The Sisters' Song

by Louise Allan

  As naturally as if I was his mother, I unbuttoned my dress. He seemed to sense what I was doing and quietened, waiting. The blind was down and the room was dim; it was just the two of us together in the quiet. I lifted my breast from my bra and brought my feeble nipple to his lips. I felt his warm, wet mouth around it and the tug as he took it to the back of his throat. His fingers stretched across my skin and he sucked—once, twice.

  I held him closer and smoothed his hair with my hand and, for a moment, I wondered if I might be able to do it—feed him and be a mother to a living child. But then he opened his eyes and looked at me. He let go of my nipple and screwed up his face and wailed, because there was no milk and I wasn’t his mother.

  But just for a wee while I’d felt what it was like to be a mother with a child.

  Nora was still in bed when I took him to her. He was howling with hunger, and she hoisted herself up and untucked her bulging breast from its coverings. She took him and positioned her nipple in his mouth. He suckled, his fair head against her creamy skin, content.

  She sank back against the pillow and closed her eyes. Her face was gaunt and her skin grey with weariness.

  ‘Would you like me to bathe him when you’ve finished?’ I said.

  Her eyes stayed closed and she nodded.

  I filled the tub and set it on the kitchen table. After he’d fed, I lowered him into the water. He smiled and gurgled as I trickled it over his honey-coloured hair and skin. Afterwards, I dried him and wrapped him in the towel. Then I picked him up and nestled him against me. His hair was wet and curly, and he smelt of soap and wind-dried towel.

  Each morning after that, I’d pick him up when he woke and take him into Nora for his feed. I sat in a chair next to them, watching his tiny jaw chomp and listening to him wheeze, feeling his wispy curls brush against my arm.

  When he’d finished feeding, I’d take him into the kitchen, where it was warm and light, and burp him until the blue disappeared from above his lip. After I’d bathed him, we’d sit by the stove and I’d stroke his hair and forehead until his eyes closed. I’d hold him in my arms while he slept, all the while admiring the fineness of his skin, the feathery veins over his lids and the milk spots across his nose.

  Sometimes we stayed like that for hours. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to disturb him but, really, the feel of him was a comfort to my otherwise empty arms.

  I began to look after him more. Nora spent most of each day in her room, lying in bed with the blind drawn. I took her breakfast and lunch into her, and she only came out for dinner or to go to the outhouse, trudging about with her shoulders hunched.

  ‘How much longer’s she gonna get about looking like death warmed up?’ Len asked one night.

  ‘Shhh,’ I said. ‘Give her a chance to adjust.’

  She didn’t improve. One night a few weeks later, when she was sitting at the table toying with the sausage and mash on her plate, Len set down his knife and fork, and cleared his throat.

  ‘Nora,’ he said. ‘Isn’t it about time you pulled yourself together?’

  ‘Len!’ I glared at him. ‘Don’t!’

  Nora gaped at him, her brow creased. ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘We’ve all got to accept things we wish were different,’ he said. ‘Ida and me did, and you have to as well.’

  ‘Len, be quiet,’ I said, and turned to Nora. ‘Pay no attention. He doesn’t mean it.’

  ‘Yes, I do. She’s a mother now and—’

  I kicked him under the table.

  Nora determinedly picked up her plate and took it to the sink, then hurried from the room.

  ‘Len,’ I said, standing. ‘How could you? How could you be so insensitive?’

  ‘She mopes around as if something really bad has happened, when it hasn’t. She’s had a baby, Ida. A baby. No one’s died.’

  ‘For godssake, Len!’ I spun around and left the room.

  Nora didn’t answer when I knocked, so I opened her door. She was lying on the bed, facing the closed blind, and didn’t look up.

  ‘Len didn’t mean what he said.’

  She rolled over to face me. Her eyes were red and puffy. ‘I can’t stay here, Ida. Not where I’m not welcome.’

  ‘Don’t leave. Please, Nora…’

  ‘As soon as I can find another place.’

  ‘Don’t leave because of what Len said. He’s a bloke and he doesn’t understand.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t understand and he shouldn’t have said it.’

  ‘He won’t do it again. I’ll make sure he doesn’t. I promise.’

  She sat up straighter and ran a hand over her hair. I noticed the bones of her wrist and how much she’d thinned and hollowed. She looked at me, her face pinched. ‘Do you know what it’s like?’

  ‘I think so,’ I said, my voice fading.

  ‘You were allowed to grieve.’ She closed her eyes and I thought she might cry, but she swallowed and opened them again. ‘But I’m not.’ Her forehead creased as she told me the story of what had happened.

  ‘I was so happy in Melbourne. I’d never been so happy. I was doing what I’d always dreamed of doing—on the stage, singing—and I was good. Everyone said so. Dr Lloyd, the director at the con, said I could go to London or Milan or New York when I finished my studies. And I had Marco. He treated me like I’d never been treated by a man before, by anyone before. As if I was beautiful and special and had a gift. I got a flutter in my chest whenever I saw him. I couldn’t help it, and even though I knew I shouldn’t…I would have done anything for him. Anything. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t wrong because we were in love.’ Her voice lowered and she spoke slowly. ‘But when I told him about the baby…that’s when he told me he was married. I didn’t know what to do. Then the Faculty found out and Dr Lloyd…and that was the end of it all.’

  She ran her hands over her legs under the blanket.

  ‘I’ve never felt so ashamed in my life,’ she went on. ‘Sitting on that chair while Dr Lloyd loomed over me from behind his big, heavy desk and told me I wasn’t worthy of such a prestigious scholarship and that I’d brought the shame all upon myself. Then I had to tell Mum, and all she kept saying was, “What will people think?” And all I wanted to say was, “I’ve lost everything, Mum. I don’t care what people think.” Then she said, “Of course, if you’d done what I wanted and got married in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. And with an Italian, no less.” But the hardest part was when she went quiet because I knew I’d let her down more than I’d ever let her down before.’ She looked up at me. ‘Not even when I ran away. I had to try to fix it, so when Alf said he’d marry me, I…What choice did I have?’

  She looked at me. ‘But I’ve made a terrible mistake, Ida. I’m here and I’m alone. I have a baby I don’t want, a husband I don’t love, and no chance of ever being happy again.’

  I didn’t know what to say. I let a minute or two pass before I sat on the bed beside her and took her hand. ‘You can be happy. You have a beautiful baby and a husband who loves you. You have more than most.’

  She tried to withdraw her hand. ‘I knew you wouldn’t understand.’

  I held it tighter. ‘I do understand, Nor. I know what it’s like to want something really badly, and to get it and then have it taken away.’

  Nora stilled, leaving her hand in mine. ‘There are only two things I’ve ever wanted. Singing and Marco. I risked everything to get them, and now I’ve lost both.’

  ‘Don’t you dare say anything like that to her again,’ I said to Len that night as we lay in bed.

  ‘She should just make the most of it. Like we all have to.’ He reached for my hand under the covers, but I rolled away from him. ‘She’s a mother now. She needs to start looking after her son and stop expecting you to do it.’

  I was quiet for a while, then I said, ‘I don’t mind, Len. In fact, I quite like it. I want to look after him.’ I could hear his breathing behind me. ‘You don’t understand what it�
��s like. You think you do, but you don’t.’ Inside my chest, I felt the ripples stir as I spoke. ‘I carried them. They were inside me. I felt them moving, tumbling, kicking. I felt them and they were alive. And now they’re not. Every cell in my body knows it, every day of my life. They’re not here and they never will be. It’s as if I have a big hole inside me where they lived. When I’m with Ted, that hole isn’t as big and it doesn’t hurt as much. And sometimes…’ I swallowed. ‘Sometimes, it almost disappears.’

  He reached for my hand and I let him take it.

  ‘Don’t you ever do anything that might make her take him away from me again.’

  ‘I really am sorry.’ His voice was a whisper.

  I rolled over to face him, and I could just make out his shape in the dimness. ‘It’s not me you should be apologising to.’

  He stiffened. ‘I’m not apologising to her. I meant every word.’

  I pulled my hand from his and rolled away from him again.

  We were quiet for a long time, then I heard him sigh. ‘All right. I’ll say I’m sorry. But I’m only doing it for you.’

  After that, things were tense between Len and Nora. Whenever she saw him, she lifted her chin and looked away. For the whole time she and Ted lived with us, I don’t think Len and Nora ever spoke directly to each other again.

  Nora’s unhappiness didn’t improve, but apart from the night Len told her off, I never again saw her cry, nor heard her discuss what had happened in Melbourne. That conversation was the only time she allowed me a glimpse of the real Nora, the one who’d been humiliated and hurt. From that night on, even though she never brought it up again, I felt as if we shared a bond we’d never had as children and that we now understood each other’s shattered dreams.

  Mum and Grandma visited regularly after Nora and Ted moved in. Each time they came, they bore gifts: a teddy bear Mum had knitted in blue wool, or an embroidered baby towel or a smocked jumpsuit.

  Mum would smile and chat to Nora as if nothing was awry. She’d enquire about Alf and how he was getting on in Darwin, and ask about Ted. She wanted to know how many ounces he’d gained, about his sleeping habits, and when Nora intended to introduce solids and start toilet training him. Everything had worked out how Mum wanted it to, and it was as if her memory of the events leading up to Ted’s birth had evaporated.

  Grandma always sat quietly at the table, sipping her tea and not saying much. When Ted woke and I carried him out, Grandma and Mum would take turns at holding him in their arms.

  ‘Everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it?’ Mum would say as she held Ted and made clucking noises at him. But Grandma never commented, just watched him silently as his fingers curled around hers.

  Nora never said much either. When she answered Mum’s questions, she was always cordial and never unfriendly, but she seemed to be holding a part of herself back, like she always had.

  Ted was an easy baby. He didn’t cry but sat watching, always watching, with eyes so dark and deep they appeared infinite. And knowing.

  His first word was my name, and when he said it I called Len out to the kitchen. I pulled Ted from his high chair and sat him on the edge of the table. His knees dimpled as he kicked his legs.

  ‘C’mon, say it again,’ I said.

  He reached for the rattle on the floor. ‘Da,’ he said.

  I clapped my hands and picked up the rattle. ‘See, he can say my name.’ He took the rattle and began to suck.

  Len ruffled Ted’s hair as he passed. ‘You know how to please her, mate.’

  Then Ted learnt to sit and stand, and one day when he was nearly one, he let go of the chair and took off. Two, three, four wobbly steps before he tumbled onto his cushioned bum.

  Nora was in the bath, so I banged on the door. ‘Nora! Nora!’

  ‘What?’ she called as she hurried out, a towel wrapped around her and water droplets still shining on her skin.

  ‘Watch,’ I said.

  I propped Ted against the dresser and called to him. ‘One, two, three, four, five, six,’ I counted as he stepped. ‘Six steps.’ I picked him up and kissed his curls and his olive cheeks. ‘Aren’t you a clever boy?’

  ‘Oh, Ida, don’t get carried away. They all learn to walk at some point.’ She left to finish drying herself.

  ‘Well, at least Aunty Ida’s excited,’ I said to Ted after she’d gone.

  Once he was up and about, I had to follow him everywhere in case he tumbled or banged his head. Our trips to the shop became long meanderings as he poked a stick into every puddle and examined every snail and slug. If we spotted a bird, we had to follow it, and he cried big, globular tears when it flew away.

  At home, Len trailed him with the camera. He took a photo of him in the garden with a caterpillar on his hand, and another of him climbing the front steps carrying some roses. My favourite was the one of the two of us on the verandah, Ted sitting on my knee, his feathery curls almost covering his face as he studied a picture book.

  When Len wasn’t looking, I slipped that photo inside the box I kept on top of our wardrobe. It already held a flower I’d pressed from my wedding bouquet as well as the two layettes and babies’ shawls I’d kept. I put the photo of Ted and me on the top, replaced the lid and slid the box back in its place.

  Chapter 13

  As Ted grew, he started doing the usual things kids do, like venturing too close to the fire or crying when he had to get in the bath. Nora would give him a tap on the hand or a whack on the bum. Sometimes, she lost her temper.

  The first time I saw her rage at him was one rainy Monday when I was hanging the washing over the clotheshorse by the fire. The lounge room smelt fresh—of Velvet soap and wet cotton. Ted had just turned two, and was playing at my feet, crawling in and out between the shirts and pillowcases as if they were a tent.

  ‘Ted!’ Nora screeched from the hallway.

  We both stilled. Nora’s footsteps echoed as they hurried up the hall and the door flew open. Ted cowered amongst the whites, as if he hoped the wet linen might hide him, but she streaked across the room and squatted in front of the clotheshorse. She reached in, past one of Len’s shirts, and grabbed him by the arm.

  Ted started screaming.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I said, still holding Len’s singlet in my hands. ‘Nora…’

  She yanked him out, her fingers tight around his arm so his skin blanched. Then she bent and slapped his bare leg. The sound was as wet as the laundry in my hands. Ted screamed and she slapped him again.

  ‘What’s he done?’ I said. ‘What’s happened?’

  She didn’t answer. Her eyes were on Ted, her mouth set, her jaw clenched. Even the muscles of her neck were taut. She pulled a lipstick from her dress pocket and held it about two inches from his face. The top was broken and squashed flat, and its gold case was smeared red. ‘You did this, didn’t you?’

  Ted glanced sideways at the lipstick, then turned away and covered his face with his hands. He was crying softly.

  Nora shook him. ‘How dare you take my lipstick and draw on Aunty Ida’s wall.’

  She shook him again and when she let him go, he crumpled to the floor. He curled into a ball, his cries muffled under his arms.

  I flung Len’s shirt on top of the washing pile and went to him.

  ‘Leave him,’ said Nora, as I bent.

  ‘He’s crying…’

  ‘He’s been into my lipsticks and drawn on the wall.’

  ‘But he doesn’t know that’s wrong.’

  ‘He’s been told. He knows not to touch anything on my dressing table.’

  Ted was still whimpering on the floor at my feet and I bent towards him again.

  ‘Leave him, Ida. He’s got to learn.’

  I eyed her. ‘That’s not the way to teach him.’

  ‘I’m his mother and I’ll decide how he’ll be taught.’

  I stilled. My arms ached to pick him up, but I did as I was bid and returned to the washing in the basket.

  She lef
t the room, and as soon as she’d gone, I scooped Ted into my arms and pressed his head against my shoulder. He looked at me, his eyes glistening with unshed tears and his curls wet and sticking to his reddened cheeks.

  ‘I know you were just playing,’ I said, ‘and you didn’t mean to. But please don’t do it again, Teddy, because I can’t bear seeing her hit you like that.’

  He settled and I set him down. I finished hanging the rest of Len’s singlets, Y-fronts and socks on the rack, and shifted the clotheshorse in front of the fire to dry. Then I took Ted’s hand. In the hall, Nora was on her knees with a soapy bucket of water beside her. She was scrubbing at the wall to remove the red streaks.

  To me, Ted was just being a kid, but to Nora it was deliberate misbehaviour. Like when he took the butter off the table, and smeared it over the chair and table legs and a fair portion of himself. And when he tipped things out of their containers—marbles, pencils and a whole bottle of milk. He liked to copy what I did and plant things in pots about the garden—crayons, a library card and the front door key, which we couldn’t find for weeks. One day he cracked half a dozen eggs because he was looking for the chickens inside.

  Nora would lose her temper at him and the thwack of her hand against his skin made me recoil. I had to wrap my arms tightly around myself to stop from whisking him away. But as much as it hurt to witness, I couldn’t leave him alone while it was happening. As soon as Nora left, I’d go to him. I’d take him outside and up the path past the clothesline, to the garden by the back fence. We’d pluck apples from the tree and let the air cool our cheeks. Sometimes, we went out the front and picked hydrangeas and roses. Back in the kitchen, I’d peel the fruit for him to eat and we’d arrange the blooms in vases. All the while, I’d keep telling him that I loved him and always would.

  ‘It’s not his fault,’ I tried to tell her one day after she’d whacked him on his bottom for shaking the talcum powder all over the floor.