Chapter 34

Toni

She did not cease crying easily. She had come face to face with despair, and it cut deep. She had never before told anyone – she had not even admitted to herself – that she hated herself. She had ascribed the rejection to God, she had said that He hated her, that He was punishing her and would punish her for her sin, but she had never allowed herself to realize that she had turned on herself. But because she loved 'Berto, and because she spoke to him with unguarded honesty and openness, the words had come out of her mouth without any censorship, and as she'd said them – as she'd heard them – she'd realized how true they were, and she had crashed down a cliff of pain into the Slough of Despond.

And she did not climb out easily. She didn't know how long 'Berto held her there by the sink, but she knew that she was still crying when he gently guided her – half carried her, really – into the living room and got her down onto the sofa. She had been calming down from her initial burst of frantic weeping, but his gentleness and compassion touched her on open wounds, and she burst afresh into a wailing that seemed apart from her. Almost she could have thought that someone else must be in terrible pain, for though her own throat was raw and her own chest burned with the force of her sorrow, her voice seemed to come to her from afar.

But it was her voice, it was her incoherent cries she heard. She found herself beating on 'Berto's chest with her fists; she found herself shoving him away – he refused to allow it, and clung to her more tightly than ever; she found herself grinding her face into his chest; she found herself clinging to him helplessly as her sobs wracked her. It was a surreal time; a time without time, as far as she knew; a time that later always seemed disjointed to her, as though she had gone through it in a fever that distorted her perceptions and dropped chunks out of her memory.

After a time, though, she did become calmer. No matter how terrible the pain, weeping cannot endure forever. As that thought trickled through her mind, she remembered what the Bible says: Weeping may last for the night, /But a shout of joy comes in the morning. She knew, vaguely, that the context was about something other than a desolate woman losing control of her ravaged emotions, but still it came to her mind – and, she realized, brought a small measure of comfort with it. This too, however little I can believe it now, will end.

Gradually she became aware that she was lying on her side on the sofa, with her legs trailing onto the floor, and her head in 'Berto's lap. He was stroking her hair, putting a lock of it behind her ear, brushing it softly back from her forehead. Now he wiped her cheek, and she realized he'd been wiping tears from her face for some time. She lifted her legs onto the sofa, easing a cramp in her back that she hadn't noticed until it vanished. Her arms were around his waist, and she tightened them now, pulling herself closer to him. The universe was a burned wasteland, a blasted heath of ruin and damnation, but in the midst of the barren desolation there was one bright light, one pillar of hope – Roberto Vargas.

Somewhere she slept. She wasn't sure when her weeping ceased and her eyes closed more peacefully, but she knew suddenly that she had been asleep, and that she was uncomfortable. She lifted her head, and as she did she heard a snore from above her – 'Berto was asleep too, and must be even more uncomfortable than she was. She gently unwound her arms from around him, and sat up, her joints creaking – so she thought – like those of an old woman. Her face felt crusted with the salt that had dried there, and her eyes were raw. But she was calm, now, almost back to her usual serenity. She stood, her legs slightly wobbly, but she didn't fall or stagger, so she went out into the kitchen to check the time. It was 2 in the morning. I guess we won't be going to work today, she thought. There is no way on earth I'm going to subject either of us to that, not after this night.

She rubbed her hands over her face, feeling the salt there. I don't think I've ever cried so much in my life. She reached into the cold soapy water that still stood in the sink and pulled the strainer out of the drain, letting the water begin slurping down into the pipes. While it ran out, she turned on the faucet – just a trickle, for she didn't want to wake 'Berto – and rinsed her face in the cold water. She dried her hands and face on the dish towel, feeling a little bit more human.

Back out in the living room she faced a dilemma. Do I wake him and get him to bed, or leave him there and just cover him with a blanket? She decided to leave him. No doubt if he woke he'd prefer the comfort of the bed, but as long as he was sleeping she wouldn't disturb him. She brought two blankets out into the living room, and her nightlight. She spread one blanket over 'Berto, and bent down to place a soft kiss on his forehead. I love you, my lord, she thought, and placed her palm – as lightly as the air itself – on his cheek for just a moment. Then she pulled the coffee table over by the television, plugged the nightlight into the socket by the front door, and lay down on the floor, pulling the other blanket over her. She made sure there was room for 'Berto to stand between her and the sofa, if he were to wake up, and curled up there, and slept again.

'Berto

He jolted awake, momentarily at a loss to say where he was. It was semi-dark – there was some sort of faint light behind him, but none anywhere else. He was half sitting, half reclining ... and then he remembered. He'd been holding Toni as she finally slept, and somewhere he must have dozed off himself, sitting upright on the sofa. He wasn't quite upright now, and the weight of her head on his lap, and the frantic, desperate pull of her arms around his waist, were gone. Then in the soft light from the wall socket he saw the form on the floor, where the coffee table had been. So that's where she went.

He got up and went into the kitchen. The clock told him it was 3:30 in the morning. I guess we'll have to call in. I am not going to leave her, and I'm not going to let her go to work either, not when she's in that kind of shape.

He filled a glass from the faucet, and leaned against the counter while he drank. He had a faint headache, a pressure behind his forehead, but not enough to drive him into the bathroom where the aspirin bottle was. Stress, no doubt. Seeing Toni like that is hard.

It occurred to him that love was pretty much that – doing the hard things, getting through the hard times, on someone else's behalf. I'll take the strain if I have to, if I can only help her. Love wasn't, after all, nothing but bliss and flowers and spring mornings – it was also storms and holding someone up who couldn't stand on her own. He made a resolution, which was after all merely the articulation of what his heart had been telling him all along: I will carry her on my back, if I have to, before I will abandon her. I will bear her sorrows, if that's what it takes to make her happy again.

He took another drink, and mused a little further. So that's love. I never knew it till I met her. If I don't get anything else out of this marriage, this lesson is worth whatever cost I have to pay. It didn't matter to Roberto that they weren't married yet, and didn't even know what month they would get married – as far as he was concerned Toni was his wife and he was her husband. He chuckled to himself. I wonder if there's a culture anywhere that would consider us married simply because we have this commitment to each other. It was possible, though he didn't know. In my heart, I'm married to her. I want the legal fact, I want that extra bit of connection – but my heart tells me she's my wife already.