The Ax

21

Well, that wasn't so bad.

And I got a good night's sleep, dreamless — at least, nothing I remember or that bothered me in any way — and woke up refreshed this morning, feeling positive about things for the first time in a while.

I think what it is, in addition to the business with Asche being simpler and cleaner than the two before it, almost as clear-cut as the very first one, I think there's the knowledge that finally I'm more than halfway through this thing. At the beginning, I had to do the six resumes, and I have to do Upton "Ralph" Fallon, but then that's it, that's the end of it, forever and ever.

(I'll know how to handle the situation ahead of time, if anything like this ever looms again.)

But now I've done four of them, so there are only three to go, and that lifts my spirits considerably. It's like realizing you've finally made it past the midway mile marker in a long and grueling race.

Also, there's some sort of early indication that there might be a thaw between me and Marjorie. Nothing tangible, really, no words said on the subject, merely a difference in the quality of the air inside the house. A little conversation between us, casual, about minor things. Not like normal life exactly, but closer.

This change may have happened because she'd finally come out with it, told the truth, or at least partly, and doesn't have to keep her burdensome secret any more. (If only it could be that easy for me.) And also probably because I'd agreed to the idea of counseling, and because the first session has happened, however little might have been accomplished so far, and because it looks as though the counseling can continue.

And maybe, just maybe, even more than all of that, it could be there's been a change in me as well. Maybe, when I was determined to kill the boyfriend, when I wasn't even turning it over in my mind but just accepting it as a fixed and certain thing to be done, maybe during that time I was clenched and tense around Marjorie, stalking her, watching her, searching for a trail to my prey. And now that I've caught on to myself, stopped myself, now that I've realized how awful that idea was and given it up completely, maybe she can sense a new ease in me, and my relaxation helps her to relax.

Long-term joblessness, it hurts everything. Not just the discarded worker, but everything. Maybe it's wrong of me, snobbish or something, to think this hits the middle class more than other people, because I'm middle class (and trying to stay middle class), but I do think it does, it hurts us more. The people at the extremes, the poor and the very rich, are used to the idea that life has great swings, now you're doing well, now you're doing badly. But the middle class is used to a smooth progress through life. We give up the highs, and in return we're supposed to be protected from the lows. We give our loyalty to a company, and in return they're supposed to give us a smooth ride through life. And now it isn't happening, and we feel betrayed.

We were supposed to be protected and safe, here in the middle, and something's gone wrong. When a poor person loses some lousy little job that had no future anyway, and has to go back on welfare, that's an expected part of life. When a millionaire shoots the works on a new venture that falls flat and all of a sudden he's broke, he knew all along that was a possibility. But when we slip back, just a little bit, and it goes on for month after month, and it goes on for year after year, and maybe we're never going to get back to that particular level of solvency and protection and self-esteem we used to enjoy, it throws us. It throws us.

And what's happening is, because we're family people, it's throwing the families, too. Children turn bad, in a number of ways. (Thank God we don't have that problem.) Marriages end.

Do I want my marriage to end? No. So I have to realize that what's happening to us now is only happening because I've been out of work for so long. If I were still at Halcyon Mills, Marjorie wouldn't be running around with somebody else. She wouldn't be working two stupid jobs. I wouldn't be killing people.

I didn't play the radio in the Voyager when I drove Marjorie to the New Variety just after lunch, for her afternoon cashier job, and that's because we were talking, we were in an actual conversation. It felt good. We talked about whether or not we might want to go see the movie that's at the New Variety now, and that she'd try to get a sense of whether or not the movie's any good while she was there this afternoon. And we talked about dinner, what to have, should I stop at a store after dropping her off or should we shop together later when I pick her up again. We didn't talk about anything that matters — money, jobs, the kids, marriage, counseling — but just talking was enough.

And now I've come home, and I'm in my office, and I'm planning my next move. Only two resumes to go. What an astonishment. What a relief.

Three weeks ago, I wasn't even sure I could do it. I was afraid I wasn't up to it. Three weeks ago. It feels like a thousand years.

I study them, my two remaining resumes, trying to decide which to go after first, which to go after second. I'll start on it tomorrow, drive to that resume's address, check it out, see how it's going to go.

One of the remaining resumes is here in Connecticut, the other over in New York State. And of course Upton "Ralph" Fallon is in New York State, too.

The easiest ones have been in Connecticut. It was in Massachusetts that Mrs. Ricks complicated the situation and made it all so much worse, and it was in New York that I'd had to hit that poor man with the car.

Maybe it's just superstition, but I think the way for me to go is to finish Connecticut first. Do that next, then the last two are both in New York. And then it's over.