Chapter 11: Disclosure

The boys found her sitting behind the house, back leaning towards the wall. She stared at the stars without really seeing them.
I'm sorry I just left you there, she said. I wasn't quite myself.
I don't blame you, Buck said. Are you okay?
Not really.
Ike sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulder. He gave Buck a glance that asked him to leave them alone. Buck nodded and lent down to strike Sandy's cheek.
You take care, he said, and then he left.
Sandy sat silent for a minute. Then took a deep, shivering breath. Her eyes were dry, and it struck Ike that he had never seen her cry.
I guess I owe you an explanation, she said.
You don't owe me anything.
That's not true. I should never have let you get into this situation. You know what I like about Chicago? People don't know all that much about you. Not even your friends. If you want to tell them things you can do it in confidence, one thing at a time. It's not a choice between spilling it all out on the very first day or let them hear the ugly version from strangers. She thought about her words. Not that there is a version that isn't ugly.
You can tell me.
She gave a mirthless laugh.
Can I? I don't even know where to start. This is so difficult.
To talk about it?
To explain. Her eyes met his, and she shrugged helplessly. To make you understand.
She thought to herself that if she saw any sign of contempt in his eyes she would leave that instant. But at the same time she knew that she couldn't withhold this from him any longer.
I loved Duncan Campbell, she said. I was fifteen and had dreamed of the knight in shining armour all my life. That was what he was to me. I had only seen him a few times when I felt that he was the one. The love of my life. She frowned. Are all girls that stupid?
What happened?
What happened? I was in love. I had never felt anything like it. I knew every single feature of his face by heart. He had slanting blue eyes, soft like a puppy's, and this impossible fringe that kept falling into them. I wasn't the only one who found him handsome. He was tall, slim and well-dressed, and that appealed to many girls. The first time he asked me out I was in seventh heaven. Even when the dates were so frequent I realised that he was really my boyfriend, I just couldn't believe it. He was so fine to me. I would do anything he asked me to, he just had to say 'please' in that warm voice of his. 'Please Sandy, can't you tell your friend to come back another time? I thought we could have a romantic dinner.' He was great at romantic dinners. 'Sandy, I love you so much, I can't stand being away from you.'
He made me feel like a queen, a goddess, even. Nobody else treated me the way he did, so it didn't feel like a sacrifice to spend every hour with him. I really didn't even think about it until he wanted me to stop talking to other men. I was just talking to them, not flirting or anything, but suddenly he wasn't all that sweet and polite anymore. And that felt awful. Falling from his grace was something I couldn't stand, so I did everything he wanted. But it was never enough. For every step I took in his direction, he wanted me to take a bigger one. The difference between queen and bitch was so frightfully small.
The first time he called me that was shocking. All I had done was to spend a day with my girlfriends instead of him. Nobody appreciated me, he said, he was the only one who saw how fantastic I was. Why would I need my girlfriends or even my family when I had him? I tried to stand up for myself, and then he got mad. Before I knew it, he yelled 'bitch' at me. I couldn't breath. I cried and cried and begged him to forgive me, promised that I'd never do it again. And he apologized and told me that he was so madly in love with me, he needed to be everything for me. I had to stop doing things that made him angry.
In a way, that was worse than the first time he hit me. I mean, what's a strike after all? I accepted every blow gladly, because I felt I deserved them.
Then he wanted me to sleep with him. I said no. I was very idealistic, and I didn't believe in sex before marriage. At first he pleaded, then he got furious. He accused me of having other men. My virtue couldn't take all that anger, so I gave in. His smile once I had done that convinced me that it was the right decision. Not that I wasn't nervous. Scared, even. When we were going to do it, I got cold feet and asked him to stop, but he didn't.
Mom had told me a thing or to about the 'wedding night' as she called it. I knew it might hurt, but not that it would hurt so much. Of course, most of the pain came from my arms, because he held them over my head so I would keep still. When he asked me afterwards if I had liked it I lied and said I had. That pleased him, but I was horrified at the idea of doing it again. At first I sometimes asked him not to, but I soon learned that it was no use. I subjected myself, and he was satisfied for a while, but then he got mad because I never moved. Once, I began to cry, and when he was done he pounded his fist straight into my abdomen. I was so grateful that nobody would ever see it, that nobody would understand what a bad girl I was.
The sick part, the part I can't make people understand, is that I still loved him. And I told myself that he loved me, too. I don't think I could ever have left him on my own. But I started to feel ill. I couldn't keep anything down, my breasts hurt and my periods stopped. For the first time I did something sensible. I went to my mother. She told me the obvious, that I was pregnant. When I passed that information on to Duncan, he lost it completely. For the first time he hit me in the face. I couldn't hide it from mamá and she told me never to see him again. To make sure I obeyed her she left town with me. We went to a home for expecting single mothers.
At this point, I couldn't even take care of myself, much less a baby. But one of mamá's friends couldn't have children herself, and mamá asked her to become the mother for my child. I agreed to it, because I didn't know what else to do. I had forgotten how to make my own decisions. I felt like a puppet with broken strings, there was nothing I could do. Then Manolo was born and God, he was so perfect. Whatever his father was, he was my boy, of my blood, and I loved him so much my heart ached. When they took him away I cried so hard they had to sedate me so I wouldn't upset the others. I knew he would have a good home, but that didn't help one bit.
That broke whatever little strength I had left. When I came home, I just lay down in my bed and didn't leave it. Days could go by when I didn't eat or even moved, I just lay there crying my eyes out. Sometimes people came by, and then I would exaggerate a little bit just to be left alone. I was tremendously tired, because I didn't get any sleep. I had been having nightmares for many months, and sometimes they were so bad I didn't dare to fall asleep at all, I would just lie reading all night. Fortunately, it occurred to me that I might be able to sculpt the dreams. Dad's a potter, and all of us kids have always been playing with clay. Only, Duncan didn't like it. He didn't like anything that I showed any interest in, because he felt that it took me away from him. Can you imagine that? I was the one supposed to be crazy, but at least I wasn't jealous of clay. Sick. But I gave it up for him, of course, like everything else. I really loved getting back to it, and it helped, too. It was hard to get the dreams the way I had dreamed them, but once I was fairly satisfied they never came back. I sculpted away every nightmare, every bad thought and feeling of guilt. That was one of the ways I got back to life.
I'm not saying it was easy, though. I hated leaving the house, because I felt like everyone was looking at me. Maybe they were, maybe they weren't. All little towns are full of gossipers, but I'm not the only one who ever did something weird. After a while I was old news. Still, it felt fantastic to go to Chicago, it helped me a lot. I had dumped all my old friends when Duncan came along, and most of them never forgave me for it. When I moved, I got a whole new crowd to hang around with. At first it was hard to get used to, after three years of more or less isolation, but then it just felt so good. So, I'm okay with all this, when I'm not around here. Then again, maybe Carlos is right and I'm not healing properly. Duncan was the first man I ever loved, and even if I tell myself that the world is full of nice young men, some part of me just won't believe it. If I hadn't loved him so much it wouldn't have been half as bad. It wasn't that he hit me, but that he took me away from myself until I didn't even feel like a real person anymore. It's so hard to explain, he
She struggled to find words, but had to give up. All this time as she had explained the facts of the matter, she had kept it simple and unsentimental, even though her face revealed strong emotions. But this was her limit. She couldn't put into words how she had felt, in which ways Duncan had raped her soul.
Ike hadn't interrupted her story, only listened with deep concern. There was really nothing to be said. Now he remembered the sculptures in the attic and on some level he understood what she couldn't say. He filled in for her:
He crippled you.
Her eyes widened.
How can you know The truth dawned to her, and for the first time since she started her story, she smiled. The Venus of America. I had forgotten about her. Yes, you're right. That's what he did.
Ike put his arms around her and rocked her slowly.
This won't be easy for you, she mumbled.
He shook his head, smiling.
It's you who's really hurting. What kind of a man would I be if I didn't take consideration to that?
If you had known how fucked up I was to begin with, you never would have wanted to go out with me.
I knew. I didn't know in what way, but I knew something was wrong. That doesn't matter.
I don't know. She sighed as she rose and brushed the dirt form her skirt. He rose, too, and they stood there, looking at each other. This is new territory for me after all, I don't know if I can pull through.
Her hand reached out to touch his cheek as if it had a will of its own. Not once had his eyes shown any unkind feelings. His loathe was not directed to her, and that was all she really needed to know.
I'm willing to give it a try, though, she said. You're so good to me, Ike. It sounds trivial, but it isn't. I could say: 'You're the most beautiful man I have ever met in my life. I feel this energy around you that draws me closer. If I could, I would hide under your skin, and there I would be perfectly safe and never have to leave.' And that would be true, but I can't trust those feelings. A smile lit up her eyes. But I can trust you.
She was so pretty in that moment that he almost lost touch with the ground. Unable to make a proper reply, he answered lightheartedly:
As long as you trust one of us