The Word

This story is by Anne Jacobi and was part of our 2023 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

The Word
It began with a dream.
“Scary,” she said aloud, opening her eyes. There had been nothing. No up or down, no past or future. No hope.
“Nothingness!” The word stayed hanging in the air.
“In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was…” Her eyelids felt heavy. Her hand glided distrustingly along the bed. “Bed!” She sat up, felt the cold of the floor, leaped to the window and drew the curtains. “The Sun!”
No time to waste. Everything had to be named, created: sky, birds, trees, grass, coffee, bread, body… She stood still for the moment, disturbed by the feeling of having forgotten something important, a word that could make all the difference. She went to the guest room upstairs. There was a red silk nightdress on the bed. Peter had given her a nightdress just like that on their honeymoon in Spain. She had cherished it.
“But this is not mine!” she screamed, staring at the soft fabric before picking it up with a malicious grin and sneaking back to the living room. Yes, Peter liked looking at other women, something she had understood on their third day in Spain. There had been this gypsy woman… She threw the nightdress into the garbage bag and switched on the radio. A man’s voice described governmental crises. She fondled the loudspeaker, talking softly. “You have to keep it going for me for a while. Yes, I know you can.” She turned the volume up until the whole house vibrated. She had known she was pregnant the sixth day in Spain. So their last day there she relaxed, content. Everything was good.
They played Beethoven on the radio now. When they started talking about terrorism and prices going up, she moaned, laying down on the floor. “Tortured… crucified…” Her whisper wrapped her in. Peter had traveled a lot with his job. He had either laughed or got angry, when she was jealous, smelling another woman’s perfume on him. After a while she hid it all inside. The pain. “I’m thirsty!” She was a good wife. She had created a family, their own world, so what did it matter that Peter was away for days or weeks sometimes? Three of them were still a family. She struggled up to get a bottle of wine from the cupboard and a glass. It got harder, when Stephan was seven and started at school. She took a painting class and was told she was talented. Peter asked if it wasn’t better she did something reasonable instead. “Why not take a job as a secretary? Some hours a day?” This was the moment, when she wasn’t sure any longer that marrying Peter had been the best thing. Family! Something was missing. She didn’t have a word for it.
The negotiations in the Middle East had broken down, they said.
“Ah!” She sighed, sipping the wine. “You should rather tell me why it’s written that He cursed the fig tree! Only because it didn’t bear fruit? I would have never done that! Never!”
There were riots and demonstrations, a male voice said. Of course she had done, what was expected of her. Working in a lawyer’s office for years. It hadn’t been so bad.
“Discontent! Ugh! Why can’t they understand? Oh, God…” She was hurting. “Where are you? … Anybody?” She rocked from side to side, whimpering, “Father, take this cup…” The glass tipped over and the wine spattered on her face. She lifted her hand and felt after. “I am bleeding!”
“Why have you left me alone like that?” She clung to the loudspeaker and cried until she no longer knew, who or where she was.

The next morning found her seeking something in the garden. “Where is our fir tree?” She mumbled, “In old days one could trust things, one could trust words. Au!” A ladybug had bitten her arm. “Damn twaddlers!” She leaned against the wall and took the next insect up to her finger. “Fly to Our Lord and tell Him that I’ll be coming soon…”
She had to take care of things. People just didn’t know how things were. All they knew was biting, fighting, gossiping and copulating like animals. She stopped sharp, struck by the certainty that her husband, Peter, was dead. “You will always be in my heart,” she said, calm now.
Finally everything was good again and she could call her son.
“Stephan…” Her hand was playing with the braid.
“Can you please turn the radio down?” His voice was grumpy.
She looked thoughtfully at the button as she turned it halfway down.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Fine,” She straightened her back, “You?”
“Tired. Drove around the whole week but didn’t get anything sold.” The word here was Marketing.
“Sold and sold!” Her hand was spinning the braid. “It will come to you! Trust me!”
“Where are you? Father said something about…” Stephan’s voice was clear, different now.
“No, I don’t want to hear that. But I guess it doesn’t matter any longer.” Her eyes jumped from one object to another in the room, making sure that everything still was as a moment before.
“What are you talking about?”
“Yes, what am I talking about?” Her body was living a life of its own now, out of control. “Take it easy, Stephan. Father, father is dead!”
His silence was uproarious. “Are you there?” she asked, but had to go on, “He has had this woman here, can you believe that. This was the limit. Nothing is as it used to be.”
“Mother, you have been divorced 10 years now.”
What was he talking about? “No, you have got it wrong, son. The priest said until death do us part… So, yes, I guess we are apart now… Au, my feet hurt. And my breasts, Stephan.”
“ It was you, who wanted the divorce, remember? You said he was evil!”
“Yes, he sure was. And besides, he must have given me some venereal disease, imagine that. Shit!” Why didn’t he understand? Was it not Stephan she was talking to?
“How on earth have you got that idea?” he asked, while she listened to the undertones in his voice.
“Yes, see, the doctor told me that I should have a gynaecological check-up. Only a routine. But they can’t fool me. Men always gang up.”
“Are the neighbours there?”
“Neighbours?” Why was he interested in them now? “No, only some ladies bugging me. Well, not ladies, just damn insects. They are biting, Stephan. Can you come over?”
“Sure, give me an hour.”
“I’ll listen to the radio meanwhile. They help me. I can feel that.”
She hung up and stood thinking it over for a moment before turning up for the radio again. They were talking, talking… She was sure now that there was a catch. She shouldn’t have trusted him, him with that pleasant, soothing voice. But it was too late. He had seduced her, thrown tons of words out into the air, creating thousands of things. It wasn’t her fault that so much had gone wrong. She sighed.
An hour was unbearably long time. She lit some candles and placed them on the windowsill.
They were talking about climate changes now. She couldn’t do anything about that. But nobody could say she was lazy either. She started counting the insects around her on the porch.
The gravel crunched under the wheels as the car turned into the driveway. “7,” She took the last ladybug up and followed its flight with her eyes.
Stephan walked slowly towards the house.
“Finally!” She stood up to meet him.
He wanted to kiss her, but something about him alarmed her. The anxiety was spreading in her stomach.
“Have you seen the candles?” Her mouth formed the words before she knew of it.
“What?” He turned around to look. It wasn’t the way Stephan used to move. Who was he?
“They are for your father. All of them! … And here, here is he buried.” The movement of her arm contained both the house and the garden.
He went inside. Something was wrong. There was a catch. Had he betrayed her? With a kiss…
He was counting the pills, when she came up to him.
“Are you sick?” That was it!
“They are for you.” His voice was hoarse.
“But there is nothing wrong with me!” Her scream turned into pleading whisper. “I don’t want to get locked up behind all these doors. Your pills paralyse my brain!”
“I talked to father before I drove off.”
Her eyes were running around the house like small animals looking for an exit. Summerhouse, grass, sky, birds, flight…
“No! I won’t go there!” Why didn’t he listen to her? It was her voice talking to him, wasn’t it?
He handed her a glass of water and the medicine. “Then you won’t!”
“This is Kristi body,” she mumbled, and added then with sudden clarity, “Love, Stephan. The missing word was Love.”