The Lake is Quiet Tonight

The lake is quiet tonight. I can see the slightest ripple as the
cool breeze dances with the dragonfly and he tip-toes across the glassy
surface. The owl hoots low in the pine near the edge of the rocky
beach, and his mournful cry skips across the water like a phantom. The
other voices are quiet tonight, satisfied. The owl insists on knowing
the answer to his monosyllabic question, but no one's answering.

They know, but they're not telling.

I've always enjoyed the peace of the lake. Its silence, its ability to
hush the voices inside, to calm my jangled nerves after only a few
moments. The first time I noted the lake's mystical ability to heal my
broken psyche was near the beginning of the summer. Linda was in one of
her moods, and she was working on her third helping of tawny port. I
remember turning my back on her and walking out here to the deck,
overlooking the lake. That night had been clear, but there was
definitely a tension in the air. Although it was completely different
from the tension inside the cabin, it was electric, buzzing. I remember
wondering if a storm were brewing, or if some other atmospheric
disturbance could have been responsible for so delicious a feeling of
expectation.

Just being there, staring out on this mirror of water, of life, waiting
for whatever phenomenon was expected, made my wife's drunken ravings
insignificant. She screamed at me through the glass, even shattering
her wine goblet against the wall behind my head, but all of it was
muffled, swallowed by the soothing silence of the lake.

I've found an excuse to come out here on the deck each evening since,
often with a small glass of sherry as my only companion.
I was intrigued, but not truly surprised when the voices of the lake
began to actually coalesce in to words. I'd been listening to them
regularly for almost three months by then, and had learned to tune them
in just like the old HAM radio my dad taught me how to use all those
years ago. The voices were always so soothing, so relaxed and friendly,
like no other conversation I'd ever experienced. They renewed me on a
daily basis, lifting my spirits and calming my nerves. I could sleep
like a baby on the nights I came in from the deck with their sound
still whispering in my ears.

It was only when Linda interrupted my reverie that I heard the first
hint of anger in the voices of the lake. It began more as annoyance,
really. A little louder, a little faster, then silence. I began telling
Linda to leave me alone, wanting more than anything to hear the lake
speak to me again, fearing each moment of silence would stretch to an
eternity. After she would leave the deck, within moments of her closing
the back door, the voices would return, relieved to be rid of
her.

This happened half a dozen times before she finally decided to heed my
advice. She was usually in bed, snoring softly, when I came in from my
evening conversations. The bedroom was getting colder night by
night.

This evening the air is clear and dry, with a soft breeze wafting in
from the west, the slightest hint of charcoal bringing images of
campfires and marshmallows to my mind. The night isn't cold, but does
carry the quiet chill of mid-September, reminding me that winter comes
fast and furious to the Northeast. I sit on the deck, staring out on
the silent lake, wishing, hoping for some word. There's been nothing
since this afternoon, and I'm beginning to get a cold feeling in my
gut. I hope I understood. The owl is still inquiring.

This afternoon, Linda had paused while mixing tuna fish salad in a
small bowl, and threw me a miserable look. "We need help," she
said.

I'd just taken four slices of bread from the cabinet next to the
microwave, and assumed she was talking about the sandwiches we were
making.

"Haven't you done this before, hon?"

She'd dropped the fork in the bowl, raising her palms to her temples as
she passed quickly from exasperation to fury. "That's just the kind of
remark I would expect from you!" She stormed out of the kitchen before
screaming from the living room foyer, "I mean we need help with our
marriage, Phil! Don't you see how you make me feel? God, I want to
scream sometimes!"

She was screaming now.

"What are you talking about?" I'd followed her to the living
room.

"I mean where are we heading, Phil? Where are we going?" I was lost. It
took a full minute for her words to strike me with the force she'd
intended.

"Are you talking about a marriage counselor?"

"Unless you'd prefer to just go straight to the lawyer! I can't get
through to you anymore, Phil, you are distancing yourself so much, I
feel like I hardly know you!" She'd begun to cry, angry tears racing
down her cheeks in time with her tumbling words.

I stammered something unintelligible, and then dropped my eyes to the
floor. There was another voice competing with both hers and mine, and I
almost recognized it.

"Stop her."

Linda was sobbing quietly as she pulled on her hooded sweatshirt and
rooted through her purse searching for her car keys.

"Stop her, Phil."

She pulled out the keys, and dove back in looking for a tissue. I was
frozen as I waited dumbly for the answer to my silent question. The
same as the owl's.

"Stop her before she ruins everything, Phil."

Linda wiped her red-rimmed eyes and looked at me once more. She shook
her head sadly and turned toward the door.

"Linda!" The yell burst from my lips with no thought to follow. She
turned to me again, and I impulsively moved toward her.

"Please don't leave like this, Lin," I said, reaching my hand toward
her, "I love you." She was speechless for a moment, then her mouth
opened to say something.

"No you don't, you idiot," It was not Linda, but the other, "do
it!"

Linda saw the expression on my face as clearly as I felt it. There was
no longer any reason or ability left to hide it.

"Do what?" I screamed, my eyes searching for someone who wasn't
there.

"Phil," Linda was scared, "are you alright?"

"Stop her! For good."

My mind blurred for an instant, and I felt dizzy, as if the slate I was
standing on had just dropped through the floor, me with it. A moment
later, I was rubbing my fist, and breathing hard. I stared down in
disbelief at Linda's bruised and bloodied features from the floor where
she lay.

"Good, Phil. But not good enough."

I remember letting out a loud sob, then the world spun again. A moment
later, my eyes registered that I was walking out the back door and down
the deck steps in to the lawn. It was as if the images I was seeing
were on some muddied video tape, for no other senses were
communicating. There was only a passing sensation of weight below my
field of vision, as if I were carrying something.

I began to scream inside, a nearly audible mental cry, but it was
drowned by the voice again,

"You're doing just fine, Phil? another few steps?"

The scene I'd been watching spun and faded again until the distinct
sensation of cool water lapping against my forearms and legs brought me
back to myself. I remember shaking my head twice, and screwing my eyes
shut tight before opening them and trying to focus again. My hands were
cramped, and my back was sore. The chill of the lake water ate through
to my bones, and I began to shiver violently. In standing up, I
realized I'd released something that I'd been grasping tightly beneath
the surface of the water. The waves continued to lap gently against my
calves as I looked down through the rippled mirror once more. I saw
more than my reflection. More than I ever want to see.

"Thank you, Phil."

I've pulled on my frayed flannel shirt and brewed myself a pot of
strong black coffee, as I have to assume tonight's conversation will be
a long one. I've been out on the deck for the past three hours, and the
night has descended slow and thick. The moon now dances on the rippling
surface of the silent lake, smiling at some cosmic joke I can't share.
The lake is silent, and the owl's decided to stop asking his question,
too. Maybe now he knows the answer.