Barely Alive

For the first time in quite a while, Mrs. Merlyn Marble wakes up with a smile on her face. What a beautiful morning, she thinks, quiet and peaceful and fresh. A breeze of morning air is coming through her open window and she half sits up, regarding the curtains in their slow morning dance against it. Getting up, she crosses the room to catch a glimpse of the view from her bedroom, for the day outside was truly something to behold. Her garden blooming with spring flowers, her grass greener than green, and the slow-paced stream of the River Eye right beneath her window alight with a silver sparkle of the grey skies.

She puts on a morning robe and ties her gray curls into a low bun before heading downstairs. She stops in the living room for a second, determined to tidy it up a bit, just to make it as pleasant as she feels. She rearranges the pillows on the sofa, places the remote control by the television, pushes the big vase on the cupboard just a little to the left to have it right in the center. To top it all off, she even turns on the old gramophone, switching her husband’s favorite record for her own, and she hums along to the evergreen songs of Ella Fitzgerald as she is finally satisfied with the way her living room looks. Her husband isn’t going to like it one bit, especially not the new pillow arrangement and the fact that he will have to get up to get the remote, but today Merlyn hardly cares about his possible complaints.

Speaking of her husband, she finds him in the dining room, still sat at the same spot as last night.

“Good Heavens, Joseph,” she playfully berates him. “Did you even move since last night? You look like you haven’t slept a wink.”

Joseph Marble very pointedly doesn’t answer her. Alright, so maybe he is still a bit sour about their fight at dinner. Nonetheless, Merlyn isn’t going to let him spoil her pleasant mood with his stubborn antics.

Putting on the kettle, she hums along with the sweet music coming from the living room, as she rearranges the boxes of tea before picking a bag from her favorite brand, then a bag of her husband’s favorite for him. Maybe they have had some disagreements last night, but she isn’t going to be too petty to make him a cuppa because of it.

Glancing out of the window, she notices the postman approaching their house. Oh, Charles! He is always so delightful when it comes to exchanging pleasantries. She rushes to the door to greet him, smiling brightly.

“Mrs. Marble, good morning!” he calls to her when he sees her stepping outside and carries the mail straight to her instead of placing it into the mailbox.

“Merlyn, Charles, please. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Yes, yes, of course, apologies. How are you doing today?”

“Quite well, thank you! It’s such a beautiful day today, isn’t it?” Merlyn exclaims. “Joseph and I were just fixing to start breakfast. Care to join us? For a cup of tea at least.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Charles chuckles and starts rummaging around his satchel. “Besides, the new issue of Lower Slaughter Gazette came today. Joseph was telling me just last week how you keep your nose buried inside their crossword puzzle section whenever you get your hands on it.”

“And the day gets better!” Merlyn cries gleefully as she accepts the local newspaper. “Thank you, Charles. Have a nice day.”

He leaves just as she hears the kettle whistling. Of course, Joseph doesn’t care to take it off the stove, she has to do everything herself.

“One or two sugars, darling?” she calls out to him. No answer. Very well. One sugar, then. He has to watch his blood pressure, anyway. She sets his cup of tea in front of him and hers by the newspaper. She cuts up a few loaves of bread and sets it on the table along with some butter and her cousin’s homemade strawberry jam, which she usually saves for truly outstanding days.

“The Mill Museum is getting renewed, that’s nice,” she mutters around her cup of tea. “Don’t you think it’s nice, dear?”

She flips through the pages, glancing idly at the titles, and stops at the obituaries.

“Oh, dear,” she says remorsefully. “Gilbert Blight passed away two days ago. What a shame. He’s always reminded me of you, you know? A bit rough around the edges, but quite sweet when he wanted to be. And now he’s dead, just like that. We’ll have to attend the funeral, of course. Tomorrow afternoon, at three o’clock. Oh, and those poor children of his! I’ll have to ask if there is anything I can do.”

She puts the newspaper down to spread butter and jam on her slice of bread.

“I’m surprised how long you’re keeping up with the silent treatment, Joseph. I’m just talking to myself at this point. You usually have a snide remark to go with everything I am saying. Am I not rambling on too much today?” She pauses, waiting for an answer as she bites into her breakfast. “Well? Nothing? Hm. You know, this just proves my exact point last night. But I’m not getting back into that. Let’s just have a nice, silent breakfast.”

And silent it is, for the next ten minutes. Joseph doesn’t touch his food, nor does he drink the tea before it gets cold, but Merlyn lets him sulk in peace. They have said everything that needed to be said last night, no need to drag it all on forever. At least she can look past her anger to have a lovely breakfast and enjoy a morning as nice as this one.

She flips over to the end of the newspaper where her beloved crossword puzzle is waiting, gloriously blank and absolutely perfect for a morning such as this one. Ella Fitzgerald is still playing in the background – it’s almost odd to hear it, having grown used to perfect silence that Joseph has always demanded at breakfast. But Joseph doesn’t seem to mind it this morning and it makes Merlyn happy to finally enjoy this simple pleasure.

“Hm, what was that actor’s name again? Grant something, four letters … Hugh!” Victoriously, she writes the name down. “Oh, and that makes for a … murder … of crows, across.”

Usually, Joseph would already start complaining about her annoying habit of thinking out loud. Just as he would complain about the music and the rearrangements in the living room, and about his tea not being sweet enough.

“You know,” Merlyn ponders aloud, “I quite like this new you. The strong and silent type, who opts to suffer in silence rather than just complain about everything that’s bothering him. This silent treatment isn’t so bad. In fact, I’m wondering why we haven’t had last night's argument sooner.”

She takes another sip of her tea and adds another word to the crossword.

“Well, I suppose this is not even that different from any other time. You never really enjoyed talking to me, did you?” She discloses the statement in a half-whisper as if it were an unspoken secret between them. “It makes me wonder sometimes, why you even married me at all, a chatterbox you didn’t care for. Because you never actually cared for me, did you? Not enough for us to have any children that I have always wanted, anyway. Not enough for you to even notice when I’ve dyed my hair a different color. At some point, I even stopped dying my hair altogether and your only comment was that I suddenly looked older than before.”

Even after such an earnest speech, not a single word of protest comes from Joseph. She is almost delighted to be finally saying this to his face, even if thirty-four years too late.

“I don’t even think you noticed how miserable I was, not really. You were too wrapped in your own misery to think of my own, weren’t you?” Turning her attention back to the crossword, she almost laughed at the irony of the next clue. “Would you look at that, Joseph. End of marriage, seven letters across. Do you have any guesses? Of course you don’t. Had you ever thought of the word divorce, we wouldn’t be in this mess now. It’s kind of lucky I thought of another word that is just as effective, wouldn’t you agree?”

Still smiling, she looks up at him and beams at what she sees. Her dear husband, Joseph Marble, whom she had promised to love until death did them part, is half crouched in his chair, sickly pale and unmoving. His glassy eyes are staring into empty space before him and he no longer needs to blink, nor close his hung-open jaw. His shirt is painted red-brown with the dried stain of blood that spread from the wound in his chest, right where Merlyn had rammed the kitchen knife into his chest last night and left it there. She is going to need to take it back and clean it by lunchtime, of course, it would be a nightmare cutting up the vegetables with any other knife. But for now, it looked quite nice with the blade stuck inside of Joseph’s torso.

“So? You’re still not going to say anything?” she taunts him, almost mercilessly. “Well, you can't really be this bitter about me killing you. Let's be honest, you've barely been alive for most of our marriage, anyways.”

Sighing, she regards him for a moment. He looks unreal, like a disgusting puppet set up clumsily in a chair. Some of the blood has sprayed the table, she will have to clean that up. She always had to clean up after his own messes. But it's not like he can lift a finger to help her with household chores now. What a perfect excuse to sit around all day death has given him.

“So, what am I going to do with you now?” she asks him, leaning her head a little to the side to catch his empty stare. “I can’t just bury you out there in the garden. Whatever will the neighbors think? And I can’t move you to the basement, you’re far too heavy and I am no longer as young and spry as I once was. I must say, this is the one consequence of mariticide I hadn’t thought of.”

Joseph, bless his soul, remains compassionately silent. She really doesn’t need him telling her how stupid she is for not planning ahead.

“Well, I suppose you can stay here for a few more days until I think of something,” she decides after a brief consideration. “It’s not like we’re expecting any company soon. And I can open up some windows when you start to smell.”

She sets the crossword down for a moment to clean the table after breakfast and pours herself some more tea. Sitting back down, she looks at the deadman across from her and helplessly allows another giddy smile to spread across her face.

“So, do you have any plans for today? Anything that needs doing?” She is met by blessed silence. “No? Well, then I am sure you’ll be more than excited to hear all about my plans for today and for the rest of the week. Just stop me if you feel like I’m talking too much.”

Joseph simply sits there, eyes open and unblinking, chest bloody and unmoving. He has never been such a great listener as he is now.