I am rushing to the lifeguard, screaming, “He went under! Out past the drop-off.”
The lifeguard, lean and sun-darkened, touches my shoulders and says to me in a firm voice: “Please, calm down. Point to the spot. What happened?”
“We were swimming — my friend Susanne and I. My husband, Peter, was five meters out. He shouted once and just…went down. The current took him.”
I point my finger at the lake, then at my friend Susanne, who is standing beside us, her face bloodless.
“Show me where!” the lifeguard shouts, immediately pressing the button on the radio attached to his chest. “We have an emergency, a swimmer went under, north shore!” he yells into the device.
Before the radio even answers, he grabs an orange rescue buoy and points at the water. “Keep your eyes on the exact spot; don’t look away!”
He runs past me and dives straight into the lake. Susanne and I stand at the shore, watching him swim with fast, powerful strokes to the area I pointed at. When he reaches it, he dives.
Seconds feel like an eternity. Finally, his head comes back up. He gasps for air, turns around in all directions, and dives a second time. After another half minute, he surfaces again, coughing and completely out of breath. He looks toward the beach and shakes his head in despair; the water is simply too murky.
He swims back to the shore, out of breath and soaking wet. “I couldn’t find him,” he says with a trembling voice. “The currents are too strong, and the visibility is zero. I called backup; the rescue teams are on their way.”
Ten minutes later, the first water rescue units arrive, and a helicopter is landing. In the minutes that follow, the air is pierced by sirens, and more and more rescue units arrive. I see them on the lake, with hand sonar devices, trying to locate my husband.
I start crying, and then I see her arriving: Mia. Dressed in a tight bikini that shows a lot. Slim, tall, long blonde hair, fit. Much better looking than me and twenty years younger. What does this bitch want? Does she really think I don’t know that she and my husband had an affair?
Mia spots me and immediately approaches me. “I’m so sorry, Inga,” Mia says, and she really dares to touch my arm. I move away with a reflex.
“You really have lost your last shred of decency, haven’t you?” I scream at her. “Do you really think I don’t know what has been going on between you and Peter? He told me everything two days ago. Get lost and leave me alone; I just lost my husband of 25 years.”
Mia cannot look me in the eye, but I can see her start to cry.
“I know it wasn’t right to have an affair with your husband. Please accept my sincere sympathy. But please don’t forget that I also lost Peter. Also, if he told you two days ago, he surely told you he was planning to leave you.”
Hearing these words, I get so angry I want to hit Mia in the face. Instead, I scream at her.
“What are you talking about? You lost Peter, and he was planning to leave me? He is my husband, and marriage means faithfulness unto death. You seduced my husband and made him break his spell. My husband wouldn’t leave me, ever; remember this! Now get lost before I lose my temper.”
Mia walks away, and I sit down at the bar, ordering one white wine, but barely touching it. For hours, I stare at the lake, watching the rescue units try to locate my husband with their handheld sonar. I feel a bit of pride that so much effort is going into finding my husband.
Then an older-looking police officer approaches me. “I’m sorry, but we haven’t been able to locate your husband so far. The lake is big, very muddy, and deep, with strong currents. It’s getting dark, and we have to call off today's search. My heartfelt sympathy for your loss. We will continue our search tomorrow, but I want to be honest with you: there is a slight possibility that we won’t be able to locate your husband. I’m not saying that it will be like this, just saying that there is a slight chance. Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need someone to get you home?”
“I will be fine,” I reply with a tear-choked voice. “I don’t live far away, and I prefer walking home. I want to be alone now.”
“I can understand this,” the police officer replies. “As said, we will continue our search tomorrow, and I’m sure we will find your husband. And my sympathy again for your loss.”
He turns to Susanne: “I heard you saw the incident, correct? I need to get your statement as well. But we can do this without your friend.”
I grab my bag and start walking home. Our house is two miles away, but it’s still warm outside, and I love walking home in the countryside. It’s a warm summer evening, and I’m walking a small path through the field, passing by cattle grazing in the pasture. Everything is so peaceful. A deep melancholy overcomes me: Nature will be there forever, not caring about humans and our problems. What does my life or an unfaithful husband really matter?
But then, I think about Mia and Peter, and the fury takes hold of me again. I can see our wedding day before my eyes. “You are such a beautiful couple,” friends told me, “and you look so happy.” I think of our great sex and can feel Peter’s skin touching mine. We were so happy until Peter met Mia at the lake when he went swimming alone. Strange how such a coincidence can affect your life. Why was he there on this exact day and time when she was there as well? Why not any other day?
I keep thinking about our past until I arrive at the house. It is already dark. I take off my shoes and walk down to the basement.
My husband, tied up, is still alive. I was afraid he might be dead after I hit him on the head with the hammer when he told me he wanted to leave me and move in with Mia. I can see dried blood on the floor; the scent of it hangs in the air. The hammer with traces of blood stands in the corner.
Leaving me? Never. No man leaves me, especially not my husband.
“You drowned today, Peter,” I say, stepping into the center of the room. “Susanne saw it as well. Mira cried for you at the lake. The divers were looking for you in forty feet of mud.”
His lips crack as he tries to speak. “You’re out of your mind. There’s no body. Susanne won’t…she won’t lie for you.”
“Susanne did lie. She owes me, and she prefers her freedom to yours. Nobody is looking in this basement, and nobody will be looking in our garden pond.”
“Please, Inga, let me go. I won’t tell anyone what happened here, and you can keep the house, everything; just please let me go. Please.”
He looks at me with frightened eyes and strains against his restraints like mad.
“I’m afraid it’s too late for this,” I reply. “You cheated on me, and you want to leave. I cannot let this happen. You promised to stay with me in good and bad times, so you stay.”
I take the handgun from my bag and shoot five times, aiming at his heart.
Peter is dead immediately.
Tomorrow I will be at the lake again, mourning my husband.
