. That’s the trouble."
His eyes fell from hers as he began to speak. "I got back there almost in time. I could see when I pulled up that there was trouble; the lights were all on, and the front door was standing open. When I walked into the kitchen he had Marie backed up against the kitchen counter. There was blood on her lip. He had only hit her once; he was just getting warmed up. Heather was scrunched down on the floor in a corner, with her arms over her head. He was standing between them, I guess trying to decide which one to hit next." Johner stopped for a moment, his head hanging down low over the table. His next words were very soft, almost a whisper.
"I just started hitting him, Connor. I just started hitting him!" Sarah saw tears begin to fall on the table top, although there was no sound of them in his voice. "I just felt so happy! I could do it, I could beat him up, I could kill him! I was getting the biggest charge out of it, it felt like the greatest thing in the world. I could kill him!" His voice was louder now. "---And Connor, I was going to. I would have, if Marie hadn’t stopped me. I was down on the floor over him, and I was beating on him with both fists. I can’t tell you how---how elated I felt!
"What kind of man does that, Connor? What kind of man feels---joy! It was joy!---at beating another man to death?"
Sarah’s fingers tightened on his. She took a deep breath, and gambled on an intuitive insight, something which had come to her forcefully while he told her what had happened. "Maybe the kind of man who saw his father beat his mother? The kind of man who was a small child and watched helpless while his father hurt his mother? Maybe that kind of man, Johner?"
He said nothing for a moment, still looking down, not moving; then his head came up slowly, his eyes wide. "Maybe. Maybe that kind of man. I---remember." His eyes gazed over her head now, sightlessly, seeing the past. After a silence of many seconds he began to speak, hesitantly, with a kind of wonder in his voice. "He---he killed her. She didn’t move---she never moved, and he went away and left me there with her, and she never moved." His face crumpled, and his sobs were those of a child.
Sarah came around the table to take him in her arms. She cradled his head against her as he sobbed. In a few minutes he calmed somewhat, and he pulled her into his lap and buried his face in her neck, his place of comfort. His sobs subsided into long shaky breaths. He sat quietly, holding her close, taking consolation from her nearness and her warmth, until his breathing was normal again, and he had come back to the present.
"I remember it." He spoke against her neck. "It happened. He killed her, and I never saw her again."
Johner’s head came up; his face was calm, his manner thoughtful. "I never saw him again either. I wonder what happened. What do you suppose happened, Connor? Did they catch him? Did he go to jail? Or did he just walk out of that kitchen and disappear?" He paused, his eyes sightless again, looking into the past. "It was in the kitchen. She was standing against the stove. I can see the stove, Connor. Isn’t that funny?"
He sat up straighter. "I want to know what happened. I want to know where I came from."