BY REASON OF INSANITY by Edward L. Woodyard

By Reason of Insanity Chapter Fifty-Seven

I needed a large pot to boil the voluminous amounts of spaghetti I was about to create. I rifled through the pots and pans and knew that there was nothing there big enough.

I had seen an aluminum trash can in the garage. I could clean it. Build a fire under it. Boil all that spaghetti in it.

"Where are you going, Dad?" Willie asked. He was calm; Mara was twirling a strand of hair around her right index finger and thumb at a frantic pace. I imagined her doing that with knitting needles. Knit one. Perl two. A scarf evolved out of her hair.

"Into the garage to get the trash can. We fill it with water. If it doesn't fit on the stove, we build a fire in the yard."

"Not in Brentwood. There's a fire danger."

"Then we take it where there isn't a fire danger. The beach!"

"We may need to rethink this, Dad. Let's start out with small steps first, Dad."

"But it's a big mess of chaos that needs all that deciphering."

"Okay, let's take one step at a time."

I told Willie that we would go from the abstract to the concrete. It was what an architect does with ideas. But not reinforced concrete. I did the same thing with feelings. I reinforced them as I took them from the abstract to the concrete. "Skip to My Lou" down the sidewalk.

Turandot. "Nessun Dorma"

I had to be in control of this entire process.

This again.

No, I won't go off-topic.

Stay focused, Holliman.

The crescendo in "Nessun Dorma."

All'alba

Vincerò!

Vincerò,

Vin-cerò!

As I heard the aria, I looked at everything assembled in front of me on the kitchen table. The aria segued and morphed into a declaration of passion for the local supermarket.

Vicente Foods!

Vicente Foods,

Vicente Foods!

STOP NOW!

I did.

I couldn't go on.

I couldn't keep it together.

I collapsed on the tile floor in the middle of the kitchen.

I sputtered to my wife and son, speaking again in the third person, "He can forgive himself, but can he show himself compassion? It is all a dream he hasn't yet finished interpreting."

I staggered to the large glass wall of the living room which overlooked Brentwood. I knew that Soma was gone from the garage but I didn't know if Soma had reappeared at the window. Someone or something had.

I stared out the window, searching, "There's somebody out there! Maybe it's somebodies out there! Who's out there? Which patient? Which sicko? Who wants me?! Is it me? Is it I? What's right? What's left? Nothing. My life. Why are they taking my life from me?"

In the reflection of the glass wall, I saw Willie and Mara standing in the kitchen. "Mom, want me to go outside to see?"

Mara cautioned Willie, motioning for him not to move.

I spoke to Willie's reflection. "They're gone now, probably. They saw him. They? He. She. It. He scared them. Him. Her. It."

I turned to Mara, quoting something we had heard Duke say at the hospital, "'It just piled up. It snapped.'"

I looked back out of the window. Mara remembered, "Duke said the same thing."

I continued, "But he's happier now."

Mara stepped into the living room. She was concerned, "Who's happier? You or Duke?"

"I'm not happy. Duke is."

Mara realized something in what I had just said, "You didn't talk in the third person."

I smiled awkwardly at her, "He feels so relieved."

"Duke does?"

"Adam does."

Mara was visibly disappointed.

I looked at the swimming pool and walked across the living room toward the sliding patio door. The house was silent. There was no more opera.

I asked Mara, "Were their marriage vows just an inscription on a Valentine? Marriage is not romance, but love sure is." I quickly asked another question, "Has most of their life been happy?" Mara gave me a slight smile; it was a la Gioconda. "Why didn't you answer him when he asked if most of their life has been happy?"

"My look was my answer."

"You did smile, didn't you?"

Mara didn't know how to answer him. Willie interrupted his parents' gaze at each other.

"Yeah, Mom. You did smile. Like the Mona Lisa."

Mona Lisa. I thought maybe that would be the cat's name. But then I thought it better to answer Willie, "Thank you, Willie. He feels much better."

Willie felt the pressure of everything. I saw tears well up in his eyes. I told him, "I hope so. I hope she smiled. Hope? Is there hope? They say that where there's life, there's hope. But just because there's life doesn't mean there's hope."

Willie walked out of the living room, through the kitchen and out the front door. "I'm going to the beach to watch the sunset." I knew he needed to be alone.

Mara watched me as I took off all of my clothes. I dropped my plaid pants, striped shirt and underwear onto the carpet.

I opened the sliding door to the pool and thought that I'd go swimming. Instead, I stood looking up as dusk approached in the east. Mara came through the door and stood behind me. "When I was a boy, I took my mother's hand and led her into the backyard. It was a clear, starry night, just like the one we will have tonight. I pointed to the heavens and said, 'Mom, there's something out there beyond those stars and that moon. And I'm going to find out the answer.' I was seven years old then and I still haven't found the answer."

"Does there always have to be an answer, Adam?"

"Of course. I need it to affirm my faith."

"Adam. . ."

I knelt in front of the pool. I prayed. "'Almighty God, father of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, Maker of All Things, Judge of All Men. Who acknowledges and bewails our manifold sins and wickedness. Hear my prayer.'"

Mara moved toward me.

"Oh God, please. I'm in such pain. I don't want to be afraid of myself. Why do I need love so much?"

Mara sat next to me. I didn't want her to hold me just then. I stared down at water rippling in the pool. "It is said that at the moment of death, all questions are answered. All wisdom gained. All knowledge revealed. All mysteries solved. All worries are over. Death comes as a friend, not as an enemy." I turned to Mara and asked, "Are you my friend?"

I let Mara hold me, cradling me as she would a child. I began to cry, quietly. "Mara, I'm scared. I don't want to die like this. I don't want to live like this either. Don't leave me, Mara. Help me."

Mara comforted me, holding onto me. I pleaded, "You do love me, don't you?"

"Forever."

She held me tightly and I cried openly in her arms. It was a pietà. 

My recovery started at that moment. Mara knew that she had her husband back.