by Cath Moore
I can smell those chicken sausages: gourmet they are, with some kind of spice to bring out the poultry even more. William has a silly hat on with a cup holder and straw attached so he can sip and turn the meat at the same time. Says it’s important to replenish those fluids you lose while manning the barbeque. His apron has a fake beer gut made out of rubber. It looks funny because it’s white and he is not, and besides he already has a genuine beer gut. But he is in his element.
Jules’ grandma, Kathleen, introduces herself to me. She is nice and wrinkly, hair done like we used to do Margie’s. She calls me darls and asks me to top up her champers on three different occasions. I have to refill from the bottom ’cause she hands me an empty glass every time. I show Joni how to put Cheezels on his fingers like edible rings but his mouth is so small he can only stuff half of one in at a time. The other half falls to the ground and someone’s golden retriever called Cookie rushes over and gobbles it up.
But by 7 pm things start to get out of control. Jules’s relatives just keep coming, like sheep in a line waiting to be clipped or dipped, except they are all coming to meet me. Tall, short, fat, thin, loud, quiet, red and freckly—the whole united nations of relatives that I did not know anything about. Edwin, Nina, Birgit, Michael, Gaz, Claire, Alex, Ade, Steve and Linda, Aunty Ali, Moni, Olivia, Dave, Nari, Jess, Jenna, Uncle Abe, who helped make Joni, Kez, Mez, Jenny, Dr Kath, Dan, Amina, Sofia, Marla, and Andy K for good measure. They all smile and shake my hand like I’m the queen hosting a garden party. Everyone asks me questions or tries to explain who’s who and where they are from. It’s all just a blur of noise to me. I feel like the odd one out and the even one in. How do you make sense of people on the same family tree as you but far, far down or somewhere on a branch way up on the left?
Turns out Micky Roberts was right about those winds. First sign is the napkins blowing around the place like giant cabbage moths, which Joni thinks is a funny game, jumping round the garden trying to step on them as they land. It’s all getting a bit too loud for my eyes. Too much colour and motion, kids helping themselves to my bowl of Cheezels, adults laughing so hard they have to lean back and look at the sky. Ladies hooting with one another picking at their blouses with ‘It’s sheer but not too sheer,’ and leaning in with quiet voices: ‘No no, she said it was back on. Wouldn’t touch him with a bargepole, but what do I know? Maybe the drongo’s donger still works!’
And then the music changes when a big bloke calls out, ‘Let someone with a bit of taste take over!’ Quickly followed by, ‘Is Tina all right for your refined sensibilities?’
I get all excited, but it wasn’t my Tina, it was ‘Simply the Best’ Tina, which is okay but not when everyone sings so loud they’re ahead of the song jumbling it all up. I need to get out of this shindig before the buzzing in my ears short-circuits my brain. I run over to William.
‘How’s my little channa? Do you want another sausage?’
I take two and sit inside under the kitchen table thinking how nice the party would have been if Mum and Pat were here too. Pat might’ve held out his hand and said, ‘Let me spin you round, little lady!’ I think about how I smashed my snow globe on the ground, watched the water trickle into the cracks. I feel so alone, and my eyes sting with tears. When my nose drips I have to wipe it on the sausage napkin.
Then there’s a really loud BANG ’cause the tarpaulin outside has fallen over in the wind and is heading towards the back fence. I reach into my pocket and run my fingers over my metal fish, try to count the scales and calm myself down. I’m still here. Breathe.
The sky has turned black and the rain comes hammering down like a bag of stones on the roof. Squeals and shouts as everyone piles inside and from under the table all I see are dirty, muddy shoes.
‘Oi! Leave your shoes at the door. Backtrack, please!’ William calls out as people run inside.
I want to backtrack too, out of this place right now. ‘Hello! Who’s hiding down there?’
I feel shame burn my teary cheeks and run out before that stranger’s voice can catch me—straight into the wardrobe. Four walls of solitude and all I do is listen to my breathing get longer and deeper.
William comes in and asks if I’m scared of the storm.
‘There’s so much noise! Too many people filling up my head!’
He goes into the kitchen and tells everyone to put a lid on it, but no one’s listening. The wind feels like it’s trying to get inside, banging on gates and slamming doors, prising back the roof one tile at a time and that rain does not stop. A lightning bolt slits open clouds that have been saving up their rain for years. Crack! Thunder booms and the power goes. Shrieks of excitement then worry as people try to find their way around. ‘Dave, you got Nari?’
‘Hey, Kez, watch the steps there. Go slow.’
Then I hear the rain say, ‘Look kid, this is it. Go now or it may be too late.’
The house is creaking like it can’t hold its weight anymore and I run without thinking, away from the shouting and screaming. A pole from the tarpaulin smashes through the kitchen window. Then there’s nothing but panicked voices: ‘Get down! Where is he? Come on, no leave it. I’ve got you!’
My feet are taking me to the only place I can think of. It’s not ready. Half-painted and probably leaky, but I know it will move now, out into the channel and down to the sea. The rain is right; this could be my only chance so I have to be brave. I’ve forgotten my shoes and something spikes my foot. A sharp breath in, but I run on. Through the mangroves, thinking maybe I will get stuck here and drown like the horse in The Neverending Story. The mud is thick and it pulls my feet down with every step, but I stumble on. Until I’m at the boat.
I talk to myself so I don’t feel like I’m alone. Put my hands on either side of the bow. Push. Slip and hit the side of my cheek, a dull thud in time with my heartbeat. I’m up again and hear a low grunt, frightening until I realise it is me moving that boat out and into the rising water.
Maman, je te ramène à la maison!
I hear Mum sing her favourite Françoise Hardy song, ‘Le temps de l’amour’. How I’ve waited to hear her voice! We’ll sail across the sea faster than anyone ever thought possible. But then she is gone because the wind has grown spiteful and stolen her voice away. I throw all my weight into my arms and push the boat forward. Leaves and branches whip my face, dirty air slams into my eyes so that I can only squint. The boat feels heavy like a marble statue.
Taken by my struggle, God decides to intervene. I push again, and the boat slides forward, light as a feather. I hop in and the water floats the rowboat into the channel.
Can hardly see for all the needle rain hitting me in the face but I know he’s coming. Got a ninth sense about Joni: one-third more than usual.
And when I look back, there he is running through the mangroves with Augie Belle tight under one arm.
The water is watching and it wants to play a game. I hear a whisper travel across its surface until it’s close enough to hear: ‘You cannot have me if I cannot have the boy.’
Before I can stop him Joni jumps straight into the water and disappears underneath. He’s too little to know this night sea has a black heart.
I jump out of the boat and swim under the water all on one breath, reach out and grab his foot; tangled by the reeds that think it’s all a game too.
Quick! His lungs are small and about to burst.
Finally I drag him up to the surface. Then he’s like a newborn and I am tortured until a gasping splutter brings him back into the world.
We collapse on the bank letting our desperate lungs fill up with air. In this moment there’s only me and him, arms and legs wrapped around trying to crawl inside one another. The storm is so ferocious all the trees want to escape too, falling over this way and that, branches cracking loudly. They fall so close I feel a twig catch the side of my face so I pick Joni up and we scramble through the falling forest.
The path has gone and I can’t tell if I’m heading in the rig
ht direction. I think I see the house, a large shadow in the distance and figures calling our names. So I do not see what is coming and maybe the tree is already asleep before it hits the ground but it takes me with it.
Back of the head, crack like a cricket ball hit for six.
I fall onto my knees so I don’t squish Joni. There’s no pain so I must be all right even though there’s a golf-ball lump on the back of my head. I touch it and then look at my hand. Covered in red. That magic water inside my body is leaking out, and when I see all that blood, I just can’t be brave anymore.
I hear that wolf of mine yell at me: ‘This is what you get for trying to steal a child away!’
Now the ocean won’t set us free. It will keep me here so I can be punished.
Maman, aide-moi!
That is the last thing I say before I die.
29 Chickpea
They say it was a once-in-a-decade storm. William’s house was a wreck; seven windows broken and half the roof missing. Ended up in the neighbour’s pool two doors down. I don’t know where I went for the next three months. The clock kept ticking over but someone had forgotten to wind me up. There’s a throat tube to help me breathe and my brain’s been switched off so I can heal. Every day another medical forecast. She might wake up, she might keep sleeping. Or you might turn the machine off and let her go forever. Even though I couldn’t understand what they said, I knew they were there. In the morning it would be William. He would read to me. I could hear the pages turn and his soft steady voice. In the afternoon Aunty Cecilia and Jules would take turns like they’d popped over for arvo tea to tell me how the tomatoes were doing this year. Sometimes they would cry. Then they would keep talking because that’s what the doctors had told them to do. To let me know I wasn’t alone. And one time Pat was there too. Didn’t say much but he stayed for the longest time. Then the room got cold and I went down deeper into myself.
After a while even though my eyes were shut I could see shapes: blobs of light and shadows when the sun flickered across the window. One day I feel William hold my hand and stroke my fingers. I could feel again. Like hands are a new invention and the doctors have just strapped one on. People don’t sound like they’re talking underwater anymore. I can hear William’s words the clearest, he tells me stories. They’re mostly the ones he tells Joni, but I don’t mind. One is about a spider-man. Not the red and black one who’s really Peter Parker. This one’s called Anansi. Some people call him Mr Nancy and that makes me laugh even though my mouth can’t move. Mr Nancy makes the rain come and decides how wide the rivers can flood. He makes it all possible: the sun, moon, stars, day and night. I squeeze William’s hand. Then hear his chair scrape as he runs out of the room. People come in and speak my name. People I don’t know and do not want to see so I stay inside myself. I don’t know if it’s two minutes, hours, or days later, but the next time William takes my hand I open my eyes because his is the face I want to see for the first time again. So I’d know I hadn’t died after all.
He just stares at me with wonder and wobbly eyes.
‘Chickpea.’ The inside of my mouth is dry and the word feels wooden.
William’s shadow falls over my face as he leans forward, eyes wide open. ‘I couldn’t hear you, bubby,’ he whispers so my ears don’t crack.
‘Channa…means chickpea,’ I say.
And then his eyes go all crinkly like they’re gonna fall in on themselves.
‘You’re my channa.’ Massaging my hand again, he’s smoothing out the fleshy spot right at the base of the thumb.
I have no idea why I kickstarted my mouth up again with a chickpea. I don’t even like hummus. I close my eyes, and do you know what I think about? Snowflakes, slowly falling onto my tongue.
When I find out Christmas has come and gone I am devastated. I imagine the table covered in crackers and the box of Darrell Lea assorted chocolates and candies, then the turkey and ham and peas and curried-egg sandwiches that Mum would make just for me. Even though I have no clue what William’s spread was like, I’ve missed out. Hadn’t even thought about what present I’d wanted and wishing is the best part of all.
William brings in a little mini plum pudding that he’d made just for me and Nurse Wendy gives us some custard to have with it. My tummy remembers all the food it has missed and I eat William’s half too. Then he gives me a once-in-a-lifetime present—a sterling silver fork that was 103 years old from Germany. It used to belong to Father Ewald and it was very strong because it had withstood two wars and a wall falling down. And there is also a gift from Aunty Cecilia and Jules: Tina Arena’s latest and greatest hits. Finger on the pulse, thanks very much ladies. Nurse Olivia even brings in a tape player so I can listen to it.
While I was asleep I figured out that Paris and my dad had always been a dream, real and imagined. But I am awake now. That night my metal fish had been in my pocket. Had I wanted to take it with me across the seas? I can’t say. But it pressed through my pocket and imprinted scales on my skin like I was a living fossil. Those small half-moons, a perfect kind of miracle. I lost it in the water, either trying to get the boat into the ocean, or Joni out of it. It’s swimming in that wide-open sea now, whether it wants to or not. I hope it means that Dad is free too. Despite what he’s done I miss him all the same because he will always be part of me. But, on the other side of the storm, I feel like we have let each other go.
The boy next to me here on the ward—Marvin—got burnt when a pot of boiling water fell on his arm when he was four. And he still needs operations when his skin gets too tight. His dad is a bikie who sometimes visits with his leather-jacket mates. They all have moustaches and wear sunnies even when they are inside. Marvin’s dad says he’ll take me for a ride on his bike when I am better.
I have to have rehab to rejig my muscles and bones on account of them hibernating for so long. I have a massive splinter deep down in my finger, a piece of that boat that might never come out. Everything hurts and sometimes even though I know what I want to say, I borrow the wrong words and they don’t make any sense.
They stitched my head up pretty good, but they still can’t tell me how much blood I’ve lost. I ask them to check my magic water levels, but the doctor says they don’t have a machine for that. Which is not true. When you spin a test tube of blood round and round, the magic water part always floats to the top. Then come the white blood cells, and then the red. I figure I was asleep all that time so my body could make more of everything.
Joni comes now that I am awake and we go to the kids’ room and play Connect 4 or Monopoly. I let him pass GO whenever he wants. We never talk about that night. But I won’t ever forget the look on Joni’s face watching me try to leave. The water had no intention of taking me out to sea. And it lured Joni to remind me of who I could not live without. Now I’m not sure if it was being cruel to be kind. But I do know the more time I spend with Joni the better my wounds are healing.
William plays games with me too, brings in his old domino set most days he visits.
‘Anyone for a half D?’ He smiles and nods like I’m in on some joke of his from 1963. That’s what they used to say in Kitty Village, his hometown back in Guyana. Looking for someone to play six rounds of dominoes which is kind of like a set of tennis. Game-set-match without the 40–loves and sweat. William moves his dominoes round like he’s gonna do some magic cup trick instead. Shields them with his hand so I can’t peek. I don’t really care if he sees my dots so I lay them flat on the table instead. You’re supposed to have three people playing, but we still make it work.
Some days a headache thumps behind my eyes so loud I have to have everything dark and lie with a wet cloth on my forehead.
William talks to me about time. How we set our watches, hearts, brains and feet by something that is just an idea. Only real because we make it so. I am only here because of yesterday clouds ripping apart the sky, throwing me into a broken-hearted today that might never ever change. Maybe time will run out and the future will ne
ver turn up. There is only one thing I know for sure. William has been my timekeeper all along. Waiting and hoping that I would someday find my way to him.
One day when the arvo tea trolley has been round I tell William I am sorry for it all. He puts down his Kingston biscuit and thinks for a long time, rubbing my hand back and forth.
‘Life is about making and losing connections. But too many people go.’
William went to church a lot while I was in hospital, prayed to God and Buddha and Ganesh the elephant for good measure. Then he’d go for a drive until he got to the Wylark River, park the car and walk alongside. Follow its path round corners and bends ’til he didn’t know which way was forward and which way was back.
Black skin and water. I’d got them both wrong, thinking they’d betrayed me. Neither of them is good or bad, but fear likes to make things simple.
William says I can’t keep secrets like the boat anymore and that I can talk to him about whatever I am feeling. Sometimes he might just listen. He knows about that pain in my gut thinking I’d let Mum down, so I promise to try. When we watch a one-day cricket match in the kids’ room, I practise not keeping a secret. I tell William that sometimes I wish a duck upon Brian Lara before he even makes it to the crease, ’cause the Aussies will always be my dream team even though the Windies rule the world. He smiles and says we’ll have to work on that.
Being asleep for so long changed a lot of things. I am more familiar to myself. It feels like waiting in line for ages only to find that all the tickets have been sold. You see another movie anyway and it’s actually okay. There are strange bits that don’t make sense but you watch it ’til the end ’cause the last song is quite catchy and it makes you feel good.
When I go home I am still in recuperation, which means that I can sit on the couch and eat ice cream and get Joni to put my apple cores in the bin so that I don’t have to get up. Joni snuggles in with me and watches cartoons and even lets me braid his hair because it’s getting really long. Any time someone comes near him with a pair of scissors he runs into my wardrobe. I don’t mind if he goes in there. He brings me the rest of his buttons and I sew them all over the holes in Augie Belle’s fur so the stuffing won’t come out. As well as being practical it also makes Augie Belle ten years younger. He looks pretty and interesting for the first time in his life. And when I sew each button on I tell Joni another secret about water. Whenever he feels sad and misunderstood like you can when you don’t use your words, he points to a button on Augie Belle and I tell him the secret again. Sit there for ages, he would, listening to all those water facts and stats: