May We Be Forgiven

Thirty-three minutes later, inside the suburban police station, I announce myself to the two cops, ‘I’m the brother of the man you called his wife about,’ which gets me nowhere. ‘I’m here on behalf of Geo Stone. Has a crime been committed?’

‘We wanted to take him to the hospital but he wouldn’t go; just kept repeating that he was a dangerous man and we should take him downtown, lock him up and be done with it. He’s in the back, sitting in the cell. Personally, I think the man needs a doctor — you don’t walk away from something like that unscathed.’

‘So he got into a fight?’

‘Car accident, bad one. Doesn’t appear he was under the influence, passed a breath test, and consented the blood and urine, but really he should see a doctor.’

‘Was it his fault?’

‘He ran a red light, ploughed into a minivan, husband and daughter were killed on impact, the wife was alive at the scene in the back seat next to the surviving boy. Rescue crew used the Jaws of Life to free the wife, upon release she lost consciousness and expired at the scene.’

‘Her legs fell out of the car,’ someone adds in the background.

‘The boy is in a fair condition. He’ll survive,’ the younger cop says, going into the back to get George.

‘Is my brother being charged with a crime?’

‘Not at the moment. He was going pretty fast, just ploughed right into them. Officers noted that he appeared disoriented at the scene. Take him home, get him a doctor and a lawyer — these things can get ugly.’

‘He won’t come out,’ the younger cop says.

‘Tell him we don’t have room for him,’ the older one says. ‘Tell him that the real criminals are coming soon and if he doesn’t come out now he’s staying in and they’ll butt-fuck him in the middle of the night.’

George comes out. ‘How come you’re here?’ he asks me.

‘Jane called, and besides you only had the one car.’

‘She could have taken a taxi.’

‘It’s late.’

I lead George through the small parking lot and into the night, feeling compelled to take his arm, to guide him by his elbow — not sure if I’m preventing him from escaping or just steadying him.

George doesn’t pull away — he lets himself be led.

‘Where’s Jane?’

‘At the house.’

‘Does she know?’

I shake my head — no.

‘It was awful. There was a light.’

‘Did you see the light?’

‘I think I may have seen it but it was like it didn’t make sense.’

‘Like it didn’t apply to you?’

‘Like I just didn’t know.’ He gets into the car. ‘Where’s Jane?’ he asks again.

‘At the house,’ I repeat.

Pulling into the driveway, the headlights cut through the house and catch Jane in the kitchen, holding a pot of coffee.

‘Are you all right?’ she asks when we are inside.

‘How could I be?’ he says. George empties his pockets on to the kitchen counter. He takes off his shoes, socks, pants, boxers, jacket, shirt, undershirt, and stuffs all of it into the kitchen trash can.

‘Would you like some coffee?’ Jane asks.

Naked, George stands with his head tilted as if he’s hearing something.

‘Coffee?’ she asks again, gesturing with the pot.

He doesn’t answer. He walks from the kitchen through the dining room and into the living room, and sits in the dark — naked in a chair.

‘Did he get into a fight?’ Jane asks.

‘Car accident. You’d better call your insurance company and your lawyer. Do you have a lawyer?’

‘George, do we have a lawyer?’

‘Do I need one?’ he asks.

‘Something is wrong with him,’ Jane says.

‘He killed people.’

There is a pause.

She pours George a cup of coffee and brings it into the living room along with a dish towel that she drapes over his genitals like putting a napkin in his lap.

The phone rings.

‘Don’t answer it,’ George says.

‘Hello,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry he’s not home right now. May I take a message?’ Jane listens. ‘Yes, I hear you, perfectly clear,’ she says and then hangs up. ‘Do you want a drink?’ She asks no one in particular and then pours one for herself.

‘Who was it?’ I ask.

‘Friend of the family,’ she says, and in a moment I realize that she means a friend of the family that was killed.

For a long time he sits in the chair, the dish towel shielding his privates, the cup of coffee daintily on his lap. Beneath him a puddle forms.

‘George,’ Jane implores when she hears what sounds like water running, ‘you’re having an accident.’

Tessie, the old dog, gets up from her bed, comes over and sniffs it. Jane hurries into the kitchen and comes back with a wad of paper towels. ‘It will eat the finish right off the floor,’ she says.

Through it all George looks blank, empty, like a husk left by a reptile who has shed his skin.

Jane takes the coffee cup from George and hands it to me. She takes the wet dish towel from his lap, helps him to stand and then wipes the back of his legs and his ass with paper towels. ‘Let me help you upstairs.’

I watch as they climb the steps. I see my brother’s body, slack, his stomach sagging slightly, the bones of his hips, his pelvis, his flat ass, all so white they appear to glow in the dark. As they climb I see below his ass and tucked between his legs, his low, pinkish purple nut sac swaying like an old lion.

I sit on their couch. Where is my wife? Isn’t she curious to know what happened? Why hasn’t she called?

The room smells of urine. The wet paper towels are on the floor. Jane doesn’t come back to clean up the pee. I do it and then sit back down on the sofa.

I want to go home. I hate this living room. I hate this house. I remember helping them find the house. I remember when they bought it. I remember helping them do things to fix it up. Why do they still live here? Their children are grown, the place is empty, the dog is old.

Next page: In the morning there are hurried phone calls and hushed conversations.