Two years ago David had everything: a family, a wife, plans for the future, hopes Now there is nothing. He cannot live with the pain of loss. If he could turn back that cursed day, he would do anything to stop it. If only
For the first time in two years David hurries toward the oppressive silence of an empty house. At last he can avenge his wife’s death. He thinks about stopping at the offlicence for a bottle of whisky, then changes his mind. The hour of revenge has arrived; his mind must stay clear. He goes to bed early and, surprisingly, falls asleep quickly. Two hours later he wakes with his heart pounding, gasping for air. He often dreams of Olivia, hearing her breathing beside him. He listens, hoping his eyes will open to see her there. They do not. The pillow is uncreased. He drifts back to sleep.
David runs his hand over the sheet; it warms under his palm, giving the false impression that his wife still lies beside him for a moment after he awakens. He cannot fall back asleep. He lies staring at the pale ceiling in the dark, recalling two years of waiting, yearning, and the enemys returnhe knows it.
On that illfated day Olivia asked for leave early from work. She was heading to the maternity clinic for an ultrasound. She was overdue and no longer trusted pregnancy tests. Years of trying, hoping, longing for a child had passed.
Olivia stands at the edge of the pavement. A green walksignal flashes on the opposite side of the road, and she steps onto the crossing first. She does not see the car barreling toward her, trying to beat the flow of pedestrians. The driver would have squeezed through if not for a cyclist racing from the other side. A collision is inevitable, but the driver swerves right, sending the vehicle into Olivia. She dies on the spot.
The driver receives a twoyear suspended sentence. The cyclist escapes with bruises. Doctors say Olivia was not pregnant. The enemy lives on, still with his wife and son. David has nothing, no hope. He has long decided to kill his foe, to crash his car into him with the full force of an engine. He vows his family will endure what he endured. He will not hide or run, even if it means his own death. He died with his wife two years ago; the time spent waiting for vengeance cannot be called life.
David sometimes drives to the crossroads where Olivia fell, buys flowers and leaves them on the curb. Passersby glance and move on. He stands, trying to imagine what Olivia thought in those final secondsperhaps hoping for good news. She takes a last breath and steps onto the zebra crossing
He visits her grave, goes to church, but finds no relief. Only when he avenges his enemy will he feel free. Exhausted and sleepless, David gets up, showers, shaves carefully. He slowly eats a toast with tea, eyes fixed on a stain on the wall where Olivia had planned to repaper. He leaves it; the mark is a fragment of his memory. He puts on a clean shirt, casts a final glance around the room. Will he ever return?
At first he roams the town, killing time. Its too early. His enemy still lounges on fresh sheets beside his wife, or perhaps he has already risen, stretched, shuffled to the bathroom, scratched his leg just below his trousers, relieved himself with a yawn, then taken a shower. His wife has already made breakfast. He emerges from the bathroom smelling of shower gel, kisses his wife, and sits opposite his son at the table. Enough, David mutters to himself. The enemy looks too dashing. The man who killed my wife cannot be that handsome.
Now David imagines the enemy waking after a night of heavy drinking, trying to make up for two lost years. He rises with a splitting headache and a terrible thirst, splashes his face with a handful of tap water as he used to in prison. He skips shaving, sits at the kitchen table in his boxers and teeshirt. Now it feels right. This is how the enemy should beno remorse.
David turns the car around and drives to the enemys house. He parks in the driveway where he can see the front door. Two children play on the garden swing set. He settles in to wait. Sooner or later the enemy will emerge, alone or with his familyit doesnt matter. Not today; next time revenge will find him.
It is late April. Fresh buds push through the hedges, especially on the sunlit side of the yard. The pavement is still damp from last nights rain. The sky is overcast and cool.
A sixyearold boy bursts from the front door, runs to the playground, then spots Davids SUV and walks toward it. Maybe hes the enemys son? David thinks, lowering the window.
What do you want, lad? he asks.
Nothing, the boy replies, looking straight at David, unafraid. My dad also had a car, not as fancy as yours.
So where did it go? Sold it? David jokes, hoping to learn more.
Had an accident, havent bought a new one yet, the boy says.
David studies the boy, trying to match his face to the enemys. He cant. Perhaps he looks more like his mother, whose face David cant recall. He does remember the enemys features clearly. A few raindrops cling to the windshield.
Want to sit in the car? Get out of the rain, David offers, opening the passenger door.
The boy hesitates for a heartbeat, then climbs onto the high seat and shuts the door. The rains roar is muffled inside. He peers at the dashboards red lights with bright eyes.
Do the seats heat up? Does it gulp a lot of petrol? he asks, sounding older than his years.
David answers eagerly, feeling uneasy staying in the yard with a child. Shall we take a spin? Its still raining.
The boy tilts his head suspiciously.
If you dont want that, we can just sit, David says out loud, though he thinks the boy is fearless and clever.
Mom will scold me. I get it, the boy mutters, glancing again at David.
Shes not about me. Not for long, David replies, starting the engine, wondering if anyone saw him. The kids wont remember the make of the car or the number plate.
A memory surfaces: the best revenge is to kill what the offender loves. The decision comes suddenly, as if on its own.
Whats your name? David asks.
Jack, the boy replies cheerfully.
No way, were namesakes. Im David too, he says, smiling.
He decides he wont kill the boy; the enemy is the target, not an innocent child. He will drive him far away and leave him. The boy will never find his way back, and his father will keep searching, suffering.
Jacks voice snaps David back.
What? David asks.
I said my dad didnt hit that lady. Mom was driving, dad was beside her.
Which lady? a cold shiver runs down Davids spine.
My mum hit my dads wife, not the other way round, Jack blurts out, unaware hes spoken aloud.
Yes. Dad took the blame. Mum couldnt stand prison. Shes ill, often in hospital.
How do you know?
Im not little. I heard them whisper. Mum told me herself.
Heat floods Davids cheeks; his hands grip the steering wheel hard.
Why tell me? Do you think Ill go to the police? Jack asks.
Dads already done time. Can you be punished twice for the same crime? he replies.
Its unlikely. Thats what I think. David forces a smile.
He doesnt notice the car has already left the suburb. Jack watches the wet road stretch ahead, marked with fresh white lines.
Where are we going? Jack asks, his voice tinged with fear.
David slows at the verge, rolls down the window, and lets the fresh, damp air hit his face. The roar of passing traffic grows louder.
You feeling ill? Jacks tone now sounds anxious, his eyes understanding, and David feels a sudden heat surge.
Do you really get it? You cant fool a child, David thinks, turning the car around and heading back toward town.
Olivia cant come back. The enemy didnt hit her; his wife took the blame and served time. Who now? Her kidney is failing, she wont live long. What did Jack just say? My mothers only kidney is failing. What about me? Im about to exact revenge on an innocent boy
Who were you with when your mum was in hospital? David asks.
Grandma. She has a weak heart and hates my mum.
David watches the slick ribbon of road ahead as the rain stops.
How old are you?
Seven. Ill start school in September. Do you have children? David shivers, realizing he once longed for a son.
Jack nods, his mother having killed Olivia David wonders if the parents have already called the police.
Weve arrived, David says.
They pull into the driveway. The children rush inside to escape the rain. No one runs around screaming. Jack opens the car door.
Who were you visiting? David asks, confused.
What? I came to see friends. No one was home. Jack hops onto the pavement.
Will you come back? David asks.
Well see. If I get a new car, maybe you can ride with me. I have no son, no daughter, no one, Jack mutters. If your dad buys a new one, he should take this one. He wont regret it.
Thanks, goodbye, Jack says as the door slams.
David waves, smiles faintly, and steps out. He drives away, stops at a corner shop, buys a bottle of whisky, and sits on the damp grass by the river. He drinks straight from the bottle; the fire burns his stomach. He leans back, staring at the sky as clouds part, revealing blue.
A hoarse voice calls, Hey, uncle, you gonna catch a cold?
David opens his eyes to see two teenagers standing over him. He must have dozed off. He jumps to his feet, heads to his car.
Hey, uncle, want a drink? one teenager shouts.
Its too early for that, David replies, picking up the nearly empty bottle.
A vulgar swear rings out behind him; he doesnt look back. He climbs into his car and drives home. For the first time in two years he feels a sliver of freedom.
Lord, I almost did something terrible. Thank you for sparing me. I wish I had a son he whispers, the road ahead blurring with tears.
Revenge is living for the hatred of another. When you revenge, you spend the one life you have on someone else, even on your enemy. You lose, even when you win.
