Part 1, Chapter 3: The Need to Know

Gate Smashing and New Vocations.

Over the next month, as the due date for the assignment drew ever closer, I found myself having multiple meetings a week over at Mrs. Muller's house and she proved to be one of the sweetest persons that I had ever met. I had found that if I had a meeting from roughly eight to eleven, I could get the interview done before her husband got home and he, still in my mind, was the one person to avoid. This worked out far better than I imagined because from what she told me and what I knew, Mr. Muller seemed to be a very rigorous creature of habit. This proved very convenient for me because, as I still was too afraid to actually confront him, let alone merely start up a conversation. Yet, for all that my mind wanted me to avoid that man; I only became more intrigued about him as his wife got to the part where they met. She told me what happened, she showed me pictures, she let me read a few letters and I was enraptured.

 

Something caught my attention about him and it made me want to know and one day I asked her about him. She merely responded that she did not know either as he had never told her much. From that moment on I decided that I wanted to know. And this knowing would be for my own good, not for any project nor for any educational inquiry, but for merely me and Mrs. Muller, for her, as his wife had a right to know about her husband. My avoidance plan worked swimmingly until one day near mid October.

 

One day I came by the house again, walking up confidently with the clunky recorder and a small bundle of flowers for Mrs. Muller for being such a kind woman and helping me with my project. Humming some Floyd song that I had heard over the radio that morning I scurried up to the front step as quickly as I could, the warm boots I wore on my feet inhibiting my movement to an extent. Hitting the high note and pausing for the guitar riff, imitating the moves of Waters and Gilmour as best I could while still holding onto all the items that were bundled in my arms. Twirling once as I ran my fingers down the imaginary guitar in my hands I walked up the stairs backwards to their porch, taking my time to stop as the music crescendoed and fell, pouring the emotion of the song into the invisible instrument in my hands as the lyrics resumed and I sang them softly going up to knock on the door.

 

I rocked back and forth on me heels as my eyes wandered out over the front lawn and the neatly kept flower beds in front of the cheery blue porch. Bobbing my head to the music I heard the door open and turned around quickly, "'Morning, Mrs.……" I fell silent immediately for it was not Mrs. Muller that answered the door: it was her husband, glaring down at me with his cerulean blue eyes. My mouth opened and closed as I tried to form words, seemingly frozen in position as I stared at him, still shocked at why he had suddenly broken his morning routine.

 

"You need something?" his voice sounded like sandpaper grinding over wood and, even though he still had a slight accent, his English was far better than his wife's.

 

"Uh…" was all I could get out as I stared at him. Only now did I really see that on the bad side of his face his eye did not fully open in relation to the other, eternally locked in a squint matching the sneer forever ripped into his lip.

 

He looked down the bridge of his nose at me, a hint of annoyance creeping into his right eye, though the left seemed rather unresponsive. "Speak up…" he said, not loudly nor harshly, but with force that I babbled out my reason for being there.

 

" Icametohaveanotherinterveiwwithyourwifeandibroughthertheseflowers." I smiled nervously.

 

He stared at me blankly, trying to decipher what I had just said. After a few moments he spoke, "Rose isn't here today," he told me straight forward. "I'll tell her you stopped by… and give her the flowers." He held out his right hand, keeping his left somewhat behind him and immediately I was struck by the awkwardness of the gesture. It unnerved me greatly because once again my mind started thinking about all the things that he could possibly be hiding in that hand, whether it be gun or knife or even something more sinister. I slowly started backing away shaking my head.

 

"Oh-oh…. No, s-sir…. Thank you… I'll come… by later… I… want to give her these myself…" My eyes kept glancing away calculating how fast I could get away if he decided he did not like my company and wanted to kill me and then bury me in the back yard. After much thought and hesitation I figured there was no way out of this because of all the equipment I was carrying, there was no way for me to make like Flash and out run a bullet. "Thank you… though sir… I'll come back later… g-good bye and… thank you… eh-he" with another nervous smile I quickly turned around and started quickly walking away back in the direction I came, determined to get out of there without making it too obvious that's what I was trying to do. The further that I got away from the house and the longer I stayed alive, the easier my breath came back to me; I would come back later and hopefully he would not be the one answering the door for he had just given me a near heart attack. I returned back to my dorm that day, juggling the flowers and the supplies as gracefully as I could when I entered my room.

 

Later that evening, after much convincing over an early dinner, my best friend Sofie allowed me to borrow her car so that I would not have to walk in the dark by myself to drive over to the Muller's place. To tell the truth I consider myself a fantastic night driver in comparison to a day driver. I do not know why but the night time just makes driving so much easier for me, I always wondered if there was some sort of disconnect there. I carefully drove down the streets to that small side cul-de-sac hidden away from the main bustle of the city, the radio blasting in the car as I tried to save as much fuel as I could so poor Sofie would not have to worry about waiting in mile long lines. I do not know why, I had never actually seen her drive the car since we got to school, so stealing it for a night to run the engine was not as big a crime I tried to convince myself as I drove.

 

Turning the headlights lower as I approached the cul-de-sac so as not to disturb the people who lived there, I realized how truly picturesque this place was for a murder, despite the four streetlights placed between the houses, it just seemed so far removed from everything. It looked like the Bates Motel of Detroit City. The people seemed normal but they were all nuts. What? I thought, Crazy… I shook my head, there I went again. I had never come this way at night and even though it made me nervous I kept telling myself that it was the same street that it was in the daylight and Mrs. Muller was a very sweet lady and she would not let something bad happen on her street.

 

I looked and meant to turn into their drive way along side the house and I never even saw it in the darkness. Well, maybe I did and it just did not register with me as I drove on. I drove and ran right into the low gate blocking the drive way entrance. The screeching sound caused my whole body to tense up as I slammed on the breaks, the metal sliding underneath the car, my hands white-knuckled upon the steering wheel. My eyes went as wide as spheres as I could swear my heart ceased to beat for a few moments, a feeling of dread coming over me after the initial sensation of shock. I. was. Dead. There was no way I was getting out of this one; I had smashed two old peoples gate. I was going to be arrested for being a vigilante and even worse: it was not even in my own car therefore Sofie would be dragged into this as well. My heart, instead of completely stopping started rattling painfully around my chest when the porch light of the house suddenly came on. My head snapped around to see this.

 

Things were only getting worse as the moments passed. The sound of that aged German shepherd dog from inside the house met my ears and I felt my self go cold as I sort of sat there. The door of the house was thrown open and Mr. Muller came thundering out the front door shouting obscenities: "DILINQUETS! RUFFIANS!" he shouted looking around until his eyes fell upon me. A moment passed as we stared at each other before his expression changed from mere anger to all out rage, a string of curses flowing from his mouth in his native German as he shook his fist at me. What happened after I still wonder to this day how I got away for I had never seen someone his age, let alone his condition, move so fast. I lost my wits about the situation. Quickly throwing the car into reverse, the screech of metal biting into the night air once again, I backed up and sped away from there as fast as I could. The gas in the car no longer a crisis to me, it was life or Mr. Muller mounting my head on his wall.

 

I would feel horrible about what happened only after I got back for that evening. This was a perfect was to say thank you to them for their time.

 

 

I felt horrid, simply awful as that deep seated, sickening feeling gnawed at the back of my stomach over the next day. What sort of person does that? Who would do that to an old couple, even one so shrouded in rumors as the Mullers. I was a jittery mess the entire day, all through classes. Sofie was mad at me for getting scratches all over the front of her car and insisted that I pay for repairs. I had no problem with that, the only real problem that I had was how I was going to fix the gate I had pummeled last night trying to deliver a bouquet of flowers to Mrs. Muller. My mind didn't seem to work as it kept tracing back to the guilt that hovered over me over the morning after. Biting my lip, as soon as my classes were over I took several coins and made my way to the pay phone.

 

Flipping through the phone book I looked for something very specific and gasped when I found it. Holding my finger to the number I juggled the book up against the machine and the window of the phone booth as I tried to deposit the coins into the slot so that I could call. I only had enough for a few minutes so this was going to be probably the fastest call that I had ever made in my life. As soon as I let the last coin fall, my fingers flew over the numbers as quickly as possible as I let the phone book fall away from me so that I could talk to the people on the other end. I was filled with relief when someone picked up and announced the name of the company and inquired what I wanted.

 

"Yes," I said, "I'm calling about repairing a wrecked gate…"

 

By the time that the next meeting rolled around the following week, I was hesitant about going, but the more I thought about standing the poor woman up or calling to try and fake some excuse about why I could not come, the more I felt that horrid guilt monster come back to gnaw on me. Finally, I took the recording equipment and headed out back towards the house, hopefully they would find some place in the hearts to forgive me about what had happened. I had gotten confirmation from the repair company that they had fixed the gate and were sending the bill my way, even though I had not confirmed that they had actually fixed the gate. Shuffling through the dying leaves on the street, I kept biting my lip. The cold weather had done for it; they were cracked and chapped again. Covering the lower half of my face with the scarf, I trudged onward.

 

I was a few minutes late by the time I got to their house and much to my relief the gate looked brand new, as spick and span as ever. I come up the porch and gently knocked at the, hoping she instead of him would answer. Much to my delight, Mrs. Muller opened the door.

 

"Hello dear," She said softly, her tone different then all the other times that I had come by the house and I felt my legs go weak somewhat.

 

I lowered my head, "Mrs. Muller… I'm so sorry for what happened Monday… I… I didn't mean to hit your gate… It just came out of no where and I didn't have time to react… I'm terribly, terribly sorry…" My lower lip quivered and I must of looked like I might burst into tears at any moment for Mrs. Muller came up and put her hand on my arm and gave it a gentle squeeze.

 

"It is alright, my dear," she said with a smile and a slight nod, "I know you did not mean it… and we thank you for having it fixed." She motioned for me to come closer, I leaned in. "If you want my opinion, I never really cared much for the old gate that was Albert's choosing not mine…" the smile came back to her features as her green eyes glanced over to the new gate. "I do like this one better… it goes with the house more."

 

My head was still lowered, "Mrs. Muller…"

 

She cut me off, "Please… I have said it before, just call me Rose."

 

My eyes dropped again, it felt odd. "Rose… are you just saying that to be nice?"

 

She chuckled, "Of course not dear, I mean it. I despised that old gate, but it was functional so there was no reason to get a new one." I raised my eyes slightly, still not really accepting what she was saying. "Oh, dear…" she smiled and hugged me, "its quite alright, I really mean it, dear." That hug was good enough for me; the guilt monster was subdued for a time as she let me into the house once again.

 

"Albert has gone for his walk this morning, he is very angry at you for breaking the gate, even though you went through all the trouble to get it repaired again." She gave me a sheepish look and bowed her head, "He wanted to stay home today, and I had to convince him to go out."

 

"Thank you for that, Rose." I murmured, not having to deal with her husband after what happened was a god send. "Thank you."

 

She smiled, "You are welcome, my dear." With that she bustled into the kitchen, I, on the other hand, stayed put in the anteroom, waiting for what I did not know. My eyes were drawn to the photos on the wall, I still had not asked her what all the pictures were and I was tempted to ask her today. It might prove interesting and helpful to my project. I took out my Polaroid camera and snapped pictures of the pictures on the wall. "I made some tea, would you like some, Abigail?" Rose called from the kitchen, her head coming around the corner back to the anteroom.

 

"Rose, ma'am…" I asked, "You have time to tell me about these pictures… they are very interesting." I tilted my head as I looked at all the pictures. There were multiple photos of her and her husband together and even in a few, strike me down, he was smiling. Yet in every picture that I saw, the abrasion of the left side of his face was present. That was odd. She came up beside me her eyes fixing upon the pictures, they were glowing with a strange light as she nodded.

 

"Yes, dear… yes I do…" she looked to me, "Which one first?"

 

I pointed to one of her and him. She smiled, "That was when we first got to America, he was so excited when we finally were completely settled into this house…"

 

 

…I sleep beside him at night and can not help but realize that I only know half of my husband. The man that I married 30 or so years ago is still a mystery to me. He never speaks about the war or what happened before it, or even what happened in the war prior to that. I can see that it troubles him deeply. He talks to himself in his sleep about things that I do not understand, terrible, terrible things from the pieces I have managed to put together over the years. Its slowly been getting worse over time and it tears me up inside watching him have those days every so often where he just… completely does not function. These terrible things come back to haunt him and I do not know how to help him. He never says more than a few sentences of what is on his mind before he changes the subject. I cannot help but worry about him. I think that… if there was someone he could just talk to, to say what he needed to say to and get everything off of his shoulders, he could sleep soundly at night…

 

With that I left the copy of the finished manuscript on the table and gently nudged it towards Rose, a gentle, accomplished smile upon my face. "You think… I did your story justice, Mrs. Muller?"

 

She gave me a simple answer, "Yes, dear… you have."

 

There was a pause between us before I leaned in closer to her, leaning over the table slightly. "Mrs. Muller… I want to do you a favor for helping me so much through out this project…" I turned my eyes to the manuscript quickly and then back to her.

 

She became attentive and tilted her head as she looked at me: "Yes?"

 

"You said in that last excerpt you want to know… about your husband…" my voice kept trailing off as I tried to word this correctly. "I want to know too after listening to your story."

 

Rose nodded.

 

"I am going to find out for you, Mrs. Muller."

 

A smile graced her features, "Thank you, dear."