The Last Don - Mario Puzo [11]
It was the first time that she had spoken coarsely to him. He was not surprised that she knew of his unfaithfulness, he had not attempted to hide it. In fact, that was his cunning. Then it would be he who had driven her away, not she who had left.
Athena observed what was happening to Boz, but she was too young and too intent on her own life to give it the necessary attention. It was only when Boz turned cruel that Athena, at twenty years of age, found the steel in her character, an impatience with stupidity.
Boz started playing those clever games of men who hate women. And it seemed to Athena that he was actually going insane.
He always picked up their dry cleaning on his way home from work, because as he often said, “Honey, your time is more valuable than mine. You have all your special classes in music and drama besides your degree work.” He thought she would not detect his spiteful reproach because of the offhand tone of his voice.
One day Boz came home carrying an armload of her dresses while she was taking a bath. He looked down at her, all gold hair and white skin, rounded breasts and buttocks decorated with foamy soap. His voice thick, he said, “How would you like it if I threw this shit right into the tub with you?” But instead, he hung the clothes in the closet, helped her out of the water, and rubbed her dry with rosy pink towels. Then he made love to her. A few weeks later the scene was repeated. But this time he threw the clothes in the water.
One night he threatened to break all the dishes at dinner but did not. A week later, he smashed everything in the kitchen. He always apologized after these instances. Always tried to make love afterward. But now Athena refused him and they slept in separate bedrooms.
Another night at dinner Boz held up his fist and said, “Your face is too perfect. Maybe if I broke your nose, it would have more character, like Marlon Brando.”
She ran into the kitchen, and he followed her. She was terribly frightened and picked up a knife. Boz laughed and said, “That’s the one thing you can’t do.” And he was right. He easily took the knife away from her. “I was only kidding,” he said. “You’re only fault is you have no sense of humor.”
Athena, at twenty, could have turned to her parents for help, but she did not, nor did she confide in friends. Instead she carefully thought things out, she trusted her intelligence. She saw that she would never finish college, the situation was too dangerous. She knew the authorities could not protect her. She considered briefly a campaign to make Boz truly love her again so that he would be the old Boz, but now she had such a physical aversion to him that she couldn’t stand even the thought of him touching her, and she knew that she would never be able to give a convincing performance of love, though that option appealed to her dramatic sense.
What Boz did that finally forced her hand and made her certain she had to leave didn’t have to do with her, it concerned Bethany.
He often tossed their one-year-old daughter into the air playfully and then pretended he was not going to catch her, only doing so with a last-minute lunge. But once he let the infant bounce, accidentally it seemed, on the sofa. And then finally one day he quite deliberately let the little girl fall to the floor. Athena gasped with horror and rushed to pick the baby up, to hold her, to comfort her. She stayed awake all night sitting beside the crib of the infant to be certain she was all right. Bethany had a fearful lump on her head. Boz tearfully apologized and promised he would no longer tease in such a fashion. But Athena had come to a decision.
The next day she cleared out her checking account and her savings account. She made intricate travel arrangements so that her movements could not be followed. Two days later, when Boz came home from work, she and the baby had disappeared.
Six months later Athena