by Louise Allan
I felt fury rising as she spoke and didn’t know what to say.
‘But look at her now. She could have done a lot worse.’
‘Mum, I don’t…’ Then I sighed and waved my hand in the air. ‘I’m not even going to bother talking to you.’
‘I know what you think, Ida,’ said Mum as she pushed the needle through the felt. ‘But life’s full of sacrifices.’
We were quiet again.
‘I do wonder what might have been,’ I said.
‘You can’t wonder about that,’ said Mum, as she tugged on the needle, pulling the thread tight. ‘You make a decision, the one you consider best at the time and that’s that. Ruminating over choices made a long time ago won’t change them and will only make you unhappy.’ She picked up the hat and studied it, pressing the petals of the flower flat with her hand. ‘Nora’ll be really happy in her new house. It’s all worked out for the best.’ She set the hat on the wicker beside her and smiled at me. ‘C’mon. It’s time to take me inside.’
The next day, I heard shifting and scraping coming from Mum’s bedroom. I crept down the hall and stood outside the door for a while, listening to the grunting and groaning coming from within. Gently, I nudged the door open. The bed was empty, so I pushed the door further, and there was Mum, standing by the end of the bed. Yes, standing. Wobbling about like a puppet on a string but upright and holding onto the bed knob.
She turned to me and beamed. ‘Miracles do happen after all.’
I was speechless.
That night, Mum showed Len how she could stand up.
‘How long have you been able to do that, Mum?’ he said.
‘Oh, I don’t know. A little while. A few months. Maybe a year…’ she said.
‘A year?’ I said. ‘And you didn’t think to tell us?’
‘It didn’t happen overnight, and I wanted to wait until I could walk well to surprise you. But now, with Nora’s new house, I thought I’d better hurry myself along.’
That night as I undressed for bed, I muttered under my breath to Len. ‘I’ve never heard of anyone getting over a paralysis just like that before.’
‘Me, neither,’ he said. He climbed into the bed and it creaked.
I flicked off the light and padded over in the darkness. The covers rasped as I lifted them and climbed in. ‘I wonder if there was anything wrong with her to start with. I reckon she’s decided to walk again because she wants to see Nora’s new house.’
I felt Len’s arm slide under my shoulders. ‘Look on the bright side. You won’t have to do so much running around for her.’
‘No,’ I said. It hit me, then, that no one would need me anymore.
Doreen from next door gave me an old walking stick. Each morning as I took in Mum’s breakfast, I’d clang the tray on the bedside table and flick up the blind so the sun would stream in on her face. Mum would squint and hold her hand over her eyes.
‘Is it morning already?’
‘Half the morning’s gone,’ I’d say, and peel back the covers. ‘C’mon, you’ve got to practise your walking.’
I laced her shoes and helped her to standing. She shook and trembled as she leant on the walking stick and tried to lift her foot.
‘Oh, oh, oh. My hip’s clicking. I don’t think I can do it.’
‘Yes you can, Mum. Remember, the quicker we can get you moving, the quicker you can see Nora’s new house.’
So she dragged herself up and down the hallway on her stick, and all the while, I said encouraging things like, ‘Imagine you’re walking over those wall-to-wall carpets, Mum’, and ‘I wonder what those built-in wardrobes look like’.
One brisk morning, when she’d mastered a few laps of the hall without stopping, I wrapped her in her coat and helped her into her gloves and hat. Together, we walked up Pearson Street to the main road and back. We repeated the distance each day until she got used to it, and then I let her walk up and back on her own.
I watched from the verandah as her hunched figure hobbled up the footpath. She set the stick down, then leant forward until her feet caught up. Her dress hung loosely and nearly reached her ankles. She’d always been small, but she seemed to have shrunk even more over the five years she’d spent in bed. It took her the best part of an hour to walk the couple of hundred yards.
When she came back, she was panting and beads of perspiration dotted her forehead.
‘You made it, Mum,’ I said.
She heaved a sigh and smiled. ‘Now we can visit Nora.’
Chapter 22
They moved into the new house at Ben Craeg in October of 1951. Just before Christmas, Alf came into town to pick us up. He turned up in a new fawn-coloured truck, with Hill’s Joinery painted on the door. Although he was only my age, thirty-three, his hair was already thinning and greying. He stopped on the footpath when he saw Mum hobble out the door on her stick. Then his eyes crinkled and he bounded up the steps, bending to kiss her powdered cheeks.
‘By Jeez, it’s good to see you up and about,’ he said. ‘Nora’s bursting to show you the house.’
I helped Mum down the steps and through the gate.
‘Watch where you’re going!’ she said as I led her over the uneven grass on the verge. When we finally reached the truck, Alf gathered her into his arms and lifted her up as if she was a child.
‘Be careful! Be careful!’ she said, her knuckles blanching on his shoulders as he slid her onto the seat.
‘What’s that?’ I pointed at a rectangular-shaped object covered in a white sheet and tethered to the tray of the truck with ropes.
‘It’s a surprise,’ said Alf, and winked.
I climbed up next to Mum and shut the door.
‘Let’s be off, then,’ said Mum with a smile.
We drove through the Sideling Range and on to Tinsdale, Mum chattering all the way: ‘Oh, Mrs Flanagan’s closed her shop…And they’ve painted the hall…There’s Harry Logan’s house. I wonder how he’s managing. He lost his legs in the War, and I know how hard it is being a cripple.’ She was silent for a while. ‘I know that for a fact.’
We turned off the main road and drove past patchwork hills. On through the familiar, maternal landscape towards Ben Craeg. I held my breath when I spotted her, still and unmoving on the horizon. The forest climbed halfway up her slopes, then the brown ridges of her rocks rose to the peak. She looked like a kindly mother watching over the valley.
The new house was one of a smattering in a gully in the foothills. Alf bumped over the gutter as he drove into the concrete driveway and creaked on the handbrake.
Mum inspected the house—the orange brick of the walls, the concrete path lined by rose bushes, and the neat lawn sprouting in the front yard. She smiled at Alf. ‘You’re doing very well for yourself.’
He nodded. ‘I’m doing my best.’
Ben and Grace flitted about behind the venetians at the window. They burst through the screen door onto the front porch and tumbled down the steps.
‘It’s Dad and Aunty Ida,’ Ben hollered as he ran, bouncing up and down. He was seven years old and built like a truck, the image of his father.
Grace followed, her four-year-old legs scuttling as fast as they could. Her hair was longer and sprayed about her face, the tips glowing gold in the evening light. Penny, her doll, dangled from her hand.
They launched themselves at me, little missiles of arms and legs, both talking at once and plunging their hands into mine.
‘I bowled Ted at cricket,’ said Ben. ‘Then he quit when it was my turn to bat.’
‘I wear pants now,’ said Grace. ‘No nappies.’
Behind us, Alf helped Mum down from the truck and set her feet on the ground. She wobbled and held the door of the truck. ‘Where’s my stick? I need my stick.’
‘Mum!’ The screen door swung open and Nora stood at the top of the steps. She wore dark-navy slacks and a yellow floral blouse. Her hair was short, trimmed so it framed her face, and she’d dyed it dark. She looked like Elizabeth Ta
ylor. She bounded down the steps and over to us. As she kissed me, I smelt her perfume—fresh, like daffodils. We all floated back over the green lawn, as weightless as a cloud. We were laughing and chatting and babbling as we climbed the steps.
‘I’m roasting a chicken in the electric frying pan,’ said Nora.
‘Oh, you young ones,’ said Mum. ‘You’re a lot braver than me when it comes to electricity.’
Ted slouched against the wall of the porch. He was nearly ten but smaller than Ben. He wore long trousers and his shirt was buttoned neatly to his neck. He was reading a book, as if he wasn’t interested in us. I let go of Ben and Grace and went to him. He didn’t look at me as I squeezed him, and he felt slight and fragile.
The others ran inside through the screen door; it banged against the wall and again as it slammed shut. Bang-bang. Bang-bang.
‘Oh, look,’ came Mum’s voice from just inside the door. ‘It’s a telephone!’
‘I’ve missed you so much,’ I said to Ted.
‘Isn’t it intrusive?’ came Mum’s voice a bit further away.
Ted kept his eyes on his book. ‘Why didn’t you come sooner?’ His chin was pointed, his nose fine, his skin olive and smooth.
‘I couldn’t…’
‘Aunty Ida! Aunty Ida!’ Grace called from inside the house.
‘Yes, you could’ve,’ he said. He sounded angry.
‘I couldn’t, Teddy. I’m sorry.’
‘You left us out here on our own.’
Footsteps pattered down the hall. Grace appeared at the doorway, Penny in her arms. ‘Come on,’ she said, pushing the screen door open.
I took Ted’s hand. ‘Come inside. We can talk later.’
He yanked his hand from my grasp and his caramel curls bounced, thick and wavy.
‘You’re sleeping in my room, Aunty,’ said Grace.
I kept my eyes on Ted. ‘Come inside with us.’
He didn’t move and his eyes bored into the novel in his hands.
Grace took my hand and pulled me towards her. ‘Come and see my room. And Penny’s cradle.’
‘In a minute, Gracie. Let me talk to Ted.’
‘No, now,’ she said, and tugged at my hand so I stepped towards the door.
Ted’s eyes were still on his book, his lashes lowered so they looked as if they were resting on his cheeks. ‘Gracie, just give me a minute with Ted.’
‘One minute,’ she said. ‘That’s all.’
The screen door slammed behind her. Bang-bang.
‘Stop banging that door,’ called Nora from down the hall.
‘Ted, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say, except that I couldn’t leave Uncle Len and Grandma on their own.’
‘You love them more than us.’
‘It’s not that. Not at all. I just can’t leave them. They need me to look after them.’
He glanced at me. ‘We need you, too.’ His face was pained.
I rubbed my chin. ‘I wish I could be in two places at once. In town with them and out here with you.’
He screwed up his face and returned to his book.
Grace’s face came to the door again. ‘It’s been one minute.’
Ted was still slumped against the wall with his book.
‘I’d better go in,’ I said. ‘Are you coming?
He stayed where he was.
Grace skipped ahead down the carpeted hall. Just inside the door, a green telephone sat on a low table with a vinyl-covered seat. On the right, was the main bedroom. The door was ajar, and I glimpsed an ornate wooden bedhead and a ribbed, maroon bedspread. On the left was the formal lounge. It, too, had new furniture—a lounge suite of maroon velvet with blackwood arms, and a buffet with sliding glass doors.
We headed down the hall, towards the sounds of sizzling and laughter. The house smelt of new paint and new carpet and roasting chicken.
In the kitchen, golden light streaked through the venetians. It flashed off the stainless steel and striped the wall and laminex.
Nora spread her arms wide. ‘What do you think?’
Mum leant on her walking stick and gawked around like a nosy neighbour. ‘I like your hall carpet, Nora,’ she said. ‘I like olive green. But I can’t say the same for this wallpaper. All of those yellow and orange semicircles. I feel as if I’m surrounded by sunrises.’ She limped through a doorway off the kitchen and into the dining room.
Nora watched Mum disappear through the door, the smile gone from her face, as she finished tying her apron around her waist.
‘Nice dining table,’ came Mum’s voice, then she reappeared in the doorway. ‘But those venetian blinds. It would drive me batty peering through stripes all day.’
‘Isn’t anything I do good enough?’ said Nora.
Mum stiffened. ‘I’m just giving my opinion.’
‘Well, don’t. Keep it to yourself.’ Nora turned to the frying pan, lifting the lid. The fat spat and sizzled.
‘Don’t worry, Nor,’ I said. ‘Mum loves your house, don’t you Mum?’ I glared at Mum, but she was still looking at Nora, her eyebrows together and her brow furrowed.
‘I can’t say I like something when I don’t,’ she said.
Nora turned the chicken roasting in the centre of the pan with the tongs. It sizzled more and she replaced the lid. Then she faced us again and shook her head. ‘No, and you never have, so why would you start now?’
Mum’s hands fidgeted on the walking stick. ‘Well, I do like it. Very much.’ She glanced at the walls and window. ‘Except for the wallpaper and venetians.’ She looked at Nora again. ‘And I am looking forward to eating chicken cooked in an electric frying pan. That will be interesting.’
‘Come and see my room now,’ said Grace. She took my hand and led me down the hall to a room at the back, opposite the bathroom. Its floor, too, was carpeted. The walls were covered with wallpaper patterned with lilacs. Lace curtains hung either side of the window, caught at their middles and tied like pigtails. The room had a built-in wardrobe and two blackwood beds, side by side.
‘That’s yours,’ said Grace, pointing at one of the beds. They were both covered with matching lilac bedspreads. ‘And this is where Penny sleeps. Dad made it especially.’
In between the two beds was a wooden doll’s cradle. Grace set Penny on a pink blanket inside the cradle and rocked it from side to side.
Heavy footsteps thudded down the hall, then Alf appeared in the doorway. He was panting, but his eyes were smiling. He wiped the perspiration off his face with his hanky, then beckoned. ‘Come and see what I’ve bought!’
Grace followed her father down the hall, her footsteps light and fast. When I walked out onto the porch, Mum and Nora were already there. Ted still stood in the shadows. Clouds sponged the sky, the sun was low in the west and the air smelt of the mountain.
Nora, Mum and I waited at the top of the steps, while Ben and Grace bounded down behind their father, nearly tripping over their feet in eagerness.
Still covered in the white sheet, the big, rectangular object that I’d seen on the back of the truck now sat on the concrete path in the front yard of the house. Grassy seedlings sprouted in the lawn beside it. Alf smiled, then bent and lifted the sheet on one side. The object underneath peeked slyly from below the sheet. It was brown and shiny and looked warm in the late afternoon sun. Alf lifted the sheet higher and tugged so it slid off. I felt Nora stiffen beside me.
It was a piano. A tall, walnut-brown piano, which stood lopsided on the uneven turf. It had intricately carved sides and three shiny brass pedals.
Nora didn’t move.
Alf let the sheet fall from his fingers onto the path, then returned to the truck. He came back with a round stool with four feet that splayed daintily. He set the stool in front of the piano, then took a key from his pocket and opened the lid. The black and white keys glowed like a mouthful of teeth. Renardi it said, in gold gothic lettering.
Alf faced us with a grin that lit his whole face.
‘A piano!’ I
said, clasping my hands together. I turned to Nora. ‘He’s bought you a piano!’
Nora’s profile looked sharp—eyes ahead, chin pointed, lips pinched.
Mum was staring at the piano, too.
Alf beamed at us again. ‘Come and see, Nor. Come and play it.’
Nora was trembling now, red blotches forming on her chest and neck.
‘Go on, Nora,’ I said.
Her lips opened and shut without sound.
Mum stepped forward until she was beside Nora. ‘Don’t do it if you don’t want to.’
‘Mum!’ I said. ‘Alf’s bought Nora a piano. To play.’
Mum ignored me. ‘Don’t play it, Nor. Don’t. It’ll just remind you. And look at all you have now. A beautiful house. A family. A husband.’
‘She can have both, Mum. Music and a family.’ I took Nora’s arm. ‘Come on. You can do it.’
Nora stared at the ground, then up at the piano. Everyone waited, holding their breaths, eyes on Nora.
‘Ida, leave her alone,’ said Mum. ‘Don’t make her do something she doesn’t want to. Can’t we all just go inside and not ruin a perfectly good evening?’
‘Be quiet, Mum,’ I said. I held Nora’s elbow and pressed her forward.
Nora froze. ‘I can’t do it.’
‘Yes, you can.’
She shook her head.
Mum patted her arm. ‘Good decision.’
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘I’ll come with you.’
She shook her head again.
‘Do it, Nora,’ I said. ‘Find that girl again.’
She hesitated and glanced at Mum, but I kept the pressure on her elbow and her feet shifted forward.
Mum exhaled loudly but said no more. I kept urging Nora on, down the steps and along the concrete path towards the piano. The kids and Alf stepped aside to let us through. I stayed beside her all the way. She reached the stool and stopped, exhaling through pursed lips. She sat and brought her hands together, then raised them so the tips touched her forehead. Her lids were closed and we waited while she prayed. Then she straightened and placed her fingers above the keys.
The bird sounds faded and the wind eased. It was as if the earth hushed, readying for this moment.