The Absence of Mercy by John Burley Read Free Book Online Page B

third trimester, sleep had come easily to Susan, and she was often breathing slowly and softly within ten minutes after turning out the light. Ironically, it was Ben who seemed to have difficulty initiating and maintaining sleep during that time. He would lie in bed and watch the shadows cast from the swaying branches of the oak tree in their front yard play deftly across their vaulted ceiling. He would listen to the steady respirations of his wife lying blissfully in bed next to him, and he would consider the day’s events: the slow but perpetual ascent of gasoline prices that summer; the upcoming gubernatorial election; the positive gram stain of Mr. Flescher’s cerebrospinal fluid last Thursday. The hours of potential sleep would slip away from him like water over a steep ledge, leaving him befuddled and sluggish the following day, a dull heaviness clinging to his head like a massive barnacle. He would blunder through the day in this hebetudinous state until the sun finally descended once more beyond the horizon. Dinner that evening would be absently eaten and barely tasted, and although he tried to be interested in conversations with his wife, he always seemed to fall behind, finding himself at a break in the dialogue and wondering whether she had just asked him a question or whether it was simply his turn to speak. Excusing himself apologetically, he would head off to bed early in search of the nocturnal respite that had eluded him the previous night. Sometimes sleep would come, mercifully falling upon him like a summer storm. When it did, his dreams would be strange and wild, and he would often awaken in the night, sweating lightly and wondering whether he had cried out and, stupidly, whether he and Susan were alone in the room.
    He’d continued in this tormented state for most of Susan’s pregnancy, watching her with growing jealousy as she slipped effortlessly into sleep every evening and awoke refreshed and good-spirited the following morning as brilliant sunlight flooded their bedroom. It was as if Ben had somehow taken upon himself all of Susan’s familiar struggles with insomnia and had shouldered them through the course of her pregnancies so that the children could develop unfettered within her. If that were the case, it was a noble yet arduous deed, and he was relieved when—oddly, but almost predictably—the balance returned to its original state within a month of the birth of each of their sons. Suddenly, Ben found himself having to set the alarm clock in order to awaken for the infant’s nightly feedings. On many of these occasions, he would find Susan’s side of the bed empty, and he would get up to investigate only to find her already tending to the baby despite the fact that it was his turn at the helm. “ Honey, I can do that, ” he would say to her sweetly in a tired voice. “ It’s okay, ” she’d reply. “ I was already up. ”
    â€œTough day at the office, hon?” Susan greeted him from the darkness, startling Ben as he unbuttoned his shirt.
    â€œ Jesus, babe. You scared me.”
    â€œSorry,” she said. “How was the autopsy?”
    Ben unlaced his shoes and slipped them off, then pulled off his slacks and placed them in the closet hamper. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could now make out the figure of his wife, propping herself up on one elbow as she surveyed him from their bed.
    â€œPretty horrible,” he answered. He exhaled deeply and stretched, trying to release as much of the day’s stress from his body as possible. He felt old and tired, and more than a little unnerved by the evening’s events.
    â€œWant to talk about it?”
    â€œNot really,” he said, climbing into bed. He felt utterly exhausted, emotionally as well as physically.
    Susan wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tightly, spooning his body with her own. She was warm beneath the covers, her soft breasts