‘I need to apologise to you for something,’ he says. ‘That night of the party, I acted like a jerk.’ It’s been months since that party and I am surprised by how anxious I get whenever I remember it. ‘I was caught up with my own stuff and I didn’t really see what was happening to you until it was too late. If I wasn’t so stoned and up myself I might have been able to protect you. I’m really sorry, Mira.’
He looks at me through a forest of blond fringe. He looks anxious, as though he doesn’t expect me to accept his apology, and I have to admit, it’s not easy to let my anger about that night go.
‘You couldn’t have known what she was going to do.’
He shakes his head sadly.
‘Apocalypse’s behaviour was out of the blue that’s true, but I knew Andrew was acting weird towards you and I just didn’t want to see it. I really thought he was my friend. I thought they both were.’ He looks around the room sadly. ‘It turns out they are both jerks, just like you said. You know they just left without telling me? They didn’t even give me any money for the bills. If it wasn’t for the guilt money I get from my parents I don’t know where I would be right now.’
He looks miserable. Maybe I’m just a sucker, but I have to believe that he means what he says. I could really do with a friend right now.
‘Let’s just start again, okay?’ I say reaching over and patting his hand. ‘We get on pretty well, right? I don’t want to throw our friendship away over some stupid misunderstanding.’
He smiles, squeezes my fingers in his. There is happiness in his grin, but also some kind of sadness that I don’t think I’ve ever seen in his face before. I start to get a sense of a deeper Harm, of darker waters stirring just below the surface of his calm exterior, and it makes me like him even more.
‘Do you ever feel like you just don’t get stuff?’ he says quietly.
‘Only all the time.’
‘You think it’s us? Were we born deficient in some way?’
‘Maybe we are the ones that see things as they really are.’
He nods. ‘We see too much. Sometimes I wish I could be like all the other deadheads and ignore the crap stuff happening in the world.’ He looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head in disbelief. ‘God, how do they do that?’
‘Denial?’ I suggest. ‘Stupidity? Maybe a combination of the two. They can’t handle it. They have to believe everything is okay even if it means lying to themselves. I guess they see what they want to see, not what’s really there.’
‘You know,’ says Harm, sitting up to face me. ‘The only class I failed this semester was Observation and Perception.’
‘Me too,’ I say and we start laughing. Once we start we find it hard to stop, and for the rest of the afternoon we laugh ourselves stupid. At times we laugh so hard we are rolling around the floor, gathering dust and debris on our clothes and hair. Eventually, I see that it’s getting late and I know I have to call a taxi if I want to get home before Dad arrives and notices that I am gone.
‘I’ll call you soon,’ I say, clutching the new scrap of paper with his number on it.
‘You sure about that this time?’
‘Here,’ I say, pulling a pen from my backpack and folding back his sleeve so I can write my number on his arm. ‘If I don’t, then you can always call me.’ I give Harm a little wave before running down the path and back out the gate.
‘Thanks, Mira!’ he shouts as I step inside the cab. ‘I had a great time!’ As the cab drives away he blows me a kiss, and I smile and watch him get smaller and smaller until I can’t see him anymore.
I get the cab to drop me off around the corner, and then run the short distance home. When I see Dad’s car in the garage and realise he has arrived before me I am terrified, but I walk inside casually, knowing my best hope of getting away with what I have done is to remain calm. I find him waiting for me in the kitchen, still in his work clothes and sucking back a bottle of beer.
‘Where have you been?’
‘For a walk.’
‘In the rain?’
‘I had an umbrella,’ I say, then panic as I realise I left it on the picket post at Harm’s house. If he suspects I am lying he doesn’t let on. He acts as he always does towards me, like it’s a great source of inconvenience to him that I am around.
‘Your mother is sleeping.’
‘Yes,’ I say.
He goes over to the oven and pulls out our dinner.
‘Get some plates,’ he says, throwing the hot tray straight onto the benchtop. He goes back to the table where he turns to the television and drinks his beer as he waits for me to serve him. I find some plates, make up three portions and carry his over to him. He starts eating.
‘Your mother is sick again,’ he says without taking his eyes from the TV. ‘Very sick this time.’
‘I know.’
‘Don’t leave her alone in the house again. She needs you here.’
‘Okay.’
‘And don’t bother her.’
‘Okay.’
I take my plate and Mum’s to her room. I open the door quietly, knowing from the sound of her breathing that she is still sleeping. I turn on the lamp so it’s not too bright and put her plate on the bedside table. I take mine over to the dresser and sit before the large mirror to have my meal and wait for her to wake up. Through a small gap in the curtain I can see the mimosa tree being whipped by the stormy winds. Rain pelts the window. I look at myself in the mirror and realise that Mum is standing behind me, smiling and holding her arms out like she is waiting for a hug. The lamplight glows behind her head like a halo. I turn around, excited to see her out of bed. But that’s when I realise she is actually still in it. I have only imagined her standing there.
Chapter 12
When my mother shakes me awake, for a second I think I’m dreaming. But then she switches on the light and it’s definitely Mum standing there. It’s still very early, but she is dressed like she is ready to go out.
‘Hurry,’ she says to me. ‘Before he wakes up.’ Then she leaves the room while I am left to wonder what exactly I am supposed to be hurrying to do.
I throw a jumper over my pyjamas and go see what she’s up to. I follow her to the bedroom where I can just make out her stooped form moving through the darkness. She turns on the bedside light and her shadow casts across the wall like the hunchback of Notre Dame. I watch stunned as Mum does something really amazing. She reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a bottle of her painkiller medicine. Using an eyedropper, she gives herself a dose then leans over Dad’s open, snoring jaw and puts a few drops into his mouth as well. He gags a little at first, swallows uncomfortably, and then settles quickly back to sleeping.
‘Oh. My. God,’ I say, but she puts a finger to her lips to silence me. Careful to be quiet, she walks to the dresser and picks up Dad’s car keys and then comes over and grabs me firmly by the arm. Half pushing, half supporting herself, she leads me out of the room.
‘You drugged him?’ I say, now having serious suspicions that I am still dreaming. Perhaps this is some hallucination brought on by the joint I smoked with Harm yesterday. Maybe I am experiencing some kind of post-drug-induced madness?
‘Just enough to sleep,’ she says pushing the keys into my hand. We walk outside and I shudder as the cold penetrates my flimsy jumper and pyjamas. Ignoring my protests, Mum urges me towards the car.
‘You have to drive,’ she says opening the door.
‘You know I can’t drive!’
‘Well I can’t do it!’ she says, whacking me impatiently.
I jump in, eager to get my bare feet off the cold and wet driveway. I sit in the driver’s seat, keys in my hand and wait for her to get in the other side.
‘What are you waiting for?’ she says, putting on her seatbelt.
‘I can’t drive, remember?’
‘Just put the key in.’
‘Are you serious about this? You want me to drive this car?’
She looks at me in that
way she does before I am about to be slapped for saying something stupid.
‘Fine,’ I say putting in the keys and turning. ‘You’re the mother.’
I have to admit, it’s thrilling when the car starts purring and billowing smoke and I can’t help smiling. Mum looks pleased too. She rubs her hands excitedly.
‘How do I make it go backwards?’ I say, and she knots her brow as she thinks about this. She studies the gear stick, running her finger up and down the row of letters on the left hand side of it.
‘Where is the B?’ she says.
‘Why B?’
‘B for backwards, right?’
‘Is that how it works?’ I say, amazed. This might be easier than I thought. I study the letters myself. ‘Maybe it’s R for reverse?’ I say and pull the stick back and before I know it the car starts moving down the driveway. We both give a little cheer, and then I have to turn sharply to the left to avoid driving straight into the house. I realise I haven’t actually figured out how to stop, so I look back down to where my feet are and try the big pedal. The car stops violently, and we both scream as we are thrust backwards.
‘I think I got it,’ I say and Mum nods happily and gives herself a few more drops of morphine.
‘Let’s go.’
‘Where?’
‘We go here,’ she says, dropping a folded newspaper page into my lap. I unfold it and see that it’s the newspaper article Via picked up at the clinic that first day.
‘You want to go to that miracle lake place?’ I say, and Mum smiles.
‘I told you I’m not giving up, Mira,’ she says, tapping her finger against the picture of the old man biting into his lamington. ‘I am going to try everything, understand? Everything.’
***
Out on the open road, with less cars and intersections to deal with, the driving gets easier. Every time the road gets bumpy, or my driving causes the car to jerk violently, Mum has to give herself a few drops of Morphine to combat the pain I am inflicting on her back and nerves, but she never complains or tells me to slow down. In fact, it’s the opposite.
‘Hurry up!’ she screams at me when I get stuck behind a slow driver. ‘Go around him!’
‘We are driving to the middle of nowhere for a cure. You want me to kill us before we get there?’
In response, she leans across and beeps the horn. I see the other driver look up and check his rear-view mirror and I try to keep what I hope is an apologetic and friendly smile on my face while I wrestle Mum away from the steering wheel. Sensing perhaps that all is not right in the car behind him, the driver slows down and pulls to the side, and as I keep forgetting I have brakes, I veer off to the right to avoid a collision and end up passing him.
‘That was easy,’ says Mum, leaning back in her seat and returning to her previous state of dozing. I begin to formulate speeches about how insane that was and how she is out to kill the both of us, but when I start thinking about what we are doing I can’t help it, I start to laugh. Mum opens one eye to look at me.
‘You’re crazy,’ I say to her.
She reaches over, squeezes my knee. ‘Like mother, like daughter,’ she says. ‘The apple never falls far from the tree.’
‘You really think we are alike?’ I say, feeling that I could never match my mother’s gentle and open spirit. To me she is like our mimosa tree, with generous spreading branches and warm yellow flowers. I, on the other hand, seem to have lucked out and inherited my father’s bitterness and reserve. Like a spindly, toxic oleander bush.
‘I know you better than anyone, Mira, even better than you. You have a good heart and a good mind. I am proud to be your mother.’
‘Stop it,’ I say, waving my hand. ‘You’re getting corny again.’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’
‘Corny isn’t real.’
‘But I’m telling the truth.’
‘I think you’re just trying to be nice.’
She reaches over and cuffs me on the knee. ‘Stupid,’ she says. ‘You need to learn how to take a compliment.’
‘You need to learn how to read a map. Where the hell are we?’
She pulls out the street directory, opens it to the right page and hands it to me. Mum has traced the roads we need to take in thick red pen and has marked the lake with a big ‘x’. I slow down to figure out where we are, knowing that if I stop she will start yelling at me, and I realise that we are almost at the next turnoff. I look ahead and just a few hundred metres away, there is a wing of rose petals lifting and falling across the road. I look at Mum to see if she has seen it too. Her green eyes are beaming.
‘Neve!’ she says reverently, and I realise that she has mistaken the petals for snow. As I explain that they are only flowers, I realise that the explanation is equally as unlikely. Mum is not at all disappointed. As we get closer I can see that the petals are coming from a heap of flowers beside the sign to Rock Quarry Lake. We pull up beside it for a closer look, and when I wind down my window I am immediately struck by the smell; the same smell you get in a cemetery when the bins are piled high with old, decaying flowers. Scattered through the heap are statuettes of the Virgin Mary, photos of families and loved ones and tangles of rosary beads. Mum makes the sign of the cross and I am moved enough to want to make some sign of my own. I finally settle on raising two fingers into a V.
‘What’s this?’ I say.
‘Prayer offerings.’
‘Do we have anything to leave?’ I say, thinking this must be part of the process of ordering a miracle. Not that I believe in this stuff, but if we have driven all the way here we may as well do it properly.
Mum reaches around her neck and unclasps her gold necklace. ‘You can’t leave that,’ I say trying to take it from her. ‘That’s real gold.’
‘I don’t have anything else,’ she says.
I look at the dusty green forest and red gravelled dirt. Out in the middle of the damn bush, it’s unlikely there is anything here that God would find impressive. I lean my head on the window and sigh.
And then I see it.
‘Wait here,’ I say jumping out of the car. I run to a flowering mimosa tree and snap a handful of the heaviest blooms I can. I lay my bouquet on the heap by the sign and it outshines all the other flowers in the pile. I turn to look at Mum, and she nods approvingly. When I get back in the car she pushes the necklace into my hand.
‘I want you to have this, Mira.’
‘But you love this necklace. It was your mother’s.’
‘And now it’s a gift from your mother.’
‘Fine,’ I say, slipping it into my pyjama pocket and thinking I’ll just give it back to her when we get home. I know my mother well enough not to argue with her when she gets these ideas in her head.
We drive a short distance down a red gravel track, leaving a dust cloud behind us so thick I can’t see where we have been. The track ends at an open clearing and I switch off the engine. Before us is the flooded quarry.
‘Are you okay?’ I say, noticing that she seems very tired all of a sudden.
‘It’s the morphine,’ she says, and her eyes droop sleepily.
I look out across the water, notice how the plump clouds are reflected perfectly in its polished surface until the wind blows and the lake ruffles.
‘Now what?’ I say turning to Mum but she is already half way out of the car and ignoring me. I watch her, thinking she’ll probably just stand on the edge and look, but then the crazy woman lifts her skirt and starts to walk into the water. In my panic I have trouble getting out of my seatbelt, and by the time I get out of the car she is standing in waist-deep water, her skirt bloated and floating around her like a jellyfish.
‘YOU’RE STILL SICK! YOU CAN’T SWIM!’ I scream, but she seems to have forgotten these details. There is a beefy stench of rot coming from the mud under my toes, which makes me hesitate before going in after her.
Suddenly, the sun emerges from behind a cloud and everything around us begins to shimmer; the s
mall reflective particles in the sand, the silver fur of the eucalyptus leaves and the gentle peaks of stirring water. I look up to the sky, follow a ray of light down from the clouds, and there, in the middle of it, lit up like a pale roman statue is my mother.
She starts to cry.
Nothing else is making a sound.
The stench gets worse as I get closer to her. I can feel the slimy mush at the bottom of the lake pushing through my toes. When I put my arm around her waist she collapses into me without complaint. I help her out of the water and back into the car where she gives herself a few more drops from her morphine bottle.
‘I’m taking you home,’ I say thinking that she is going to insist on doing something else completely crazy, but she nods calmly and leans back with her eyes closed. I fumble with the gears, keep glancing at her as I’m trying to work them out in case she tries to get out of the door, but Mum seems content to just lie back and breathe softly. There is just a hint of a smile on her face, and she looks like someone who is very tired, but very, very happy.
‘She was beautiful,’ she says as I reverse back down the track.
‘Who?’
‘The Virgin.’
‘You saw her?’ I say, almost steering off the road.
‘So beautiful,’ she mumbles again, then turns towards the window and sleeps the rest of the way home.
***
The Mimosa Tree Page 22