Stefano looks past him to Rosalind, who lies still, floating just beneath the water’s surface. Georg turns back once more to Rosalind, and Stefano sees that he is attempting to push her deeper underwater.
“Georg! No!” calls Stefano, who drops the torch to rush down the embankment to the shallows. He pulls at the arms of the other man, but his initial attempts at forcing Georg’s hands away from Rosalind are futile, and Stefano then throws several punches. He is unprepared for the strength of Georg, for his inability to feel. Georg finally releases her but turns his attention, reaching for Stefano’s throat with both hands and pressing his fingers into his windpipe. Knowing he has only seconds, Stefano’s only defense is to lash out wildly at his assailant’s face with both fists.
When Georg loosens his grip slightly, Stefano uses the moment to lunge at him, pushing him backward into the water alongside Rosalind. They tussle for several moments in the dark water until, with one arm finally pulled free, Stefano thrusts his elbow upward and into Georg’s face, forcing him to release his hold.
Stefano stands up quickly, drenched and out of breath, to wait for the other man to come at him again. They each stand braced in the shallow water, and a blast of light from the sky reveals Georg, a savage beast, teeth gritted and fists clenched. At first it seems he will charge, but part of Rosalind’s nightgown rises up from the water, distracting him, and, under the shaft of light from Stefano’s fallen torch, Georg looks toward her floating body.
Thunder splits open the night above them, and panic spreads across Georg’s face. As if awoken from a dream, he releases a loud whining noise like an animal in pain. The noise continues, louder, piercing through the sounds of rain slapping the water, as he scrambles up the embankment to flee into the wood.
Stefano dives across to where Rosalind has floated to deeper water several yards from the embankment, her face rising just above the surface. He kicks backward, dragging her above him, until he reaches the shallows again and then carries her limp body up the embankment to lay her on flat ground.
Stefano turns her on her side to empty the water from her lungs. Growing up beside the sea, he had witnessed several near drownings and one unsuccessful attempt at resuscitation. Rosalind is still motionless as he turns her on her back to breathe air into her mouth.
She coughs slightly, and as he attempts to sit her up, she retches. Moments later when the spasm has eased, he carries her back to the house and rests her gently on the sofa. He shuts the front door and ignites the oil lamp on the wall above her, the light revealing Rosalind’s ashen face and eyes that loom large with shock. Her hair is saturated, stuck flat to her cheeks and neck, and a puddle of water has formed at her feet. She has wrapped her arms around herself and stares back at him, trembling, but she is not yet present, her mind attempting to make sense of the event that just occurred.
Stefano takes the throw that hides the worn fabric on the back of the sofa and wraps it around her shoulders. She doesn’t move, tiny and timid beneath the rug, as thunder recedes farther down the river.
In Georg’s attic bedroom there is no sign of him, nor in the rest of the house. But Stefano’s instinct has already told him that Georg isn’t inside. He locks the front and back doors.
He fills the kettle and places it on the stove, notes the puddles he has created on the floor from his clothes, then retrieves a towel from Rosalind’s bathroom to pat off the excess water from his body.
When he sits down beside her, Rosalind doesn’t acknowledge his presence, but her eyes find something else to focus on in the room, a space of wall that reflects her blank thoughts. He slides the rug away from her and gently rubs her back and shoulders with the towel, then more gently her head. With his fingers he combs the hair away from her face. She doesn’t move away or ask him to stop. Her trembles taper, and he wraps the rug firmly around her shoulders.
“How are you feeling?”
“My throat is sore,” she says, placing her hand at the tender area.
“What set him off?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing. I just woke, and his hand was over my mouth. He carried me to the river and then . . .”
The kettle whistles, and Stefano returns to the kitchen to pour hot water for tea.
“He has never been like that before,” she says, almost in a whisper. “The rage so directed . . . I have always managed to control him.”
“He is dangerous, Rosalind.”
“If you knew him before the war, you would know that this isn’t who he is. This is not the same Georg.”
“What is he taking?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
She sits up straighter as he approaches the sofa, and she reaches for the cup he brings her.
“You are giving him a drug. What is it that makes him so erratic?”
“It is his brain injury from a bullet, and it is no concern of yours,” she says.
“It became my concern when I pulled you from the water.”
She puts the cup down on a small serving table beside her, her eyes wide and clear again.
“I appreciate what you’ve done, but I don’t need your advice. You know nothing about me, about Georg.”
“He was deranged out there and with a strength that doesn’t match his appearance. I believe it is the drug the Germans gave soldiers to make them feel invincible. I fought with some who were taking it, even after they were told not to—”
“You have no idea what it is like to see the person you love shattered, broken from battle, disoriented . . .”
“Was he already addicted before he went to battle?”
“What? . . . I don’t know . . .” She shakes her head. “Yes.”
“Erich said he was dangerous, and now I have to believe it.”
“Be quiet about Erich.” She stands up, and the rug falls to the floor. “You know nothing about Erich either! Perhaps it is him you should worry about.”
She stumbles when she stands up to walk away. He reaches out to catch her, but she raises her hands to stop him as she rights herself. In the kitchen she puts her palms flat against the table, bows her head, and tries to steady her breathing.
“I’m sorry,” says Stefano. “I know it isn’t really anything to do with me, but you could have died.”
She lifts her head slightly but doesn’t turn to face him.
“You cannot imagine what it was like to see him return from war a ruined man—half a man. If you had seen him before, if you had known him, you would know why it is that I want to look after him in this way. He is worse when he is off the drugs. It is impossible to live with him without them.”
“And is it Erich who gets you the drugs?”
“Of course! Erich has access to anything,” she says, the pain in her throat distracting, throwing away her guard.
“What are you giving him?”
“Opiates to sedate him and help him sleep, and the other you just talked about reverses the first to lift his mood . . . They stop him from hurting himself.” She pauses and closes her eyes. “Though lately the second is making him unpredictable.”
“How often?”
“As he needs it . . . every few days. I’ve been stretching it out for longer since it is nearly all gone. It is perhaps the reduction that is the problem also.”
“I think you are killing him slowly if he doesn’t kill you first.”
She puts her hand over her mouth and closes her eyes, the memory of what happened causing more pain.
“Rosalind, I can help you,” he says gently.
“No one can help me.”
Stefano steps close to comfort her, but she moves away toward the door.
“I can’t leave him out there,” she says, her voice firm again. “I must find him. He will be feeling wretched. He will remember what he did. Despite his mind, he remembers things between the lapses. He has lucid moments when he knows what he is, what he has done wrong. That is the sadness.”
She reaches for the door handle.
“He called you Moni when I first approached him in the water. I presume he means Monique.”
She stops and turns.
“As I said, he is confused.”
“Is he angry about something?”