She sat still on the wooden bench behind the house, looking out over the tidy garden. The air was hot and close. The heat and humidity oppressive. Swallows chased each other through the sky, zigzagging between the carefully selected and lopped trees, and buzzing bees flew from one neatly planted and arranged flower to another. The flowerbeds were the right size, the tutored lawn mowed at just the right height. Everything was as it should be, or almost. She hadn’t pulled the weeds today.
From the west she saw clouds coming in. Slowly gathering, thickening, and billowing high into the sky like giant cotton balls. But for now, the birds were chirping, and the bees were busy. It seemed peaceful, this natural tranquility. The quiet before the storm.
She heard the car coming up the driveway and park beside the house. He came home from a hard and long day of work. His work was important. He was an important man. She heard him get out of the car and shut the door with a hollow bang. He walked towards the front door, rustling with his keys, inspecting the lawn and the dream house for the slightest blemish with a sweeping glance and whistling. Always whistling. She heard him get in, could see it clearly in her mind when and where he put down his leather briefcase.
“Darling, I’m home,” he announced cheerfully. “I brought you a wonderful dress. I want you to wear it tomorrow night.”
She could see him hang up his stylish coat onto the right hook of the rack and the dress hanger onto the left one. He pulled off his shoes, storing them properly away in the little cabinet.
He went into the clean, stainless steel kitchen, and she could see his quick, scrutinizing look as he inspected everything, from the smooth, clean surfaces over the arrangement of the dishtowels then to the already laid table in the dining room. Everything was just right, she knew it, just as she knew he moved either the silver candlestick or the crystal vase standing on the table a hairbreadth to the right or left; accurate to the millimeter. She knew, could hear him in her head as he muttered about her inability to arrange even the slightest things and as he started to wonder, displeased, about her absence.
The sun was low in the sky and as the storm clouds blocked its shining disk from the world they gleamed in an eerie red changing quickly to a sickly dark violet. Ominous and foreboding. The air thickened with electricity, seemed to crackle with it along her skin. The buzz of busy insects, the chirp of birds ceased. Eerie silence followed, waited.
She could sense it when he went into the bathroom, shaking his head out of wistful pity for her. He used the same inspecting look there before he bent over the marble sink to scrub his hands. When he straightened and looked up into the mirror, she could see him freeze. She hadn’t cleaned it today. The smallest beads of water had dried on the smooth, cold surface; had left a trace, had marred what was his.
Outside the blanket of storm clouds, heavy with trapped rain and lightning, settled over the house and with it a dark, threatening gloom. The first thunder rolled. The birds were nowhere to be seen, the insects were in hiding and the neighbor’s horses whickered in dismay and pranced in their caging enclosure. She was sitting motionless on the bench, looking out over the garden.
“Where are you?” he bellowed, then checked himself. It wasn’t seemly to shout. But, by God, how often did he have to tell her? She knew the consequences. He was an important man, others depended on him. “Is it too much to ask of my own wife to just take care of the house, of the things I gave her?” he muttered.
Where was she? She should have come down to greet him properly by now. Was she off, to a damn friend? But no, she wouldn’t dare, not if she knew he came home at seven and wanted dinner to be served thirty minutes later. She knew the consequences. Then again, women were stupid, foolish, not sparing a mere thought about who and what hard work put food into their mouths. Ungrateful bitches.
Anger boiling, thunder growling, he went back into the kitchen, looking for a sign of her. The oven was on. He opened the door and saw his favorite meal, roast rabbit marinated in rosemary – with the wrong vegetables.
She knew mushrooms and shallots went with it, but had chosen string beans for today instead. He roared, slamming the door shut, and the first lightning split the sky. She could see in her mind the anger distorting his features.
“You bitch! How stupid can you be?” Wild now, loud enough for her to hear him outside, he paced the house, “Where are you? Where are you hiding? You know it’s useless. You know the consequences. I even think you like it. Why else would you disappoint me so much?” He checked every room for her. “You won’t ever get away from me. You’re my wife!” he snapped, his voice like a whip. He rolled his sleeves up, automatically fumbling with his leather belt.
She sat on the bench behind the house, still, looking over the tidy garden, listening to the rolling thunder. Her hands didn’t even tremble. The horses whickered, prancing, caged. Lightning flashed.
He was upstairs now. She looked up to the window.
She had left the light on in their bedroom today.
Wild with rage, his blood bubbling he wanted to go and find her and drag her home, that deceitful bitch. But he couldn’t afford a public scene, and so he would have to wait until she returned to the privacy of their home. She would be punished for that, too, for letting him wait. With a howl of fury he slammed his hand onto the light switch.
Outside she saw the flicker of lethal, bluish light in the room, felt the electricity in the air, and heard – dead silence. Peaceful quiet.
Rain started to pour down, and the woman sitting on the wooden bench behind the house got up slowly. Lifting her arms high, she turned her face into the reviving rain, her silent, freeing tears mixing with it. Smiling now, she felt the warm droplets trickle against her marred skin like a loving caress. Sensed the relieving breeze awakening. She bathed in the beautiful rain and let the water cleanse her bruised body.
Her heart beat strong and fast.
Finally, Sarah was alive.