She stepped into her apartment and looked at the living room, and it was as though she were seeing it for the first time. It was a dismaying sight. Dust was thick everywhere, and articles of clothing were strewn around the room. It was incredible to Catherine that in her drunken haze she had not even been aware of it. Well, the first exercise she was going to get was making this place look spic and span. She was starting toward the kitchen when she heard a drawer close in the bedroom. Her heart leaped in sudden alarm, and she moved cautiously toward the bedroom door.
Larry was in the bedroom. A closed suitcase lay on his bed, and he was finishing packing a second suitcase. Catherine stood there a moment, watching him. "If those are for the Red Cross," she said, "I already gave."
Larry glanced up. "I'm leaving."
"Another trip for Demiris?"
"No," he said without stopping, "this one's for me. I'm getting out of here."
"Larry..."
"There's nothing to discuss."
She moved into the bedroom fighting for self-control. "But--but there is. There's a lot to discuss. I went to see a doctor today and he told me I'm going to be fine." The words were coming out in a torrent. "I'm going to stop drinking and..."
"Cathy, it's over. I want a divorce."
The words hit her like a series of blows to the stomach. She stood there, clamping her jaw tight so that she would not retch, trying to fight down the bile that rose in her throat. "Larry," she said, speaking slowly to keep her voice from trembling, "I don't blame you for the way you feel. A lot of it is my fault--maybe most of it--but it's going to be different. I'm going to change--I mean really change." She held out her hand pleadingly. "All I ask is a chance."
Larry turned to face her and his dark eyes were cold and contemptuous. "I'm in love with someone else. All I want from you is a divorce."
Catherine stood there a long moment, then turned and walked back into the living room and sat on the couch, looking at a Greek fashion magazine while he finished packing. She heard Larry's voice saying, "My attorney will be in touch with you" and then the slam of a door. Catherine sat there carefully turning the pages of the magazine, and when she had come to the end she set it down neatly in the center of the table, went into the bathroom, opened the medicine chest, took out a razor blade and slashed her wrists.
NOELLE AND CATHERINE
Athens: 1946
19
There were ghosts in white and they floated around her and then drifted away into space with soft whispers in a language that Catherine could not understand, but she understood that this was Hell and that she had to pay for her sins. They kept her strapped down on the bed, and she supposed that was part of her punishment, and she was glad of th
e straps because she could feel the earth spinning around through space and she was afraid she was going to fall off the planet. The most diabolical thing they had done was to put all her nerves on the outside of her body so that she felt everything a thousandfold, and it was unbearable. Her body was alive with terrifying and unfamiliar noises. She could hear the blood as it ran through her veins, and it was like a roaring red river moving through her. She heard the strokes of her heart, and it sounded like an enormous drum being pounded by giants. She had no eyelids and the white light poured into her brain, dazzling her with its brightness. All the muscles of her body were alive, in constant, restless motion like a nest of snakes under her skin ready to strike.
Five days after Catherine had been admitted to Evangelismos Hospital, she opened her eyes and found herself in a small, white hospital room. A nurse in a starched white uniform was adjusting her bed, and Dr. Nikodes had a stethoscope to her chest.
"Hey, that's cold," she protested weakly.
He looked at her and said, "Well, well, look who's awake."
Catherine moved her eyes slowly around the room. The light seemed normal and she could no longer hear the roaring of her blood or the pounding of her heart or the dying of her body.
"I thought I was in Hell." Her voice was a whisper.
"You have been."
She looked at her wrists. For some reason, they were bandaged. "How long have I been here?"
"Five days."
She suddenly remembered the reason for the bandages. "I guess I did a dumb thing," she said.
"Yes."
She squeezed her eyes shut and said, "I'm sorry," and opened them and it was night and Bill Fraser was sitting in a chair beside her bed, watching her. Flowers and candy were on her bedside table.
"Hi there," he said cheerfully. "You're looking much better."
"Better than what?" she asked weakly.