Jesse Ball - A Cure for Suicide

He kicked at the grass with his foot.

— But, if life is just that, just being reasonable, then there is nothing in it — nothing worthwhile. So, the yearning that we have to keep dead things living — or to make unreasonable things reasonable. That is why a person should live.

— Is it a paradox? asked the examiner.

— I don’t think it is. I think the whole thought makes sense together. Neither side is complete.

The examiner smiled. She took something out of her pocket, a notebook, and wrote in it for a minute.

— I will die, she said. There are those who care for me, and they may be sad. But my life has had its effect, and will continue to have its effect after I am gone. I don’t ask for more than that.

— Do you like the cemetery? she asked.

— I don’t know, he said.

and then,

— Very much, I think.

— There were other purposes that cemeteries had in past times, said the examiner. A wealthy family could buy enormous monuments and display their power in cemeteries. Also, the splendor and expense of a grand funeral could intimidate a community and help to preserve the veil of power that a particular dynasty might have. It’s also true that in cultures where patriarchal or matriarchal structures were quite strong, the passing of power through a family was of special importance. In such a time and place, events like funerals and weddings take on special importance, as the family drama becomes a societal drama.

BUT, THE CLAIMANT was no longer listening. They walked and walked along the green grass, cut by someone, always being cut by someone — it appeared to have been cut just then, or some hours before, it must have been — and he thought of his own life suddenly in proportion to the day in which he was alive, that very day in which he was standing.

I am alive, he thought, and now I am capable of living.

He suddenly felt very strong. And with the rising of his strength he felt an energy in him, a direction. He wanted to see Hilda and learn more. He wanted to know what there was to do, or whether anything should be done. The desire he had had to tell the examiner everything was still present, in fact, magnified by his vision of her death, but for him it was contingent on Hilda and what she would do next. Such a turmoil! It rose in him and rose, and then there flooded through his eyes the calm of the cemetery, of the close of evening, of this quiet walk. All the turmoil vanished as though it had never been.

Perhaps it was the patience of the examiner wearing off on him, or perhaps it was something else, but he felt a great strength in his legs, like a swimmer does. Under the green boughs of the cemetery, he did not need to do anything. No action was needful there, nor could be.

BUT, BACK AT THE HOUSE, when supper was through, he felt a lightness infect him, and with it he became brittle. The energy of his desire overbore him and he fell prey to it. Hilda, Hilda. She rose again.

The hour was coming when they were to meet. He sat and watched the clock. I should be getting to my feet, he thought. I should be going out the door. But, he didn’t. The waters swept back. Again, it was as though he was beneath the green boughs of the cemetery. He stayed sitting there, and after a while, the examiner brought some tea, and they sat and played cards. When they were through and she had won once, twice, three times, they went upstairs to bed.

NOW THEIR RENDEZVOUS had been broken. There had been a plan for them to meet, and they had not. It was simple but it was bewildering. If he had wanted to see her, he would have seen her. But he hadn’t. Yet now, the claimant was thrust suddenly back into his desire to see her. Nonetheless, he had not gone. What would she think? Hilda had no real reason to come to his house, nor he to hers. What could be done?

Yet, I can go to her house — perhaps not to talk to her, but to speak to Martin. If he has befriended me, I can speak to him. Then, she will be there and something can be arranged.

And in thinking of Martin, and of that house, he thought again — what is the condition of their life? A sort of jealousy was faint in his body. If they are to act as though married, do they do so in the house when no one is there? If that is their cover, is it kept at all times? And he thought of her flickering, how she flickered and flickered, and the way that she had clung to him, and he stood up. There in the kitchen of the house, he stood up as if to go right then to see.

But, of course, this was foolishness. She was not his — not that way. If to be safe, she needed to act a certain way, it was natural. It was only natural. There was nothing moral in it.

Yet, he was in the front hall, and he was telling the examiner he would go for a walk, and he soon found himself on Juniper Lane, knocking at the door of a certain house.

— HELLO THERE.

The claimant froze. This was a person he did not know. He leaned back and checked the address on the door. 23 Juniper Lane. It was correct.

— I’m looking for, Hilda and Martin. I believe they live here.

— Oh, there must be some mistake, said the man. Hold on.

— Colleen, he called. Colleen, come here.

A woman came out of the door to the left, and approached them.

— What’s up, Tom?

— This young man, he seems to think someone else lives here. Some, what were their names?

— Hilda, said the claimant. Hilda and Martin. I am sure. I was just here last week.

The couple laughed.

— Completely understandable, said the man. These towns do that to you. I know, because it has happened to me a time or two. Play tricks on your mind. Anyway, we have been here for thirty-five years.

— and counting, said the woman.

— and, I’d know it if we hadn’t been here last week. Why, last week we had a barbecue. Matter of fact, you could have come, if we’d known you then. What’s your name?

— Martin.

— Like the man you’re looking for? Well, isn’t that something. Are you looking for your own house?

He grinned at the woman.

— If it’s true, it’s a good trick. You can’t find your own house, so you go door-to-door asking. And is Hilda your wife?

— No, no! I’m really looking for them. But, it seems…

The claimant overcame his desire to go past them into the house and look deeper.

— I’m sorry, I…

— Oh, no trouble. No trouble at all. It’s good to finally get to know you. Martin, eh. I’m Tom. Tom Bedford. That’s Colleen in the back room. She isn’t very social these days, sorry about that. But, let me tell you. Our daughter is coming to visit. She is about your age, I’d say. Perhaps you’d like to meet her. We’ll send an invitation to your house. How’d that be?

He excused himself and made his way back home. They must have removed her in the night. Those people must have moved into the house this very day, he thought. How could it have happened so quickly? Unless he was confused about the days. It sometimes happened…

But why would they have taken her away? Martin must have discovered something. Or, could it be — could he himself have given her away? Could that be it?

PARTWAY THROUGH THE NIGHT he woke. At first he thought someone was in the room with him, but there was no one — just furniture carrying the obscene shapes of shadows. It was very quiet. Everything had grown as quiet as it could. He held his breath and listened. Silence, silence, silence, and then a light rap. Then silence, and a rap at the window. He looked out. Someone must be out there. His eyes scanned the yard, moving slowly from one end to the other.