The Visit

The Distributer, April 4, 2011

Yesterday evening, a fatal car accident occurred on R561 near the turnoff to the industrial zone. According to initial reports, a local resident, Mr. [•],  was killed instantly when his vehicle was struck head-on by a large Mercedes R-Class that had veered into oncoming traffic.

The impact completely destroyed Mr. [•]’s car. Emergency services pronounced him dead at the scene. The Mercedes, carrying a family of five, subsequently lost control and crashed into a tree. All occupants, including three children, were fatally injured.

Authorities are investigating the circumstances that led to the vehicle crossing the center line. No further details have been released at this time.

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The Routine

I look at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I have had a shower. I admire the body. Untouched, untainted. I put on panties, pantyhose, a bra. I brush my hair. I use a hairband to keep the hair out of my face. I wash my face. I put cream on my face. I rub it gently in. I apply a liquid foundation with my fingers. I apply a terracotta powder with a brush. I apply it on either side of my forehead, on my cheek bones, on my jaw bones. I put on eyeshade; I accentuate the inside of the lower eyelid and the rim of the upper eyelid with a kohl pencil. I consider using mascara but decide against it. I apply a compact powder, sand. I tip the apples of my cheeks with a lip brush. I work the spots into a blush with my fingers. I finish my make-up with a few more strokes, very sketchy this time, with the powder brush. I pull a face cover over my face. I dress. I remove the face cover. I put in earrings. I clasp a necklace around my neck. Removing the hairband, I release my hair. I tie the hair in a ponytail. I put on a pair of fur slippers and go downstairs. I eat a sandwich in the kitchen. I have a glass of hot water with it. I’m not frugal. I just like it. I go back upstairs. I put on lipstick. I choose a pair of shoes. I walk down the stairs again, carrying the shoes in my hand. I leave the shoes on the floor of the main hall. I walk into the kitchen. I squirt a little cream in my hands. With circular movements of my fingers and a gentle wringing of my hands I work the cream into the skin. I slip on my watch. I clasp a golden cuff around my right wrist. I take my bag from the kitchen counter. I pass into the main hall. I put on my shoes. I proceed to the front hall. I put on my coat. I open the front door. I step out and close the door behind me. I walk down the short driveway and open the gate. As I walk back to the car I click the button on the key case to unlock it. I settle behind the wheel. I start the engine. I shift the automat in drive position, press the gas and turn into the road. I leave the gate open. I always do.

The Advice

An associate is sitting at my desk across from me. “I haven’t received your findings. I think we agreed you would show me something by noon yesterday. We discussed the urgency of the advice that the client has asked us to provide.” I rise to extract the file from the cabinet behind me. In rising I brush some papers with my sleeve and instinctively turn to keep them from sliding off my desk. I catch his eyes travelling unhurriedly from the small of my back to a less delicate point, which they still seem to be in search of, somewhere in my office. I am 42. He is much younger. I don’t want anything from him. I do not begrudge him for his behavior. I feel flattered; a feeling passing quickly. There’s plenty of work. I hand him some documents from the file. “I received those in hardcopy. I flipped through them yesterday night. I think you may find some of the data of interest to your research. Make sure I have your memo by 6 today and that it is as good and complete as it would have been had I been able to review a first draft yesterday.” I send him off.

Leaving my office to get a cup of tea I run into Garth, one of the other partners in my group. “Dirk let me down”.
“I’m surprised to hear that. What happened?”
“He hasn’t delivered.”
“Hasn’t? Or didn’t yet?”
“Given the pressure on the matter, there’s no difference.”
“Did you ask him why he didn’t deliver – in time?”
“Not specifically, no. He hadn’t come to me yesterday to give me heads-up that he wouldn’t be able to pull it off in time. I sent him an email on the way to the office asking him to drop by. He just sat there.”
“So?”
“So? Well, it means he wasn’t able to produce a reason, or he would have come up with one, yesterday. He simply wasn’t up to the assignment. It’s a fairly straightforward thing I asked him to do. He’s falling short.”
“That’s a harsh judgment to pass on Dirk on the basis of a one-off.”
”I’m not so happy about his performance in other matters that I involved him in. This is not a one-off.”
He mutters something, the grunt of discontent, the corners of his mouth drooping; so typical for this man; I don’t like him. I like Dirk. Dirk is very handsome. He is a social success. He is on top of things. At the same time he is warm and magnanimous. He is creative in many respects. But he is not creative in construing the law. I like Dirk a lot. But I don’t like his work. And I’m no longer sure I like his attitude.

I return to my desk. I start writing the advice. I send it by email an hour later. I don’t see or hear anything of Dirk during the day. Shortly after 6 I walk to his room. He is not at his desk. His roommate tells me she hasn’t seen him since this morning. I try his cell phone. It isn’t answered. I disconnect before the voicemail comes on. I don’t ask around any further. He fucked up. It’s nothing to me; I have sent out the advice. I feel an undercurrent of disappointment. I finish some admin. I return home at 7.15. It’s dark.

The Ghosts

Arriving at my house I find the gate closed. I get out of the car. I cannot open the gate. It is locked. The gate has a lock. I’ve never used it. The people I bought the house from didn’t have a key. Inside the house lights flip on; on the ground floor, then, separated by mere seconds, on the first and the second floor. Curtains are drawn almost simultaneously on all floors and on the two sides of the house that I have a view of from the street. With irrelevant lucidity I calculate that this show of synchronicity requires the close cooperation of at least ten people. I had bought the house to provide room for about ten: myself, the five children, all under age, of my divorced sister, who died by her own hand three years ago, a nanny, a cook, one or two guests, as the case might be. The children never came. The father had had child care then the court intervene. I’m in M&A. I don’t do family law. I let it go.

I don’t see shadows. No sound is coming from the house. There’s no car on the driveway, nor are there any cars parked on the street that are unfamiliar to me. I return to my car. I reach for my blackberry to call the emergency number. The screen displays the message: “Battery too low for radio use”. It means I don’t have a blue tooth connection with the car phone either. I regret that I have never bothered to buy a car charger. As I return the blackberry to the side pocket of my bag the red light indicating I have received a message starts flashing. There must be some battery life left, in spite of the screen message to the contrary. But when I look at the screen the battery pictogram in the top left corner is reduced to a red outline and there´s an ‘x’ next to the antenna pictogram in the screen’s top right corner. The text message pictogram is marked with a white asterisk on a red circular fond, indicating that I have a text message. Not possible. I touch the pictogram. It’s a message from my provider notifying me that I have received a voicemail. The number of the caller who left the voicemail is Dirk’s. I can’t play the voicemail; nor can I call Dirk: the battery is too low for radio use.

I get out of the car. I walk to the house on the other side of the street, facing mine. The family who lives there – a married couple with three children between the age of 8 and 12 – are the only people I know around here. They will let me use their phone. The house is completely dark. Not even the porch light is on; I have never seen it off. An A class Mercedes is parked on the driveway. It’s my neighbors’. They have an R class Mercedes as well. That car is gone. I decide to try my luck regardless and ring the doorbell. Footsteps in the hallway, someone approaching the door. Children scream. Not a single light turns on, inside or outside. I step back, loathe at being within the reach of whatever would appear from the darkness of the house. I hear the rattle of an inside security chain being removed. I don’t wait for the door to open. I turn around and start walking back to my car. I catch the sound of the door being opened. The children’s screaming deeper now, aging. I don’t look back. Whoever is standing in the doorway does not call out to me.

I step into my car. I look at the house of my neighbors’. It’s as dark and forbidding as before. I look at my house. All lights are still on, all curtains are drawn. I start the engine.

The Visit

A car turns into the street from the opposite end. I keep the engine running stationary, waiting for the car to pass. Even in the blinding beam of its headlights I recognize Dirk’s car. It’s a very unusual vintage car. He once told me he had done it up with the help of friends, box girders, bodywork, instruments, upholstery, engine, the entirety of what defines a car. The car pulls up a few yards from where I am. Dirk gets out. I roll down my window.

“Are you leaving?”, he asks.
“No. I thought I had left my purse at the office. I just noticed it sitting on the backseat. Do you want to come in?”
“I wouldn’t mind.”

I dont tell him what I saw. Whatever it was, it is gone. Such things only exist as long as you allow them to. I park the car in the driveway.

I get out. I reach back inside to retrieve my bag and a case with paperwork. I lock the car. Dirk has parked in the street. He joins me. I unlock the front door and step inside. Dirk follows. The house is pitch dark. I turn on lights as we make our way through the halls and the kitchen to the dining room, where I invite Dirk to a chair. I turn on more lights and close all curtains in the downstairs rooms. We have a cup of tea.

“I missed you at the office.”
“I left early.”
“I missed you all day. Karen said she hadn’t seen you since the morning.”
“I was in the library. I was working on your assignment. When I accessed the workspace to check some data I noticed your email to the client with the advice attached to it. I decided to attend to other matters. I meant to ask you later whether you still needed my report.”
“But you didn’t”.
“You were not available. Marianne said you were in meetings. I left a voice message.”
“I received that about half an hour ago!”
“I don’t know what caused the delay. I think I left the message shortly after my lunch break. It happens sometimes, voice messages getting delayed I mean.”
“What did you want to see me about?”
“I just don’t want you to think badly of me. I’ve always liked working for you.”
“You came to tell me that”?
“Yes. I hope you don’t mind?”
“It’s rather unusual, but, no, I can’t say I do. I like working with you, too, Dirk. I am not always comfortable with the quality of your work. But that’s just one aspect of a working relationship.”
“Yes.”
We sit in silence.

He says: “Another aspect is that I’ve been attracted to you from the moment I joined the firm.”
I’m unshaken. “That’s hardly an aspect of a working relationship.”
“Oh, but it is!“
“How”?
“I will make you find yourself.”
“Am I lost to myself”?
“Horribly so.”

Horribly lost to myself? I look at him. I see the indestructibility of his soul. I see the kindness of his heart. I see his imperturbability at failing in law. In his face I see love. I reach out to his face. I touch his face. With the fingertips of the hand that I touched his face with I touch my lips. He takes that hand.

Dirk wakes me up. It is past midnight.

“Oh, my sweetest, I miss you.”
He lifts my head. He cradles my head to his naked chest. He kisses me on my head. He supports my head as it sinks back into the pillow. He kisses my lips. He kisses my forehead.
“Oh, I miss you.”

I fall back asleep. I’m woken up by the alarm. Dirk’s not here, There is not a lingering trace of anything of him, of what he did to me, of what I did to him.

The Announcement

When I arrive at the office the receptionist notifies me that the managing partner wants to see me. I enter his office. Garth, the one partner who usually arrives even earlier than I, is sitting in a chair.

The managing partner says: “Dirk has been involved in a car accident. It was a front impact collision. It happened as he drove home from the office yesterday. The car that hit his was one of those huge Mercedesses; R class, I believe. It had somehow gotten on the wrong side of the road. You know Dirk´s car. It was shredded. Dirk must have died on impact. The other car spun out of control and hit a tree, killing the driver and all passengers; a family with three children. Ask your department to convene in the boardroom at 9.30, please. I will make an announcement. The rest of our staff will be informed immediately following.”

I leave the MP’s office. I think of the dead, my sister, Dirk, the family across the street. I think of my house, where I will keep finding Dirk, telling me he misses me. Where I will forever remain untainted.

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