In the Falling Rain
By H.K. Avakian
The rain could wash away sins, it could wash away pain. Leah knew that John must be made to see the error of his ways.
The rain was falling. It was falling steadily, repetitively, monotonously. Leah stared out the window, watching the rain and thinking about John. Poor John, his life was so horrible, so filled with pain. Her heart was aching for him, but there was nothing she could do. Nature was so much stronger than she could ever be. Had she ever shed tears for him before? But tonight, in front of the window, she cried for her tortured love. Rainy nights like this one always brought his pain to her, showing her with every raindrop each tear he had cried. She cried too, for the love that had been stolen from her.
She sighed now, lost in her thoughts. She remembered how wonderful everything had been. He had worked very hard to give her a good and comfortable life, and she thanked him by taking care of his house, preparing his meals. She did her best to be a diligent wife, and the love they had shared was so pure. Immaculate. He had loved her as a saint might, uncorrupt. And she had loved him with due reverence and devotion. So perfect their love had been, so very, very perfect. How happy they were, and how happy their lives should have been. But how cruel, how truly cruel life could be to take and warp something that was once so . . . holy.
She remembered when she first noticed that John was changing. She should have noticed sooner, but love can cloud one’s vision so. Of course he hadn’t wanted to alarm her, sweet boy, so he kept quiet, her brave soldier, remaining constant in his treatment of her. He did his best to avoid telling her that something was bothering him. Her poor martyred husband! He kept his pain to himself, suffering in silence while his whole world must have seemed to be slipping through his fingers.
No, her first clues had not come from John himself, but from the telltale outside forces that even her sweet, steadfast husband could not prevent showing her. She recalled it all, feeling a cold, bitter sadness fall around her like raindrops.
He had become preoccupied, and he started coming home later than usual. Only by an hour or so, but when he came home, he didn’t seem to be quite himself. It was like another presence surrounded him. She said nothing at first, trusting him, and believing that whatever problems John had come by would soon work themselves out. She never asked him anything, but once, after seeing a troubled look on her face, John intimated that he had some . . . trouble in the office. She smiled, relieved. This happens to men, she thought, and concerned herself less about it. He was her saint, her soldier, and she knew that his goodness would keep him strong no matter what trials befell him.
But as the days went on, the problem seemed to get worse rather than better. John came home later and later, and became more and more vague about it. Poor John, she thought, fearing his problems were far more serious than he wanted to tell her. Still she said nothing, for in a sense she was oblivious to him. Men had their problems, and it was not her place to interfere. It was her job to remain as she had always been, keeping his home clean and always making sure he came home to a good, hot meal. Besides, he still kept up his front around her. No matter what he was going through, he kept acting as if there were no problem at all.
Sometimes John was sheepish when he came in late, almost guilty, as if he had something to hide. And didn’t he? Didn’t he? Wasn’t he trying to hide his pain from her? She admired his strength and bravery. She slept sound at night, believing in her heart that her precious soldier would eventually win out.
But it had been a charade.
Leah jerked suddenly, facing a sound she thought she heard. She looked toward the kitchen, sighed, and turned back to face the window. The rain was still falling steadily, monotonously, tapping the window in a constant, repetitive manner. Feeling herself fill with dread, her thoughts drifted to that last day, the final horror that enveloped them both. She shivered, the memory disturbing.
She spent the day shopping, cleaning and cooking, much like any other day. When all her chores were finished, she sat by this very same window, staring outside and dreaming. There had been something funny about that day. The wind seemed to be calling her. She thought of John, working so late every night, and an unusual idea struck her.
She looked toward the oven with John’s cooked meal inside, staying warm, and decided to pack it up in a picnic basket. She thought she would surprise him by showing up at the office with a nice dinner for him, and spend a pleasant evening keeping him company while he worked. She thought this sweet, caring gesture of hers might cheer him just a little. After all, it was her duty as a wife to look out for her husband.
But in her heart, she was apprehensive about going.
She didn’t want to interfere with John’s work, but there was something else, something she couldn’t shake. It was an inescapable feeling, a sense of foreboding — she didn’t quite know what. But all the same, she felt invisible fingers drawing her inexorably to her husband’s office on this night, and regardless of her apprehension, she knew she had to go.
She moved with unusual swiftness, preparing everything she was to bring with her. She could not dismiss her feeling of foreboding, however, and that troubled her. She was usually very good at dismissing unpleasant thoughts. Then a plan came to her. She would not just walk into John’s office. Instead, she would open the door just a little, and observe him first. She imagined she’d compose herself better if she could see what kind of mood he was in. If all was well, she would walk in as if she had just arrived. If not, she could just slip away unnoticed. This idea soothed her keyed up nerves, at least somewhat, and she was relieved she thought of it.
She hurried now, anxious to get there before her courage gave out. She made sure everything in the house was in its proper place, picked up the picnic basket, found the car keys, and left. The sky outside was overcast and there was a light drizzle. She drove fast, much faster than normal, and she soon arrived at the parking lot for her husband’s building. She felt confident now, but that was short-lived. As she gathered up her things and walked toward the elevator, her feeling of dread returned.
She stepped out of the elevator with trepidation. The whole floor was dark, and she heard no noise. She moved slowly through the hallway, on the tips of her toes. Her movements became even slower as she neared John’s office. She stopped dead once she reached the door, her heart threatening to choke her. She could see a thin line of light from underneath the door, and she heard muffled sounds coming from within.
John was there.
She squared her shoulders and with a cold, delicate touch, put her hand on the doorknob. Slowly, with the most quiet, gentle motion, she turned the knob and opened the door a bare crack. She focused an eye into the light that seeped into the dark hallway.
And there was John — her John — naked and rolling on the floor, with a naked, dark-haired woman in his arms. They moved together with furious violence. Leah stared, confused. They were making strange, animal-like sounds as they twisted and gyrated on the floor, and she could not fathom what they were doing. She watched her husband shift his weight until he was on top of the woman, and heard them both moan as he thrust himself into her.
Transfixed, Leah just stared. She knew now.
Then the whole world seemed to crumple around her. She did not want to believe that this was her John, her good, sweet husband, rolling on the floor with this strange woman. How could it be? She struggled to understand.
Why was her husband doing this? What was wrong with him? She fought off her thoughts. She could feel the truth edging closer and closer to her, but she couldn’t handle it, couldn’t accept it. It was too real, too raw to face. She felt foolish humiliation burn within her and in that moment, she felt as naked as her husband, as naked as her husband’s lover. She was exposed, and her true self stood before her and laughed. It was too much for her. She collapsed to the floor unconscious.
When she awoke, she had no idea where she was. But then the floodgates opened, and a torrent of horror saturated her mind. Frantic, she strained to get up and look into her husband’s office.
They were still there, and unaware of her presence. When she collapsed she made no noise, and even if she had, it was unlikely that her husband or his dark-haired companion would have heard her. They were still going at it, though not as violently as before. What they were doing now was slower, more tender. She knew it was wrong — evil — it had to be! But it didn’t look evil.
She crouched and struggled to collect her thoughts. She still felt exposed, and she was fighting with desperation to make it all make sense, to find peace. She was repulsed by what she had seen, and that realization hit her like a lightning flash. It was in her revulsion that she would find strength.
She did not know how long she’d lain there, but it now occurred to her that she should leave before she was discovered. As she pulled herself to her feet, she wondered if she should confront them. A voice inside screamed yes, she should assert her right as this man’s wife, but her doubts and fears whispered no, sensing she would only make a fool of herself. Instead, a plan began to take shape in her mind. She smiled, enraptured with the thoughts that filled her mind. She turned to beat a fast retreat — she could not jeopardize her brilliant plan by revealing herself now.
When she got outside, she noticed that the drizzle had turned into a downpour. It comforted her, gave her support.
As long as she could remember, she’d loved the rain. It always made her feel cleansed. She often marveled that John did not share her feelings about the rain. To him, the rain was nothing more than a nuisance that made the cellar leak, and made driving a chore.
John was a fool, the rain seemed to be saying to her. A sick fool who could not see the purity and serenity in such things. The whispering rain mingled with her thoughts, running through them in rivulets.
The final facet fell into place.
Her role was clear. It was her duty as a wife to save her husband from himself. Her sweet soldier, her chaste husband, could never have done such a horrible thing unless he had succumbed to some savage, base aspect of his nature. He was too good and honorable a man for that. But that didn’t mean he was strong. And if he was not strong enough to save himself, she had to find the strength to do it for him.
She was calm now, and she knew what had to be done. She parked the car and ran inside. She took John’s cold dinner out of the basket and put it back in the warming oven. She reset a place at the table for him, and brewed a pot of tea.
She made sure nothing was out of place, then ran to the bedroom and drew from her drawer a selection of flowered scarves. She brought them into the living room, and with methodical care, placed them where they could be easily reached, but not easily seen. Last, she found some sedatives in the medicine cabinet that had been given to her by her doctor. She took two of the brightly colored capsules and dumped them into her husband’s teacup. All she had to do now was wait.
It wasn’t long before she heard the hum of her husband’s car in the garage. She ran to the door to meet him.
“Darling, you’re home,” she said. “Come into the kitchen now and have your dinner. I made a nice pot of tea for you too, since it’s so cold and rainy outside.”
She led him into the kitchen and motioned for him to sit. She poured him a cup of tea and watched, her eyes afire, as he drank. “Do you like it, dear?” she asked, the gentility of the question forced. He nodded, distracted, ignoring her. But soon enough he was sound asleep. It was time for her to get to work.
She dragged her inert husband down to the basement, and laid him on his back on the floor. Then she ran to get the scarves from their hiding place. Working at an urgent pace, she undressed her husband and tied him securely to the hot water heater. Her knots were good and tight, and she knew he would not be able to break them. She surveyed her work, and then left him, a content smile on her face.
She knew it was a good thing she was doing for him. He needed time alone to meditate on his wrongs, and the incentive not to get up. When she felt certain that he had cleansed himself of his evils, she would release him. He will thank her later, she thought. With an affectionate look at her peaceful, sleeping husband, she shut the basement door and went to the bedroom to sleep.
When she woke the next morning, the rain had stopped. She felt a lightness of being, a wholesome sense of peace. She got out of bed, dressed and went to check on her husband. A small tray of food in her hands, she gingerly crept down the stairs to him.
He was awake, but yet unaware of her standing there. He was cursing to himself, trying to shake water off his head. It occurred to her just then that she had inadvertently placed John beneath a leaky floorboard. Though the rain had stopped, some residual rainwater was dripping right on John’s forehead.
How perfect, she thought. The rain will cleanse him, purify his thoughts.
He saw her then and began screaming and cursing at her to let him go. She had never heard John use such language before, and she was startled at his tirade. Didn’t he understand what she was doing for him? No, she thought, that’s not him talking. That’s the evil presence that got a hold of him. He wasn’t himself. She straightened her posture and looked him in the eye, ready to face his demon.
“I’m sorry, John, but I won’t be subjected to this sort of outburst. I will not come back at all until you can show me some decency, like you used to.”
He became abject then, whimpering, but she was unconvinced. She left, leaving him to moan and curse and cry alone.
That was yesterday. Now, here she was, in the late afternoon, sitting by the window, and staring at the falling rain. Leah sighed as she watched the rain run in funnels down the window. Life was so sad sometimes, she thought, and so unfair. But one had to be strong. If you allow evil in others, it is like allowing evil in yourself.
She thought about the rain. God’s tears, she had once heard them called. Rain is such a beautiful, holy thing, she thought. And so powerful. Why, just this morning, as the rain began falling again, she had heard strange, frantic sounds coming from the basement. After yesterday’s tirade, Jim had been quieter, only speaking to plead with her when she checked on him. He had seemed to be more like himself, but she wasn’t satisfied. Not yet.
But now this morning, after the rain started again, he began begging, hysterical and loud, for her to let him go. Curious, she went to see for herself what was happening. She opened the door just a crack, and peered down.
It was nothing. Just John, writhing and screaming something about the rain. He was begging her to make it stop. Make it stop. As if she could control Nature.
She tried to understand what it was about the rain that would make him scream and beg like that. But all she saw was water, falling in droplets, evenly, repetitively, on his forehead. Cleansing him.
Poor John, she thought. He never could appreciate the falling rain. She turned, sighed, and closed the door behind her.
“In the Falling Rain” is copyright © 2005 H.K. Avakian and appears here for the first time with the author’s permission.
