Heather Gudenkauf - The Weight of Silence

I go still, not because of his threat, but because I had encountered this very same scene, in a different time and a different place, as an outsider looking in, but the same nevertheless. Poor Calli, I thought. Poor little four-year-old Calli, watching her mother fall down a flight of stairs. His screams of “shut up, shut up” causing Calli to cringe, not able to stop crying. I remember lying on the couch, covered in a blanket, watching Griff screaming at his little four-year-old daughter. I remember Griff bending down to whisper into Calli’s ear something, something. And for four years, she has only spoken one word. One lonely word.

“Oh, God,” I gasp in his ear. “It was you, it was you!”

BEN

“So Princess Calli was taken prisoner by the king, who didn’t know what he was doing because of the potion he had drunk. The princess tried and tried to use her magic, but it wouldn’t work on the king because he was too strong.”

I look over at Dr. Higby, who is sitting all quiet in the chair. Standing right beside him is that nice nurse, Molly. She puts a finger to her lips and looks at you, Calli. You are only looking at me, looking up at me like you want me to keep on going.

“Princess Calli and the king became lost in the big, dark woods and Calli’s feet hurt because she didn’t have any shoes on, but still they kept walking through the woods together. She was hot and thirsty, she wanted her mother, the queen, and her brother, the prince, but she didn’t know where they were. She couldn’t figure out why they weren’t coming for her, she thought maybe they forgot about her. But they didn’t, they spent all day trying to find her. Her brother looked and looked and the soldiers of the kingdom started to look for her, too. And finally, her brother found her, on top of the bluff with the king and her friend Petra. Only Princess Petra was hurt real bad. The king had done a really bad thing and hurt her so bad that now Petra was the one who wasn’t able to talk.”

I feel Calli go all stiff next to me and I look down at her. “Isn’t that how it goes, Calli? Isn’t that how it went?” I ask her. She sits stock-still, her face serious as if she is thinking real hard. Slowly she shakes her head from side to side. I see Dr. Higby lean forward in his chair. “What happened, Calli?” I ask her. “You finish the story, I can’t. I wasn’t there, not for all of it. You finish the story.”

MARTIN

They won’t let me climb into the ambulance on my own, but insist that I lie down on a stretcher and lift me into the vehicle.

“I’m fine,” I maintain, but no one appears to be listening. A paramedic begins dabbing at my forehead, his face smooth and unreadable. Very professional, I think. I know I will need stitches, but before that happens I need to get to a phone.

“Please, I need to use a phone. I need to call my wife,” I say.

“Someone from the hospital will contact your family, sir, don’t worry.”

“No, please. My daughter is the one who was airlifted to Iowa City. My wife has been trying to contact me. Please, I must talk to her. I have to find out how my daughter is doing.” I struggle to sit up, but the paramedic firmly presses on my chest to keep me in a prone position. I must have looked amply distressed because suddenly I have a cell phone in my hand and a few moments later I am speaking with Fielda, who breaks down upon hearing my voice.

“Martin, Martin, where have you been? Are you all right?” she weeps.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” I will tell her about my shabby stab at heroics later. “How is Petra? Is Petra okay? They told me that you said she needs surgery.”

“She’s in surgery right now. I’m sorry, Martin, I couldn’t wait any longer for you. I had to make a decision. They needed to relieve pressure that was on her brain. I said yes.”

“Of course you did, Fielda. That was exactly what you should have done. I’ll be there soon. I have to take care of some things here, but I will be there with you as soon as I can. I should have gone with you in the first place. I am so sorry, Fielda, I am so very sorry.” There is a pause on the phone line.

“Martin,” Fielda begins cautiously, “you didn’t go and do something that you’re going to be sorry about now, did you?”

I thought of Antonia out in the forest with that desperate, sad man and I say, “I hope not.”

She sighs and tells me she loves me, no matter what, and to hurry up and get over to Iowa City.

When we arrive at Mercy Hospital, as I am wheeled into the emergency room, a police officer keeps stride with the gurney and speaks with me. “We’re going to have to interview you after you have your head checked out.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, closing my eyes as I think of Calli and Ben Clark ensconced somewhere above me, waiting for their mother to return to them. How could I explain to them what happened, what I did, if their mother does not come back?

DEPUTY SHERIFF LOUIS

Fitzgerald and I crash through the brush, trying to move silently but failing miserably. It is black as tar. The quarter moon and the stars are swallowed up by the night and do little to light our way.

“Jesus,” Fitzgerald curses, “we’ll never find them in here.”

“We will. Griff doesn’t know his way around in here, but Toni does. She’ll make sure that they stay on a path.”

“God, I hope so,” he mutters.

I lead Fitzgerald through the brush slowly, cautiously. I do not want to stumble upon Griff and Toni and cause him to panic. Shortly we come to a thinning of the trees where the forest intersects with the path and we both look out onto the trail squinting into the darkness. Nothing. We creep as quietly as we can up the path. Occasionally Fitzgerald or I step on a twig and the snap of wood causes us to stop and tensely look around. I am ashamed to realize that Fitzgerald is in better shape than I am and I have to work hard in order to keep in front of him. After several minutes of hiking I am only aware of my own breathing and Fitzgerald stops me by yanking on my sleeve.

“Listen,” he orders. Gradually the voices become clear to me, one male, one female—one angry and one full of anguish. It is them. I nod to Fitzgerald to let him know that I hear it, too, and we proceed slowly, silently. We need to observe Toni and Griff without their knowledge, get a good handle on their position and verify that Griff has a weapon.

I move down the path in small increments, making sure that Fitzgerald is always in my sight, stopping every few steps to listen. It isn’t long before I hear Griff screeching, “Shut up, shut up!” and hear Toni’s frantic cries. I inch down the path, forcing myself forward in deliberate, slow movements, not wanting to give up my presence prematurely. The sliver of moon illuminates Griff pinning Toni to a tree, his mouth against her ear. If I hadn’t seen a gun in Griff’s hand, I would have thought it was simply two people in an embrace, that and the fact that Toni’s sorrowful weeping assaults my ears. Farther on down the trail I spy Fitzgerald edging forward, gun drawn. I, too, pull my gun from its holster and step behind a tree.

Fitzgerald yells, “Police! Put the gun down.” They don’t appear to hear him.

“Oh, God! It was you, it was you,” Toni howls.

“No, no, I didn’t do it!” Griff whines. “I didn’t hurt that girl!” He presses his hand against Toni’s throat, and I crouch and take aim. He is too close to her.

“No,” Toni wails, her words difficult to understand. “Calli, Calli. It’s because of you she doesn’t talk.”

“Drop the gun, Griff,” I shout. Griff pauses for a minute as if acknowledging our presence.

“What are you talking about? Shut up!” Griff tells her, confusion in his voice.