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Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen or any of its characters; they belong to Alan Moore, Dave Gibbons, DC Comics, and Warner Brothers. Nor do I own the poetical works of Jalal Al-Din Rumi. Chloe, Elsie, Hank, Nixon, and all the other residents of Jubilation, however, belong to me. So hands off!
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Sunday rolled around. Walter and Chloe and Elsie went to the community center, once again in Lila's car. The townspeople did their best to treat Walter kindly this time, mainly due to the respected Vernon Birdsong's personal and very public greeting. Yet despite the improved atmosphere, Walter still felt out of place. He made an effort to socialize, mainly for Chloe's sake, but soon retreated to the playground where he watched the youngsters romp and frolic. Alvin was there, clambering up the jungle gym once again, only this time his older cousin Judi accompanied him up the metal lattice. Walter smiled as he watched the boy reach the very top of the structure and send out a victorious whoop. Then, with Judi's encouragement, Alvin negotiated his way back to the ground at a more sedate pace than he'd climbed up. The boy noticed his audience when both sneakered feet touched the gravel.
"Walter!" Alvin scrambled over to him, kicking up pebbles. "Didya see me? I got all th' way up! An' I wasn't even scared!" Behind him Judi rolled her eyes; the heck he wasn't.
Walter smiled. "Yes, I saw. Very brave."
The child beamed. "Wanna play tetherball?"
Walter hesitated; he'd never really played much as a child. In school when kids picked teams for kickball, he'd always been overlooked even though his red hair stood out like a beacon. The other kids went so far as to pick the gawky boy with the thick glasses who tripped over his own feet rather than the creepy little weirdo. It wasn't long before Walter stopped trying to join in any schoolyard games. Instead, he sat in the swings or wandered the perimeter of the playground like a prisoner taking exercise. Once he was placed in the Lillian Charlton Home for Problem Children, his social standing remained unchanged.
"I…don't know how."
"It's easy," Alvin said, unperturbed. He grabbed the startled adult's hand and dragged him towards a metal pole where a yellow ball swung from the end of a rope. "You wanna make the ball wrap all the way around th' pole an' also stop me from doing it."
"That's it?" It didn't sound like much fun to Walter.
"Yeah! You take this side." Alvin trotted to the opposite side of the pole and grabbed the ball. "Serve!" His little fist punched the ball, sent it swinging around to Walter's side where the redhead caught it in both hands.
"You're not s'posed to catch it!" the boy laughed, "Ya gotta hit it!"
Walter stared down at the yellow orb in his grasp. "Oh." He balanced it in his left hand, cuffed it lightly with his fist to send it back around. Alvin immediately punched with all his munchkin strength, roaring mightily as he did so. Walter almost laughed at the child's enthusiasm. His own fist connected with the ball, but not before it had wrapped around the pole once. So the game continued, the two friendly rivals smacking the tetherball back and forth until Alvin finally succeeded in coiling the rope all the way around. The child whooped and leaped about in victory while Walter looked on with a smile.
Discovering an adult willing to participate in their antics, the rest of the children soon recruited him into games of four-square, tag, Red Rover, red light-green light, and anything else they could think of. The hours slipped away, unnoticed, and then it was time for the parents to herd their youngsters home for lunch.
"Awww!" was the children's collective whine. Walter experienced a sense of disappointment as well; the morning spent on the playground was the first time he hadn't felt like a weed in a field of lilies. He watched the droves of youngsters plod towards their beckoning parents, some of whom glanced warily at the man whose presence among them still brought out feelings of ambivalence. Walter shifted his gaze and was startled to see Myra Birdsong standing among the milling families with a thoughtful smile on her face. He looked away, uncomfortable with her scrutiny.
"There you are!" a familiar bellow reached his ears. Walter experienced some relief at the familiar burly figure that approached him. "Chloe's looking all over for you," Craig chided, then slung a good natured arm around the smaller man's shoulders. Walter realized to his dismay that the physical contact didn't bother him that much. He let the cheerful Paul Bunyan look-alike guide him back inside the community center where Chloe waited in a group of people that included Henry Dobbins, the "Hens" Deb Blascoe and Bess Everton, and a swarthy middle-aged man who looked as if he belonged in a country club. Walter and Henry exchanged tentative nods.
"Hey, Walt, I don't think I've introduced you to my friend," Craig hesitated a fraction of a second on the word friend. He indicated the yuppie. "Adam, meet Chloe's fiancé Walter. Walt, this is Adam Leonetti. He's in real estate."
Walter didn't see how the man's occupation was relevant.
Adam thrust out a manicured hand. "Pleased to meet you, Walt."
He reluctantly shook the man's hand. Why was everyone calling him Walt all of a sudden?
"I woulda introduced you guys sooner, but Walt was busy entertaining the munchkins," Craig grinned.
Chloe looked at the uneasy redhead and smiled. "That where you've been all morning?"
Walter nodded.
Bess Everton snorted. "Better hold on tight ta this one, Chlo. Not many fellas wanna spend more than five minutes with their own kids, let alone everybody else's."
Walter threw Chloe an imploring look.
"Well, we'd better get going," Chloe said, earning the redhead's eternal gratitude. The couple bade farewell to the group and made their escape. "Wasn't so bad this time, was it?" Chloe asked.
Walter shook his head. "Not so bad." He felt her arm encircle his, their shoulders bumped companionably.
Outside, the parking lot buzzed with last-minute conversations. Elsie and Lila chatted with Myra while little Alvin swung back and forth like a tetherball while clutching his aunt's hand. The child beamed at the approaching couple. Walter smiled at the boy.
"Ready to go?" Lila asked. They nodded. "'Kay then. Let's try to beat the rush. Bye, Myra."
"Goodbye," the pastor's wife smiled.
"Bye, Walter!" Alvin waved frantically.
"Bye, Alvin."
More than a few kids shouted farewell to the redhead in passing. Elsie smirked. "Looks like you made a few friends this time."
Walter responded with a noncommittal shrug.
On the drive home he leaned towards Chloe to ask in a low voice, "Craig and Adam, are they…?"
"Yeah." Her eyes searched his expression. "Does that bother you?"
Walter frowned in thought. "Don't know."
Chloe shrugged, smiled crookedly. "Least you're keeping an open mind."
He wished he knew if that was a good thing.
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Walter blinked, confused. Where the hell was he? The dark surroundings offered little in the way of clues. He ogled the stacks of boxes, the neglected bits of furniture. The air smelled of dust and mothballs. The attic? How did--
Fear stabbed its icy fingers into him; Walter was sleepwalking again. It was a condition he'd suffered as a child, though he hadn't known what it was at the time. The first incident was the night he'd walked in on his mother while she was with one of her johns. Those times she brought men to their shitty apartment Walter was forbidden from leaving his room. But that night he'd arisen from his bed, locked in a forgotten dream, and wandered out into the hall, perhaps drawn by the strange noises emanating from his mother's open door. All he remembered was one moment he was snug in bed, the next he was staring at his mother and the man, bodies entwined and writhing grotesquely. The man had not appreciated the unexpected audience and stormed out, shoving the frightened boy rudely aside. Then his mother, who'd never been all that affectionate but had never before resorted to anything more serious than a swat on the bottom, slapped him hard across the face for the first time and screamed about how she should have aborted her pregnancy rather than allowing a burden such as he to live. After that she tied him to his bed each night. Once the Home took Walter in and they discovered his condition, the attendants made sure to lock his room at night, though once he'd settled into some form of stability the incidences of sleepwalking ended.
Now it was happening again. For how long? Did Elsie know about this? Did Chloe? Why wouldn't they tell him?
Because they didn't want you to worry. Yes, that sounded like them.
Walter shivered in the cold storage space. He turned slowly until he saw the open door by the dim glow of the moon's light which filtered through the windows of the house. He trod a careful path through the maze of all-but-forgotten possessions until he emerged onto the narrow landing. He shut the door behind him, descended the creaky stairs, hoping no one was awake to hear him. He hurried to the bathroom, flicked on the light which stabbed into his night-adjusted eyes. Once he'd blinked the dancing spots away he looked at himself in the medicine cabinet's mirrored face. Dust mottled his skin, cobwebs clung to his hair. Walter sighed, turned the sink's tap and washed off the mess. The evidence of his nocturnal wandering dealt with, he turned off the water, switched off the light, then left the bathroom and tiptoed back to the bedroom.
Chloe lay on her side, sound asleep, the bedcovers rumpled at her feet. Walter must have kicked them down there. He guiltily pulled them over the slumbering woman who sighed and shifted deeper into the cocoon of warmth. He stared at her for a long while, a tightness in his throat. Then, with a stealth born of years of hunting the back alleys of New York, Walter changed into his jeans and a heavy sweater, pulled on a pair of woolen socks, then exited the room, shutting the door noiselessly behind him. He crept down the stairs, put on his shoes, retrieved his coat from the rack by the front door and put it on. Walter stepped out into the early winter night.
The first snow had yet to fall, but a thick rime frost coated every surface. The trees glimmered in the moonlight, the grass crackled beneath Walter's feet, his breath clouded. He felt as if he walked through a fairy realm. Hands buried deep in his coat pockets, Walter followed the long driveway to the empty road. He picked a direction at random and followed the shimmering asphalt, his heavy footfalls and steady breaths the only sounds in the cold night. Everything else slept, even the wind. The almost full moon cast its pale glow over the crystalline landscape. Walter saw its face as open-mouthed, as if it couldn't think of anything to say. The few houses here on the edge of town loomed over the frozen hedges and lifeless lawns, unmarred by internal light, occupants snug in their beds like sensible people.
Walter continued his aimless journey until the cold numbed his face, his ears, his nose. He took no notice of this minor discomfort. Rorschach spent many a night roaming the streets; not hunting, just thinking. It was the closest the vigilante ever came to meditation. For Walter, alone on this country road, it was much the same. The steady rhythm of his footsteps lulled his frantic mind, helped him organize his thoughts.
He knew what had brought on tonight's bout of somnambulation. It was the discussion at lunch on Sunday, after the social, while the three of them sat around the table. Chloe brought up a subject which Walter knew was coming and dreaded.
"I talked to Vernon about the wedding. He pretty much implied, with the baby on the way, the sooner we tie the knot the better," and she'd grinned, for her aunt hadn't been told of her pregnancy until that moment.
"You're pregnant? When the hell were you gonna tell me?" the older woman snapped. Her expression vacillated between elation and resentment.
"Jeez, Els. I thought you'd have figured it out by now."
Elsie finally settled on elation; she could always chew her niece out later. "When's it due?"
"August." Chloe reached across the circular table to grasp Walter's hand. A proud smile graced her features. "That's why we need to set a date soon, before it starts to show. Do you know how tough it is to find a maternity wedding gown?"
The two women laughed. Walter mustered a smile, though his heart weighed heavy in his chest. The feeling only deepened when, days later, Chloe had her first sonogram. Again the elation he couldn't share; again the forced smile. Lila ran the device over Chloe's belly and pointed out the shadowy blobs that were, according to the doctor, the fetus's anatomy. Chloe had ooh-ed and beamed at the grainy images while Walter only stared in feigned comprehension and mounting guilt. He didn't know how to tell her. Didn't know how to explain without sounding heartless. Walter faced impending fatherhood and all he felt was…nothing. No excitement, no anticipation, not even fear. Nothing. Walter felt not a shred of emotion for Chloe's baby. His baby; he had no doubt of that. But it didn't matter to him, and for that he felt like a total shit.
The feeling of disconnection extended to the wedding. Walter didn't care if he married Chloe. His love for her was as strong as always, but at the same time he felt as if he were drifting away from her. He had no purpose to his life. Rorschach had had a purpose, unhealthy though it was. Rorschach never fretted over the reason of his existence; the all-consuming Cause for Retribution was enough for him. But Walter? What did he have? What was he supposed to do here in the sleepy rural town of Jubilation? All he knew was smashing skulls and mending women's ball gowns; the former activity was out of the question, and he never enjoyed the latter. So what was left to him? What was he supposed to do with the rest of his life? Walter never planned on living beyond Rorschach; never planned anything, to be honest. He felt…wrong. Lately he found himself wishing Dr. Manhattan had vaporized him instead of teleporting him back to what remained of New York, or that Fallon has succeeded in executing him. Horrible, shameful imaginings. He contemplated turning himself in. He thought about packing his bags and walking away; just abandon it all. Abandon her.
A dull ache built in his legs, the soles of his feet. How far had he wandered? Not far enough, he decided. He walked on. There were no more houses, just empty fields and huddled thickets. If he walked long enough he might actually reach Lovettesville. He could hitch a ride to somewhere else; someplace big and crowded. He could just disappear.
Movement ahead diverted him from those seductive thoughts. Mere yards ahead something emerged from a stand of trees and stepped out onto the road. At first his city-born mind interpreted the newcomer as a dog. Had Nixon followed him? But…no dog could be so massive. Walter froze in his tracks. His mouth hung open, speechless as the watching moon. Two nocturnal travelers regarded each other in awe, neither daring to move.
Walter never imagined he'd ever see something so beautiful. He was so close he could see its breath mist the air before its shiny black nose; could hear the faint click-click of its dainty hooves as it shifted its weight. Huge liquid eyes gazed upon him with wary innocence. Walter had never been so still, in body or mind. He didn't think about the purity of this moment, only let the experience wash over him, let his mind absorb every nuance and sensation with exquisite clarity. He could not have said how long he stood there; forever or an instant. Then the deer, sensing no threat from this silent creature, turned and trotted gracefully to the opposite side of the road. It disappeared into the thick underbrush, a faint rustle and it was gone as if it had never been.
Walter finally dared to breathe. Eyes, dry from exposure to the cold air, blinked rapidly. A sound escaped him; a faint laugh of wonderment. He knew he would never tell of this moment. To put it into words would mar its perfection. He would carry the memory in secret for always.
The silent man gazed up at the clear winter sky--diamond flecks scattered over a black velvet shroud, white and blue and fiery red. He turned and headed for home.
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Inside this new love, die.
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an axe to the prison wall.
Escape.
Walk out like someone suddenly born into color.
Do it now.
You're covered with thick cloud.
Slide out the side. Die,
and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign
that you've died.
Your old life was a frantic running
from silence.
The speechless full moon
comes out now.
(Quietness, by Jalal Al-Din Rumi, translated from the Persian by Coleman Barks)