Nail stands on the step of his family’s apartment. A run-down old wooden building, it has iron bars over the windows and an electronic metal door that clashes horribly with the wood motif. The building is located in what is far from the worst part of town, but it’s not a neighborhood where one can forget their surroundings.
He puts his hand on a shingle and gets a splinter. What a lovely shit-hole, he thinks. It’s all he could afford after college. With his mom murdered and and his dad off living the runner’s life, he had to pay his own way, and this was the best his slim wallet could buy. Still, the memories are mostly pleasant. He had carved a nice life out for himself here with his wife, a peaceful life where he could go with the flow, mostly content to be an upper lower-class drone.
And now he has to ask his family to move. This place isn’t safe anymore. Nail has found himself on a short list of candidates in a deadly pool. Worse yet, he doesn’t know who is making the picks. And, while he doubts whoever is running this shadow game dislikes Nail enough personally to target his family out of vengeance, he knows first hand that runners aren’t above using family members as expendable collateral in order to get what they want. His thoughts run uncomfortably back to the day he came back home, only to find his house and his mother full of holes in places where they shouldn’t be. Pap, you selfish bastard… he thinks.
He runs his finger over the buzzer and pushes it. He still has no idea what he’s going to say. At least he has money. A bittersweet comfort.
“Hello? Nail is that you?” says a soft voice over the intercom.
“Yes, it’s me honey. Strawberry fields.”
“Forever,” she replies. After a series of clicks and beeps, the light on the door handle turns green. He opens the door and goes in.
Walking up a long flight of stairs, he opens the door to his unit and locks it behind him. In the entryway, he takes off his shoes. “Tadaima,” he says, using the Japanese phrase for ‘I’m home,’ a habit he picked up while on his honeymoon.
“Okaeri nasai,” she replies from the other room.
The place hasn’t changed a bit. Walking down the long hallway, his eyes glance over the familiar series of rooms. The guest bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, the baby room, unused. At last he arrives in the den. His eyes land happily on his wife, who sits on an old nondescript sofa, a book lying next to her.
She gets up slowly and they embrace. Even though it has been less than a week, it feels like months, and their passionate kiss reflects that. After a few seconds, they separate, and Nail remarks: “You’re up and walking.”
“Yes, it seems that medicine you’ve bought has been working,” she says with a smile.
“That’s great honey.” he replies. He tries to think happy thoughts and says “And I have good news. Work went really well, and I’ll be able to afford more where that came, enough for the near future at the least.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful honey,” she says, becoming visibly excited. “I really do think it’s working. Why, with a few more doses I’ll be right as rain. Why, maybe my cancer will even go into remission. And, if that happens, then you can go back to your old position at your job, and you won’t have to travel all the time. And then, maybe…” She glances over at the room closest to the den, its walls lined with a streak of light blue, “well let’s not get ahead of ourself, but it’s simply so exciting. This is wonderful.” she says, her eyes beaming.
Nail is not smiling. He sits on the sofa with his head on his hands. He simply can’t bring himself to put on a false front in front of the one person he cares about more than himself.
“Honey… what’s wrong?” she asks. No reply. The mood darkens like a rain cloud over a little league baseball game. “There’s something wrong… isn’t there?”
“We need to move,” he says flatly. Kaboom. The clouds darken and burst forth into a torrent of rain. To add insult to injury, it’s raining for real outside.
“…What? …Why?” she says, stunned. “We’re happy here. Sure it’s not much to look at, but we have so many happy memories. I don’t understand…”
“Something’s come up at work, and it would be good if we moved,” Nail says, not lying persay, but he can’t muster any affect, and his tone leaves the words falling flat.
" ‘It would be good?’ ", she copies back in a voice mostly confused but slightly incredulous. “What are you talking about?”
“Just listen to me honey. We need to move, and we need to do it soon.”
“But I don’t want to move honey. I like it here… Why are you bringing this up all of a sudden? And after you just got home from work, too. Honey, you’re just tired from your long business trip, that’s all.” she says, trying to convince herself what she said is true.
“It’s not safe!” blurts out Nail loudly, his head burrowed even deeper into his hands.
A long silence follows. The density of the tension forms a black hole and time dilates around the room. All remnants of Nail’s happy return are sucked in.
Finally, Nail’s wife breaks the silence. In a low whisper, she says, “Honey, your job is not in sales… is it?”
No response. Nail would rather get shot again then carry on with this conversation. He still has no idea what to say, so he doesn’t say anything.
“Honey, talk to me…” she says, still in a gentle voice. “What’s happening?”
After another long pause, Nail makes a decision of sorts. “I… can’t tell you.”
The line hits Nail’s wife like a sucker punch freight train. The communication in their relationship has been perfect. There has never been anything they couldn’t share. At this point, her hurt and confusion turns to anger. With an edge in her voice, she says “What… well… why the hell not honey? What can’t tell you tell me? Why can’t you tell me?”
She continues on, “You know, you come home and make this big sweeping pronouncement, we have to move. Then you follow it up with this dread news that I’m not safe! And then you have the nerve to say you can’t TELL me! Honey, what the hell is going on?! For all I know you could be on drugs!”
“I’m not on drugs honey.”
“I KNOW!” she yells, surprising herself with the intensity of her own emotions. “…I know… she says, softly again.”
Her rage crested, she calms down. No sooner does she calm down when a violent fit of coughing overtakes her.
“Honey!” Nail cries, and rushes to embrace her.
“Don’t touch me!” she yells, and pushes him away. “Don’t…touch me…” she half-speaks, half-cries, and falls into his arms.
Nail holds her for a long time. He tries to express with his body what he can’t express in words. He can’t tell her… It would only endanger her further, he thinks, or perhaps rationalizes, it’s unclear which.
Time goes on, and night falls. They go to bed. Too tired to continue the discussion further, neither of them speak. They sleep in separate beds. In the middle of the night, Nail’s wife comes over to him. They embrace until morning.
In the morning, a ray of light breaks through the window, and it feels like the worst of the storm has passed. Turning to Nail, his wife says… “Honey… I’m still mad at you. I’m hurt and confused and scared. But… I love you… if you say that you can’t tell me then” DA DA DEE DA DA DEE DA DA DEE DA DA DUM DA DA DEE. Nail’s intercom rings to the tune of Our Man Flint. It’s Goethe. Nail gets up crankily and goes into the other room to take the call.
“You have helluva timing, you know that?” he says sarcastically.