The Gentle Man

His sister gave the poster a disapproving look, and muttered something that sounded like, "Sluts" under her breath.

I kept my mouth shut; I really couldn't understand what she had to complain about. I kind of liked the poster.

When we reached her room, I could see the female touches. There was no doubt that this was a young woman's room.

As I looked around I could help but notice the large framed photo of me on her night stand just like the one on her brother's night table. My daughter's desk was also decorated with framed picture of me. As I looked at the photos, I realized they had all been taken of me here on the ranch.

I was told that my son and daughter both wanted my face to be the first thing they saw in the morning and the last thing at night.

I got one of those big lumps in my throat; I had missed so many years with my children.

Over the next couple of months, we talked. We discussed everything that had happened during the 10 years I was gone from their lives.

One night we ran out of things to talk about, so I was asked about their mother and why I left.

I had dreaded this moment from the first time we were reunited, but I had to tell them the truth. I talked about leaving work early that day because of the fire, finding their mother and her lover in bed, going into a fit of rage, recovering and finding that I had beaten their mother's boyfriend to death with a baseball bat and injured her too. I told them that I have regretted that moment of violence since.

I explained calling my cousin and him taking over. I told them about being given the brief case with my new identity and told I could never return.

My son looked at me and said, "I'm glad she went nuts and is in a mental hospital. I never want to see her again after what she did."

My daughter just sat there and looked sad.

I made a mental note to ask my uncle about my "ex" when I visited and find out what was going on with her.

I guess I needed closure because deep down in my heart I still missed her. I had to ask her, "Why."

Summer ended before any of us wanted it to. The kids and I knew it would be almost three months before we could see each other again. We promised to call and email each other, but it's not the same as seeing their faces across the table or the room every day.

As much as I'd like to say it didn't, time just dragged. It felt like two or three years before those three month went by. My entire crew took me to the airport and started me on the trip home. They knew most of the story about my divorce and estrangement from my kids.

What they didn't know was about the violence and my ties to organized crime. They just knew I wanted to get home and see my children again.

I arrived back east before I was scheduled. I had told them I was due on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving.

I was a week early.

My guys couldn't stand me moping around the ranch, so then moved everything up and just about carried me to the airport.

So there I was pushing the button on the intercom next to the gate, where the cab had dropped me off. A very tough sounding voice said, "Yeah?"

I asked if my cousin was home, was told "maybe".

"Tell him Chubb's here," I said.

Not two minutes latter my cousin was running out the front door, yelling to open the gate and let me in. The guards must have thought we were nuts standing in the middle of the driveway hugging and calling each other "four" letter words.

The next thing I knew, my kids were joining in on the hugging. (My cousin and I had cleaned up our language by then.) I looked up and saw my uncle in the doorway. He was in a wheel chair being pushed by a nurse.

He appeared to be a shadow of his former self.

I untangled myself from the mob of family members and went up to my uncle. I put my arms around him and said, "It's good to be home again. Thanks for making it all possible." I looked at his face and saw the tears forming in his eyes.

I whispered in his ear, "Tough guys don't cry, so I was right, you always were a wimp."

His smile lit up his face, "Don't let my secret out." he said.

Later when we were alone, my cousin exclaimed that it was the best his father had looked in months. He didn't want to know what I whispered in his Dad's ear, but, "Thank you for making him a little happier." He told me.

We celebrated Thanksgiving with every relative and "family" member there. There must have been close to 400 people in that party house. My cousin thanked everybody for coming and talked about the upcoming year.

My uncle was handed the microphone, and he said a few words about how important "family" was. All the men stood and toasted him while the rest of the people there applauded.

I knew my uncle was touched, but as a hard guy he couldn't show it. I got up and walked over to him. I took his hand to say something when he snatched it back and said into the microphone, "I don't hold hands! People might think I was gay."

That comment brought the house down.

There was nothing left for me to do but follow tradition and kiss him on both cheeks. When I got done I looked into his face and he was smiling from ear to ear.

I guess he had gotten the best of me.

On Christmas we only celebrated with immediate family. My uncle was too weak for anything fancy.

We spent New Year's Day in the hospital watching him slowly lose his battle with cancer. He died on January 5 in his sleep.

He left us peacefully. I hoped he would meet up with his wife who had died 6 years earlier.

When we walked into the funeral home a few days later, I was impressed. The entire establishment was being used only for him. The floral arrangements that were sent fill the entire structure and the people standing in line to pay their respects formed a line that stretched around the block.

Since it was January and cold outside, the people standing in line were given hot drinks and small warm sandwiches. I don't know who planned that consideration, but the mourners were thankful.

On the day of his burial, his funeral service was held at the largest church in the area. The Bishop himself conducted the funeral mass and the grave side service. The church overflowed with people as did the grave side service. I got a big lump in my throat as I watched his casket being lowered in the ground next to his bride.

They were together again.

Both my children stood at my side through all of this. Their eyes were never dry. My uncle was their alternate father for most of their years growing up after their grandparents died.

The children might have me back in their lives now, but they would miss their substitute father.

After the funeral my daughter was in a funk for a few days. When I asked her what was wrong, all she did was ask me a question, "Can we visit Mom?"

I had hoped I would never need to see my ex again. The last time I saw her, she was having sex with my enemy. Here it was 14 years later and the vision of the moment was still fresh in my head.

I swallowed hard and I told my daughter I would make arrangements for the visit. I asked my son if he wanted to attend,

"Hell no! I never want to see that slut again," was the reply I got.

I made a mental note to try and get him some help with these issues.

A few weeks later my daughter and I were pulling in to a state institution. I found out from my cuz that my uncle refused to pay for her care. He blamed her for all my troubles and had her declared a ward of the state.

She was warehoused in a state hospital with no effect care.

We were directed to a doctor's office in the facility. He was listed as her care provider.

After a very long wait, my daughter and I were escorted into his office. I found us face to face with a Pakistani who spoke broken English.

He had a patient folder in front of him that he explained was my wife's patient history.

He had another pile of patient folders on his desk. It was about 18 inches high. I asked if they were all his patients, and he replied, "Yes, we are short handed."

At that point my daughter started asking questions about her mother. As I listened, I knew that he didn't have a clue as to who this patient was.

I asked him a very direct question, "Does my wife still take her daily run?"

He answered in his heavily accented English, "Of course."

At that point I grabbed my daughter's hand and squeezed hard so she would not blow up. You see her mother was paralyzed from the waist down and had been that way for 14 years. Running was not on her menu.

I asked if we could go on the ward and visit her. He called an orderly and we were escorted to her ward. We identified ourselves to the head nurse on that ward and asked to see my ex.

The nurse was very nice and knew all about my ex. She explained that she was completely withdrawn. She hadn't said a word in almost 12 years. She had paranoia and had closed off the world to protect herself.

She then escorted us to the day room for this ward.

My wife was beautiful. She weighed about 110 lbs and stood 5' 6'. When she walked into a room, every head turned to look at her. But that was t least 10 years ago.

Today she weighed around 300 lbs, had stringy, unwashed hair and was confined to a wheel chair. Her face had that blank, faraway look that the mentally ill can only have.

My daughter walked up to her and started talking. I could tell nothing was getting through. My heart went out to my daughter, she was trying so hard. She wanted her mother to recognize her.

I was walking over to my daughter to give her some support, when my ex's eyes turned to me. There was a momentary glint of recognition before my ex started screaming at the top of her lungs and thrashing her arms around.

Two of the orderlies grabbed her and the duty nurse administered a needle to her.

I don't know what was in that shot, but it knocked her right out.

The duty nurse said that was the first time she had reacted in the 5 years she had been assigned to this ward. She took our information and promised to call me if there were any changes.

We left that hell hole.

In the car on the way back to my uncle's compound, my daughter broke down and cried her heart out. I promised her I would look into having her mother moved to a private care facility near the ranch. Yeah I was a softie.

That way my daughter could visit my ex and see that her mother received treatment.

After returning to the ranch, I started my search. I found a facility about 100 miles away. It was very well respected in the mental health community. I paid the place a visit.

I liked the place. The doctors and staff seemed very professional and caring over their charges. I sat with the head doctor, the doctor who had helped me limit my nightmares many years ago, and discussed my wife's condition right down to her first outbreak in at least 5 years upon seeing me.

While he didn't like her violent reaction to me, it did prove that she was partly aware of what was going on around her. He liked that.

We made arrangements to have her transferred to his care. And I called my daughter with the good news. She cried.

A couple of months went by, when the doctor called me and asked if he could have a photograph of my face. When I asked why, he said, "I'll explain later." So I sent him an 8x10 I had made from one of the pictures my kids took.

Between visiting colleges for my daughter to attend and moving both kids out to the ranch, I forgot all about my ex-wife and the picture. So I was surprised when my ex-wife's doctor called and he asked if he could talk to me face to face at my ranch.

I agreed and we made an appointment for him to visit.

It was a nice spring day when the doctor came out. Since he rode, we decided to visit one of my high meadows and just enjoy the view. On the way out there we made small talk. Once there we dismounted and sat in the grass.

He told me that they were making progress with my wife. Her weight was down about 100 lbs and falling off her like crazy. She was starting to take notice of her appearance and was asking the nurses to brush her hair. Of course she still doesn't speak, but she will point to a brush if she wants her hair done.

He then dropped a bomb on me.

If my ex was shown a picture of me she started yelling, "He's going to kill me too" and would go wild. She usually had to be sedated to get her to stop screaming. He wanted to know if her fear of me was founded.

He then just sat there and looked at me, waiting for me to speak.

I thought about what to say and made my decision. I'd tell him everything. I asked if what I told him was covered by doctor patient privilege.

He told me to give him a dollar and then I would be his patient. The money changed hands.

I began by telling him that I was raised in an organized crime family. The Don was my uncle, and I was his trusted bookkeeper. I knew everything about his "business". I knew where the money came from and where it went. I had lists of every cop, politian, judge and the general individuals taking bribes.

My wife knew all about my "job".

I told him about arriving home earlier than expected one day and finding her in bed having sex with her lover. I wasn't really too upset with her. I could just divorce her. But her lover was a different animal. He was my enemy. And he looked at me from under her, and smiled as if to laugh at me. His expression told me that my wife meant nothing to him. She was just a way to mock me with his power.

I told the doctor that at that point I lost it. I started beating him on the face with a baseball bat that I suddenly found in my hand. When I came out of the rage and could think clearly again, I found my ex's lover dead in the bed. His head was destroyed. My wife was lying on the bedroom floor, unconscious but breathing. She showed marks on her body of having been hit with a bat.

I did not remember having hit her.

I then explained that my cousin arranged for the cleanup. I was put in a car and driven away. Eventually, I ended up here.

I told him that they made my wife's lover's body disappear, and tossed her down a flight of stairs to make it seem as if she had fallen. They then set the bedroom on fire to hide any signs of the murder. The house was almost completely destroyed by the fire.

He then sat there a long time, thinking, before he started talking again.

He said the blind rage was understandable. The loss of any memory of my beating the man to death was probably a defense mechanism used by my brain to protect me from the horror of what I'd done.

He then asked me if that was the only time I used violence on another human being and if I had nightmares or blackouts since.

I explained that my uncle had made me their bookkeeper because I wasn't "wired" for the violent side of the business. My uncle always called me, "The Gentle Man."

I never hurt another human being and I did not have nightmares about the killings that I remembered, but every once in a while I woke up screaming.

He explained that I had probably buried the whole thing deep enough in my sub-conscious that it wasn't affecting me. Normally he would attempt to bring up the hidden action so I could learn to deal with it, but in my case, it would best be left alone.

He did outline a list of symptoms and make me promise to call him if any of them occurred.

I then discussed with him my son's damnation of his mother, and asked what to do. He asked me to bring my son into see him some time so they could talk. He'd handle the my son's anger.

We left the upper meadow, both lost in our own thoughts. When we got back to the main house, he asked me to stay away from my ex-wife until he told me otherwise. He wanted my daughter to visit her mother as often as possible. He said it would be good for both of them.

We parted in silence, both of us in deep thought.

My daughter was in her junior year and my son was a freshman. He was studying agriculture with his eye on going in with me on the ranch; my daughter was a pre-med student. She said that she had plans to be a "shrink" eventually. But it took many years to of study to become one. She said that seeing the way a good doctor had helped her mother is what made up her mind.

I started to notice that every time I talked to my daughter, I heard all about what she and "Bill" had done. Pretty soon that's all I was hearing was "Bill" this, and "Bill" that. I wasn't the dumbest father in the world, so I suggested that she invite him to have Thanksgiving dinner with us and meet the family.

I wanted to check him out and make sure he was good enough for my "baby."

About an hour later I got the call to set an extra place for Thanks giving dinner, and could he stay in one of the spare rooms for the week as his parents were going to Europe for the holidays.

I was no fool, I agreed.

When Bill and my daughter showed up I was pleasantly surprised. Bill was a very pleasant and polite young man. He was about 6' and 190 lbs. He had sandy hair and brown eyes. He was also a premed major, but he wanted to be a surgeon.

My daughter said he was cute, but I for one never looked at another guy and thought, "He's cute."

I'm just not wired that way.

Anyway, I liked him and though that he was a good catch for my daughter. I also noticed that their eyes never left each other for the next two weeks.

They had "it" bad.

They followed each other around the ranch much to the enjoyment of my hired hands. I kept getting called, gramps, and asked if I need to borrow a couple of dollars for a reception.

You get the idea.

On Valentine's Day they got engaged. A date was set for an August wedding.

Soon I found myself standing in the foyer of a local church waiting for the bride to show up. As I got more and more nervous, the priest leaned over and whispered, "They're always late, don't worry, she'll show up."

She did.

As we were walking down the aisle, I noticed a wheel chair at the outside of the first row of pews on the bride's side. I also spotted my friend the shrink, sitting with a woman in the front row. I was so engaged with walking the bride to be down the aisle, that I gave them both a pass.

When I did the "hand off" of my daughter at the altar, I turned to take my seat. Imagine my surprise when I found myself looking into my ex's eyes. I felt my daughter's hand on my arm, and she whispered, "It's OK Daddy, I invited her."

I took my seat next to her. I expected her to start screaming at any minute. My friend the shrink just gave me a knowing smile that said, "It's OK, she'll be good. Just don't get to close".

When the priest finally pronounced them husband and wife, my eyes were wet. I happened to glance at my ex and the tears were just running down her cheeks. When the newlyweds turned to walk down the aisle, I started to move across my ex so that I wouldn't block her view.

Her doctor grabbed my arm, and shook his head "No". He then whispered in my ear, "Don't touch her, she's not that strong yet."

The moment passed and I joined the procession out of the church. I didn't see my ex again that day.

At the reception as I was dancing with my daughter, she commented to me that her mom had come a long way. I thought about my feelings toward my ex, and I guess I had come a long way also. I too was proud of her for all the ground she gained.

I guess some of the hate I had felt, mellowed over the years.

I made a note to call her doctor next week and make a golf date. We needed to talk.

Next week while playing golf, we talked about my wife's progress. I complemented him on the progress he had made with her. He said she was still very fragile and I could set her back years by me just touching her, but her being at the wedding and sitting next to me was a great advance.