It had a name, a real name. It was shown in maps and official documents. Every village had a proper name, and so had ours. It was just not relevant: nobody ever used it. No one who was important, at least, only outsiders. For us, it was just "the village." It was our whole world. Usually, the only way to join was by being born in it, and the only way to leave it for good was to die.
We had, of course, heard about other places, but we were too isolated to know much about them. I often wondered what life in other places felt like: places that were not filled with hate and contempt. Places that weren't as damp, dark and cold as this one. Why did I have to be unlucky enough in the big lottery of life to be born in this hellhole? Some of us had visited other places, but I hadn't, and those who had didn't talk much about it.
Carla and I lived in one of the smaller less prestigious houses. Reflecting our social status in the village, you could even call it shabby. I was just returning to it, pondering how my feelings about it had changed. Once, it had been my sanctuary, a place for just Carla and me. It was small, but it was big enough to hold her, me and the affection we felt for each other. Those times were long gone. The tender things going on inside the house had cast a glorifying sheen on it. That had disappeared a long time ago. These days, it was just a small shabby house. I didn't look forward to returning home anymore, and sighed when I opened the door.
* * * * *
Carla sat in her favorite place at the window, as she usually did. As I expected her to, she held a book. She wore her frumpiest things, as she usually did when she was alone or it was just me around. It was almost as if she made herself as unappealing as possible in my presence.
Something was different this time, though. She actually looked at me. She hadn't done that in quite a while.
I would have been pleased about this new development if her look hadn't been so cold, calculating. No, not calculating. Was she observing me? Was she frightened of me? I had no idea, and again realized how little I knew my wife, anymore. Whatever it was, her look was odd. We looked at each other for what felt like an eternity. Why did she look at me this way?
"Gabriel is dead." It should have been shocking news, but she said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
I waited to see if there was more to come, but apparently there wasn't. She just continued to watch me, judge me, examine me. I should have been appalled by how unfazed she appeared, but I wasn't. Gabriel was dead. Carla wasn't shaken all that much, apparently, but to be honest, neither was I. Rationally, I knew that I should have felt something. Common decency demanded that, even if Gabriel and I hadn't been that close lately.
Instead of becoming emotional, I just remembered a few scenes from my life. Somehow, the burly bearded giant had always been there. I had spent my childhood and youth under his roof and he taught and guided me as a father might. Still, he had never let there be any doubt that he wasn't my real father. I couldn't remember my real parents, only Gabriel. Annette, his wife, had tolerated me in her usual cold and distanced way and had always made clear that she'd done so just to obey her husband. The words 'mum' and 'dad' were strictly forbidden.
He turned me into the damaged conflicted doubting man I was. He fed me and sheltered me, but I still bore the physical and mental scars he gave me. I knew that I should have felt something at his death. Grief, loss, compassion? Relief, glee, joy?
I felt nothing, just mild surprise that he was actually mortal.
Gabriel was a hard man. He demanded at least everything a person could give, and pushed mercilessly until he got it. He wasn't easy on himself, but he was downright cruel to others. He broke people until they submitted to his will.
Carla still watched me intently, not moving at all.
"Nothing to say?" she finally said, trying to sound as if all of this didn't affect her at all.
"How did he die?" I asked, mainly to say something, not because I was particularly interested.
She looked at me with an "as if you don't know" look, but answered nonetheless. "Head smashed in."
I just nodded, only mildly interested. It made no difference. Rationally, I knew that the fact that he was dead would change my life fundamentally, but I couldn't summon up the energy to care.
I stood up and moved towards her. She flinched and cowered, as if she was afraid of me. It confused me, but not enough to really think about it. What she felt wasn't really any of my business anymore.
Our marriage had been negotiated between Gabriel and her father and no one had bothered to ask for our opinion about it. We had never really talked about it, but I thought that Carla was at least content for a while. The affection we showed each other warmed my heart and made our house a home. I had hoped it might ripen into love, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. Maybe I was just too eager to have the happy family I never had when I grew up, so I avoided looking too closely at things.
"Who did it?"
"You seem awfully calm about this, Simon."
As she did so often, she had totally ignored my question, but I realized that she was right.
Gabriel. It seemed as if my whole existence had somehow circled around him. It was as if he always had been some kind of giant, dominating my life, not just physically. There had been a time when I had adored and totally trusted him. I had given him everything I had, craving the slightest appreciative nod from him. Whatever I did, it was never enough. All I got was indifference when I did something well or punishment when I didn't.
There also had been a time when I had outright hated him. My blood had boiled whenever I saw him. My skin crawled whenever I heard his voice. He knew. He always knew, one way or other. He never seemed to care about it. I think he enjoyed letting my hatred drip off him like water from a duck, showing me how utterly powerless I was. He could have destroyed me any time he wanted to, and we both knew it.
So the bastard was finally dead. I could have been sad, because I'd just lost the only father figure I ever had. I could have been overjoyed to get rid of the man I hated most. Instead, I felt nothing, just a slight dissatisfaction about my own lack of response.
"Yes," was all I said. No use pouring out my heart to Carla. It felt as if I hardly knew her anymore, anyway.
This was the longest talk we'd had in quite a while. The whole village wasn't exactly loquacious, but Carla and I had taken it to the extreme.
She looked at me in silence and I wondered if she regretted what had happened between us. If she did, it wouldn't have made a real difference. Like with Gabriel, there had been a time when I had adored her. Later, there had been a time when I had hated her. Lately, all I felt was an empty indifference. She was still there and Gabriel wasn't. That was the only difference.
"You have any idea who did it?" she asked.
I knew what she was thinking, and I had to appreciate her ability to keep her neutral non-accusative tone. She still sounded as if she was talking about the weather.
"No."
"Simon..." Her facade suddenly cracked and something looking like compassion shone through. "Simon, we all know that there is some history... Between me and Gabriel."
Yes, she was right. Things had happened and we all knew. The whole village knew. Gabriel had made sure of that.
"So you think what happened warranted me killing him?"
"Simon..."
"After all this time?"
I realized that I would have liked to know the answer to that as well. Yes, my hate was long gone, so would I have been able to kill him, given the chance? She didn't respond immediately, but just looked at me intently again.
"The other men are there to take a look at the corpse. Will you go?" Again, she ignored my question and changed the topic before the cracks in her composure could widen. Still, for a short time, I had a small glimpse of a real person. This weakness disappeared as suddenly as if she'd put on a mask.
"Yes."
I sighed, not really wanting to return into the rain, just to look at the corpse of the only father I'd had. Not attending might raise questions, so I put on my worn-out boots and shabby coat again. I knew the weather would be bad, but I still looked forward to the few minutes of solitude the walk would bring. I didn't particularly like being alone, and I certainly didn't like the hard work in the woods, but I disliked most of the villagers even more.
As I dressed, Carla's eyes never left me. I had missed something; she was looking for something. Then it dawned on me. I didn't know where the corpse was and she wondered whether I'd ask. In her eyes, I was definitely a suspect and I couldn't blame her. In my eyes, I was one as well.
"Where?" I finally asked, relieving the tension.
* * * * *
He was lying on his back, almost as if he was sleeping. It had been raining for days, and the ground was soaked and muddy. His heavy body seemed to have sunk half way into the soft ground and I wondered if we should just leave him there until he vanished completely. The other male villagers were assembled around him, Felix and Lucas were holding torches. Nobody moved, nobody talked, everyone was looking at me as if I held the answer to this puzzle.
It was not a pretty scene. Darkness all around, heavy rain, shadows flickering with the torch lights, a corpse in front of us, everyone looking at me with thinly veiled accusation. All of them had once been neighbors, family, my whole world. Now, I was the outsider, the suspect. It was clear that they didn't trust me. I should have felt bad, but I didn't really care. I didn't trust me either.
For some reason, I suddenly remembered the day when he taught me to chop wood. Patiently, he showed me how to hold the axe. I remembered his big, looming presence behind me as he showed me how it was done by guiding my hands. I relished the safety of him taking care of me, teaching me, generally acting like a father. I felt a burning need to please him, to do it right.
I felt another burning sensation just a few minutes later, this time on my cheek when I missed the wood. He continued to hit me until I stumbled to the ground. I assumed the protective, fetal position, protecting myself as well as I could, while he kept kicking me and screaming obscenities. His sudden mood swings and his general unpredictability were hard to bear for a young boy who was desperately trying to please him enough to maybe be accepted as a real son one day.
