Dystopyum (The D-ot Hexalogy Book 1) (7 page)

Martha was half-conscious on the shower floor, trying to get up, but
too weak. She was waving her arms in the air, as if trying to grab hold of
something invisible in order to raise herself up. He ran to her and clutched
an open hand as it was groping the air.
She immediately pulled her hand back, curled up, and giving Griswolt
a chilling look, screamed, “Don’t touch meeeeeeeeee!” She focused on
him with a dagger-filled eye and threatened, “If you ever touch me again,
I’ll kill you!” She attempted to exit the shower. Griswolt watched as she
got up and staggered out into the bathroom proper, but was weak indeed.
As she was turning to reach for a towel, Martha slipped, coming down on
her hands and knees, and then falling to her side.
Griswolt was shocked at what he saw from behind. His mouth
dropped open.
My God, what happened to you?
His blood went to boiling.
“What
happened
to you there?” he shouted. Everything between her legs
was red and raw, with a slowly seeping bloody discharge.
Martha looked up, and turned her head around towards him. She was
still incoherent, and didn’t realize —
Griswolt stormed out of the bathroom. “I’ll get to the bottom of this!
Someone is going to pay!” he shouted as he lumbered down the hall to the
telephone. He called in and asked for his secretary, Mari, and told her, “I
want you to get the Office of Love-Deprogramming on the phone, and
find out who was handling my wife over there!” Mari said she would
check it out and get back to him.
By the time Griswolt returned to the bathroom, Martha had regained
her mobility, gotten up, and was now drying herself.
Deciding to leave her be for now, Griswolt went back to the living
room, putting the book of regulations on his leg once more. His foot was
wiggling again as if it were its job. He could not focus. He looked up, and
around at the comfortable room he was in. The NOV was the reason he
had such a nice home and lifestyle. “I completely support the creed of the
NOV,” he said to himself.
Love is a dangerous idea — otherwise — they
wouldn’t make such of a fuss about it. This has to happen, to keep an
orderly and stable society.
Since he was fighting some doubts about the wisdom of this requirement, Griswolt continued thinking along the lines of the NOV’s side of
the debate. There were indeed important points about the serious negative
effects of love on civic order. Because of love, citizens would repeatedly
refuse to point out family members or others involved in any number of
illegal activities — from outright violent crime to black markets, and to
organizations like LERN.
With any black market, there was also a “gray” market that blended
with the official economy, which had always been somewhat dependent
on the gray market. This problem was agreed by all to be unacceptable to
law and order. However, upon the successful destruction of these black
and gray markets decades ago, the economy had never fully recovered. It
did not matter. The NOV finally had the law and order that they coveted
so dearly, and the upper crust didn’t have it so bad.
Look at what the superstition of love had done to law and order!
Still,
Griswolt had to keep pushing away the nagging thought that there had to
be a better way.
Especially now,
he thought to himself. He could hear
Martha in the bathroom, moving around. He got up, went to the bedroom,
and picked out a nice thick leathercloth robe she loved.
No, she’s
probably still bleeding,
he thought.
Better, just go with some old
comfortable clothes for now.
With the infection rate the way it was, hospitals were a gamble on
their own, and even Griswolt did not have the extra money for the safer
hospital in town. He would not take Martha there unless he had to. He left
the clothes hanging on the outside of the bathroom door and let Martha
know they were there. He would give her the antibiotics later.
The phone rang. Griswolt went to answer it, and it was his secretary
calling back. She told him to check for a waiver among the document
copies left with him.
He put down the phone and looked in the kitchen. The waiver was
there among them. Griswolt returned to the phone, and said, “I found it,
thank you Mari,” and hung up. He sat down at the kitchen table to read
the waiver. The heading read, “Waiver of Sexual Rights.”
What the…?
He
read the verbiage below, and could not believe what he was reading. “I
agree that I will not pass love-deprogramming school unless I submit to
‘Sexual Trauma Love Removal’. Without this extreme treatment, my
torturer has predicted I will fail. Sexual Trauma Love Removal has a
ninety-eight percent success rate…” Griswolt glanced at the bottom of the
page and saw Martha’s signature. He had the wind taken out of him.
Griswolt looked in the direction of the bathroom where Martha had
been stirring, and then at the waiver again. This time, he slowly read his
way through the list of sexually traumatic acts permitted. Griswolt let the
document fall to the table, and put his face in his hands, energy sinking.
“Oh Martha,” he said, lifting and shaking his head, “When I think of
how lovely you were the last night before you —” He stopped, lost in
thought, and gulped, “You were so radiant that night. You put on such a
brave face.” He paused, swallowing again. Then Griswolt smiled,
remembering, “And when you threw Hais out, that was perfect!” He
started laughing, it was a strange laugh — one that he could not seem to
stop. He kept laughing, until it became almost convulsive, and he couldn’t
take a breath. Then the most unimaginable, terrible thing in the world
happened — unbelievably, he could not stop what had started sprouting
from his long dormant ducts, now rolling down his cheeks, and his
uncontrollable laughter quickly spiraled into a repetition of choking,
spastic sobs. As much as he tried, it would not stop.
As Griswolt was caught in the chain of sympathetic reflexes with this
outburst, Martha astoundingly burst in on him, grabbing a knife from the
kitchen counter. As she lunged at him with the knife, she screamed, “No
hope! No crying! No crying! No hope! I’ll kill you! No hope! No
cryyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeing!” She cut him on his left arm as he dodged to
his right.
Reflexively, Griswolt quickly spun around to his left, and came back
at her with his right fist. He punched her straight in the mouth, and with
the shock, Martha dropped the knife.
She repulsively spit out the blood from her split lip at him, and started
laughing with gleaming, glaring eyes.
He had to do something. Griswolt grabbed her and started shaking
her, “Stop laughing or I’ll kick your ass!”
That was stupid.
She smiled evilly at him, going limp like a rag doll, “Go ahead!” She
started singing, “I’ll kill you in your sleee — eeeeep! Ah hah hah hah
hah!”

This is going nowhere fast, he thought to himself,
fixed on her crazy
grinning face, absorbing her cackling laugh.
Martha abruptly realized that she was being held. She screamed in
terror, “Don’t touch me!” and pulled away from him with all her might.
Griswolt was startled enough that she did indeed pull herself away
from him. As soon as she was free, she looked at him, slightly bent over,
pointing one finger up in the air, and said, “Don’t touch me,” now weakly
jabbing the pointed finger into the air for emphasis. She then turned, and
walked unsteadily back to the bedroom. It sounded like she was getting
back into bed.
Griswolt was standing there despondently. Now
he
was in shock.
“My arm’s bleeding,” he said to himself as he only now really noticed it.
He gave a sigh.
I can’t really blame her
—
she’s just crazy.
The cut
wasn’t bad — his scales stopped most of it. “Good thing she cut down
instead of up,” he muttered to himself. He got a bandage from the
bathroom, and taped it on. He then went and peeked at Martha in the
bedroom. She was lying on the bed again, on her back, eyes open.
Better
leave her be,
he thought
.
As Griswolt went back to the living room, he wondered aloud, “Is it
like this for everyone?” He had a seat again
.
He was thinking,
I can’t
remember anyone saying much at work about going through this
.
Whenever the subject came up around those who had been through it,
the usual response was, “Oh, you don’t want to know, believe me,” like it
was — like it was — like it was nothing much. Like it wasn’t worth
talking about. Some just made it into a “knowing joke”.
Maybe I was wrong,
Griswolt thought.
Maybe they didn’t talk about it
because it was too painful to think about. Now that makes more sense.
He
started talking aloud, “I need to bring it up at the next meeting. There
must be a better way than this.” He then remembered Adap, the chief
accountant of his division. Adap was another high-level NOV party
member. Adap complained loudly about the love-deprogramming school
when his wife committed suicide one week after arriving back home.
That’s right, Adap was sent to an obscure post in the northwest after that.
Hmmm. Maybe I’ll be more careful with my words when I deal with this.
If I can get my supervisor to agree, we may be able to make recommendations for some change — or at least some civility.
Griswolt sighed, and
took another look at the manual. He flipped it open to a random page, and
read:
“If all else fails, give the mother time. She will become more normal
with time.”
Griswolt looked up, and thought about it.
Yes, time. She’ll come
around in time.
He gave a half smirk, and said quietly, “If she doesn’t kill
me first,” while shaking his head, and examining his bandage. He looked
again, in the direction of the bedroom. I’ve got to do something. I just
can’t wait. He got up and went into the bedroom.
Martha was still lying in the same position, on her back, staring at the
ceiling.
Griswolt entered the bedroom slowly and as quietly as he could. As
he approached her, she slowly curled up into a fetal position.
As he motioned to the side of the bed he asked, “Can I sit down
here?”
No response.
He slowly sat down next to her, but careful not to touch her. He
looked at her broken face, and said, “I honor you and approve of you, and
I deeply value you.”
For a moment, Martha appeared to become lucid. She looked at him
and said, “I need time.” When she then turned her head away, he started
to reach for her, and without looking at him, she firmly said, “Don’t touch
me, please.”
She said ‘please’!
Griswolt was uplifted at the thought as he stopped
moving. He got up, and left for the living room.
She’s going to come
around.
Later in the morning, Griswolt re-heated breakfast and brought it in to
the bedroom. He set it next to Martha on a small table. He did not speak.
He did not want to do anything that might interfere with what little
appetite she may have. He gave her a sedative as well. After he set her
meal up, he quietly left the room. Griswolt went back into the living room
and laid down for a nap. He was drained by the morning’s events.
As he was starting to relax, he suddenly panicked when he remembered that he had cried, and Martha had seen it. “She won’t remember,”
he told himself.
She can’t remember, she just can’t. No adult male cries!
Never! What happened to me? Maybe I’m going crazy too. I’m beat. I
don’t know how I’ll be able to do it, but I’ve got no choice.
Sigh.
What
did she say? No hope? What was I hoping for?
Jan is coming home tomorrow. Jan!
Griswolt could not stomach
thinking about it. He sighed. His breathing eventually slowed into a
steady rhythm, and he fell into a semi-relaxed state.
He got up about an hour later. He went into the bedroom, and saw
that Martha had eaten some of the food he had left for her, and it looked
like she was sleeping.
“Are you going to eat any more?” he asked.
No response. He wasn’t expecting any. Griswolt took the table away
from beside the bed, and cleaned up. Then he went into the kitchen to
make himself something to eat later for dinner, as he had no appetite for
lunch. Afterwards, he went through a number of magazines, while
listening to his favorite daytime shows on the radio.
When dinnertime came, he brought a plate into the bedroom for Martha, and left it there for her. After finishing his meal in the living room,
Griswolt spent the rest of the evening listening to the radio, and reading
some more. Later, he gave Martha her pills before bed, and just like the
night before, she took them without hesitation.
Griswolt went to sleep early.
Big day tomorrow. Jan
— his thoughts
drifted off into the night’s end.
The following morning, Griswolt rose early and went outside to check
the weather. He was standing on the small porch in front of his home’s
entry. It was getting cooler, but a nice clear day was developing.
Maybe
I’ll take Martha outside for a while,
he thought. Then he remembered that
the manual said something about bed rest, peace and quiet.
Still, I need her somewhat normal for when Jan gets here. They said
he would be delivered in the early afternoon.
He took a deep long breath
and sighed, and caught himself looking up at the sky.
Griswolt instinctively looked down, and then took a couple of sideways glances to see if any of the neighbors caught him looking up.
No,
he
thought to himself.
Good.
He peered over at Hais and Salom’s place next
door.
Nothing to see there. Salom and Rebecca should be back home
soon.
He stayed outside for twenty minutes or so. A couple of contissdrawn taxis passed by. Griswolt thought to himself,
it’s so nice outside.
No crazy people, and that’s something I need right now.
He saw a father
and son walking their blog.
I think this is something Martha needs too.
After a while, Griswolt went back inside.
Martha was in the shower.
Great! Maybe she’s hungry.
Griswolt went
to the bathroom door, and opened it a bit, and asked, “Can I make you
something to —”
“Get out!” Martha screamed, as if he were a stranger.
“Woah!” Griswolt blurted as he quickly shut the door. “What do I do
now?” He was considering the options as he headed down the hallway. “I
know, I’ll make some good old toast for her for.” Then he thought about
it.
She is skin and bone. She needs to eat something substantial. Maybe
I’ll order some fresh splint blood.
He thought about it some more.
Griswolt found himself nodding his head in agreement with his internal
conversation. “That’s what I’ll do. That should give her some stamina,”
he said to himself. It had to be absolutely fresh, if it was to be consumed
raw — which was the only proper way to prepare and drink it. He thought
about it some more.
Maybe I’ll get some for myself, too. I could probably
use it.
He went to the phone, called his secretary and asked her to arrange
the delivery.
Griswolt then went into the living room, and sat down to read more
regulations.
I need the office to drop off the weekly reports here,
he
thought to himself. Martha had left the bathroom and was in the bedroom
now. Griswolt waited, and gave her time to get dressed. He put down the
regulation changes he was reading, and went to the bedroom. Martha was
lying on the bed.
“Can I come in?” he asked at the door.
Martha looked over at him, and then went back to staring at the ceiling.
“I’ll take that as an OK,” Griswolt said. He gingerly entered the room.
He eventually made his way over to opposite side of Martha, on the bed.
He slowly sat down.
Martha just kept staring deeply into the ceiling.
“You know, it’s a beautiful day outside. What do you say I get you a
little breakfast, and we go for a walk?” He smiled his most charming
smile, waiting for her to hopefully say or do anything.
Martha just blinked.
What’s that mean?
Griswolt asked himself. “I’ll bet it would make
you feel more like your old self again, what do you say? Come on,” he
coaxed, waiting and looking as if she was expected to respond.
Martha turned her head and looked at him, with a questioning look on
her face “More like myself? More like myself?” Then her puzzled look
faded into an expression more resolute. “I have no self,” she said to
Griswolt, looking straight at him. As their eyes were locked, she said,
“There’s nothing here anymore, honestly. Nothing —” Then she looked
away, settling her head in the pillow again.
“Come on, Martha, let’s go for a walk. You know it will make you
feel better. Let’s go!” Griswolt said with great fake enthusiasm.
Martha sighed, and closed her eyes. “I’m so tired,” she said.
Griswolt felt a surge of hope.
She’s responding! She’s talking, so keep
it going Griswolt.
“You know that when you get your blood moving,
you’ll feel better.”
Martha opened her eyes. “I need to do something.” She paused, and
stated, “I’ll go for a walk,” as if it were a new inspiration. She turned her
head his way to look at him and said, “A short walk, I need —” She could
not think of the words.
Another big response!
“Wonderful!” Griswolt exclaimed. “Do you
want some toast first?”
“Toast would be nice.” Martha replied.
Griswolt felt like his heart would leap out of his chest.
She’s acting
normal!
He said, “OK, I’ll get it for you, and you can get dressed.”
“Don’t ever tell me what to do!” Martha barked, unexpectedly looking at him as if he was the enemy. She sat up.
Griswolt’s heart fell for a second. “It’s OK — it’s OK. I’m not telling
you what to do.” He was holding out both hands as if to say, “Slow
down.” She settled, and he said, “I’m going now to make some toast,
OK?”
Martha was simply sitting there now, fiddling with a thread that had
come loose from her underwear.
Griswolt took a good look at her wounds. Her bathrobe was partially
open.
She looks better today. The bleeding looks like it’s stopped. The
redness is less,
he thought to himself.
He was glad he had not taken her to the hospital.
We don’t need no
stinkin’ hospital,
he thought.
Griswolt came back with the buttered toast, and saw that Martha had
not started to dress yet.
Don’t say anything,
he thought to himself. He
pulled up the portable table, and set a plate with her toast on it, with a
small glass of splint milk. “Here you go, Martha.” He smiled at her, and
slowly left the room to wait in the living room.
In about forty minutes, Martha came out of the bedroom, dressed for
her walk. She looked in Griswolt’s direction, and with a sigh of resignation, said, “Let’s get this over with.”
Griswolt was delighted.
This is great! “
OK, Martha, I’ll get a jacket
for you.” He went to retrieve her purple early fall jacket. He came back,
and gingerly helped her to put it on.
She’s acting more normally — I hope
you’re ready for Jan,
he thought. Jan would be arriving in about four
hours, and Griswolt was sorely pressed to make things at home better than
they were now.
We’ll make it work.
Once outside, they walked down the street to a well-developed small
park. It was a simple place where people could gather, sit, and talk. There
were benches scattered about, with a few sculptures of NOV and Aletian
heroes located at the center of place.
Randomly placed along the park’s perimeter were the rock gardens,
particularly well done, using imported two and three-foot nuggets of a
nice variety of attractive iron-free ores. Iron stains could rapidly age an
outdoor place like this in no time. Some of the nuggets would be
relatively crude — others were weathered, rounded, and some highly
polished. The rock artist always kept the basic shape of each nugget
unaltered. By expertly balancing and stacking them, the artist created
works of art that would eventually collapse in time. Then, either the same
artist, or another, would make another monument from the collapsed
group. The true artist could both make a monument that would be
imbalanced-looking, yet be poised well enough to stand the test of time.
Griswolt and Martha had a seat on an unoccupied bench. They watched an older couple feeding breadcrumbs to some a few local stray blogs.
Griswolt took a sideways look at Martha.
Are her eyes softening? I think
she’s starting to relax.
He in turn relaxed a bit, and closed his eyes for a
little. The wind was soft, and other than the occasional bus or someone
riding a contiss on the street behind them, it was relatively quiet. The
blogs made a cry for more food after the elderly couple ran out of crumbs.
The blogs had their routine down. They knew the marks, so after a quick
test, the blogs moved on to find some more productive visitors. Griswolt
heard them coming his way, and slightly opened his eyes. He and Martha
did nothing but ignore them, and the blogs continued on their day’s
rounds.