Silenced, page 3
She watched her soup circling on the glass tray and thought about the politician and his camera and about her CEO. She wondered if there was a hidden camera—or cameras—in his office too.
Probably not, she muttered—or meant to. In the sexual predator hierarchy, I bet rapists think voyeurs are pathetic.
She had a brief suffocating sensation of something like a bundle of wool fiber materializing in her throat, then gagged up a tarantula, its hairy legs all tangled together.
So she couldn’t even refer to him as a rapist in the abstract. Good to know.
Her phone pinged just as the microwave finished. Jo got the mug out and read the text from Eileen: I miss you too. How are you?
Yeah, no way to answer that question. Jo watched the tarantula sort itself out on the kitchen counter and wave a tentative feeler while it tested the best direction to go.
The soup was too hot but she gulped it anyway, scalding the inside of her mouth and throat. Then she lowered the mug and poured the rest over the tarantula, sluicing the thing across the counter and into the sink on a scalding red tide. It seized up and rolled over on its back, twitching. Jo contemplated her options—the disposal or the garbage can—and imagined shreds of spider flying into her face from the bottom of the sink. She scooped the thing into the can with her mug, then tied the bag tight and took it out to the trash room.
Another text came in a few minutes later, while she was brushing her teeth.
Dammit, Jo. Can you just please TALK to me?
Jo typed, I can’t. I know that’s the problem, and then stared at the words, her finger hovering over the Send arrow. Another text came in as she hesitated, this one from the company’s emergency alert system—Urgent: Please read—and she clicked the link automatically, half-relieved to have to think about something besides whether or how to reply to Eileen. The link took her not to a company message but to some kind of crowd-sourced fairy-tale encyclopedia, which was weird, plus the story tagged in the link was definitely not one she recognized. Jo read it in growing horror, because this had to be from the CEO—who else could have sent it?—and it suggested that whatever it was he’d done to her, it was somehow her fault.
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Fairy Tale of the Day: “Toads and Diamonds”
submitted by happilyneverafter (member since 2018)
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl whose mother died and whose father remarried a woman who had a daughter already. These two were lazy and arrogant, and when the father died suddenly, they made their poor stepdaughter/stepsister into their servant. One day, the stepmother sent the girl to the well for water. There the girl found a frail old woman who begged for a cup of water because she was too weak to pull the bucket up herself. “Of course, Mother,” the kind girl said, and drew a bucket of sweet water for her. “Bless you, child,” the old woman said. “From now on all shall know how precious you are whenever you speak.” The girl came home late and her stepmother threatened to beat her. “Oh, please don’t!” the girl cried, and a diamond fell from her lips. Astonished, the stepmother asked how this had happened and the girl told her, dropping jewels, nuggets of gold, and flowers with every word. The stepmother then called her own daughter and urged her to go at once to the well to draw water and be sure to give some to an old crone she would find there. The lazy girl slouched off, but when she got to the well she saw a fine lady clad in silk and jewels, who languidly asked for a drink. “No!” cried the arrogant girl. “You’re rich enough, get it yourself.” But of course, this was the same fairy who had appeared as a crone. “I see your character is as ill-favored as your face,” she told the rude girl. “And so shall everyone know who hears you speak.”
The stepsister stormed home to tell her mother what had happened, at which the mother screamed, for foul toads, spiders, snakes, and insects tumbled from her lips. The stepmother most unfairly blamed her stepdaughter for her own daughter’s misffortune and threw the poor girl out of the house. She fled to the forest and wandered there for days, living on berries and nuts. One day, the king passed by with a hunting party and, seeing the beautiful girl under a tree, asked for her name. When the girl told him, a ruby fell from her lips. Astonished, the king asked for her story. She told him, while flowers and other gems tumbled out, whereupon he put her on his horse in front of him, took her to his palace, and married her.
The stepmother and her daughter, for their part, lived on in their cottage and no one dared come near for fear of the dreadful things that the daughter spit out whenever she spoke.
JULY 27–31: RANJANI
Ranjani was trapped in summer weekend traffic on the DC Beltway when she saw the email from Jo canceling their design meeting that Friday afternoon. She was simultaneously horrified and relieved, because she’d been so anxious about the planned trip to the police station with Abony that she’d forgotten to clear her calendar.
She didn’t bother to reply to Jo, who was probably headed to the beach or something fun anyway. The traffic started moving and Ranjani focused on driving. It took her another hour to get home and her silk dress was sticking to her back by the time she pulled into her driveway. Her car’s air conditioning worked just fine, but there was only so much it could do to counter the heat and humidity in stop-and-go traffic.
Amit’s car wasn’t in the garage, which wasn’t surprising. He almost never left work early, even on holidays, and given the constraints Ranjani had put on their schedule over the past few months, he probably hadn’t felt any incentive to slip out today. Ranjani let herself into the house quietly, praying that her mother would be napping or watching television as she sometimes did in the afternoon. That would give Ranjani a few minutes to change out of her sweaty dress, splash cold water on her face, and remind herself that despite Abony’s best efforts, nothing bad had happened this afternoon. She hadn’t had to face those elevator doors.
Shreshthi was indeed watching television, an Indian interview show, and while she offered her cheek for her daughter to kiss, she also waved an imperious hand.
“Shh, Rani! Let me finish my program in peace, please. It’s been a busy day.”
Going into the kitchen, Ranjani saw evidence of that busyness. A pot of dal simmered on the back of the stove and puri dough rested in a covered bowl beside the front burner, where a pan of oil was ready for frying. Ranjani checked to make sure that only the one flame was on under the dal. Then she slipped into her bedroom and shut the door, allowing herself a sigh of relief at being alone in the quiet. She unzipped her dress and tossed it onto the dry-cleaning pile, then climbed into bed wearing just her underwear and necklace, which she didn’t dare take off even now. She waited until the air conditioning raised goose bumps on her bare skin before she pulled the covers up.
Her mother’s dementia had been mild and stable for a long time after the diagnosis last year, but it was nonetheless progressing. Some days, like today, Shreshthi was mistress of all she surveyed, cooking a feast for dinner and cleaning the entire house, then settling in front of the television to offer sharp commentary on whatever show she chose. Other days, she started cooking only to wander away, leaving things bubbling on the stove, or plugged in the vacuum and left it leaning up against the couch with the motor on. Then she tried to watch television with her hands over her ears to block out the noise, which meant she couldn’t hear the show and ended up rocking back and forth in a paroxysm of frustration. Ranjani and Amit paid their neighbor Deb, who was a retired nurse, to check in on Shreshthi several times a day and to stay with her when she was really distressed, but soon it wasn’t going to be enough.
Ranjani couldn’t think about “soon” right now. She thought she might cry; she felt the pressure behind her eyes almost constantly these days. But though a few tears leaked out, she was too tired for a storm of weeping. She exhaled and imagined herself sinking into the mattress, where it was white and soft and clean. When Amit got home two hours later, he had to shake her awake. Ranjani pulled him down beside her and pressed her ear to his chest to hear his heartbeat. Amit was home and Shreshthi was at the stove frying up puri; Ranjani could smell from here that the oil was at the perfect temperature. Everything would be okay. They didn’t need to go anywhere new.
* * *
Ranjani had taken Monday off to be home for the plumber who promised to show up sometime between ten and four. She savored her unexpected long weekend, running errands to familiar stores, cooking, doing laundry, working beside her mother in the garden, watching movies with Amit on the couch after they’d gotten Shreshthi to bed. When she sat down at her desk on Tuesday morning, she felt more settled than she had in weeks. She worked on the edits for a single-image multimedia campaign, finally getting the color bleed where she wanted it. Then she turned to the project she was supposed to be working on with Jo and remembered the canceled meeting. She started to reply to Jo’s email with times when she was available, but then noticed an out-of-office message; apparently Jo was on sick leave all week.
Ranjani was debating replying anyway, just to say she hoped Jo felt better, when her cellphone buzzed. She snatched it up.
“Hi, Mami.”
“Rani—you’re still at work?” Shreshthi had a beautiful voice, deep for a woman, with the lilting accent of British-educated Indian women from her generation. Ranjani had learned only recently to hear tremors of uncertainty in that voice.
“I’m at work until five, Mami. Then I’m coming straight home. We can make dinner together.”
A pause. Ranjani’s hand went unconsciously to grip the pendant tucked inside her blouse.
“It’s—what time is it, Rani?”
A few weeks ago, Shreshthi had forgotten how to tell time. She could look at a clock and read the numbers on the face, but they didn’t translate into a signifier by which she could measure her day: time to get up, time to eat, time for Ranjani to come home. Some days this didn’t seem to faze her at all, but other days, Shreshthi knew there was something off about her sense of the world, and the awareness alternately enraged or terrified her. More and more, Ranjani didn’t like leaving her mother home alone. She and Amit had been asking more of Deb recently, but Deb understandably was reluctant to give up her retirement and had urged them to hire a full-time home health aide.
And of course, they could do that. But as Shreshthi’s symptoms worsened, they’d also have to go back to the doctor, who would send them to new specialists, to new labs for more bloodwork, to new clinical centers for MRIs and CT scans.
Infinite, necessary new places. Infinite, unpassable new doors.
Ranjani calmed her mother down as best she could, then called Deb and confirmed that today she was free not only to check in on Shreshthi but to stay for an hour or two. When Ranjani hung up, she had a headache. She knew she needed some food, but the thought of microwaving leftover dal and eating it at her desk made her feel trapped and depressed. Instead, she went outside to grab something from one of the food carts that always ringed Franklin Park at this hour. No new doors to go through to get there and she’d welcome the sun and the heat. She felt chilled from the inside whenever she thought about her mother’s illness or about what had happened in the CEO’s office and its impossible, dreadful aftermath, as though she’d swallowed a ball of ice that had lodged in her stomach and refused to thaw.
She got a gyros and a diet soda, then found a perfect spot to sit near the fountain, so that an occasional breeze blew a fine mist at her. She unwrapped the sandwich and ate a loose piece of cucumber before it could fall to the ground. Her cellphone buzzed with a text message: Hey how’s in-person work life?
Ranjani smiled. Maia English was the company’s chief information security officer. She had been one of Ranjani’s first colleagues to become a friend but had started working from home six months ago because of a mysterious health issue.
I was just thinking about you, Ranjani wrote back. Eating alone in Franklin Sq. Wish you were here.
Me too. Pizza or gyros?
Gyros! Ranjani typed. Will try not to drip on phone screen. How are you? How is working from home?
Not all it’s cracked up to be.
Ranjani took a bite of her gyros, did indeed narrowly miss dropping a blob of tzatziki on the phone screen, and wondered how to get Maia to really talk to her. Texting wasn’t a medium for intimacy, and when she’d gone remote this past winter Maia had deflected Ranjani’s offers to drop off food at the house or set up a Zoom call. Whatever health issue she was dealing with, it seemed to make her so tired that anything more energetic than texting was too much.
But even as Ranjani was trying to think what to say next, another text popped up from Maia.
Okay weird question. You ever read fairy tales?
Ranjani wiped her mouth and wished she’d gotten a few more napkins, though it was a rule of gyros that however many napkins you got wouldn’t be enough.
Snow White, Cinderella, Rapunzel? she wrote. I know them but not super well. My mother wasn’t a fan of fairy-tale princesses. Too helpless.
She’s not wrong. Have you ever read Bluebeard?
Ranjani sent back a confused emoji, then watched as three dots popped up from Maia, went away, then came back again. Finally, her reply appeared: I think you need to read it.
And she sent a link.
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Fairy Tale of the Day: “Bluebeard”
submitted by JennyK (member since 2017)
Once upon a time there was an incredibly wealthy man known as Bluebeard who was looking for a wife. He’d had several wives already, who had all disappeared, but he was so rich that a woman agreed to marry him. After their wedding, Bluebeard took his new wife to his castle and told her he had to go away on a business trip so she’d be there alone. He left her with a key that would open any door in the castle but warned her sternly not to open a certain locked door.
Bluebeard’s wife explored the castle while her husband was away, opening every door but the one he had told her not to open, but he was gone so long that at last her curiosity got the better of her. She opened the door and found to her horror the hacked-up bodies of all her husband’s previous wives. She tried to close and lock the door again, but her hands were shaking so much that she dropped the key in a puddle of blood on the floor. The wife picked the key up, locked the door, and ran to wash the key, but no matter how hard she scrubbed or what cleaner she used, the blood would not come off.
When Bluebeard returned, he asked for the key back and his wife tried to say she had lost it, but he became so angry that she was frightened and handed him the bloody key with trembling fingers. As soon as he saw the blood, Bluebeard knew that she had disobeyed him and announced his intention to kill her. He gave her an hour to say her prayers while he sharpened his sword, and the wife went to the tallest tower in the castle to pray desperately for help. Just as her husband rushed up the stairs to murder her, her brothers burst through the castle doors and struck him down. Bluebeard’s wife returned to her family and eventually married a good, kind man who helped her forget all about her terrible ordeal.
JULY 31: RANJANI
Ranjani read the story Maia had sent her with confusion that coalesced into terror while the ball of ice refroze in her stomach, congealing her lunch until she felt ill. She didn’t “click to see comments.” Instead, she went back to her text screen and reread her exchange with Maia. In retrospect, it was clear that Maia had reached out specifically to send her this link. Ranjani typed Why, then accidentally hit send without knowing exactly what question she’d wanted to ask.
Why did I send you that? Maia replied.
Ranjani took a gulp of her soda. Sure, that question would do. Had the CEO put Maia up to this? Because he’d figured out that Ranjani and Abony were trying to help each other?
Maia’s next text seemed to confirm this: I know what he did to you.
Ranjani fumbled her reply: How? Did he tell you?
Jesus no. No!
Ranjani set the can down and wiped her damp fingers on her skirt. She asked, Then how could you possibly know anything? just as another text from Maia came through.
I know about Abony too.
Ranjani went from chilled to sweating and back again in an instant. Maybe it wasn’t even Maia texting her, maybe it was the CEO himself. And even if it was Maia, he had to have told her. But what did the fairy tale mean? She stared at the three dots promising another text as though they were the countdown on a bomb, then realized she didn’t have to wait for it to come through. She flung her phone into her purse and gathered up her trash. Her phone pinged with texts as she walked across the park, clammy with flash-sweat. Another horrible thought occurred to her: if this was the CEO, had it been some kind of trap?
She veered off onto a bench and pulled on the chain around her neck so hard she nearly broke it when it caught on her hair. The pendant hanging from it could have come directly from the fairy tale she’d just read: a key nearly the length of her palm, exquisitely carved out of some gleaming, translucent white material. It emerged blindingly white in the noon sun and Ranjani slumped in relief. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to keep ignoring her texts. What if someone besides Maia was trying to reach her, especially her mother or Deb? She pulled out her phone again—all Maia. Ranjani read them through.
