The Swan Wife, by Adrienne Clarke. Page 8/8
Husband:
Alone in my office I think of nothing but what will be waiting for me at home. In my mind I follow my wife’s every movement. I hover in the background as she showers, brushes her teeth and puts on her clothes. And finally, when it is time for her to descend the stairs I imagine her watchful expression transform into one of pleasure when she sees my gift waiting for her. Is she thinking of me as she caresses the thing she has longed for since I took it from her? Is she grateful? Or only relieved that I kept my word? I turn these questions over in my mind, certain that if I examine them from the right angle I will find the answer.
But as the minutes turn to hours I find myself growing strangely calm. I stop looking at my watch thinking instead of the first words I will say to her when I come through the door. She will understand what I have done; I have proven something to both of us.
By three o’clock I can wait no longer. I leave my office taking nothing with me. I do not plan to come back to work the next day or the day after that. Perhaps we will take a trip – maybe somewhere warm. I feel myself smiling at the image of my wife stretched out in a deck chair, her silver hair shining under a yellow sun, reading one of my books.
I am still two houses away when I hear Lena’s cry. The sound is unfamiliar to me; a deep wail of anguish that I know immediately is beyond my powers to soothe. She’s gone. I'm certain of this even before I open the front door and see Mrs. Abdullah, my next door neighbor with whom I have only ever exchanged the briefest of pleasantries, trying to distract my daughter with the St. Christopher medal that hangs around her neck. She doesn’t hear me come in.
I stand motionless in the doorway and hope that I am wrong. I hope that the next moment will bring my wife gliding down the stairs, her arms outstretched, her voice telling me she is glad to see me – that it was all a mistake – that she has chosen me after all.
Lena is the first to sense my presence. When she turns towards me, I see the reflection of my own fear and bewilderment in her mother’s grey eyes. And I see something else there as well. Lena continues to stare at me, until finally, she averts her gaze and begins to make a harsh rasping sound in the back of her throat; a sound that is at once horrible and familiar. Pressing my hands to my ears I take a step towards her knowing that I am capable of anything to make her stop. But when I see what she holds clutched in her tiny red hand I feel my legs sway beneath me. Feathers. Long, elegant, silver-tipped feathers as white as snow, as white as my wife’s skin, as white as my daughter’s fury.
Author's Note: The Swan Wife is an original story but draws on elements of the The Swan Maiden fairy tale which appears in the folklore of various European countries. My story was inspired during a year I spent living in the small town of Bled, Slovenia. The famous Lake Bled, beloved by Slovenians for its beauty and serenity is overlooked by a medieval castle on a cliff. It is also the home of many swans who spend their days floating on the surface of the water; sometimes they disappear for a days at a time, but they always return to the delight of both locals and tourists, who enjoy speculating how the mysterious swans divide their time.
Adrienne Clarke's work has been published in The Storyteller, Beginnings Magazine, A Fly in Amber, and she has a forthcoming story in Grim Graffiti.