The last letter of a gambler

What should you do with the suicide note when your husband dies? What do you do after you read the suicide note? Aren't you afraid to run out of the bedroom and leave a straight human body on the bed? Evelyn asked herself numbly.

She threw the suicide note on the kitchen table and looked at it, knowing in her heart that it had to be given to the police as evidence.

Now that she remembered, she should call the police. She walked stiffly to the wall, removed the phone, and said into the buzzing of the receiver, "I want to report that my husband committed suicide."

The buzzing continued, as if to taunt her, and she began to bawl while dialing the police station.

Evelyn had never called a police station in her life. I remember once there was a figure in the backyard, and my mother mistook it for a burglar and called the police, only to have my father stumble back drunk and mistake the door to the chicken coop for the kitchen door. They laughed about it for a long time that time.

My father had made a lot of similar jokes and embarrassments, and on that farm back home, people laughed about it. But none of them were as horrible and ugly as the one at hand.

Evelyn walked to the door and went to Merry's house.

The police officers were all very nice, they were kind, kind, very comforting, sharp and skilled in their work. They were as disciplined in their movements as she had been in Girl Scout training as a child. She said to herself that she would never again believe anyone who ridiculed the police for their incompetence.

Now the police were gone, everyone was gone, even her beloved husband, Luke, was gone forever.

They carried him away on a stretcher, and Merry, a kind neighbor, held her hand and urged her not to suffer too much, saying that everything one encounters in life has a reason.

Many people came that day: the police took Luke's coffee cup, which still had coffee residue in it; the journalists; the employees of the bank where Luke worked; and the neighbors.

But now they are all gone, and even good friend Meli has left. Merry had a home, dinner to make, and two young daughters to take care of, and she promised to come back later. Now Evelyn was left all alone.

She sat at the kitchen table and looked at a thin metal plate hanging on the wall with the interesting words, "God Bless My House" engraved on it. She shifted her eyes to the wall clock on the front of the kitchen, the time was six thirty, the hour at which Luke usually rang the doorbell and rushed in to tell her what she had experienced during the day.

When did things start? When did it start. She called his daily shift "a disaster"?

Of course. The so-called calamity wasn't so terrible. Luke was gregarious, talkative, young and handsome, but couldn't make ends meet, and liked to make "problem friends," as her mother called them. In fact, Harold is not bad, he has nine children and a wife who is the chairman of the company, Harold loves to bet on horses, that's all.

No longer would Luke's laughter be heard, no longer would he walk into the kitchen and say that Evelyn was the cutest nag in the city. The joy was gone, the fears and bad omens were gone, and all that was left was sorrow and shame. Evelyn rested her arms on the table, buried her head in the crook of her arms, and sobbed.

Officer Roger of the police station said afterwards that he rang the doorbell three times and knocked so hard that his heart began to strain before Evelyn came to the door with tears on her face.

She invited him into the neat little sitting room. In fact, she was relieved to see the policeman. He was almost as old as her father, or at least as old as she remembered him to be. An urge welled up in her to assure him that she could get over the grief caused by her husband's death and move on with her life.

"Luke was a kind and loving man." As they sat down for coffee, she said calmly, "He never hurt me, never scolded me, I scolded him. He just,......" she looked up at the ceiling, "I guess you could call him a gambler who can't help himself, I mean, he really can't help himself. Do you believe that, Mr. Roger?"

He nodded and said, "Sure, I believe it, it's fairly common for people like that to lose everything. Even as he sits here now, he's probably going to bet me that a phone will ring in five minutes. I knew a man - an old countryman of mine, actually - whose wife was in hospital giving birth, and he went to see her in the hospital and saw roses in the ward, and he made a bet with the nurse: the next morning, two buds would bloom, and then there would be only buds in his head, no babies. The next morning to the hospital again to collect the bet, do you think it is strange?"

Evelyn agreed with him, "Luke is like that. I told him once; there are 'AA' meetings like 'AA' ......"

Officer Roger smiled and said, "That old countryman of mine joined that meeting and benefited greatly."

"Luke doesn't even attend. He said, 'Baby, you want to ruin my fun in life? I'm just having fun.'" Her voice began to shake, "But when he started using public money to gamble, it wasn't fun anymore. It's a shame that a gambler who can't control himself works at a bank."

Evelyn stood up and walked back and forth across the room in annoyance, her hands constantly fiddling with her long black hair. She wondered if she should tell the officer about the fight the couple had last night. At the time, she scolded her husband, saying, "Some people value their reputation more than their lives, and losing it is worse than dying, and I happen to be one of those people!"

She was hesitating when Officer Roger spoke up, "The bank called us about the shortage of public money and confirmed everything you said."

She was still thinking about last night and barely listened to his words.

A few weeks ago he had said, "Honey, this time you can't go wrong, the horse is absolutely reliable, and as soon as the old man gets to work on Monday, the money will be back in the bank." But the horse wasn't reliable, and the money didn't go back to the bank. She took a deep breath and for the first time had an idea.

"Mr. Officer, what are you doing here?"

He patted her hand gently and said, "I'm quite thinking of you. I have a special sympathy for you because I have a daughter about your age. What do you want to do now?"

Thinking about the future, Evelyn said, "I want to go home, back to Indiana. I actually grew up in a rural area and met Luke at the state university, and he brought me to town with fancy words. That was three years ago. We went back home once, but he hated the farm, and the only thing he found interesting there was the betting on whether to have a bull or a cow when a cow had a calf."

They sat in silence for a while, Evelyn looking at the coffee cup in her hand and Officer Roger looking at her compassionately. Finally, he pulled the suicide note out of his uniform pocket, and as soon as she saw it, she became agitated.

"Please! I don't want to see it again!"

He said gently, "I know you don't want to read it. But there is something I must ask you."

He opened the crumpled paper and read aloud, "Forgive me, my dear, you are right. Tell the old man I'm out of luck.'" She whispered, "The old man is Mr. Eugene, Luke's boss."

Officer Roger said slowly, "Mr. Eugene retired to his old home two weeks ago, and your husband didn't mention it to you?" His two eyes were fixed on her.

Evelyn's face was as white as the kitchen wall. No, he hadn't mentioned it, whether they were sweet-talking each other or bad-talking each other, Luke hadn't mentioned that his boss had retired. Maybe he had said it, but she hadn't heard it, and if she had, it would have saved her.

Well, things would actually fall apart on the suicide note. Pouring the drug into his coffee was horrible enough. His moans of pain had broken her heart, and his kiss goodbye had been poignant, but the worst part of it all was the forged suicide note with a few simple words that had been revealed.