Burn Down the Sky: Part Nineteen

 

 

17

 

It should have been raining. It seemed to Alan that it should have been raining. Instead the day was bright and warm. There were birds singing and trees were filled with autumn color. He stood alone beside Donna’s grave and the red granite stone that bore her name. It was surreal and impossible to imagine her there. He wanted to remember her the way she looked when they said goodbye in Paris, or with the flushed glow of her pretty face after they had made love beneath the piano. He wanted to remember her that way, but could not erase the image of her broken and burned body.

Everyone had gone some time ago leaving him alone to watch the workmen fill her grave and lay flowers upon the earthen mound. The sound of earth plodding hollowly upon her casket sounded to Alan like drumbeats. He looked to the sky and could no longer find tears. They wouldn’t have served his heart even if he could find any.

A breeze rustled among the trees. Leaves tumbled lazily here and there to join the deepening carpet upon the soft green earth. Squirrels played joyfully, scampering along branches, wrestling among the leaves and jumping from headstone to headstone. The trees were still full among the continuing story of this place. The sounds of the city intruded distantly, coming as a reminder of that other world, lest he give in fully to this world and find a place on that soft earth beside her. For the moment the thought that he must wait his turn, filling the days of his life as they tried to erase the memory of her, seemed so terribly cruel.    

He was in no hurry to return home. Walking away from the grave he realized that it wasn’t home any longer. It was evening when he returned to the house. The lights were all on, but thankfully only Donna’s kids were still there. Alan paused at the curb and studied the wilted bouquet of roses he had given her a week earlier. They lay upon the trash at the curb. He remembered her joy when he arrived home the night before their wedding, and he remembered the piano. A wave of emotion swept over him, manifesting itself in a long low sigh. He was so lost in that thought that he paid no mind as a car pulled up across the street.

“Al,” the driver called to him. It was John Byars. There was ample sympathy in his voice. Alan turned and looked at Byars strangely, as though not recognizing him. He was still too numb from all of this.

“John,” Alan searched his tired mind for something to say. “Beautiful weather tonight.”

Byars came up and touched Alan’s arm. “Are you okay, pal? Heard the news from Bender and came to see if there was something I could do.”

“Do? I don’t know what one does in this situation. I’m kind of just leaning into the wind, ya know. I now I have to go in and face her kids. I mean we haven’t really talked about any of this with yet. They’re gonna want to know about who killed her, and I just have no idea what to tell them.”

Byars fumbled with something in his pocket, deciding whether he should show it to Alan or not. He looked off along the dark street and to the park beside the lakeshore.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s take a walk.”

The two old friends walked slowly along the beach. A front was moving in. The temperature was already dropping. Fat white clouds swept in low over the lake, pushing waves that crashed in great sprays. Stars flickered brightly among gaps in the clouds. A passenger jet came in low over the lake.

“What are you gonna do?” Byars asked pulling the collar of his jacket up against the cold. The fresh air was helping to clear Alan’s head.

“The kids want to sell the house. They said they would wait a while, and give me time to get settled. They don’t want to rush me with all of this. I’m not gonna stay though. They ought to be able to get on with their lives and not have to worry about me. Besides, just too many memories there.” Alan shook his head at the idea. “Guess I’m homeless again, John.”

“Aw, ain’t so bad, Al, we’ve been homeless damn near our whole lives, you and me.”

“Yeah, I guess.” They stopped and stood shoulder-to-shoulder looking out over the lake.

 “What are you gonna do about her killers?”

“What can I do?”

“Did a little checking after I heard. Called a buddy of mine working in the Balkans. We were bouncing around some ideas and he coughed up a list of names. I put it together with some other information. See if you recognize any of these names.” Byars produced a piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and handed it to Alan.

There were perhaps forty names hastily scribbled in Byars’ unique cursive handwriting. Most of the names were Albanian. Half way down there were six names that were obviously Arabic in origin. Two were Algerian, one Yemeni and two Egyptian. Near the bottom were several Bosnian names. Alan immediately recognized the last name on the list.

“How sure of this list are you?” Alan asked, alarmed.

“I trust my guy.”

It was almost too much for Alan to believe. He looked out over the lake again.  It was impossible, he thought. It was too much to believe that the man on the list could be responsible for Donna’s murder, but there it was in black and white. Alan studied the page once more, fearing that grief could be playing tricks on his overworked mind. He turned sharply to Byars.

“I know a name on the list. Son-of-a-bitch,” he sighed. “I recognize one of the names.”

“I thought you might.”

“Come all this way to give me this?”

“I came here because you’re about the closet thing I have to family in this world, and I wanted to do you a favor.”

“How sure are you that these men are involved?”

Byars shrugged. “They’re all associated with extremist groups, and they’ve all worked together at some point. Every name on that list has some connection with Al Qa’eda. They’re all dirty, Al.”

“Are or were?”

“No offense, but they aren’t the fricken’ PTA. You just don’t quit.”

“John, I need to know the names on the list are connected to the bombing.”

“Everyone on that list is guilty of something. If not this then something else.”

Alan handed the paper back to Byars. “So what do I do with this?”

“Things get taken care of all this time. If you want something taken care of all you got to do is say the word.”

“Why?” he asked, suddenly suspicious of Byars intentions. “You come half way around the world to ask me if I want someone killed? Maybe I know you too well, John, but I can’t believe there isn’t something more to all this. Call me a cynic.”

“You’re a cynic,” he said, “but after all you been through I can understand. Truth is, man, I was jealous that you were settling down. In the dark of night I wish that it was my life, but I’m destined to die in some forlorn part of the world and be forgotten, buried in an anonymous grave. I was jealous and happy for you at finding Donna and having a normal life, and I want to get the bastards who stole that from you.”

Alan ran his fingers through his hair and looked over the lake. He wanted to shout. Only a week ago everything had been so right, and now look where things had come. Alan could hardly believe that he was pondering the murder of an old friend.

“John, I appreciate you coming here. I’m sorry, but I can’t condone the murder of another human being.”

“So what happens then? Donna’s killers are just going to go free?”

“John, I can’t kill another person.”

“Didn’t seem so hard for you in the A Shau.”

“That was different and you know that it was. Pushing a little hard on this, John. Are you sure there isn’t some other angle?”

“Like what?” Byars replied unconvincingly. “Besides, what happens when they kill someone else?”

“John, I need to know that the people on this list are the ones responsible, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Maybe you should ask her children?” Byars said, stuffing the list in Alan’s pocket. Byars started back up the beach. Alan’s mind reeled.

“How would I even know where to find you?” he said above the roar of the surf.

“Go to the market in Karkuk. You’ll find an old man with a scar on his face selling teas and dried fish. Ask him if he has any Baltic Caviar.”

Alan was torn. The funeral, the emotional toll of all of this had left him numb, but now desires for revenge began to stir in him. It was seductive and lent itself to fantasies of terrible things, of pain, of forcing Donna’s killers to beg his forgiveness before dying.  As his desires for revenge grew, as he allowed himself to be more and more seduced by it, the more revenge excited him.

“Forgive me, John, but I think you know more about this than you’re telling me.”

Byars sighed, and looked at Alan for a long moment. There was a storm behind his eyes. Indeed he did know more, much more than he was letting on. It was enough that Alan began to feel that he was being used. Byars shook his head.

“I made you an offer,” he said harshly. “It’s up to you.”

Alan watched him leave then strode slowly back to the house. When he opened the door Donna’s children and grandchildren drew him inside and into their loving embrace. There were no tears and few words. For a time they were all there as one, comforted in their shared grief. Later, from the top of the stairs he watched at them all together, the kids reminiscing over long forgotten family memories. It was the first time Alan had seen some of them smile since returning for Donna’s funeral. They were as good and as decent as Donna was. Never once did they call for revenge, nor wish harm against those responsible for her death. Instead they all prayed to have the strength to forgive.   

Alan touched the paper Byars had given him. Donna’s children knew nothing of the list, nor did he intend for them to find out either. Alan still had not made up his mind on Byars offer, but he was coming to a decision. The more he saw the pain Donna’s family suffered from her loss the more he knew that something must be done. He left the family to their memories and lay fully clothed upon the bed he and Donna once shared. It would be a long and sleepless night.