The Crane Wife(47)
Author: Patrick Ness

‘That isn’t any of your–’

‘And if you don’t possess her, how can she possess you? Does she even want to? That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? You’re thinking, on the one hand, she’s obviously the very best thing that will ever happen to you in your sad little life, but on the other hand, damn her and her elusiveness and her secrecy. Damn her. And you were angry and you called me, remember, I didn’t call you–’

‘Rachel, I would really like you to leave now–’

‘But there’s a deeper question. If she won’t let you possess her, how will she ever want to possess you? And we all want to be possessed, don’t we, George?’

‘Take your hand off that, please. I asked you to leave.’

‘The thing is–’

‘Get off me–’

‘Make me. The thing is, I know exactly what you’re feeling. I know exactly what all this feels like.’

‘Rachel, I said–’

‘One last time, George, because we both know there won’t be another. I’m on the pill, there won’t be any accidents, don’t you worry. That’s it, that’s the response I was hoping for, one last time and I’ll go.’

‘. . .’

‘. . .’

‘. . .’

‘But before I do–’

‘Rachel–’

‘I have to say this to you. All these years, I’ve been treating possession as a game, don’t you see? Something only to be withheld. But do you know how lonely that is, George?’

‘I–’

‘You don’t. You actually don’t. You think you know loneliness, but you don’t. Because you allow yourself to be possessed. And everyone loves that about you. Granted, sometimes after they possess you they have their fill and move on, but that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that when they first meet you, you offer yourself, George. That’s what you do. You open your arms and you say, this is me, take me, have me.’

‘Rachel, are you crying?’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘This light. The moonlight. Your eyes reflect so strangely–’

‘And by being possessed, you possess, because that’s how love works. So what are you going to do with Kumiko? A little faster now, George, we’re almost done.’

‘Rachel–’

‘You are crying. Good. You should. That’s what I didn’t understand about you, George. I thought I possessed you like all those other idiots I slept with. Possession while giving nothing in return. But you. You, George. I possessed you, and you possessed me. And that’s why I can’t forgive you.’

‘Rachel–’

‘That’s why I can’t part from you either.’

‘Please–’

‘That’s why I’m here tonight. Why. This. Is. Happening. More. I said, more.’

‘Kumiko.’

‘Yes, I know. Say her name. I’ll say it, too. Kumiko.’

‘Kumiko.’

‘Kumiko.’

‘Kumiko.’

‘. . .’

‘. . .’

‘. . .’

‘. . .’

‘That’s okay, George. You just weep. You’ve betrayed your best love, and weeping is only proper. I’ll go now. I will.’

‘Your eyes.’

‘What was that?’

‘Your eyes.’

‘It’s only my tears, George. And long will I cry them.’

‘. . .’

‘. . .’

‘Did you hear that?’

‘No.’

‘It sounded like, from outside the window–’

‘I didn’t hear anything, George. And neither did you.’

IV.

He was making his final cutting.

He looked up from his desk. Final. What an odd choice of word. Not really final, of course, merely the final cutting for the last tile in Kumiko’s set, the one that would make the story complete. She wanted to finish it before they married, but surely there’d be more to make after.

So, not the final cutting. Not the last ever. No.

He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and went back to work. Even aside from how this nagging fever made everything seem extra bright, a trill of anxiety buzzed all around him these days: the sudden rush of being engaged to Kumiko, the still-elusiveness of her as she threw herself into finishing her tiles, the quarrels he’d had with Amanda, whom he couldn’t seem to speak to lately without snapping.

But most of all, he had slept with Rachel. He almost literally couldn’t believe it had happened and wasn’t just something he’d dreamed. It had, in fact, seemed dreamlike when he called her, dreamlike when she’d come over to his momentarily Kumiko-less house, dreamlike when they’d spent the night in his bed. The sex had been joyless and compulsive, like how drug addicts must feel at the end of their using, but Rachel had been right. He could possess her (and she, him) in a brief but total way that had never happened with Kumiko, that felt like it never could happen. Kumiko was unknowable, how many times did he need proof of it? She was like a figure from history or a goddess, and he’d been frightened and angry and–

‘Stupid,’ he whispered to himself, slashing the page he was working on and throwing it away.

He’d slept with Rachel. He’d slept with Rachel. He’d slept with Rachel. Kumiko didn’t know about it, there was no way for her to know, and he felt the oddest certainty that Rachel would say nothing either. But what did that matter? The damage was done.

‘You don’t look very good, George,’ Mehmet said from the front counter, where he was supposed to be working on a set of conference badges but was instead fiddling with the design for a flyer for some small theatrical drama in which he’d somehow nabbed a supporting role. As far as George could tell, it seemed to consist mostly of audience confrontation and full-frontal male nudity. It was being staged above a chip shop.

‘I’m fine,’ George lied, ‘and that doesn’t look like work.’

Mehmet ignored this. ‘You know, we’re all still waiting for the date.’

‘What date?’

Mehmet gasped. ‘Your wedding date. We’ll close the shop, I assume.’

‘Yeah, I guess we will.’

‘Aren’t you excited?’

‘I’m working, Mehmet, so should you.’

Mehmet turned back to his computer. ‘I don’t even know why I bother.’