The War of the Roses (31 page)

The knocking sound disappeared. Silence. Then a new chorus began, a persistent clarion in a stormy night.

'Mom. Dad. It's us.'

Who are they? he thought.

The knocking began again, drowning out their voices.

He heard faint whispers, then a metallic sound and the thing that he had vaguely dreaded became a reality. The door was opening.

He sprang out of the room, but his footing was unsure, made more so by the broken figures in his path. He lost his balance and fell. Through the brass slats in the banister, he saw the door open and heard the children's screams as they fell on the slick surface, struggled upward, then fell again, groping toward the stairs.

'Go back.' The words formed, then burst through the din. They stumbled forward.

'Go back. Please.'

It was not his voice.
Barbara's.
He saw her on the landing above him, looking down, her face frightened, terror-stricken.

'Mom.'

Their voices rose in tandem. Seeing her, they stumbled forward, their hands tearing at the stair carpet for balance. They untacked carpet gave way and the cast-iron pots began their avalanche with a clanging roar as they rolled forward. The clock chimes, too, began suddenly, booming out in an abrasive rhythm, vibrating in the air. Pictures fell off the walls. Eve and Josh pressed themselves against each other, just managing to escape the falling pots.

'Go back,' Barbara screamed, her voice shrill, panicked. She lowered her eyes to his, imploring.

'Save them, Oliver. Our children.'

Her sobs stirred him and, for the first time since the nightmare began, he saw the old softness, the other Barbara.

'Our children,' he repeated, swallowing deeply, desperately trying to clear his mind. Time compressed itself. They looked at each other for what seemed like an endless moment. He sensed what had passed between them at Chatham years before. Perhaps it was still there, after all. Were her eyes begging for what he yearned for -another chance?

Eve and Josh started to move. The clock continued its interminable clanging. More objects fell. Then Barbara's scream echoed and re
-
echoed through the house, above all other sounds. She had inadvertently moved too close to the banister, which had fallen into the chandelier well to the floor below. Barbara had lost her balance and now was hanging precariously over the unprotected ledge, dangling two stories above the floor.

'Hold on,' Oliver shouted. 'I'm coming.'

He called to the children, 'Get out. Please. I'll save her. Just get out of the house.' The scrambled forward, slipping amid the litter, and made their way out the open door. They stood outside, peering in, their frightened faces taut with fear.

'Hang on, Barbara. Just for a moment. Hang on, baby.'

His heart pounded. He moved to the balcony's edge, calculated die distance to the chandelier, flexed his knees, and jumped. Reaching out, he grasped the heavy chain, and with his feet on the metal rungs of the chandelier, he shimmied up to a point parallel to where Barbara hung. Forcing the chandelier to swing like a pendulum, he made a wide arc. Then, after a
number of too-short passes, he fi
nally reached the ledge and gripped it.

'Steady, baby,' he cried, reaching out with his free hand to brace her faltering grip. 'I can't. ..' she mumbled.

'Yes, you can,' he said firmly. He heard a creaking sound above him. The chandelier seemed to bounce. 'Hold out one hand and grab my forearm.' She shook her head.

'No, Oliver.' She was sobbing, hysterical.

'You must listen to me,' he pleaded.

Again she shook her head, but it was obvious her strength was giving out, and he had to pry loose her grip. In a reflex action, she reached out with the other hand and held him in a tight embrace as her weight was transferred to the chandelier. The creaking sound above them increased and the chandelier bounced again.

He had barely time to look up. Then he felt the chandelier slip beneath him. He was falling, Barbara with him, and above, in slower motion, he saw the ceiling open up like an earthquake fissure in reverse. There was no time to scream. He gripped Barbara tighter. Everything was coming down at once. As he fell, looking upward, he wondered if he would soon see the sky.

32

Ann heard the crashing sound just as the cab had pulled away from the curb. She stood rooted to the sidewalk, watching a cloud of dust float out from the open entrance door. Her legs would not propel her forward.

She saw the children standing in the dust cloud, looking at th
e house. Dust had begun to settl
e on their faces and their hair. They looked like apparitions. She called their names. They turned toward her, their eyes glazed with terror. Tears were running in rivulets down their dusty cheeks. Then they turned away and suddenly started to move toward the open door.

'Don't,' Ann shouted, finding strength. She ran toward them.

'They're in there,' Josh shouted, moving forward with Eve. She reached them quickly and, flinging herself in their path, held them firmly. From inside the house emanated the continuing clatter of falling objects.

She held the children in a dght embrace, hearing their sobs of hysteria. Finally the sounds from the house abated. Turning, Ann looked through the doorway. It was cluttered with debris.

'Let me,' she said gentl
y, moving forward. But the children followed and she hadn't the will to stop them. Standing in the doorway, she observ
ed the destruction. It was ghastl
y. The roof had collapsed and the interior walls had buckled. Near the door, the long clock lay on its side, its face of Roman time smashed. Shards of crystal from the chandelier covered every surface. More clouds of dust had risen.

She moved into the interior, her eyes smarting as she searched in the debris. Behind her, she could hear the hesitant footsteps of the children and their sobs.

'Mommy, Daddy,' Eve cried. 'Why did they do this?'

Ann shook her head. Then, suddenly, she saw them. Oliver and Barbara, encased in a shroud of white dust, their faces paralyzed in a mask of death. Under the rubble, they appeared to be embracing, their lifeless eyes locked together in an eternal stare. She gasped and turned away. It was a long moment before she became conscious again of the children moving behind her.

They were poking around in the rubble, Josh on his knees, Eve moving the debris with the toe of her shoe. Clutched in her left hand was an object, a familiar statue, its black head remarkably shiny and clean. The buffed figure of Molineaux was, miraculously, intact, poised as always in its eternal pugilistic pose.

Josh stood up, looking oddly victorious. He rubbed the companion figure against his shirt and blew the dust away. A
nn's eyes focused on the perfectl
y intact figure. She saw Eve's hand reach out, her fingers wrapping themselves around Cribb's torso.

For a frozen moment the children held the figure with equal strength, then Josh grasped the Molineaux at its base.

'It's mine,' Josh cried. 'Mine,' Eve screamed.

With a snapping sound, like the crack of a pistol shot the two figures seemed to explode. Ann watched as the children, with a glazed, stunned look, studied the shattered bits of plaster in their palms.

Ann turned away, heading toward the entrance. The speed of her steps agitated the dust around her ankles.