The Moving Finger Writes

She looked puzzled as if she didn't understand what I was asking, and then said, "Of course not!! You're my life's companion and my best friend. We deal with things together and draw our strength from each other. I can cope with life's problems because I know you are with me. There's nothing but loneliness, fear, and desolation without you. Our physical joining just reinforces that absolute commitment."

She stared directly into my eyes so that I could see that she meant business and added," sex, to me, is just the consequence of being human. We all have sexual urges. It has nothing to do with marriage. It's the conscious physical commitment to each other that makes it unique. If not, then sex is just sex. It's an animal thing."

Then she added, shamefaced, "I suppose some of us need sex more than others. But you get my point, right? Sex in marriage is nothing more than the physical manifestation of our love. It's tangible evidence of our dedication. We make a deliberate pledge to give ourselves solely to one another. In that respect, abstaining from other people is a sacrifice that highlights our fundamental commitment."

She added sadly, "I'm not that dense. I understand what you're saying. It's that exception that killed us. I let a man into the place that was reserved solely for you. That's a fact, no matter how unwilling the circumstance. So, I can see why you want to reestablish a brand-new foundation." As I said, Sal was a very smart person.

The love of my life was sitting there, hope and sorrow written on her beautiful face. She said, head down, gazing up at me through her thick curtain of hair, "There may be other ways to do it. But your plan seems to be the simplest. So where do we go from here?" She looked like she was bracing herself."

I said, "The University owes me a sabbatical, and I'm going to take it. That's next semester... a month and a half from now. In the meantime, I suppose we should rip off the bandage - because separation will get increasingly more painful the longer that we delay it."

I said sadly, "I am going to find a place nearby so we can be seen together, just to keep up our social pretenses." That included friends like Millie and Charlie and foes like Fuller. My motto is, never let them see you sweat. But you have to be tough-minded to enforce that. I knew the two of us were strong and clever enough to pull it off.

I added ruefully, "I don't want the rest of the world, particularly your asshole boss, to know that we are having problems. Do you agree?" Sal gave me a forlorn nod. It was still the two of us against the world.

I turned Sal's head to look directly into her eyes. I said, hoping that the intensity would convey my feelings, "I don't want you to think I'm being vindictive. I'm punishing myself as much as I'm punishing you. I'm trying to get us back together in the only way I believe would constitute a proper resolution."

She began to weep. I snuggled her to my chest and said sadly, "I love you." That doesn't sound much like a vengeful husband walking out the door... now does it? Well, tough shit. Because the reality was that I assumed that destiny would make the right choice. It was merely a matter of serving our time.

*****

I'd thought I would spend our separation in the Cambridge area. But we both quickly discovered that that was a terrible idea - since seeing each other daily wasn't tolerable for either of us. We still longed for each other. Hence, there was no friend zone to hide in. I had to get out of town as soon as practicable.

We would still meet daily and ride back and forth to work. That was to keep everybody thinking we were together. Our business was nobody else's but ours. We were still binary in that respect. We even occasionally socialized together with Millie and Charlie.

Sal was clearly living as solitary as I was when we were apart, not dating. Neither was I. I knew that to be a fact because my new apartment was just down the hall from Sal's place. So, I would have seen and heard anybody visiting her. And she had as many visitors as I did -- zero. Sal and I spent our evenings alone, suffering in our self-imposed exile.

Our days were spent exchanging longing glances while we pretended to be a couple. We were still firmly in the grip of our attraction for each other, which wasn't creating the separation we needed. So, we had to create physical space.

Sal had a full-time job. Consequently, I was the one who had to leave. The sabbatical was my way out. I had yet to think about where I would go, and I had not planned to move all the way to Arles. But I'd seen enough of the place while I was doodling with my Van Gogh mystery. And it seemed like a perfect place to stay until karma got around to laying down her hand.

The place is picturesque, with bright sun and warm Mediterranean breezes. I figured that I could comfortably hole up and kill the necessary time. It would put an unbridgeable distance between Sal and me, which would enforce the separation. The fact that everybody knew it was a sabbatical provided perfect cover for why we weren't together.

I'd already dropped the mother of all nukes over Fuller and Pullerman. That act of revenge alone began to heal the festering wound those two had caused. And don't get me wrong... I understand that payback is a tangential issue. My actual goal was to find a way back to my wife.

Nonetheless, those two assholes had to find out what happens when you mess with other people's lives. Plus, there's something that's just SO cathartic about war-to-the-knife. Punching somebody in the face is stupid. They heal in a week, and you do two to five for assault. I wanted to give those two varmintitos a gift that kept on giving.

My hacking skills were the obvious way to work out my issues with those two. I rarely practice my black art. It's a slippery slope. But engineering Fuller and Pullerman's demise was so much low-hanging fruit, at least for someone with my particular abilities. Moreover, I had nothing better to do. Because Sal wasn't with me.

Pullerman and Fuller had destroyed my life. Ipso-facto... I REALLY wanted to mess up theirs.... Then we'd be square. And yes!! I know it's juvenile. But it just feels so good to occasionally indulge in a wee bit of Old Testament retribution.

First, I ratted both of them. That's a Remote Access Trojan to you muggles. My weapon of choice is FlawedAmmyy, which I bought for bitcoins off the dark web. It's bootlegged from the source code of an existing system management tool. So, it had all of the remote admin features I needed.

The art of the hack lies in the pretext. Hence, I had to have Pullerman's personal history to pull-off the social engineering scam I had in mind. Thus, I bought him off Truthfinder.com... for a measly twenty-eight bucks I might add. That gave me more information about the douchebag's life than he probably recalled about himself. And don't be smug. Because both of us are for sale on the same shelf.

Then... using what I knew about Fatso, I sent him a spoofed message from his old Porcellian Club pal, Skipper McFee. I mean... if you can't trust Skipper, who can you trust? The RAT was hidden in steganography. However, I could've probably put "Permission to Install a Rootkit" in the subject line, and he would've still clicked on the message. People are idiots when it comes to that kind of stuff.

Pullerman opened the message at 8:48 AM. My RAT had real-time control of his network as soon as he did so. The picture of him and Sal filled the screen, and a banner rolled across it, blinking, "You fucked HER - now I'm fucking YOU!!" I wanted to give Pullerman a hint about who might be behind his demise -- otherwise, the exploit would be pointless.

The instant the d-bag activated the RAT, its tentacles spread through every device on his personal and business network, even his smart TV and internet-enabled refrigerator. That's the beauty of the speed of light and the internet of things-- it all happens instantly. I watched my victim through his Alexa portal as he trashed his laptop. The fool thought he'd dodged a bullet. He hadn't.

Even as he was beating up his poor computer, my spiders were searching for his financial information. It would be winging its way to the IRS once I found it. Meanwhile, I'd stumbled on the intimate details of his extensive harassment lawsuits. That goldmine was being leaked to every news outlet on the planet.

Ahh!! The perils of the digital ecosystem!! You probably think that what I've just described is some sort of juvenile revenge porn. If so... then send me your full name and date of birth. In return, I'll give you an up-close-and-personal demonstration of what I'm talking about. You'll hate what happens -- guaranteed! And I'll never leave the comfort of my basement doing it.

We denizens of the dark places count on your ignorance. It would be a lot harder for us if you EVER got your head out of the sand... or whatever alternative location you're keeping it. And saw how vulnerable you are when you venture into cyberspace. As the medieval maps used to say, Hic sunt dracones..." Here there be dragons."

I did the same thing to Fuller, who - thank God! - had an extensive extra-marital sex life. I'd suspected that he had something compromising like that out there.

Note to philanderers... don't record your afternoon delights on your smartphone. It isn't a matter of if folks like me can get at them. We can always get at them. The only question is whether we WANT to get at them. Douchebag's getting my wife fucked to close a deal gave me pretty good motivation.

And in answer to you skeptics... no... Sal was NOT featured in any of Fuller's steamy encounters. But other women were, some of whom I knew, and that was problematic because I was going to send Fuller's recordings to all the right folks.

I'd uploaded Douchebag's RAT through a port scan and forced pairing with his smartphone. That's a Bluediving OBEX exploit. So, to be safe I wanted to be within 90 feet. Hence, one fine day I visited Sally at work. I could endure Fuller's glowing smirk, knowing what his pretty little Brahmin wife was about to see.

As I left, I shot back over my shoulder, "You need to think of me when very bad things happen to you, buddy." He gave me a puzzled sneer. It was a moment of deliverance. Because I knew that Fuller's world was about to change in miserable ways! Maybe I ought to send him a JibJab expressing my condolences on his impending divorce?

Were my actions over the top? I think not... Remember, those guys' utter contempt for humanity had caused the problem in the first place. And going scorched earth on a pair of assholes is a lot more gratifying than punching them in the face. I doubted either of them would learn from their experience or even connect the dots. But at least their public shaming would make ME feel better.

Sally accompanied me to Logan on the dark day that I departed for France. She was beautiful and sad as she stood on tip toes to kiss me goodbye. We hugged one last time and I started down the TSA line. I looked back, and she was standing there staring at me. We exchanged sad glances, and then she turned and walked dejectedly toward the exit.

It was one of the many times that I genuinely doubted my decision. I mean... there was no question that we loved each other and wanted to be together. So, why was I going through this ridiculous charade of separation -- skulking off to France instead of confronting the situation?

Well -- maybe it's just me, but Sal's straying had created an irreparable fault line in our world. Hence, the only feasible option was to move on to another one. I didn't want to make it permanent, and neither did she. But we had to take affirmative steps to eradicate our old life to build a new foundation.

I had no idea how to accomplish that. So, I hoped that time and distance would give us the perspective we needed to resolve the fundamental question, "Can we repair this?" Thus, the only sensible option was to kick the can down the road until a solution appeared.

My flight was from Logan to Charles de Gaulle and then to Marseilles. From there, I took the SNCF up to Arles, and it was an easy walk from the train station. Honestly... packing up and leaving was the hardest thing I've ever done. But the stakes were too high to simply quit. I was determined to be tough, even if it involved a ton of separation anxiety.

The one-bedroom flat I'd rented off the internet was on the Rue des Ursulines. It was a bright and sunny Provencal day, and everything looked clean and orderly. The street I lived on was classic French except, oddly enough, it had a genuine Roman Colosseum looming over it. That structure was so big that the whole town was living inside it at one point in the Dark Ages. So, it was hard to miss.

The house was a traditional French two-story stone structure squeezed in with a row of similar buildings. There was a wine shop on the ground floor and limestone steps leading up to my flat. My landlord slept in the back of her shop below the flats above. She was a formidable older woman.

Madam Defarge had demanded three months in advance and a damage deposit that would be more appropriate to rent a room at Versailles. She wasn't friendly. But she wasn't hostile either. What you got from her was naked greed. It was kind of reassuring to know exactly where you stood.

The flat had a big window looking out over a tree-filled cul-de-sac surrounded by other buildings. The room was clean and tidy. It had a decent-sized bedroom with a single bed, dresser, and armoire. The only other room was of roughly equivalent size, with a couple of upholstered chairs and reading lamps. There was a small stovetop, refrigerator, and sink along one wall and a little bathroom with a tub.

After he joined me, Buster slept on a rug in front of the entrance. He's 120 pounds. So, it felt like I had another person living with me. But the old guy provided reassurance and security. Big dogs do that. And the landlady only charged me fifty Euros a month for having him. Extortionate, yes, but like I said... predictable.

The days passed in a monotonous parade. I would do my morning business, and then Buster and I would stroll over to le Brasserie L'Aficion, which was right around the corner. Or we'd go to the Café de la Paix, a little further down the Rue Voltaire. We would enjoy our petit déjeuner and watch the tourists wander by. Arles is full of Roman ruins, and it draws them in packs.

Sabbaticals are an academic thing. You wouldn't understand it unless you were one of us. It's like a paid vacation. The only condition for getting one is researching and publishing while you're on it. Fortunately, there's this newfangled thing called the internet. So, I'd spend every day sitting in an outdoor café sipping a good red, enjoying the gorgeous Provencal days, and plugging away at my laptop.

I wasn't Van Gogh creating immortal art. But it was the same concept. Both Van Gogh and I made something tangible out of what we saw in our mind's eye. Van Gogh's eye was sharper than mine, and he was undoubtedly more productive. But of course, he was a genius. Me?... I was mainly there to find out what fate had in store, and IMHO, "Que-sera-sera" isn't a bad way to settle things.

The nights were the worst. Thoughts of Sally were never far from my mind. The idea of her living the single girl life in Boston just ripped my heart out. I was trying to create an emotional firebreak to rebuild a new marriage. So, I had to let Sal spend time in the wild. I knew that my grand gesture was a gamble. But I hadn't really thought through the consequences. Now those chickens were coming home to roost.

Naturally, divorce would be the only option if I found out that Sal had spent our hiatus with some other guy. I know I'd told her that I'd be cool with it. But my lizard brain wasn't buying any part of that silly notion. Which shows you precisely how liberal and tough-minded I really was. Adolescent? Certainly... but you can't reason with your feelings.

I avoided cyberstalking. I could have kept track of Sally. But I was living in mortal fear of what I might discover. I wasn't emotionally ready for fate to drop THAT other shoe yet... especially when I was 3,600 miles away, self-exiled from my everyday life.

My first visit to Sal's Facebook page cemented my resolution. She had posted pictures of a University outing on the Charles. It was innocent and it shouldn't have caused the pang of insane jealousy that it inspired. But the sight of my gorgeous and sexy wife in casual clothes smiling in a duck boat surrounded by our friends just killed me. I had to keep reminding myself that this had been my idea.

Was I tempted to plunge into the dating pool? Well ... Arles is full of pretty women, and I'd had offers. The problem was that I was there to reset my marriage, not get laid. Also, once you've sampled steak, it's hard to go back to hamburger. Even so, my sabbatical was going to end in a month. That was when the wheel of fortune stopped spinning, and my number came up.

Maybe it was the fast-approaching deadline or the increasing unease about what I would find when I got home. Whatever the reason... the truth hit me like Paul on the road to Tarsus. In fact, the answer was so blindingly obvious that I actually said out loud, "What a MORON!!"

Think about it. No matter what your Puritanical forebearers told you. Sex is neither moral nor immoral. It's an elemental consequence of being human. So, the vow to "forsake all others" isn't an innate canonic truth. It's a societal artifact - meant to hold down the number of hurt feelings and bar fights. Oh! And by the way... ensure that all of your kids are yours.

More pertinently, that's just how Judeo-Christian culture, which is highly patriarchal, views it. The concept differs across the spectrum. For instance, it was considered basic etiquette among the Plains Indians for the host to offer his wife to an overnight visitor. Is that wrong? Not if you're an Indian.

There are also places on the other end of the scale where getting caught fucking other people will get the woman stoned. Of course, the man skates because you know how guys are. Those countries tend to have the term "shithole" somewhere in their description. But that's immaterial. The point is that the way you view sex outside of marriage depends on where you sit.

So, let's get real. Your attitude about adultery is nothing more than what your particular culture wants you to believe. Those ideas are valid within your specific social context. But marriage doesn't have an expiration date and God-willing there's plenty of time left after you've gotten too old to boink the old lady. So, there has to be a more fundamental and practical reason for two people to make a lifetime promise.

Hence, I accept that exclusive sex is part of the equation. But it isn't the actual long-term payoff. To me, the most valid justification for marriage lies in the fact that humans have never been the strongest creatures in the jungle. So, we need to work together to survive. That instinct was built into our species when we swung out of the trees.

Seriously... if you look at the entire continuum of your life, the vow to battle through all hazards together, "until death do you part," is the true reason for two people to get together. Romantics call it "devotion." That means you unconditionally agree to care for one another, no matter the circumstance, above all else, for the rest of your life. That was the pertinent issue with Sal and me.

Ambition is generally seen as a positive quality. Sal had plenty of that and Fuller leveraged it, with a bit of help from demon rum, into a betrayal. As the lawyers say, that held me up to scorn and ridicule. Even so, that was never Sal's intent, and frankly, I don't give a flying fuck what that asshole or his asshole buddies think because they're assholes. Did I use asshole enough times to get my point across?