‘What do you want her to do?’ says Via, palms up and irritated. ‘She was not happy.’
‘ Happy? Who is happy? Better to be married and unhappy, than happy and alone in this world.’
Mum smiles. She actually sees this as a compliment. ‘Young people do not understand. Marriage is about sacrifice,’ she agrees.
‘I don’t want to get married,’ I say.
‘That’s not going to be a problem,’ says Via.
‘Good one,’ says Dad with a snort.
Mum looks at me seriously.
‘You have to get married. To have children.’
‘I don’t want children either.’
‘No children?’ says Via. ‘Dear God, are you that heartless?’
‘She’s just young,’ says Mum trying to sound reassuring. ‘She doesn’t understand yet how the world works.’
‘Look, the world’s changed,’ I say trying to keep my voice steady but I’m feeling bugged. ‘Women don’t have to get married and they don’t have to have children anymore. We can do whatever we want.’
Everyone’s eyes roll like clowns at a sideshow.
‘Don’t fool yourself,’ says Via. ‘The world is the same place it’s always been. Smart or stupid, you will get married, you will have children, and you will cook and clean for them just like we do.’
‘Not me. My life is going to be different. No marriage and no kids, and definitely no cleaning. That’s for sure.’
‘Then you are making a mistake,’ says Dad pointing his finger at me. ‘A woman without children is not complete.’ He pushes his cup away in disgust. ‘Get my lunch,’ he says and Mum goes to the kitchen while Dad takes up his spot in front of the TV.
‘Siena doesn’t have children,’ I say to Via.
‘And look how that turned out. Your father is right. Becoming a mother is the greatest thing a woman can do. Now stop being stupid and get dressed. Siena is waiting.’
‘I am dressed,’ I say and Via looks me up and down in disbelief.
‘Well at least brush your hair.’
‘I am dressed and I am brushed,’ I say, and I fold my hands against my chest to show her I am not budging.
‘Are you afraid of looking attractive?’
‘I look fine,’ I say, though it’s hard to keep up the bravado.
‘You look like a, like a...’ She pinches at the air as though the description she is looking for could be found there, then gives up. She swipes her hand under her chin to let me know she’s done with me.
Mum comes back from the kitchen. She ruffles my hair, pinches my face firmly between her thumb and index finger. ‘Beautiful,’ she says and kisses me on the head.
‘Lunch is in the oven!’ Mum shouts to Dad over the blaring TV and a single raised finger tells us that he has heard.
Via and Mum rush out the door, exchanging details of what they are planning to make for their husbands’ dinners. I pause for a moment, still pissed off about no one taking me seriously. Have they even heard of women’s liberation? I think when that wave went by they must have been eating gelato at the seaside kiosk.
‘I’ll show you,’ I say, loud enough only to be heard by a nearby cow figurine. ‘I’m going to show you all.’ Then I hear Via start the car and I run out as fast as I can before they leave without me.
It takes an hour to get to the house that isn’t Siena’s house anymore, mainly because no one knows where we are going. Via and Mum argue the entire time about which way to go, and I am sure that we have probably been circling Siena’s house for ages. It’s been a while since any of us have come this way, and before that our visits were infrequent. Of course, it occurs to neither of them to look at a street map, and I know better than to suggest it.
‘These houses all look the same,’ says Via.
‘So big,’ says Mum straining to get a good look at the two-storey mansions that flank the street. ‘So much to clean.’
‘These people don’t clean, Sofia. They have servants.’
‘Did Siena have servants?’ I ask.
‘She must have,’ says Mum. ‘If that’s what everyone does around here.’
‘Is that the house?’ says Via, pointing to a two-storey, peach coloured mansion. ‘I don’t remember it being that colour,’ says Mum helplessly.
‘What are those corkscrews?’ I say, referring to four dementedly shaped conifers. ‘Siena wouldn’t do that to a tree.’
‘Oh wait a minute, it’s this one,’ says Via, and then swings the car into the kerb so quickly that I slam against the door. She has pulled up beside a large ‘For Sale’ sign which blocks Mum’s view of the house.
Mum ducks and stretches to try and see around it. ‘Are you sure?’
But Via has already unhitched herself and is getting out of the car. ‘This is it,’ she says, hands on hips and confident.
We stand together at the mouth of the long path that cuts through a perfectly manicured lawn to the house that could be Siena’s. I have a nutty vision of us linking arms and skipping down the path like in The Wizard of Oz. We’re off to see the lost aunt, the wonderful lost aunt of Oz.
‘I’ll wait here,’ I say, worried that we have the wrong place.
‘Move it,’ says Via, shoving me along the path towards the house.
Next door a sprinkler goes off across a bed of bursting white roses. This, for some reason, makes Mum nervous. ‘It’s watering time,’ she whispers.
‘We could come back later,’ I suggest.
Via gives us both a warning glare. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I’m just saying it’s very quiet here,’ says Mum, hugging herself as she looks around the street. ‘Maybe they are all sleeping?’
‘I DON'T CARE IF THEY ARE DEAD!’
‘For God’s sake, keep it down!’ I say, sure that all around us eyes are watching from behind gold roped curtains. ‘You’re drawing attention.’
Via eyes us both with contempt. ‘The problem with you two,’ she says with a quick adjustment to her breasts, ‘is that you’re easily impressed.’ Then she turns and leads the way to what might be Siena’s house. Mum and I follow sheepishly.
At the end of the path, white steps lead up to a breezy, white porch. Flanking a great mahogany door are two dead ferns, the only flaw in an otherwise perfect entrance. Mum seems to take this as a bad omen, and makes the sign of the cross as if to ward off the evil that killed the poor plants. Via presses the doorbell but it fails to emit the expected chime. She pushes again, waits a second, and then pushes again. I shuffle my feet. Mum looks like she is going to say something, but changes her mind and looks down at her shoes. Via clears her throat and puts her hands on her hips, staring forcefully at the door as if to threaten it open. She begins to raise her hand in a knock when there is a small click. The door glides open to reveal a dusty marble-tiled entrance scattered with packing boxes and loose clothing.
Then Siena steps out from behind the door.
For a moment we are frozen in place, our mouths gaping uselessly as our brains try to process the necessary information: cross-referencing, ticking boxes and double-checking, until we are all sure we are looking at the right person.
‘Hello,’ says Siena. ‘Thanks for coming.’
‘Siena!’ I say, pushing past Via and Mum to throw my arms around her waist. The force of me makes her step back a little, and for a moment we are gasping and trying to keep our balance by grabbing at each other.
‘My God, Mira! Look at you!’ she says, pushing me away to get a better look. It gives me a chance to look at her too, and I am a little shocked by what I see. It’s Siena all right, but not how I remember her. This is a Siena outline, a skeletal version of my usually trim but shapely aunt. Through her loose silk top I can see the outline of ribs and two dumpling-sized breasts. I try to hide my shock by smiling politely, which after my more enthusiastic greeting now seems a little awkward. Typically, Via gets straight to the point. ‘Jesus!’ she says. ‘Where are your breasts?’
Siena runs her hands down her bony hips. ‘I’ve lost a bit of weight since I last saw you.’
‘A bit? Are you so broke you can’t afford food?’
Mum pushes past Via to take her turn. She stares at Siena, her face crumpled in sorrow. ‘Are you sick?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘Are you hungry? You want me to get you something to eat?’ she says as though she could materialise a plate of pasta from the air.
‘That’s not necessary, Sofia.’
‘But you look like one of those poor children in Africa.’
‘You look terrible,’ agrees Via.
‘You both look well,’ says Siena. She hold’s Via’s gaze steadily, her body frail but unflinching. ‘I see you’re not starving.’
‘I take care of myself,’ says Via, catching her reflection in a distant mirror. She smiles, clearly satisfied with what she sees.
‘Oh Siena,’ says Mum, moving forward now to hug her but her hands pause at Siena’s sides like she thinks she might break her. ‘I’ve been so worried.’
Siena smiles, takes my mother’s hand reassuringly. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks. Actually, things are going really well.’
‘You’re joking, right?’ says Via, gesturing as though all the evidence against it is clearly visible in the air around us.
Siena raises her palms. ‘There have been some losses. But it’s for the best.’
‘As long as you’re happy,’ says Mum. ‘That’s all that matters.’
Via scoffs.
‘You want coffee?’ says Siena motioning us into the house.
‘Yeah!’ I say excited about getting a closer look at the mansion I will probably never see again.
Mum looks hopeful, but Via shakes her head. ‘It’s getting late. Some of us still have husbands to cook for,’ she says.
‘Of course,’ says Siena. ‘I want you to know, Via, that this is only for a few weeks.’
‘You stay for as long as you need to,’ says Mum.
‘I don’t intend to be a burden. I have plans. I am not going to outstay my welcome. I promise.’
Via shrugs, unconvinced. She pulls out a cigarette, points at the boxes with it. ‘Which ones are yours?’
‘Just this,’ says Siena, and she reaches for a small sports bag.
‘That’s it?’ says Via, cigarette jutting out unlit from the corner of her mouth. ‘Then where is all this stuff going?’
‘I’m leaving it here. I don’t want any of it.’
‘Don’t be crazy,’ says Mum looking nervously at all the boxes in the entrance hall. ‘If it’s yours to take, then take it.’
Siena looks around the room, shakes her head sadly. ‘This stuff isn’t me anymore. I just want to leave it behind and start again.’
‘Isn’t you?’ says Via. ‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘I think she means she doesn’t identify with these things anymore,’ I say and Via turns on me like an angry hippopotamus.
‘Don’t give me any of your smart-arsed university talk, understand? You’re not too old to get a smack in the head.’
‘I’m just trying to explain that Siena is saying she needs a fresh start.’
Mum looks confused.
Why is it so difficult for them to grasp a simple concept sometimes? ‘Siena is saying that she wants to...’
‘It’s all right, Mira,’ says Siena, putting her hand up to stop me. She turns to her sisters, her face calm and charitable. ‘These things belong to Robert now. I don’t want to take anything that reminds me of how unhappy I have been.’
‘That is very noble,’ says Via flicking ash into the pot plant. ‘But stupid. You think it’s going to be that easy to start again?’
‘Maybe not. But I need to start over again, the right way. Robert took a lot from me, but I am taking back everything that’s important to me. My health. My heart. My family.’ Her hands grip tighter against the straps of her bag. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she says as two fat tears fall mutely down one gaunt cheek. ‘I’ve missed me.’
‘Siena,’ says Mum, and you can hear the heartbreak in her voice. ‘We’ve missed you too.’ And she pulls Siena into a greedy, floor-shaking hug.
Siena’s thin arms wrap around my mother’s neck and her tears fall more freely now. Mum begins to cry and cry and thank God and her mother’s soul in heaven for bringing her sister back to her. Via stands off to the side, trying to seem composed and indifferent but I see her wipe something from her eyes. She lights another cigarette and steps into the entrance hall. For a second I think she’s going to ignore Siena and start picking up some boxes, but instead she walks over to a portrait of Siena and Robert hanging crookedly on the wall.
‘Okay,’ she says speaking to the Siena in the painting rather than the real-life one behind her. ‘You want to start again, then we start again.’ And she takes her cigarette and stubs it out on Robert’s forehead.
We stare at her in stunned silence.
‘It’s time to go home,’ she says, her tone softer than I think I’ve ever heard it. And with arms that seem able to reach around all of us, she herds us back to the car.
March 1987
Chapter 4
‘I can make my own way to the cafeteria,’ I say, finding Felicia waiting for me as I exit my last class before lunch. She has the demeanour of a Meerkat; all tiptoes and nose, like she’s breathing the air waiting to get my scent.
‘It’s no trouble. I finished my last class an hour ago.’
We start to walk, her slightly in front, looking back regularly to make sure I am still following. I think maybe she would feel safer if I just let her hold my hand.
‘Your last class?’ I say after a while.
‘Uh-huh. Tuesdays are my short day. Well, technically, I don’t have to be here at all. It’s just an optional lecture.’
‘Wait a minute. You drive me here every Tuesday and you don’t even have classes to go to?’
She smiles. ‘Like I said. It’s no problem.’
‘What do you do all day?’ I say, aghast that someone could volunteer to spend time here.
She hugs her handbag to her chest and her ponytail bounces behind her as she strides. She is so preppy. The only thing missing is a pink sweater tied around her shoulders. ‘I go to the library. I read, make notes.’
‘But it’s your day off.’
‘Sure,’ she laughs. ‘But how else am I going to keep up with all my assignments. I have a three thousand word essay to hand in next week.’
‘Are you serious? Semester only started a few weeks ago.’
‘Don’t you have any assignments due soon?’
‘Oh sure,’ I say, patting my backpack. ‘But they’re just little ones. I have it all under control.’
‘God, you’re good. You might have to give me some tips on being organised. I’m always struggling to get things in on time. No matter how early I start them.’
I smile and keep walking but inside my guts are beginning to twist. Truth is I haven’t looked at any of my handouts since I stuffed them into my backpack. Somewhere in there are details of assignments, readings and activities that I have been completely avoiding.
‘Just out of curiosity, Felicia. Where is the library?’
She stops walking and thrusts her arm out so that I walk into it. ‘Are you kidding me? You’ve been here four weeks!’
‘Don’t freak,’ I say, looking down at my feet because, frankly, I am starting to freak. ‘I just haven’t needed it yet.’ And that feels true to say because, really, I wouldn’t know if I had.
Felicia begins to drag me forcefully down the path.
‘Hang on a minute!’ I say, but she does not let go of her grip or reduce her speed. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘I can’t believe you haven’t been to the library yet!’ she says, with a tone that reminds me of Via. ‘How have you been getting your readings?’
‘My readings?’
She looks at me exasperated. ‘You
r readings, Mira. Every tutorial has weekly readings, and they are kept in the library. Either they have introduced some radical new protocol that exempts Bachelor of Education students from having to do what every other student on campus does, or you haven’t been doing any work.’
I cringe at this last word.
‘All right, Felicia,’ I say, trying to pull my arm from her grip. ‘I am coming with you. Just let go of my hand.’ She stops, loosens her grip without letting go. Her expression is angry, like my lack of study is really getting to her.
‘If we get the readings now we can catch up,’ she says.
‘We?’
‘I’m serious, Mira. If you haven’t been doing any readings then you are falling seriously behind. You need to catch up or you are going to fail your classes!’
‘And that would be a bad thing?’
‘Mira! I’m being serious!’
I rub my eyes.
‘All right. Let’s just get the readings and go get some lunch. I’m starving.’
She turns and starts to walk again, this time trusting me to follow. ‘I don’t think you’ll have time. Not today.’
‘Fine by me. Let’s just get the reading things tomorrow then,’ and I change direction towards the cafeteria. But like a bat operating on sonar, her hand reaches back and takes a firm grasp of my sleeve.
‘You won’t have time to eat. As it is, we’ve only got an hour to photocopy four weeks of readings.’ She looks up to the sky, puts her palms together like she’s praying. Great. So Felicia believes in the god that hovers above us too. ‘Can it be done?’ she says.
I look up too and give a little prayer of my own. ‘Please, I’m so hungry,’ I say but I am sure neither God nor Felicia have heard me. If only my mother had heard me, then I could be sure a plate of food would materialise instantly.
I follow her up some steps towards a tall, concrete building with brown-glass automatic doors. At the top step she pauses and turns to speak to me, her hands on her hips and her eyes concealed by dark shades. Behind her the doors open as a student approaches and a gust of refrigerated air blows towards us. Everyone is speaking in a hushed tone. Everyone, that is, except Felicia.
The Mimosa Tree Page 6