Stephen Dixon - Frog

“Please, I know I said no more accusations, but this is unbelievably crucial. I left my daughter with you — left her in your charge. I went for a swim.” “Yes, I saw you. You went quite a way’s out. I was even concerned for you somewhat.” “Now listen, stop that bullshit. Those are our towels over there — Olivia’s and mine. Two towels. I threw the second one over there right in front of you,” and runs to the towels and holds them up. “Towels, goddamnit, towels. And beach toys — hers,” and runs to the beach and holds up the pail and two shovels, pulls the two figures out of the pail and waves them in the air. “These are my daughter’s. Pail, toys, everything. Who else’s? Nobody else is here.” “Another child could have left—” “She was playing with them when I went in to swim. You were watching her, right from this spot here. She was still playing here when I last saw her from the water about forty strokes out. You had said she could even go into the water. That you were a — did she? Is that what happened? She’s in there, under there, and you don’t want to admit it? God no,” and he runs in, stops because he doesn’t want to churn up the water, walks around looking for her in it and then walks out a few feet, dives down, swims around underwater, when he comes up he looks back to see if the woman’s still there. “One-seven, forty-two, PL, baby blue, Opel,” he says to himself in case she goes. If she did anything why wouldn’t she go? Because she’s trying to pull something off. Because he has her name. Lita something. What the hell is it? Not important now. Goes down, again and again, looking for Olivia. If he sees her he’ll dive for her and swim to shore with her and pump and pump and pump till he gets the water out and breathe air into her till she’s alive or ask the woman, if she really is a water safety instructor, to do it or help. Sees something in the distance underwater and dives. It’s a rock with a few long pieces of waving seaweed on it. She’s nowhere around. She couldn’t have gone out farther. She could have drifted out there before she sank. She would have screamed. He would have heard her. She could have screamed when he was on his back and water got in his ears. Still would have heard. Maybe she’s in the weeds. Comes up and shouts “Did she go down in the weeds?” and points to the area of them sticking out of the water. She throws up her hands. Treads water and shouts “Save me the trouble looking. If she drowned then say so and maybe I can still save her. People can be underwater for twenty minutes and somehow still be revived. Where’d she go down if she went down, and if she didn’t, then just say where she is or what happened to her?” and she shakes her head she didn’t hear or doesn’t understand. He swims to the weeds and dives to the part closest to shore, but the weeds stop him. Too thick. Treads through them a few feet, puts his face underwater to look. Can’t see anything past the top. He’s looking in the wrong place. He doesn’t know where to look. Shore would be better, if only to threaten her some way unless she tells.

Swims to shore. Woman walks to him while he walks through the water to the beach and she says “Listen, I want to explain—” “Fine, quick, that’s what I want.” “I mean I want to be direct with you, though God knows what good it’ll do me, so I’m saying I’m leaving. I don’t know what you’re searching for, but it has nothing to do with me and you have to start believing that, or just thinking about it, all right?” and she turns to leave and he says “But you saw me before. If I wasn’t with my girl, who was I with?” “As I said—” “But the toys. The little kid’s towel with the cartoon animals on it, and her clothes in my bag up there — shirt, pants, these little Japanese beach sandals — oh, why the hell my telling you? I have to get the police. And tell my wife. Maybe you’re crazy or have some instant memory-loss affliction. Maybe Olivia went through the woods and came out some other place. Or got lost somehow, but I’ve got to get help in searching for her before it gets dark. Look, I don’t know why you’re saying this, denying it — you’re obviously responsible for whatever—” “If I was—” “If you were, why would you have stayed? Because I have your name. I probably have your license plate. The Opel. One-seven PL, etcetera. Because people who were on the grass when we were all here, saw me leave the girl with you. My daughter. If they noticed. So you know you’re caught. So come on, will you, tell me already,” and grabs her by the shoulders. “I mean it. Where the fuck is she? Tell me or I’ll shake your fucking head off,” and starts shaking her. “Get your hands off,” and pulls his hands away. “Not till you tell me where she is.” He swings her around and puts his arm around her neck and twists her arm behind her back and pushes it up till he knows it’s hurting. She says “Stop that, stop,” and tries to wrench free and he says “Tell me where she is or I’ll break your arm off and strangle you right here. I’ll do it. Now where is she?” “I don’t know.” “You know, you know.” “I don’t — please. You came alone. You have two towels but I never noticed them till you mentioned them. I was reading my book so I didn’t see. I don’t know anything about the beach toys and your bag of clothes. There was never a girl while I was here.” “Liar, liar, liar,” and pushes her arm up farther and she shouts in pain and he says “Last chance before I break it off,” and waits but she’s just shouting in pain and he wants to push it up more but can’t. He doesn’t want to break it. Wants to give her just so much pain before she tells him but he seems to have gone beyond that point and she’s still not telling. “Damn your lying ass,” and lets her arm go and from behind squeezes her neck with his forearm. She coughs, says “I’m having trouble breathing,” and he says “That’s the point. I’ll cut the air in your windpipe. I’ll even break your windpipe if I have to.” “I don’t know… imagining it… I wasn’t, there isn’t… my book … can’t breathe,” and then she’s just choking and he wants to go on, he knows that at some point she has to tell him where Olivia is, but he seems to have gone too far, she’s not getting any air in. He lets her go and she drops to the ground and gasps and spits and he looks at her to see if she’ll say anything, then in the woods for Olivia, the lake to see if her body came up from where it sank, sees the same or different sailboat way off, a pile of stones by the beach, thinks “That’s an idea.” Woman’s still on the ground. He runs to the pile, all too big, looks around, picks up a rock on the grass, one he can hold in one hand, runs back and gets down, she’s stroking her throat, bends over her, face a few inches from hers and says “I’m going to smash this rock against your head but with such force that I’ll split it open with the first crack. If you don’t tell me where she is. Now tell me. You can see I mean business,” and holds the rock over her face so she can see it. She says “I swear, don’t know. Please, no more. I’d tell you by now if I knew. Swear.” “Stay here. I’m not kidding. Don’t move from this area. You can at least do that for me. If you see her, tell her to what? To wait. I’ll be back or my wife will or the police. We’re at 7 Bear Road in case you have to start moving with her for some reason. That she’s very sick, or you are, and we’re not back. Bear as in animal. Seven. We’re summer renters. Tetch, Howard and Denise. Just Howard. The Brook Isle post office knows us and we have a phone for the summer in my name. You have it?” Nods. “I mean, everything I said about what to do and our name and address?” “Yes.” “Or just immediately call, or if someone comes down here get him to call, the police.” “I will.”