Heart of Silence - The Novel

HEART OF SILENCE - Novel

PART I -- BIRTH

Chapter 1 -- PRIMAL NEEDS

The earthly images became clear, forming the figure of a man who burst out of the churning liquid blackness. He swam to the edge of the dark waters and lifted his body from the black pond of a carefully landscaped dive pool.

The brief nylon trunks he wore revealed his physique. He was smoothly muscular, with the long, sleek form of an Olympic springboard diver, but this man was not in competition with anyone except himself.

As David mounted the diving board, it bent under his weight and the rhythmic one-two-three, step-and- thrust of a professional approach. Thus far in his life, David had been able to bend most things in his surroundings to his will, as easily as his methodically applied weight bent the spring board.

As he bounced, his precisely-trimmed blond beard dripped water. Well into his forties, David had kept the skills he had built during his college days finely honed. Team sports weren't his forte. They left the player vulnerable to the mistakes of others. He was good enough to perform solo and to have his every move inspected.

He snapped into a reverse tuck somersault. The water rushed up at him as he plunged into a perfect, splash-free entry. The water was chilling, but he didn't let himself notice. Trying again, he bounced lightly on the edge of the board, then flew high and arced his back and stretched his arms sideways in a perfect swan dive. Maybe he'd get it right this time.

Diving was the only thing David did totally for himself. Yet even as he soared through the air, he felt his father's absent eyes on him, judging, weighing, criticizing. No dive, no act, was perfect from this perspective, not even if it would have scored a perfect ten from every judge in the Olympics.

David swung himself gracefully out of the pool and wiped the water from his aquamarine eyes. The medicinal scent of chlorine that clung to his towel comforted him. Never mind that it was actually a poison. Even poison has can have a useful purpose when skillfully applied.

He walked over to a small pool side table and checked an intercom. Turning toward his neatly kept Tudor home and listening for a moment, he carefully turned up the volume on the intercom and checked his watch.

Elena's flight was due home in exactly twenty-nine minutes. He had called the airport and calibrated his watch against their clock. He also had Elena keep hers set to the computerized clock in the cockpit on each of her flights. Precision was not a virtue for David; it was a compulsion.

Elena was a flight attendant. One of the ongoing conflicts that had worn itself into their marriage was that Elena insisted on continuing to fly after their marriage.

David didn't like flying much. It was worse than having an operation. At least, going into surgery, you could choose your own doctor and have some control over his qualifications. How his wife could love flying enough to have gone back to work after their daughter was born was beyond him.

At least the airlines had changed the term "stewardess." His mother could not even bring herself to say that word, except in a demanding tone after ringing a call button. In connection with her daughter-in-law, it was anathema.

At first his mother had affected a faintly British accent when forced to acknowledge her daughter-in-law's career. The onset of "flight attendants" as the preferred term had given her just enough space to retain some dignity. At least it didn't sound quite so much like "Bimbos on a Boeing."

Elena's vehemence about being a "flight attendant" and not a "stew" was their only point of agreement. That she had just left on her first flight after a year of maternity leave was one of many sore points, exceeded primarily by her Puerto Rican ancestry. Never mind that Elena was descended from conquistadors and could trace her ancestry back beyond the fourteenth century. David sighed and stifled a yawn. For now, at least, he didn't have to think about his mother.

He checked his watch again, noting the date: April 17, 1983. For a moment he thought the date was wrong. Then he realized it was already well past midnight. The earth had turned ever so slightly changing today into tomorrow. The hands on millions of watches pulsed forward. The liquid crystals in millions more analog dials shifted into another configuration. Miraculously, in the midnight instant when today became tomorrow, it simultaneously became yesterday.

David shivered as a spring wind blew across the pond. Although it was unseasonably warm, an April midnight on Long Island was hardly balmy.

David dried himself with a scratchy terry cloth towel, enjoying its roughness, and went to change. He tiptoed down the hall, pausing to straighten a photograph. It was a picture Elena had bought in Rome when they first met. The crimson and gold of a Mediterranean sunset had made the cold white marble of Michelangelo's David appear as warm and soft as a lover's waiting flesh. He blushed thinking of how she had compared their forms and felt slightly guilty that they had never made the trip she wanted to take to Florence to see the original. He was always too busy to take time off from work.

As he passed by, he looked at the nursery door, but didn't open it. Perhaps he should have checked the baby, but he had the house thoroughly wired with intercoms. If there were a problem, he would hear it. Besides, although David would not admit it, that small bundle of squalling demands scared the hell out of him. It was such a concentration of primal needs. It would take years for it to resemble anything civilized. Even Elena sometimes joked that having a baby was like living with an orangutan.

Although he had helped her with the baby on occasion, David hadn't realized until Elena left that he had never before been alone with her. He had found himself paralyzed in a cold sweat of anxiety. What if he did something wrong? What if something went wrong? Babies were subject to ear aches, rashes, sudden dangerously high fevers. Even if nothing out of the ordinary happened, the chores of feeding, diapering, and monitoring were endless. Equally incalculable were the possibilities for mistakes, something David could not tolerate.

Jennifer had cried nearly every time he picked her up. He didn't realize that his fears about doing everything for her correctly created tension in his arms, surrounding her with painful rigidity. Just as she would not have liked his scratchy towel, the stiffness his nervousness caused was harsh and irritating.

Finally, he was forced to place her in her crib and let her cry. Surrounded by the safety of her nursery and the scent of Elena's reassuring warmth, she quickly hushed herself. David had taken advantage of the quiet to flee to the dive pool and plunge himself into the silence of his underwater sanctuary.

Straightening another picture, David reassured himself again that he had done an adequate job. He had not even resorted to calling his mother for help, an alternative he had momentarily considered during the third straight hour of Jennifer's screaming. He hated seeing Jennifer in his mother's arms, unconsciously remembering the pain of tension against his own newborn skin.

As the hot shower washed away his shivering with its fluid warmth, he decided that baby sitting wasn't really all that hard. At least that's how it seemed now that Jennifer had stopped crying and he knew his wife would be home soon.

He was perfectly dressed and ready just in time to hear Elena power open the garage door. It ratcheted too much; he would see to having it lubricated.

Walking into the living room, he quickly scanned it to assure himself that everything was in order. He bent to adjust the fringe on an Oriental rug that Elena had purchased years ago in a bazaar in Pakistan. End tables made of polished brass trays from India and a collection of brightly colored native crafts that Elena had gathered from around the world stood out against a clinical white interior.

David caught the door to keep it from banging as Elena pushed it open. Now in her thirties, she was still a knock-out. Her black eyes sparkled, despite the faint circles of fatigue beneath them.

Dressed in her full Trans Global uniform, she wore a choke-tight scarf around her neck as the grooming regulations required. The instant she set foot inside her home, she untied the scarf and kicked off her shoes.

She started to lean towards David to kiss him, but she sensed him pull away. She shrugged it off. He was probably still angry about her having taken the trip.

She uncoiled her long, upswept, chestnut hair, took off her galaxy blue jacket, and opened the top buttons of her blouse. Freed from the confines of the uniform, her voluptuous earthy figure was suddenly visible. She had gained a few pounds along with the miles she had travelled over the years and they suited her, adding strength as they amplified her curves.

David put his finger to his lips and pointed to the nursery. Elena nodded and gave him a quick, wifely kiss before she tiptoed down the hall in her bare feet.

Following her down the hall, David picked up her shoes and stockings and carried them towards their proper places. Stopping her as she groped for the nursery light switch, he folded his hands and rested his head on them, indicating that the baby was asleep.

She nodded and tiptoed to the crib. Standing a long time admiring the sweetness of the one-year-old in the faint illumination of a pink night light, Elena forgot about the pain of leaving. The sweetness of the sleeping child replaced the bitterness that had surrounded her departure.

Going back to work and leaving her baby was one of the most difficult things Elena had ever done. Fighting with David about it had not made it any easier.

David took her hand firmly and led her from the nursery, stopping Elena just as she reached out to touch Jennifer. The idea that Jennifer might start crying again was more than he could handle. Elena would have objected to him restraining her, but she was exhausted from her trip.

They quietly got ready for bed. Elena showered, trying to wash off the smell of old coffee, stale gravy, and overflowing lavatories. It was after three in the morning when she finished, emerging from the humidity of the steamy bathroom, smelling of rose water and Ivory soap.

David stirred as he saw Elena take the phone off the hook. It was something she always did before they made love. Crew scheduling had a way of calling at the oddest moments.

His passion rose as she embraced him. Its heat flooded in, replacing his resentment about the flight. She kissed him hungrily, slipping off her silk nightgown. Sliding her breasts against him, caressing his flesh, she burrowed down under the thick cream- colored eyelet quilt. He moaned with pleasure, yielding to her despite himself, as he felt her mouth engulf him and sensed her darkened nipples slide down along his thighs.

David awoke, surprised to see sunlight pouring in through the windows. Elena slept on, not bothered by the morning sun. She was too exhausted by the series of night flights and time changes to notice.

A friend of her brother had once cornered her into attending a drag race after a trip. She had fallen asleep sitting up, engines roaring by her, mud splashing her as it flew off the wheels. Despite the soundness of her sleep, if Jennifer had made the slightest noise signaling she needed anything, Elena would have been instantly alert and at her side.

Still drowsy, David stared at the clock -- 09:00. The time registered in his mind with a shock. He hurled back the covers and rushed from the bed. Jennifer never slept this late. Elena joked she was their little rooster, waking them at the first blush of dawn.

When a cock doesn't crow, something is wrong, as wrong as it crowing at midnight. David ran into the nursery, grasping Jennifer and turning her over on her back. An unearthly shrieking howled in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. It was the howl of cries and rushing sighs through which we enter and leave the world.

While still functioning on some limited outer level, David's consciousness withdrew into himself. The responses were primal and reflexive. Blood rushed from the surface of his skin to the vital organs, leaving him pale and chill. His bowels churned furiously, restrained only by years of civilized conditioning from immediately emptying onto the floor.

David tentatively turned Jennifer over, but could not bring himself to lift her limp body into his arms. The side of Jennifer's face and body which had been down was mottled and bruised. David heard himself shout for Elena. There was no mistaking the terror in his voice. It struck her ears as it tore through the house like a tortured, demented snake. She rushed to his side.

Seeing Jennifer's limp form, she convulsed with horror. Knowing that it would not help her or her baby, she willfully pushed aside her panic. Her emergency flight training made her response nearly automatic. Ordering David to call 911, she instantly and expertly began CPR.

She breathed for Jennifer, working to control the rush of adrenaline, struggling to puff only gentle small breaths into the tiny lungs. She counted out the rhythm of life, using two fingers to provide a pulse for the small heart in her daughter's chest.

Elena did not think about whether or not her baby could be revived. She knew this was what she needed to do to make the blood flow and bring oxygen to her daughter's brain.

She did not stop when she felt the coldness of the small sweet lips against hers. Neither did she pause, when as she lifted her head to suck in another breath, she saw the bruising and pallor. She would not stop until stronger arms lifted the child forcefully away from her.

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