In Due Time

An examination of obsession, inspired by Notes from the Underground and Lolita.

 

Before I begin, I think it is important to know that I cared for you very much. In our time together I learned much about the pleasures of a non-scholarly being, a more grounded existence. Never before had I contemplated the possibility of soul-mates or of marriage, even children!  That is quite a feat for any woman in my life, and so I think you are aware of my honesty. None of this excuses the sordid nature of this tale, but I think some credence should be recognized. It is not a bad thing to love too much, is it? The only limits on passion are the limits we set ourselves, I say. What law of men can truly judge such matters of holy import? In a perfect world, the answer would be none. Alas that I could have tasted such bliss! Grim reality demands that I sit in this dank cell, defending myself from the furtive looks of my cell-mates. Quite unfairly, you know. I still find it difficult to believe that a man cannot govern his own affairs, take that as you please. I should not be imprisoned for exercising my right to love, or my privilege to pursue it. But I am not bitter! I hold out for justice.

 

 

I must bide my time fruitfully while I wait for those greasy wheels to turn. I do not know if you will be waiting when I am free - my heart tells me no. I fear that our rocky past may convince you I am not worth your time. I fear you may become blind to what you feel. And above all I fear that this new presence in your life, this “Jacob Humbert” whom you fancy so – I fear he will steal what is and always will be rightfully mine. My efforts from behind bars could never deter these things, and I am afraid. I wish never to lose you – I wish rather to keep you forever. And to prove this love, I feel it is time to be candid. I pray you read this missive and grasp the full extent of my feelings, and know the marvelous future that might wait one day await us. My love, I am honest as I am true. The webs I have woven find their source in you.

 

 

So consider this a confession to an ecclesiastic I adore! Or at the very least, an account of the manner in which things truly unfolded. I can only imagine the truths you might see in our past, so let this narrative exist as one solid certainty! It is not often we can see through foreign eyes, and this chance is set in ink, just for you. The truth I have established here is simply that I had sensible reason to poison Mr. Jacob Humbert. To try and poison him, rather. I am a wonderfully logical man, and the evil nature of such an act could only be negated on rare occasions. I am aware of these occasions, my love, hence the sincere tone of this epistle. You will see the prudence of my deeds yet.

 

 

Where shall I begin? I do not think it is necessary to jump straight to the point of arsenic. To do so would be a grave misreading of a complex story. No effect without cause, do you see? I think the very basic point is that we committed a grave mistake by pursuing our own paths. Our private concerns were little to our astonishing love – we had become so entwined that those concerns seemed trifling. We lacked space, you say? We lost ourselves in each other? No, so fruitful was our devotion that it gave us a new life entirely. I was wounded when you suggested we part ways, even mortally when you insisted. Every plan I had in life required your presence to unfold. What could possibly await me in the dismal void of solitude? How ironic that my affection for you compelled me to agree! How greatly I wished for your happiness. In an ungainly plea for mercy, I reminded you of the remarkable memories we had created.

 

The first clumsy attempt at poetry written to gain your favor! I was ripe with passion for Chapman, that vessel of Homer, and my feelings became articulated as to a curious reader. Within these blessed mysteries / revealed in you I will assert, and other fine lyrics I now deem whimsical. But heartfelt, you know! I was smitten and sought only to show what I perceived in you. I studied the breadth of Elizabethan verse and moved on to more extant movements, all the while finding new ways of expressing my feelings for you.

 

Our date at the feet of one smartly dressed Iago, parading about in mad celebration while we clasped hands beneath the table. The young couple to our right was caught in a storm of whispers, and I deliberated on ousting them for their sacrilege. You simply smiled and commented that Othello required an actor of better means, a nice joie de vivre, if I recall. We marveled at the tenderness in stage.

 

A spontaneous evening held in thrall by live jazz, an inspired idea I had not quite considered fully. The cello boasted over a wavering trumpet and you stirred in your seat, moving in open appreciation of the beat. You tossed your pretty hair and stroked my knee, and winked a subtle invitation to join the dance. I was frigid and far from interested in displaying such blatant delight. But the music was there and we came to know it intimately.

 

These were the jewels of our relationship. Every meaningful memory lay wrapped in a cloak of culture, and we witnessed some of the finest achievements of human creation. Our love was painted onto a cultivated backdrop – if I were a petty man I might say that every moment we shared had significance thrust upon it. I am quite comfortable simply knowing that others saw in us a sort of faint polish, an air of class and strength quite singular amongst other relationships. I will not deny that we shared in moments of misfortune and strife – of these there are many. I recall an incredible anger at the dabblings of your mother, a period of silence when you spent increasing amounts of time with acquaintances, and a public and mysteriously faithful recreation of the Spanish Inquisition. I am not as blind now as I once was, and the iron bars above me are a reminder of humility.

 

It is with obvious discontent that I mourn the loss of such a realistic passion, a shared history filled with joy and woe . Only how truly we saw the humanity of such woe! We entertained no illusions – the only task we perceived was to commit to each other. It fell to pieces, yes. There is no doubting that now. Our paths became as separate as fingers on a hand, but I cared for you so fervently that I was willing to endure torment as a friend. I worked hard to keep you from wanting. Ever ready was I with advice, always plentiful with my support in all times of trouble. Though I could not kiss you or speak fantasies ‘twixt the sheets, I was still allowed the privilege of watching your life progress.

 

And then came Jacob Humbert! It is with some shame that I admit hating him from the start. I had little to say of the man beyond the usual genial pleasantries, but I suspected much in his eyes. He was a scholar in Neanderthal garb.  Even now I think him too crafty in his choice of entertainment, too ready with his hands to give an innocent caress. Of course he claimed to be a very good friend! I regrettably admit that few men would not feign the same. Horribly, painfully, I found myself playing the role of a chum who in turn spies a new chum that lusts. You remained resistant to his charm for some time, and I applaud you for that defiance. But oh, how doggedly the fellow persisted. Try as I may, I could not find enough time to fend him off. So while I spent my waking hours suppressing my own twitching heart, Mr. Humbert utilized every chance to insinuate himself into your good graces. It soon came to be that I could not find a single moment free of his influence. I understood what this meant, of course, but I reassured myself that reason would find cause to grasp you once again.

 

Imagine my surprise when I found him in one of my shirts! Never mind that the evening hour had long since passed when I arrived at your doorstep – one can only imagine how much trouble Katie would have caused had she been left to prowl the streets.  The matter is simply that when I touched softly upon your doorbell, I found myself greeted by a crude fellow who proclaimed upon his shirt a soft spot for New York.  My surprise at his presence was so great that I could not help but throw myself upon him the very moment he spoke. To appear so brazen in the home of another is unfathomable, and to take guests at such hours is most unwise. When I at last found myself in the shadowed seats of a police vehicle, he had not yet turned inside when you appeared. You comforted him and it pained my heart to see him smile. His guiles run deep.

 

It was not long before our paths crossed again, and every time we met I struggled with this betrayal. In my dreams Mr. Humbert became a fiendish figure, watching from the shadows whenever we found ourselves in lucky privacy. My every plan was tainted with his influence, and I agonized over ruined dates, if dates they were. I sought only to keep you free of his control for one single night. And Fate, mysterious weaver, found it within her power to grant us one night. You conceded to a movie at the theatre so long as the mood was friendly. We caught a somber western in the dwindling hours of midnight, and I fought with every ounce of my being to restrain myself from you. It was too like old times. You wore a long brown skirt, which hung invitingly over the crook of your knee, and a stunning Elie Tahari blouse. You smiled your usual pleasantries and we watched Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly struggle against a desert sky. I rested my hand upon your thigh. You resisted, softly. I braved a chance at squeezing further and you leapt from your seat, screaming all manner of unsightly curses at me. I hadn’t the slightest hint that your vocabulary contained such words! There was a cacophony in the theater – your complaints encouraged other patrons to let loose with all manner of mundane issue, until the theater was no longer the house I had hoped it would be. I fled the shadows, your slender arm caught in my own, and we escaped the crowd.

 

How painfully ironic that the man we sought to escape was waiting at my car. I have never felt such heartbreak as when you rushed to him, his gangly, unlearned arms trying their best to console you. I had reached my limit. I could not live without you, or with him. I drove home that night feeling many things, not the least of which was jealousy and rage. I could not live as a man with a divided soul.

 

The poison was very easy to create, and you had not yet filed a restraining order against me. Mr. Humbert played rough games of soccer on Saturdays, if I remember, and he made sure to always bring his favorite bottle of water. There was no way I could give it to him directly, but I am a man of many means.

 

I hear he is in the hospital now. As much ill will I bear him, I hope he pulls through if only so he could see us together and happy. Monosodium methyl arsenate is an organic form of arsenic – no harm should come to him so long as he rests. He will recover, with a few new lessons to remember.  My parole begins in ten years, and we will join each again very soon. I hope these words have revealed my true feelings, and I pray that you see our future.

 

Not long now, Rebecca.

 

Wait outside the parole gate when ten years have passed.

 

We can start anew.

Reviews

[Nay]

It's odd, I've been playing with a marginally similar idea--morbid, twisted love, and the image of a woman waiting for a man at the prison gates.

The way it speaks, so utterly calm, dead calm, even throughout the proclamations of love and rage it keeps the same even, pragmatic pace.

[Dawn Jones]

Creepy... well written but creepy.

[H.]

This is so typical American literature--jazz, prison, obsession, crime...

It reads a bit asynchronous to me. The language in the letter seems to be a couple of generations prior to the setting. But that's perfect--you do a great job with the references to setting (cars, jazz, theatre, dress) and it clearly sets the tone that our protagonist is quite mad. As if that ending didn't clue in the reader...

I relate to well to his delusion. Perhaps that's what makes me so American? Perhaps all of us are barbaric and psychotic enough to relate to him?