by PJ Vye
He watched her as she answered the door and took the meatlover’s pizza, smiled at the large, middle-aged driver with a man bun, and moved aside. Mat paid the man as Sunny took the pizza back to the couch, peeled a slice from the box and piled it into her mouth. She chewed in silence, staring at the blank screen of the television as she ate. Once she’d finished, she reached for a second and only acknowledged him after another bite. “It’s good. You gonna eat?”
“Sure.” He sat and took a piece, his eyes still on her.
“Ever wondered why pizza was the first food to be delivered?” she said as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I mean, why not deliver pies. Or fish and chips.”
“Probably because it transports easily and doesn’t go soggy.”
She nodded, and a slow smile spread across her face.
He took a careful bite and wondered at her sudden change of personality. He chewed slowly without tasting.
“Soooo, what’s your answer on the whole prescription thing?” she asked, her voice bubbled.
Mat took a moment to swallow. “I’m still trying to decide. What would you do in my position?”
She flicked her hair to one side and reached for more pizza. “I’d say give the girl anything she wants.”
Mataio had to stay focused. He had a cousin to save, a serum to produce and a set of rules he had to follow. Helping Sunny was putting all those things in jeopardy. “Have you tried anti-depressants?”
“Of course.”
“And?”
“I’m not sure they work.”
“Psychologist?”
“Can’t afford it.”
“You tried anything else?”
“Vodka. Gin. Tequila.”
She looked at the half eaten first slice in his hands and pushed the box in his direction.
Mataio dropped the half-eaten slice back in the box and wiped his hands on a serviette. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked.
“No.”
“Still want me to leave you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Why in two weeks? Why not now?”
“I want my dad to finish his holiday in Spain. And I want my boyfriend to find me the day after—so I’m not dead, you know, too long. So that gives me two weeks.”
“Which would make it September the—?”
“If you think I’m telling you the date and time, you’re crazy. I know you’ll try and stop me. Or worse, save me.”
He stared at her confused. She sounded to flippant to be serious. “You won’t kill yourself before then?”
“Why? You in a hurry?”
“What will you do? With your last two weeks on the planet?”
She blinked twice, probably unsure how to react to his causal acceptance. “Oh, I don’t know. Write a book, solve world hunger. I don’t know. What kind of question is that? I’m depressed. I’ll probably lie in bed and dribble.”
“Good. As long as you have a plan.” His eyes settled on hers for a moment, but she couldn’t sustain it long and turned away, a slight red flush on her cheeks. “I’ve gotta go,” he said as he headed to the door. “If my aunt calls, will you come and get me?”
Sunny shrugged.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” he said.
Sunny shrugged again.
“If not, good luck with it.”
He bolted out the door and took the stairs two at a time, making the metal frame rattle loudly. He didn’t want her to notice how jealous he felt about her decision to treat her life with such irreverence, when his life seemed so serious. He wished he could take a tiny piece of her devil-may-care attitude and keep it in his pocket for all the times when he felt he couldn’t go on with the rigidity of his life. Ending it all seemed like such an easy, calm and practical solution the way she described it. Maybe they could do it together. A death pact like a cult. They could write down all the things they were guilty of in a death note and break free of the confines of life. What a glorious thought. Freedom.
He pulled the roller door up to his lab slowly, collected the new batch of serum, locked up and headed out to catch the 8.15pm bus.
He couldn’t check out just yet. Too many people depended on him.
Eleven
TULULA
Tulula lit a candle, pulled the pillow from her bed and placed it on the floor in front of the window. She knelt and clasped her hands together, and hung her head, whispering a long prayer. She kept focus on the image in her mind like a mantra, La’ei’s sixteen-year-old face. She’d be thirty-six tomorrow, probably with a few greys in her long dark hair. Maybe a line or two around her eyes. Her smile would still be quick, and her eyes would still sparkle when she spoke. Her voice would be lower, and she’d have a child or two at her heels, never giving her any peace.
Why didn’t she come home? “Please Lord, bring my baby home to me.”
The same prayer every day. Tomorrow’s birthday would be hard, as it always was. The last time she saw her La’ei’s sweet face was nearly twenty years ago. How had she endured so many years of this torture, not knowing where her baby girl could be? Every year she fought to keep her hopes alive, but every year the chances diminished a little more. She prayed Mataio would be back to help her through it.
“Mother? Are you there?” Junior called. Using the stool beside her bed, Tulula pulled herself slowly up, her knees cracking angrily, and headed to her son. He must be uncomfortable. He only called her ‘Mother’ in English when he was ill. Any other time, like when he wanted a favour—food or help finding the remote—he called her name in Samoan. He knew she preferred this. ‘Tina.’ He’d say it with such affection, with a gentle rising lilt on the ‘a’ that reminded her of when her children were toddlers, and she would stop what she was doing and give him anything they asked for.
“What is it?” she asked, crossing the room as quickly as her sore legs would allow. Her kneeling days were over, but still she persevered. God was more likely to send her daughter home if he could see the suffering he caused by keeping her away.
“Mother. I don’t feel so good.”
“Where does it hurt, o la’u pepe?”
“It doesn’t hurt exactly. I feel faint. Like I might pass out.”
“I’ll call Mataio.”
“Where did he go, Ma?”
She clucked her tongue in concern and then answered the question the same way she answered it yesterday, last night and this morning. “To make more medicine. But I have a phone number. I’ll call him now and he’ll come. Just try to stay awake, okay?” Tulula found her phone and dialled the number Matatio had given her. As it rang, he walked through the front door. “You’re back?”
“Hello? Hello?” came a young female voice from the phone. Tulula looked confused and hung up. “Who was that?”
“A girl who’s phone I borrowed. What’s going on?”
“How did you go with the test results? Is he getting better?”
“They were inconclusive.”
“Oh Taio. That’s not good.”
Mataio stepped over the dog and headed to Junior’s room. “Did you give him the serum like I said?” he asked over his shoulder.
She couldn’t answer and he turned to look at her. She looked away.
“Aunt Tulula?”
“I’m not sure we should go ahead with this. It’s too risky.”
“But Aunt we talked about this.”
“It’s been six days.”
“Exactly.” Then to Junior he said, “How are you feeling, mate?”
“Like I’ve done a few laps on a race car circuit. Dizzy.”
“Nausea?”
“No.”
“Just lightheaded?”
“Yes.”
Mataio lifted the backpack off and took out a new set of syringes. He took Junior’s vital signs and recorded them in his workbook. His fever had gone, and her son had some colour back in his cheeks. Mataio changed the colostomy bag and walked the full bag to the toilet. Tulula met Ma
taio in the kitchen.
“Inconclusive tests just mean there hasn’t been enough change yet to measure either way. There’s no clear indication it’s doing him any harm, even if it does no good. You understand me? It’s important Junior stays positive and believes this can work for him. We’re trying to change the brain here, and even a placebo effort will help in the short term.”
“What signs are we looking for? That it’s working? We can’t weigh him. So what else?”
“We wait.”
She clasped her hands together and squeezed them. She needed a sign. Something to tell her it would be okay. “Are you hungry? I just made keke pya’a.”
Twelve
MATAIO
46 days to go
Mataio laid in bed longer than usual, listening to the sound of Aunt preparing for the day ahead. Today would be difficult. He didn’t imagine it had gotten any easier, despite having missed the last few years. The usual sound of the morning news as she made the breakfast would not be heard today. There’d be no meals prepared, no cleaning, no singing.
Then he smelt the floral oils of candles burning and pulled back the covers. No point avoiding it any longer. This day had to be lived, and he must carry on through it, and wear her anger, her sadness, her despair and her grief. In any given order.
Mataio quietly slipped out to the bathroom, then rapped on Junior’s door and entered. He snored loudly while Mataio fixed the blood pressure cuff around his arm, checked his heart, his pulse, his respirations. Still no change.
Junior stirred and opened his eyes and Mataio sat beside him. “Morning Junior.”
“Hey, what time is it?”
“Nine o’clock…ish.”
“Really?”
Mataio watched as Junior listened to the sounds around him. No television, no saucepans, no smell of eggs or bacon. “It’s today, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s good you’re here.”
Mataio didn’t feel the same way, but he nodded. Junior closed his eyes and appeared to doze off again.
Mataio sat and watched the seconds tick by on his watch. He wished he could take away his aunt’s pain. He wished it every god-damned day. The sound of the ticking wasn’t enough to block out the murmurs of his aunt’s prayers. He pictured her on her knees, delivering an unending list of promises to God if only he’d return her daughter to her. She’d do it all day. Until her voice was hoarse and her knees swelled. Tomorrow she’d need to lie down to allow them to recover. There was no stopping the routine. It hadn’t changed in twenty years. Nor was it ever likely to. Until she found out the truth. Or until La’ei came home. And neither of those things seemed likely to happen anytime soon.
He tried to focus on the sounds outside his aunt’s room. A distant lawnmower, a noisy parrot, the hum of traffic. Junior woke again.
“You want me to make you some eggs?” asked Mataio.
“Do you know how?”
“Not really.”
“Then no. I’ll wait.”
“Are you sure? I could make you some oats?”
Junior screwed up his face and turned his head away. Normally he’d have the TV on at this time of the morning, but even Junior, indulged his entire life, knew not to mess with the routine of the day. There would be no electronics, no food and no pleasure.
Today was a day of sacrifice.
Eventually, Mataio made his way out to find his aunt on the floor leaning her back against the bed, her legs out in front like they were no longer of use.
“Can I get you anything, Aunt?”
She didn’t answer, so he came and sat beside her on the floor, positioning a cushion behind her back in an attempt to make her more comfortable. She pushed it away. Comfort wasn’t on the agenda. Today she needed to prove her worthiness to God so he’d grant her this one wish.
“Do you think He’s listening, Aunt?”
She turned her face towards him, her skin sagged, her eyes swollen and dull, like she was drunk and hungover at the same time.
“He’s always listening, Taio.”
“Then where is La’ei, Aunt?”
“God has a plan.”
“Do you know what it is?”
She looked at him again, pitifully. “I wish I knew. I know He’ll tell me when it’s time.”
Mataio stared at a flame from the candle on the windowsill, flickering in the air that leaked through the window frame. It threatened to blow out, but held on, fighting against every wisp of wind with determination.
“How do you go on, Mataio?” she asked. “You loved her, too. How do you go on pretending the world isn’t different without her with us? How do you live in your white world, and not agonise over this like we do, every day? You escaped it. It’s not fair I still have you and not her.”
Mataio took a sharp breath at her words and she realised what she’d said out loud. Her face reddened but she didn’t apologise. It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know. She’d just been brave enough to put it into words for once. She didn’t love him the way she loved her own children. It was normal. It wasn’t a reflection of him. But if he didn’t belong here, he didn’t belong anywhere.
“I do suffer, Aunt. Everyday. Just like you. My suffering is different. That’s all.”
“Because she was your cousin and not your daughter or your sister.”
That wasn’t it, but he didn’t correct her.
He could tell her now. Be honest. Tell her the whole story. Have her hate him for keeping it from her. Say the whole horrible truth out loud, like his aunt had just done. Like Sunny had just done.
Say it out loud. The power it held over him controlled his every movement. His every thought. The release to just let it go. He wanted to scream at his aunt, ‘I know where she is.’
But he couldn’t. It was against The Rules.
He took his aunt’s hands in his and held them tightly. There were too many people relying on him to stay alive. There were consequences for everything. And the consequence of releasing himself from the secret, would leave his family vulnerable.
He made his choice all those years ago.
He wouldn’t be changing it today.
He helped his aunt back onto her knees and knelt beside her while she prayed her next marathon.
Thirteen
MATAIO
45 days to go
Mataio woke to a raging hunger and the smell of baked coconut bread in the air. He threw on his cheap track pants and t-shirt and padded his way on bare feet to the kitchen, tripping over the inanimate dog in the hallway. The dog yelped but barely moved, his round, stretched belly resting on the ground while his short legs splayed about randomly on the slippery floor. Sudden movements were not an option for the pooch, and he lifted sorrowful eyes on Mataio as if being trodden on was an inevitable part of his world—to be endured and not objected to.
“Sorry, old boy,” said Mataio and patted the top of his head. The dog seemed confused by the gesture and rested his head back down onto his paws.
Mataio sat at the table and helped himself to a slice of the bread, waving away the butter his aunt passed him.
“If you don’t stop feeding him, you’re going to kill him you know,” said Mataio before taking an enormous bite of bread. When his aunt didn’t answer he looked up and only then realised what he’d said. He cursed under his breath and wished he could take the words back. “The dog, Aunt. I meant the dog.”
She didn’t answer him. Just turned her back and got busy at the sink.
“Aunt? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—"
“There’s no need to worry, Mataio. I know it’s my fault Junior is dying. I’m killing him. It’s my fault your Uncle Akamu left me. It’s probably my fault La’ei left. You left. Everyone leaves. That’s the truth.”
Mataio wished he had an antidote for her pain. Something to end her anguish. Something to take away the blame. “I was talking about the dog, Aunt,” he repeated, miserably.
“I know, Mat
aio.”
“I’ll take him for a walk after breakfast,” he promised.
“I think it’s too late for that,” said Aunt Tulula as she dried her hands on a towel and slid the contents from the pan to a plate. “He can barely make it from the kitchen to the back door.”
“I’ll work something out.”
Aunt Tulula filled a glass and added it to Junior’s breakfast tray. She left the juice and a glass out for Mataio to fill his own. “Mataio to the rescue. Again.”
“Aunt?” She rarely used sarcasm, but when she did, it was only on him.
“Just take this into Junior, will you?” She passed over the heavily stacked tray of coconut bread, eggs and corned beef, then turned herself away like the sight of him sickened her. She put the pan onto the floor and watched the dog lick the contents before tossing it into the sink and washing it. Mataio stared at her back a moment and tried hard to not notice her mood. He balanced the tray in one arm, threw in a final mouthful of bread with the other, and an idea for his ‘Sunny’ issue sprang into mind.
With a very full mouth, he asked, “Would Junior miss the dog if he was gone?”
“Not likely.”
Mataio carried the tray into Junior who was awake and hungry. Since La’ei’s disappearance, her birthday had always been a day of fasting.
“How are you feeling?” asked Mataio as he handed Junior the tray and began his observations. “Appetite any different?”
“I’m hungry again. So that’s good, right?.”
Mataio sat and watched him eat a while. He seemed to have more energy now and his colour had evened out in his cheeks. Junior finished his eggs and beef, tore apart the coconut bread with his hands and cleaned the plate with it. Mataio wondered if he tasted any of the food he crammed into his mouth, knowing Junior’s need to overeat had nothing to do with food.