Silent Surrender

The truce was a lumpen thing. Ugly and awkward. An unwanted child made by unwanted children. Harry came to it both warily and wearily. There were few battles left to him. Not all old warriors were to be feared for having stayed the course so long. His was a time of peace and the resting of his aching bones.

Jo was sitting waiting for him. Chosen her seat. Taken the higher ground. He knew she would be there in a state of preparedness. Some things are known until they reach a state where they just are.

Wordless was their initial greeting. As though words were at a premium. Unstable explosives that would ruin everything before there was a chance to begin. There followed a rusty, squeaky effort at silence where the sound of their breathing and the rustle of clothing as they positioned themselves was painfully intrusive.

Harry could only take the seat opposite her. He was reminded of interviews, performance reviews and the whole gamut of meetings that had taken up so much room in his life. Then technology had whispered a promise of freedom before blocking out his days with remote meetings. Always the full hour blocked out as though he himself was a part of the screen. Trapped within it as a functional avatar with no need to relieve himself or his subjugation with at least a moment to boil the kettle and stare out of the window at the real world.

He remembered that outside world like it was another person’s memory. A past life. It had receded to a point that the window in his kitchen had become another screen. He felt the distinction between where he was situated and nature so acutely that it pained him. Somehow he’d drifted away from where he’d belonged without noticing the thousand mile journey for which he could never buy a return ticket.

Money was the root of all evil and for a time he had bemoaned the pup he’d been sold. A pup that soiled on the carpet and chewed the skirting boards. An animal that would not succumb to training and boundaries. Forever hungry it demanded he worked harder and gave more of himself in pursuit of dreams that no longer made sense and eclipsed any dreams that he may have had left to him. Not that he had the capacity to dream any longer.

He'd worked for the future. Sacrificed himself to the unknowable in the hope that he would receive a mystery prize. A big reveal to make it all worthwhile. This was all he had known. The apprenticeship he’d served under his father. as his father had also served under his grandfather. Harry’s mission was to be a man, and a man must provide. This ethos came from a time where the tangible was still in ascendency. Men worked with their hands and made the world a better place. 

Things were different now. Even money had evaporated into the unreal. All Harry had to show for his labours was brick and mortar and that had become a confidence trick. A carrot on the end of a stick that he never quite got a nibble of. The odds were stacked against him and as he realised this he also understood that there were no winners. Everyone pushing forwards but never quite establishing where it was they were supposed to go.

Jo had shared Harry’s hopes and dreams once. Of this he was certain. That was the basis for them sharing far more. The basis for the contract of forever. Since then, everything had unravelled and Harry wondered how any of it had mattered to the younger version of himself. How it mattered still. But then, as the sand in the hourglass departed this side of life, all he had were his recollections of the life he had lived. Memories were a part of that. They were the landmarks on Harry’s map of meaning. This was how he made sense of himself despite never having found the X that marked the spot of him. Despite never quite working out why he was here.

Sitting opposite Jo now he faced a mystery and in this mystery they had something in common. He had conceded that he most likely didn’t know her and never had. But then he didn’t know himself sufficiently to confidently state his case. There was in his past a feeling of knowing shrouded by happy memories. He’d placed that off limits. Did not want to shatter the delusions of the young man who had once had the promise of it all.

Harry had loved Jo once. Here, after all the water that had washed their bridge downriver he discovered his desire to continue to do so. During their time together Harry had caught fleeting glimpses of the child Jo once was. A smile. Delight in simplicity. Music. Dance. This was the part of Jo he would always love. The reality of herself that she kept locked firmly away from the world. Harry had lamented that self-imprisonment and loss for an age until it had calcified and become a part of him. 

Placing his hands upon the table as though he were preventing it from rising up and fleeing the scene, leaving them naked and vulnerable, Harry spoke first, “so…” he paused. Wishing that Jo would be forthcoming. Knowing this would not be the case, “you wanted to see me.” Statement, not question.

Jo stared into Harry’s face for a while. Somehow her eyes didn’t quite meet his. They seldom had, “Betty wanted me to see you. I’m here for her.”

Harry nodded. Betty was their daughter. The last vestige of hope that Harry had in this life. A hope that continued to burn because Harry witnessed Betty’s constant light and thought that maybe she’d be OK. That maybe that was all a parent could wish for. “She talked to me about closure,” he placed the concept between them. An offering of sorts.

“Not likely is it?” Jo shrugged and blew out a breath.

“I suppose not,” Harry said softly, “but you came all the same.”

Jo looked through him now. Harry felt a shiver playing down his spine. This the antithesis of the beautiful moments they had once shared. The way she looked through him and yet deep inside of him spoke of something ancient and elemental. His survival instinct was on high alert. He knew only too well what a stare such as this meant. Knew it in the depths of programming that had taken place thousands of years ago. He did all he could to calm and reassure himself. Partially overrode the reactions he was being compelled to enact. A peaceful dictator overruling the mob. He would stay and he would continue. Later he would ask himself why and not press too hard for the answer to such questions.

“What happened Jo?” Harry opted for an open question. Better to give Jo the floor. Provide her with any number of options.

“With what?” Jo snapped, “this? You want me to explain this? To you?!”

But Harry was shaking his head. Needed to get to safer ground. “No. Us. We were happy once weren’t we?”

“And then you ruined it,” Jo hissed.

“I…” Harry began. Studying Jo. Looking for a clue. Anything that would give him a foothold. Something to work with. He found nothing. Encountered an absence that invited that shiver to violate him again. Knew it couldn’t be an absence. That nature abhorred a vacuum. Wanted to ask the one question that needed to be answered with a primaeval scream. Understood that shouting at the unresponsive sky would be answer enough.

Calming himself once again, Harry regrouped and stilled the fierce thoughts that fought to be spoken. There was a need for confrontation within him. He wanted to call her out. To put the record straight. To tell her that he knew. Had somehow always known.. But there was no use in that. He’d understood that for a while now and so why waste his breath. Only it would not be waste as far as Jo was concerned. He’d be fanning the flames that were intent upon burning the whole world down.

He closed his eyes for a moment and composed himself. Found that he still needed to know. Maybe that was a way to make an inroad of sorts, “why did you turn Archie against me, Jo?”

Jo’s smirk made Harry’s blood run cold, “I didn’t. I only told him what you were really like. The affairs. The debt. The lies. How you like to hurt those closest to you.”

Harry nodded and managed to smile, “I remember it differently, Jo.”

Jo didn’t miss a beat, “people like you always do.”

Harry wanted to retort people like me?! But it was occurring to him that he was as close to getting a confession as he ever would be. That Jo was tarring him with her brush. Projecting the reality of her upon him. Open air cinema that he was wise to sit back and watch. Interrupting the film would ruin it for everyone.

“We’ve both lost him now Jo,” Harry struggled to say these words. Knowing that the grief of some losses never diminishes. This grief a counter to the love for that which was lost. Harry lost his beloved son and there was no salve for the wound he carried.

Jo leaned forward now. Her face contorted into a feral expression. Harry did not flinch, but still, he half expected her to launch herself at him and tear his throat out, claw at his eyes and destroy him, “you killed him!” words spat into Harry’s face. Then she leaned back and the storm passed as though it had never occurred.

“Why do you think I did that?” Harry asked his ex-wife and the mother of his two children.

Jo examined Harry before answering. Always the appraisal before committing herself, “because you hated that he saw you for what you were. You couldn’t have him so you made sure no one else could.”

Harry experienced a crisis. His nervous system neared a resonant frequency that would undo him. As it was he struggled to see the woman before him. There was a roaring in his ears and he didn’t trust his mouth to speak the words that must be spoken, “so what do you think happened that night, Jo? You were always the astute one in the family. I’m sure you have a good idea of how things went.”

The smirk again. She basked in the praise, as she always had. She was proud of what it was that she knows. Wanted to glory over it and in turn glory over Harry’s fall, “Archie wanted to tell everyone the truth about you. He wanted to put the record straight. And you couldn’t have that could you? So you stabbed him. You ended him so that no one would ever know.”

Something lets go in Harry then. A strange breed of relief. He’s crying as he comes back to himself. Collapsed on the table between them and sobbing with a violence that has made sore his body. Of Jo there is no sign. She is gone and Harry will never see her again.

*

The following day Harry approaches the same table. He is lighter today and when he smiles there is much warmth in it. “Hiya!”

His smile is matched with its twin and the woman sitting at the table looks very like her father in that shared moment. “Hiya, Dad!”

Harry sits and they briefly reach out and hold hands. Harry rubs his thumb over Betty’s palms. Something he has done since she fit upon his cupped hand. He mouths I love you, and Betty repeats her smile, “love you too, Dad.”

The two have only recently been reconciled. Both were cast out in their own alien wildernesses and false memories hid truth from them both. But they have made it back to each other and that is all that matters. Matters all the more in such sorrowful times of deep loss.

“How did it go?” Betty asks her Dad. There is no need to expand upon this. There is only one subject that Betty wishes to cover.

Harry nods and his demeanour alters. There is an infinite sadness that he will always bare. He made a wrong turn and wronged his children as a result. There is no taking back the waters that flow in the river of life. This is how things are and always will be. Repair is possible though and living of the intent that was always there and always will be.

Some of that repair is on the memories that they are willing to share. A renegotiation of sorts. Harry is seeing this clearly now. There are those who appropriate the narrative and weave others into it so tightly that they are entrapped and there is no room to breathe. This is a foreign language to him and he gives thanks that his daughter is willing to learn a language of meaning that they can share in a narrative that gives them both space to be. They breathe shared truth and it warms and enlivens them. 

“Dad?” Betty asks again.

Harry’s body tremors with the enormity of the decision he has already made but that is only now becoming a reality. A choice that will take his and his daughter’s life in a direction that he hopes will mean that she will be OK. She is all he has. Her and the memories of his time with her and her little brother Archie.

“Dad? What is it?” Betty asks. Reaching out and holding her father’s balled hands.

Harry’s fingers are digging into his palms. He hopes Betty will understand. Maybe she won’t today. But one day she might. That a father will sacrifice everything for his children. That he would lay down his life for them. He wishes things could be different. That he could live for Betty. That Betty will live a good life is all that matters now. His sacrifice is the payment for the bad choices he made and the betrayal that hurt them all. This is what it takes to balance the books.

He looks up and meets his daughter’s eyes. She will always be his little girl as Archie will always be his little boy. In this moment he has no doubt. His love for them is everything and in this he is beginning to know himself.

“She confessed,” he says softly.

Betty almost jumps out of her chair. A jolt of energy prompting her to action. The expression on her father’s face drains her and as she settles in her seat she is pale and close to tears. “No,” is all she says as she realises what this means for them both.

Harry nods, “it’s for the best.”

“But she should be locked up in this place! Not you!” Betty’s indignation is getting her noticed. A guard walks up.

“It’s OK,” Harry says as he looks up and smiles at Bates. 

Bates nods back. Harry is liked despite the nature of his crime. There’s something about the man. A resignation that tends towards peace. And he’s never once protested his innocence.

Harry feels his daughter’s eyes upon him. Meets them again, “you’re all that matters,” he tells her, “live your life as best you can. For yourself most all, but also for Archie. That’s how we honour him.”

The incredulity in Betty’s face softens, “you’re really going to take the fall for her?”

“Not her,” Harry answers firmly, “for you. For Archie. It has to end somewhere.” 

There has to be an end for there to be a beginning, Harry thinks to himself as Betty’s silent tears brim and then roll down her face. Harry knows those tears are for him and that is enough. His thoughts go back to the fateful day he found his son at his door. Laying as though asleep. Knowing. Somehow knowing. Always knowing. Even through the chaos and confusion.  Opening the door, lifting his boy. Carrying him in his arms the way he used to when he was small and asleep. Looking down upon his perfect, frightened face. Telling him that it was going to be OK. Reassuring him. Being there for him as a father always is. Feeling him relax and sigh and find peace at last. Seeing the light go from his eyes. Wishing he could have stopped time and held his son forever. 

And he does. The memory of Archie will never leave him. He was there at his beginning and at his end. There is nothing else now. Only the life of his beautiful daughter. And Betty knows the truth. No more lies. No more rewritten memories used to trap, suffocate and hurt. She is free from a controlling narrative that would have smothered her and prevented her from being. Betty has the space to live her life and be. 

Harry feels the love pouring from his daughter as she cries for him and he knows he is doing the right thing. Father and daughter reconciled. Betty sees him for who he truly is at last. It all makes sense now. The memories on his map of meaning have always been leading to this. This is the X and he has found the treasure of his life at last.