Short Story: This Man And This Woman

Short Story: This Man And This Woman

They were a popular couple. Everyone knew he loved her and she loved him. They seldom argued, were always pliable, amiable and loving with each other. So it was preposterous to think they would attempt to kill each other. Two loving people, so devoted, would not harm each another. Perhaps behaviourists might note the too-close, congenial relationship, but then they were not consulted, were they.

The couple, Ash and Sere (Sera) Lakeland, lived among people of similar status and income, and went to the usual Country Club for golf and tennis. There were delightful parties around the pool with drinks and good conversation, and dancing to a name band, on a regular basis, and entertaining at home.

Ash was a handsome guy, about five eleven, stocky and thick-necked, who had been a football player, and was still clean shaven, kept his dark hair very short. At school, he’d been encrusted almost constantly with girls. It was a wonder to his friends that he ever saw past those women to Sere who was occupied with the male counterparts; nevertheless, he won her heart quickly. And married her as well.

Having managed to finish college with a degree in Accounting, Ash spent four years in the service, then returned to add his skills to a modest brokerage company, in partnership with three other accountants, automatically earning them a place in the jet set, or yuppie set — whichever one prefers — which quickly absorbed them.

He was always attentive at parties and dances and the opera. Some part of him now singled out the most beautiful woman present—his own wife — and he attended her with rapt attention. But never with a true intimacy, which he also withheld from their associates. For them he allowed a superficial homogeneity that seemed to satisfy them for they often marvelled that Ash and Sere were so in love. A few even expressed envy.

Sere was not a Hollywood style sex object, but had a classic blonde beauty all her own. She was slim and angular, yet most voluptuous. Her silken hair fell from a center part to her shoulders, often covering her face and causing her to be somewhat of an enigma. Until she deftly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear revealing expressive dark-lashed eyes. They immediately fell in love with her, as had Ash.

Sere never let on that she needed or wanted more from him than he seemed willing to give to their intimacy. Something, she realized, was missing in their lovemaking; she could not compel him to talk about his tenure in the Middle East where he served as an Army Officer. She believed it when he said her cooking was most excellent for he ate with relish. So, inevitably her well-concealed feelings spawned an idea.

Everybody loved her tureens of Mushroom Soup. Always, on Sunday afternoon (if they lunched at home) they feasted on soup, hard rolls, cold cuts and cheese, as well as crudités. A big bowl of fruit quickly became just peelings, and they were content until dinner around eight that evening when she prepared roast lamb, or standing rib, or chops, maybe fish.

Thus it was that Sere began with her idea after Sunday lunch. She kept everything in her mind, planning cautiously, not wanting Ash to become suspicious of her preoccupation with mushrooms. That, of course, meant she went to market frequently looking for the freshest produce, asking questions of the buyer, about the safety of mushrooms, and explaining her concern about the safety of her family when using them fresh.

Only to have him reply, "I make it my business to know, Sere. Have a reliable source, so I never use wild ones."

Frustrated, Sere went to the library, surreptitiously got into reference books, and looked up a volume on Mushrooms. And found what she was looking for, good and bad mushrooms, complete with pictures. Now, where could she get a supply? How much would it take to just make Ash mildly sick? The plot thickened; she would have to schedule an intimate dinner for two . . . if he got sick enough, he might see just how fragile life is and open communication with her. Everything came together to her satisfaction, with cunning, she thought.

Going out into the country with her best friend Crusty Jamison, eating a picnic lunch on a weekday, she left the plump friend, sated, lying on the picnic blanket, and set out to walk the dog, she said. She had brought along her little mischievous white Terrier aptly named Fluffy.

It was impossible to keep Fluffy clean, and today, true to form, she found a small stream, got soaking wet, leaped out into dried grass, then raced to an open space where she rolled in the dirt. Landing on her feet, she streaked toward the nearby stand of trees. Sere yelled, but Fluffy kept going, into the trees, and out of sight. Sere hurried to follow her, whistling and calling — not at all worried about Crusty the somnolent friend, because Sere was on a mushroom search.

As it was, Crusty slept, woke up, ate more and languished, uncaring about Sere’s whereabouts until nearly time to go home.

When Sere and Fluffy later appeared over the brow of the hill and rejoined Crusty, she sat up and greeted them, "Yew, Fluffy! Dirty girl! . . Sere, where’s your shirt? Gorgeous bra, but what are you carrying in that, uh — that is your shirt?"

"Look, Crusty, I happened on these mushrooms. Isn’t that wonderful? They will make a great soup, or maybe I’ll use them for steak and mushrooms. Aren’t they lovely?"

Crusty frowned. "You sure about these, Sere? Can’t be too careful with this stuff. Wouldn’t want to make anyone sick."

Sere looked doubtful, "Oh, I think they’re the same . . . goodness no, I would not want to hurt anyone, especially Ash." She placed the tan cap-like fungi in a plastic container from the detrus and capped it. "I’ll check with the produce man at the market," she said, knowing she had no such intention.

Two days passed with the mushrooms unnoticed in the refrigerator. Surprisingly the opportunity presented itself when, on Thursday, Ash expressed a desire for steak and mushrooms. Not grilled, he stipulated, but prepared in the sauté pan, cooked in the gravy she could get just right for him. The excitement was almost too much, but she managed. She prepared the patio table, planned for sundown when the cool of the day would whet the appetite, make eating more enjoyable. She got out the best plates and cutlery, and called Ash fresh from his shower, relaxed and hungry. She placed before him the serving dish with his requested entrée.

He breathed in the aroma, served their plates — she’d said, ‘no gravy, thanks’ — and he ate heartily of the meat and gravy, while she had her mushrooms sliced in her salad.

"I prefer them raw in the salad this time," she told him. He shrugged.

They had time for leisurely coffee. He romantically held her hand and said, "Darling, the more I know you, the more I love you. I think that very soon we two should go off on a hiking trip up CarvelMountain. I have so many things I want to share with you, but we never have time uninterrupted, do we?" For a flash, he wondered about the visions he was having.

"You, uh, you want to talk? About what?" She quickly closed her mouth.

"I think it’s time to tell you the story of my military days. Sere, they were traumatic. I swore never to inflict anyone with the details. But now, I have you to love me, to help me heal when I share it with you. Sere ...we have so much to learn about each —"

"Sere! Something is wrong! God, my stomach —" Ash collapsed against the table, groaning, trying to wave away the spiders coming at him. "And shs-piders," he slurred.

Sere stared at him, "I’ll get help, Darling. Hang on." She ran for the telephone, called emergency, and they were on the way. She felt a terrible dread. She hadn’t thought they were the psychotropic mushrooms . . . She heard him ask, ‘My wife... is she okay?’ as the medics started to take him to the hospital. "Tell her to put on some clothes and the bugs will go away."

They were both staring at her, but she had to say it, "I picked some mushrooms a day or two ago. I used some tonight. They might have been bad, but I don’t think so. He loves them, so he ate quite a bit. I hadn’t gotten to mine yet — in the salad. Oh, God, don’t let him die!"

Ash didn’t die. He underwent stomach pumping, endured a number of tests and intensive treatment. A Pathologist was consulted when the mushrooms became suspect, and his consensus was that amateurs should not attempt to gather them in the wild. Of course, she eagerly agreed never to do it again, was relieved when Ash came home to her tender ministrations and recovery.

In the end, it was hopeless, he still held himself aloof from her. Did she imagine it, or did he seem even more reserved now? Especially since she had only shrugged at his comment, "I’m so glad you didn’t get sick, honey."

Now it was Sere, with her horrible secret, who became withdrawn. What had she done?

When everything finally seemed to return to normal, Sere relaxed. No one had accused her of trying to kill Ash; except, one evening a buddy at the Country Club jokingly alluded to her attempt to ‘off Ash’ with mushrooms. It was passed over with a laugh, because the two lovers were eagerly planning a trip the mountains, just the two of them for the weekend.

They packed, drove a couple hours to Caravel Mountain Campsite. Ash pitched their tent, complete with floor to keep out any invaders. There was a fireplace for cooking, and toasting marshmallows, and plenty of wood nearby. She always loved a fire after dark, with dancing flames and red coals, and enjoyed it that first evening. When it was just red embers, they sat on a blanket and watched the stars, and Ash began to tell her his story.

Sere listened; her heart began to ache for the terrible trauma, his having to witness the death of women and little children, see them lying dead at the side of the road, or one survived and weeping over the body of the loved one. A grueling task, at times he had been assigned to picking up pieces of human remains blown into unholy death.

"But I never killed anyone," he said. "I could never do that."

He seemed not to notice her, that she had a runny nose and fumbled for something to wipe it on. Instead, huskily he said, "I am afraid of dying. I might not survive God’s judgement for taking part in all this." Her sob got to him, and he folded her into his arms, kissed her wet cheeks. "What do you feel about all this? Are you ashamed that I went to war?"

She told him, "You are so good, Ash. I don’t think God will judge you harshly. I am so thankful you shared with me. I have been so lonely for this intimacy."

"Oh, my darling, Sere. I am sorry if I seemed distant. This changes everything, darling girl. I will never keep secrets from you again, and you must let me know what you want, honey."

He hesitated, "You see, I know you tried to kill me, or make me sick on mushrooms. I know why, now and I’ve not stopped loving you. I forgive you, can you forgive me?"

Sere wept in his arms for a while, and then they retired to the tent to their sleeping bag and made love as they never had before. Sere had what she wanted at last.

The next day Ash woke her at dawn, and they hiked up the mountain in proper clothing, with backpacks containing all they needed, including plenty of water for the steep climb. It was a beautiful day and Ash stopped half way, took off his pack and set it aside. Opening a bottle of water, he drank copiously and said, "I really feel omnipotent up here, Sere. It is so wondrous to look out over the wilderness and imagine we are the only man and woman alive in the world."

"How fanciful you are," Sere laughed, put her arms around him and accepted a swig from his bottle of water. "I love this side of you, my darling Ashley."

"Man, Sere, don’t use that name. My mother wanted a girl, but got me. And I know she would have been Ashley. So, I got it . . . Just Ash, that’s me."

After this brief interlude they trekked on. About noontime they reached the pinnacle of the world — HutPeak overlooking valleys, canyons and a rushing river below. They unloaded, stood awhile in the breeze at this altitude, photographing, silently absorbing the awesomeness of the world around them, as the sun moved west with new shadows.

Sere eased closer to the edge of the cliff that dropped to a shelf about thirty feet down a one-hundred foot cliff. "Ooo. It is dizzying at this height."

"Come back from there, Sere. It is too dangerous to get so close to the edge."

Ash reached out to grasp her, stumbled and made brief contact. Sere went over the incline with a scream that echoed out over the wilderness. He fell to his knees, crawled over to look down, suddenly gulping, shaking almost too much to move. What had he done!

Sere was laying on the shelf, unmoving. "God Almighty. Why did I do this? I meant this to happen and now that it has, I cannot bear it. She has got to live, I can’t go on without her! Sere!" he called out. And called again and again, until he was hoarse.

She remained unmoving. So Ash got out his cell-phone and tried to reach help. His first response wasroaming, then someone in Arizona answered and he wanted to yell. Instead, "I am on a mountain top in California," he cried. "My wife has fallen down a cliff, and I can’t get to her. I need help. Yes, my name is Ash Lakeland. Yes, we are atop HutPeak, CarvelMountain, at over nine-thousand feet . . . can you help me? Thanks. I will wait. No, I don’t know if she is alive. Again, thanks." He held the phone, lay face-down on the ground, and waited.

He got up and paced, and called her when he thought he saw her move. But she continued unresponsive, and he paced, and wept, and gritted his teeth. He tried reaching someone closer, lost all contact and, as the light began to wane, he called himself all sorts of names. He really didn’t have to get even with her. He’d killed her, sure as the world. He bent over and began with a keening that reverberated over the mountains. Then he was silent.

Presently, he heard a shout. He listened — it was Sere. He looked over the cliff; she was sitting up waving at him. He felt the joyous urge to jump down to be with her, but about that time, he heard also, over her shouts at him, the chopping sound of a helicopter. Staring out into distance all around him, he finally saw the speck coming in from the south. The Helicopter grew closer, and closer, circled him and settled in a nearby open space. Ash wiped his eyes so he could watch the rescue in the twilight.

The rescue team of four, out of LarsenPark, had cables. Two men quickly rappelled down to Sere, and brought her up. They settled her inside the ‘copter closed the door and, in moments, lifted up, hesitated, then whirled away. Alone, Ash watched until it disappeared.

Ash went down the mountain to their camp, packed up and drove home, scarfing down a slice of bologna and a coke . . . carefully breathing a sigh of relief. Damn, revenge is not sweet.

Sere had a broken leg — simple fracture. Accidental was the verdict, and Ash took her home with him when she was in her walking cast. He took care of her every need, bathed her (with affection, of course) and cooked for her. And they were back to loving each other dearly after she said only once, "You tried to kill me, Ash. Why? Was it to get even with the mushroom mistake? It was a mistake, you know."

"No, it wasn’t, Sere. And neither was this. But I only wanted to scare you, not hurt you."

Quietly, contemplating, he remonstrated, "So, remember our wedding, honey . . . ‘We are gathered here to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony’ . . . Holy, Sere. From here on everything’s an open book between us. Agree?"

Sere sighed, "Yes, Ash." They sat quietly for a moment. "And now that we have settled it, Ash, what do you think about our having our first child soon? Hmm? Would you like that?"

"I most certainly would, Sere." Ash was deep in thought for several moments.

"Sere, wouldn’t it be nice if we got twins — a girl and a boy — and only had to be pregnant once? I simply dread the idea of waiting for a kid to be born."