The Paper Palace(48)

Mum switches off the hall light as she passes my room. She hates wasting electricity. I wait for the shush of her bedroom door. In the living room Leo closes his book, pulls the chain on the old Ming vase lamp, shoves back his heavy wooden armchair. Their bedroom door opens, shuts again, more firmly now. Hushed good-night voices, water running in the bathroom, the soft crunk of the plastic rinsing glass being replaced onto the edge of the porcelain sink. I count the minutes. Listen for the creak of the bed as it takes Leo’s weight. My breath rises and falls. I listen to the shift of my cotton sheets. Wait. Wait. Silence has fallen. Careful not to make the smallest sound, I get out of bed, turn the door handle slowly. Still silence. I reach into the pitch-dark hallway and feel around for the light switch, turn the light back on. Wait. Nothing. They are asleep or too tired to bother. I close my door tight, climb back into bed, pull the covers up around my neck. I have done what I can. It’s always safer when the hallway is lit.



* * *



—

One night in October, a month after we got back from the Cape, I surfaced from a deep sleep. What woke me was a breeze on my thighs. I remember thinking I had kicked off my covers, but when I reached down to pull them up, I realized my nightgown had gotten scrunched all the way up, legs and stomach and breasts exposed. And there was wetness all over my panties. My period had come early. I wiped my hand off on my nightgown and was getting up to go to the bathroom when a thought occurred to me: there was no dark streak, no blood where I had wiped off my hand. I put my hand to my nose, confused. A strong bitter smell I didn’t recognize. A thick, gruel texture. And then I saw something move in my closet. Someone was in there, hidden in the shadows, the hollow darkness. I could not see his face, but I could see his penis, a fleshy white against the blackness, still erect. He was squeezing it, the last drops of semen glistening on the tip. I froze, paralyzed. Afraid to breathe. In the past three months, four women had been found raped and strangled to death in the city, and they hadn’t caught the killer yet. The most recent victim was only about eighteen years old. She had been found naked, floating in the river, hands tied behind her back. Carefully, slowly, I lay back down. Maybe if he thought I hadn’t seen him, he would leave without hurting me. I closed my eyes tight and prayed. Please get out. Please get out. I won’t yell. I won’t tell anyone. In the quiet inside me, I was screaming so loud that sound filled the void, a terror I could barely control. Minutes passed. Finally, a movement. The swing of my bedroom door. I allowed myself to open my eyes a crack, to make sure he was gone. Just as the door was shutting, Conrad turned around.





February


Outside my door I hear the smallest creak of a floorboard.

“Elle?” Conrad whispers my name, testing to make sure I am asleep. “Elle, are you awake?”

He opens the door and stands beside my bed in the dark. After a few seconds, he reaches down, pulls my nightgown up past my thighs, unzips his pants, touches himself. A soft, gummy sound. Lie in silence. Swallow. Don’t dare stir. I must pretend to be fast asleep. Conrad thinks I have no idea he comes into my room at night. Looks at me. Masturbates. As far as he knows, I’m dead to the world, completely unaware of what he is doing. I might as well have taken a heavy sleeping pill. And he must never know. As long as he thinks his visits are his secret alone, I can act normal, sit at the family dinner table with him, walk past his room to go to the bathroom. Because as far as I’m concerned, nothing has happened. Maybe if I had not been paralyzed in terror that first night, if I had screamed and yelled. But then it would be out there—the humiliation, the filth. When I woke up that night he had already jerked off on me, all over my panties. I had seen the tip of his penis. That part could never be undone, even with a scream. Everyone in my family would be stuck with that disgusting image in their heads. I would be tainted forever—an object of pity. So, I will carry the weight of this shame rather than tell on him.

I know my silence protects him. But it also protects me: Conrad is terrified of getting caught—exposed to his father, rejected forever. That is the one power I have. Whenever he comes too close to me now, I pretend to wake up, and he slithers out before he gets caught. Back to his rat hole. I am safe. I just can’t ever fall asleep.





March


Leo and Conrad are fighting. “Goddammit,” Leo is yelling. “I can’t take it, I can’t take it . . .” I hear the thud of a wall being punched. “It’s a disgrace,” Leo shouts. “Do you understand? Do you understand?”

“Dad, please.”

“Pick up this room!” More crashes, kicking.

I’ve just gotten home from my babysitting job and I desperately need to pee. I peer down the long hallway. Conrad’s bedroom door is wide open. It will embarrass him if he knows I’ve overheard, but I have to go past his room to get to the bathroom. I put my things down, hang my down vest on a coat hook, and tiptoe down the hall hoping to get by unnoticed.

“Dad, please, I’ve tried. I just don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” Leo yells. “That Des Moines is the capital of Iowa? It’s geography, not rocket science. If you fail again, they will kick you out. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There are no second chances here.”

“I didn’t flunk it on purpose, Dad,” Conrad says, so upset. “I’m just bad at it.”