He groaned and struggled to sit up.
?I brought you some coffee.?
He looked at her, at the deep lines on her face. She was still stooped over him.
?What time is it?? His words battled to connect with his vocal chords.
?It?s five o?clock, Benny.? She sat next to him on the couch. ?Drink the coffee.?
He had to take it with his left hand. The mug was hot against his palm.
?It?s early,? he said.
?I need to talk to you before the children wake up.?
The message borne on her tone penetrated his consciousness. He sat up straight and spilled the coffee on his clothes?he was still wearing yesterday?s. ?What have I done??
She pointed an index finger across the open-plan room. The bottle of Jack Daniel?s stood on the dining-room table beside his plate of untouched dinner. The ashtray was overflowing and a smashed glass lay in shards beside the overturned bar stools at the breakfast counter.
He took a gulp of coffee. It burned his mouth, but could not take the sick taste of the night away. ?I?m sorry,? he said.
?Sorry isn?t good enough anymore,? she said.
?Anna . . .?
?No, Benny, no more. I can?t do this anymore.? Her voice was without inflection.
?Jissis, Anna.? He reached a hand out to her, saw how it shook, the drunkenness still not expelled from his body. When he tried to put his hand on her shoulder, she moved away from his touch, and that?s when he noticed the small swelling on her lip, already beginning to turn the color of wine.
?It?s over. Seventeen years. That?s enough. It?s more than anyone could ask.?
?Anna, I . . . it was the drink, you know I didn?t mean it. Please, Anna, you know that?s not
?Your son helped you off that chair last night, Benny. Do you remember? Do you know what you said to him? Do you remember how you cursed and swore, until your eyes rolled back in your head? No, Benny, you can?t?you can never remember. Do you know what he said to you, your son? When you were lying there with your mouth open and your stinking breath? Do you know?? Tears were close, but she suppressed them.
?What did he say??
?He said he hates you.?
He absorbed that. ?And Carla??
?Carla locked herself in her room.?
?I?ll talk to them, Anna, I?ll make it right. They know it?s the work. They know I am not like that . . .?
?No, Benny.?
He heard the finality in her voice and his heart contracted. ?Anna, no.?
She would not look at him. Her finger traced the swelling on her lip and she walked away from him. ?That is what I tell them every time: it?s the work. He?s a good father, it?s just his work, you must understand. But I don?t believe it anymore.
?Anna, I will stop, you know I have before. I can. You know I can.?
?For six weeks? That is your record. Six weeks. My children need more than that. They deserve more than that.
?
?A drunk can?t be a father.?
Self-pity washed over him. The fear. ?I can?t help it, Anna. I can?t help it, I am weak, I need you. Please, I need you all?I can?t go on without you.?
?We don?t need you anymore, Benny.? She stood up and he saw the two suitcases on the floor behind her.
?You can?t do that. This is my house.? Begging.
?Do you want us on the street? Because it is either you or us. You can choose, because we will no longer live under the same roof. You have six months, Benny?that is what we are giving you. Six months to choose between us and the booze. If you can stay dry you can come back, but this is your last chance. You can see the children on Sundays, if you want. You can knock on the door and if you smell of drink I will slam it in your face. If you are drunk you needn?t bother to come back.?
?Anna . . .? He felt the tears welling up in him. She could not do this to him; she did not know how dreadfully hard it was.
?Spare me, Benny, I know all of your tricks. Shall I carry your suitcases outside, or will you take them yourself??
?I need to shower, I must wash, I can?t go out like this.?
?Then I will carry them myself,? she said, and took a suitcase in each hand.
