Silhouette

LXII

The sky is dark, the moon, a silver smudge. Dave trudges undeveloped miles; he passes farmers and market women returning home, their way lighted by kerosene lamps. The houses around here are bare and ancient. And though it is just a few kilometers from the city, life around here looks rudimentary. The only exception to this is a generator blaring in the distance.

Eventually he returns to the metropolis, its light, its human traffic. He feels light, unburdened. He hasn't felt this way in a long time. Maybe, he thinks, it is because he is past the point of return. The terminality of it doesn't faze him. He will accept whatever comes his way. But first, he needs to finish something.

Dave reaches his house just a little after nine.He perches on his neighbour's fence. He sees a car in his yard. He squints hard into the night and is able to make the color and brand of the car. He recognizes it. It is Ola's car.

Dave spends a moment on the fence, mouth dry. He doesn't know if he can face Ola again, or if he should. He has seen no sign of the police, but this could be a trap.

He drops down into the yards, crouches, hugs the shadows and peers into the window next to the front door. The TV is on. Ola is on the couch, head lolled back, asleep. Dave wonders how she's got in. Then he sees the flower pot.

He walks in and Ola wakes with a sharp exhale, as if his very entrance had somehow alerted her. Dave doesn't know what to say, or where to begin, so he just stares at her. A clock ticks somewhere in the house.

Ola stands. Picks up her purse on the table. She straightens her shirt. "I didn't realize I had fallen asleep."

Dave's heart pumps queasily in his chest. "Please," he says. "Stay."

Ola holds her purse tightly. She sniffs, sits back on the couch, right on the edge. "I know a psychiatrist who works with army veterans. You should see him." She brings a slim, white card from her purse. Slides it across the couch.

Dave picks it. "Thank you."

"What happened that night was..." Ola swallows. "I know that your experiences have left deep scars inside you, and you really should confront them."

"I am trying."

"How exactly? The counselor you rarely visit or the unhealthy lifestyle you keep?"

Dave is aware of the clock, slowly ticking away. He raises his brown sofa up, removes the package taped underneath it. Ola watches him. "What are you doing?"

"I need to get away."

"For how long?"

"It may be for a while."

"What happened? Have you done something wrong?"

Dave grips the package in his hand."I think you should leave. Go somewhere else, far away from me?"

"What are you saying?"

"Something has happened. You may hear about it in the news, or you may even be questioned."

Ola narrows her eyes. "If something is wrong tell me."

"I can't, Ola. You are too involved as it is."

"Why am I going to be questioned in the first place?"

"You know me. You could be a person of interest."

"I don't know you, not really. Not since you came back. You are not the man I knew." She laughs and he catches the weight of her bitterness.

An aeroplane passes over the house. It seems so close Dave feels the noise in his bones. He looks at Ola, just three paces away from him. "This was why I didn't seek you out," he says. The words feel like pins in his mouth but he pushes on. "Did you know how much it killed me not to dial your number or come around to your place after I got out of the army? Did you think I was so cold-hearted?"