Green Dream

by Robert Gollagher

  As Ruth worked in the garden, or walked by the river, as she cooked, as she read, she would remember the early days with Fred, the days when they had no money and had only their happiness together. How much she would have traded her big home for a little shack, if it meant they could be together again. She thought of when Sally was living with her, those happy times, just the two women, one young and one old, sharing a simple life together. Ruth had seen Sally grow up from a high-school girl to an accomplished young woman, and she had loved seeing Sally’s growth, seeing her reaching for a better life. Ruth thought of all of this and more, treasuring each memory.

  Michael thought of his life with Marie, of the endless magic of it, of all the things they took for granted yet so many people never found, of all the long, full and happy years. They had seemed immune to tragedy, such a charmed life had they lived. It had become so familiar, so much a part of his life, that he never really thought twice that the magic might one day end. Michael remembered all this, as he painted, or sat by the river, as he watched television, and especially as he read Sally’s diaries. When everything else was gone, there were still good things to remember.

  One hot afternoon, that February, Michael packed up his easel and came in from the back garden. He was having trouble concentrating on painting, and had done little or nothing that day. He was glad the sun was beginning to set – soon the day would cool, at least by a few degrees. Michael had been getting very little sleep lately, and with this heat wave it was even harder to find any peace. He would run the fan by his bedside at full speed, but even at midnight he would still sweat.

  As Michael trudged up the hallway from the back door, Ruth appeared at the front door, opened it, and came inside. She had taken the car and gone out that afternoon without saying where she was going, something which had happened many times, lately. She seemed lost in thought, and looked surprised to see Michael.

  Michael thought she looked grey. Her face seemed pale and drawn. She must be tired, he thought. “Hi, Ruth.”

  “Hello, Michael.”

  “You’ve been out then?”

  “I had some shopping to do.”

  “Oh.”

  “Well, I’d better get dinner going, if we’re going to eat.”

  “Can I give you a hand?”

  “No, thanks. No, no.”

  “Okay.” Michael let Ruth walk away. He had never seen her so quiet and withdrawn. He wondered what was the matter.

  That night, they ate dinner together. Ruth had laid out the food on the kitchen table, without a word. Then polite small talk occupied them, as they ate the steak and salad which Ruth had prepared, and finally Ruth brought out some red wine. She poured a glass for each of them.

  “Wine?” Michael asked, puzzled. He knew Ruth rarely drank.

  “I’ve had this bottle for thirty years. My husband bought it. Fred was saving it for a special occasion. When he died, I just ... kept it. Somehow, there never seemed a right time to drink it.”

  “But what’s the occasion?”

  “Do you know,” said Ruth, looking around her, “Fred and I always thought we would retire here, by the river? We bought this house to raise the children, and we thought we’d never leave. We thought we’d grow old here. Fred loved this house.”

  Michael smiled.

  “We thought we’d grow old here, Michael, and one of us did. Have I ever told you how old I am?”

  “No.”

  “I’m seventy-five. Seventy-five years. That’s a long time. I’ve seen people live and die, people close to me. I lost a son, a long time ago. And Fred, of course, dear Fred. He never should have died so young. That just wasn’t fair. He was such a good man.”

  Michael didn’t know what to say.

  “I saw my granddaughter grow up, into a fine young woman. She was twenty-four, when she died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. It’s two years ago, now. Twenty-four years old. I’m three times that age, Michael. Dear Fred thought we would grow old together, here, and one of us did. I’m seventy-five.”

  Michael had never heard Ruth talk like this, and it frightened him. He didn’t know what Ruth was getting at.

  Ruth seemed to sense his unease. “I saw the oncologist today, Michael. He was very kind. That’s where I’ve been going, lately, to the hospital. Today, he told me I’m coming out of remission.”

  “Remission? What are you talking about? Why didn’t you tell me you were going to hospital? I would have driven you.”

  “I have cancer, Michael.”

  Michael was too shocked to speak.

  “It’s been in remission for over a year, but I knew that sooner or later it would come back. Well, it’s come back again. That’s what the oncologist had to tell me, today.”

  “Ruth, I’m so sorry,” Michael put his hand on hers.

  Ruth squeezed his hand for a moment, then took her hand away. “It’s okay, Michael. It’s not a surprise to me. I knew this would be coming, soon. The doctors only gave me six months, when I first saw them. It’s been more than a year, now.”

  “But, what are you going to do?”

  “I’m dying, Michael. There’s nothing to do.”

  Michael felt ill. “What do mean, there’s nothing to do? Cancer can be treated. You can fight this, Ruth. You can fight it.”

  “Michael, it’s too late for that. They can’t operate, the cancer is everywhere. It’s in my blood. It’s in my liver, my intestine ...”

  “But what about chemotherapy? They can give you drugs. You have to give it a chance, Ruth. You can’t just say you’re dying, like that. You have to give it a chance.”

  “Oh, Michael. I’ve been through chemotherapy. And the cancer didn’t respond. I’m still taking drugs, now. They’re not working. That’s what the oncologist had to tell me, today. I’m dying.”

  “But, I don’t understand. You seem so well.”

  “Dr Cheng tells me that’s going to change. He says that, at the rate the cancer is growing, I have three months, at best.”

  “But didn’t they say that before? And you proved them wrong. Why is it any different now? How can you just sit here, drinking wine, and tell me you’re dying? For God’s sake, Ruth ...”

  “Michael, I’m an old lady. I have cancer. I have outlived nearly everyone in the world that I love, and now I am dying. I just wanted you to know. I’m not going to be well for too much longer. Things are going to change. Oh, Michael, I’m sorry to have to tell you this.”

  “You’re sorry?”

  “I know how much it means to you, not to be alone, Michael.”

  Michael looked at her. She had cut right to the centre of his heart and soul with one sentence, with one laser beam of truth. He realised that in the three months he had lived in Ruth’s house they had barely talked to each other. They barely knew each other at all. Yet Ruth seemed to know him instinctively. He felt a sudden pang of guilt, not to have taken the time to get to know her better, not to have talked to her more.

  Michael found himself incapable of saying anything. A tear suddenly rolled down his cheek. He felt stunned, confused, shocked, overwhelmed. At last, he spoke. “Ruth, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. You should have told me. You should have told me, Ruth.”

  “It’s okay, Michael.” Ruth reached across the table and squeezed his hand again. “I knew you had other things on your mind. You have enough to cope with, without worrying about me.”

  “But ... but, you’re dying.”

  “We all die, Michael. It’s my time, to die. Not yours.”

  Michael sat back in his chair, suddenly. “What?”

  “We’re a fine pair, aren’t we?” said Ruth. “An old lady, dying of cancer, and a young man, dying of a broken heart.”

  “What ... what are you saying?”

  All at once, Ruth’s face became determined. She fixed Michael with a penetrating stare. “Michael, I saw my granddaughter take her own life, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit back
and watch you take yours. Listen to what a dying old lady has to tell you. What happened is not your fault. And you’re not alone.”

  “What?”

  “Even if you are alone, it’s not worth dying for. Do you hear me, Michael? It’s not worth dying for. You have to hold on.”

  “But ... we’re talking about you. Ruth, it’s you that’s dying.”

  Ruth ignored him. “How old are you, Michael?”

  “I’m ... thirty-nine.”

  “Have you ever lost anyone that you loved, before Marie and your friends? Before the accident?”

  “Just my parents.”

  “You’ve never had your whole world fall apart, before that?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve got thirty-six years on you. My world has fallen apart four times. My son, James, died when he was only ten years old. Can you imagine what it’s like to see your child’s life end before it even really begins? My husband died when he was forty-five. I know, Michael, what a good marriage is, and I know that most people never experience it, but I do know what you and Marie had together, because Fred and I had that. And I know what it is to lose that. I know that you don’t even want to live any more.”

  Michael sat silently in his chair, looking at Ruth across her kitchen table. It was hot, but he felt cold. He had to listen. He had to hear it all.

  “My Fred was taken from me by a heart attack. You lost Marie in an accident, and you think it’s your fault. It’s not your fault.”

  “I’m a pilot, Ruth.”

  “No, Michael. It’s not your fault. It was an accident. And even if it was your fault, it’s still not worth dying for.”

  Another tear rolled down Michael’s cheek. “You don’t understand, Ruth. I’m a pilot. It’s my responsibility ...”

  Ruth got angry, but there was a kindness behind her anger. “Goddamn it, Michael! Don’t you understand? You’re a human being. You’re only human. And you make mistakes. We all make mistakes. Do you really think it was your fault? Do you really think your wife is dead, your friends are dead, because of you? Is that what you think?”

  Michael was crying openly now. His voice came with difficulty, between the tears. “Yes, it was my fault. They died because of me. I should have checked the weather reports better, I should have known. I should have been able to land that plane. I should have put it down. God knows, I should never have taken off in the first place.” He looked at Ruth, in tears, pleading. “I should have known.”

  “Oh, Michael,” said Ruth, with great sympathy. “It wasn’t your fault. But even if you think it was, even if it really was, your fault, don’t you understand that’s just part of being human? Don’t you understand that we all make mistakes? Don’t you understand that we all have to forgive ourselves? Can’t you see that, Michael?”

  Michael let his head drop to the table and he sobbed uncontrollably.

  Ruth put her hand on the back of his head, as he cried. She said nothing but soft words. “It’s okay, Michael. It’s okay. It’s going to be all right. It’s going to be all right.”

  He cried for many minutes.

  At last, he sat up again and looked at Ruth. She held his hand, tightly. Michael was beyond feeling embarrassed, beyond trying to hide his feelings. He had nothing to hide any more – Ruth had opened him up.

  Now, she kept talking to him. “My world fell apart for the third time, when my daughter, Claire, grew apart from me, after her brother died, and when she married that miserable bastard, Karl Johanssen. Do you know what destroyed my world? It was when I realised that my poor, defenceless little granddaughter, Sally, was being beaten by that son of a bitch, and that Claire was doing nothing to stop it. I did everything I could to stop him, but they were in Melbourne, on the other side of the country. I couldn’t stop it. I should have found a way to stop it. I tried the police. I tried social workers. I tried everything, but Claire would always lie to them, send them away.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Michael.

  “Do you want to talk about guilt, Michael? About making mistakes that cost lives? I know about that, too. I should have found a way to stop that bastard beating my granddaughter.” Ruth almost found herself crying, but she forced back the tears. “Sally never recovered from those beatings. The bruises healed, but her broken heart never did. I should have found a way. I’ll always know that.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “And then she came to live with me. It was wonderful. Things do get better, Michael. Do you hear me? They do get better. You have to believe in that. You have to know that, even though it takes years, long years for them to get better, it is worth holding on. The good times come again.”

  “I can’t believe in good times any more.”

  “I know you can’t. I know. I’ve been there. But it will change.”

  “There’s nothing for me now.”

  “I know,” said Ruth.

  “Do you think I’m a coward?”

  Ruth answered quickly. “No, you’re not a coward. My granddaughter was the bravest person I ever knew. She took her own life, but she was never a coward. She was the bravest person I ever met. Suicide isn’t cowardice, Michael. It’s just a choice. But ... don’t make that choice. Sally deserved so much better than suicide. So do you.”

  “How can you understand all this, Ruth? How can you know?”

  “Because I’ve been there. You have to believe me. Even if you’re alone, even if no one cares, even if you have nothing left to live for, even if everything seems hopeless, even if you know that years will pass before your life might one day be good again, and even if it is your own fault, it’s still not worth dying for. It’s not worth dying for.”

  “Ruth, everything’s so empty to me. I don’t want to live any more.”

  “I know. I know. But it’s not true. There is a point. It is worth it. You have to believe me, Michael. I was where you are now, when my son died, when my husband died, when Sally was being beaten by that bastard, Karl, and then when she took her own life. I won’t lie to you. It isn’t easy. It will take you years to recover. But it is worth it. It really is. Believe me.”

  “But you’re alone, Ruth. After everything that’s happened to you, you’re just ... alone. Is that worth it?”

  “Yes,” said Ruth, simply. “It is. You have to understand that. You have to understand it is worth being alive. You have to see it for the miracle that it is.”

  “It doesn’t feel like a miracle. And what’s the point, if you’re alone? What’s the point, Ruth? It’s a cold world. Why bother?”

  “Michael, let me ask you, if you survive all this, if you go on and build a life for yourself, don’t you think that would be a miracle?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s why.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “My granddaughter died because of her love for animals, and because she felt so alone. Some animals died, in her veterinary work, and she blamed herself. Others blamed her, too. Poor Sally always thought she was to blame, ever since she was bashed as a child. She lost her sense of perspective. She killed herself, when what she should have done was quit her job and just walk away. She was a good vet. The things which went wrong weren’t her fault, but even if they were her fault, they still weren’t worth dying for. To hell with what her bastard of a boss thought of her, and to hell with what some angry clients thought of her, because they didn’t give a damn about her. None of that is worth dying for.”

  “But she thought she had failed.”

  “Just like you, Michael.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But who cares if she failed? Don’t you see? Who cares if you failed, either? You’re only human. For God’s sake, Michael, you’ve got to start thinking straight, or it’s going to kill you! You’ve got to realise that you don’t deserve to die. You don’t. Can you see that?”

  Now Michael was angry. He stood up and paced around the kitchen. “Three people are dead because of me. I’m sorry about your granddaughter, Rut
h, but we are talking about more than a couple of dogs that died under anaesthetic. We’re talking about people! For Chrissake, Ruth, my wife, my closest friends, are dead, because of me, because of my mistake.”

  Ruth remained seated. “You’re right, Michael. My granddaughter lost her ability to see straight. It was only the death of a couple of dogs, and, as much as I love dogs, that isn’t worth dying for, no matter what anyone says, and no matter how upset anyone is about it. But Sally loved animals so much, and she thought so little of herself, that it was enough to push her over the edge, to push her to suicide. You’re right. A couple of dogs is nothing compared to the deaths of three people.”

  “Well, damn it, Ruth, that’s what I have to live with! I loved those people, all of them. And they’re dead, because of me.”

  “Michael, it was not your fault. It was an accident. You did everything you could do to save them. You were nearly killed yourself. But even if I can’t convince you of that, even if you still think the accident was your own fault, you still have to realise that you’re not God, Michael.”

  “What do you mean?” Michael said angrily.

  “I mean, you’re a pilot. You do the best you can. But sometimes your best isn’t enough. There comes a time when there is still going to be an accident, no matter how hard you try to prevent it, because, Michael, you are not God.”

  “I never should have taken off, that night.”

  “Why? Did the weather report predict those thunderstorms?”

  “No. But I should have known it would happen.”

  “How? How were you supposed to know what even the experts couldn’t predict? Tell me that.”

  “A pilot has a sixth sense for the air. I should have smelled trouble. I should have stayed on the ground.”

  “That’s bullshit! You took off because the weather report said it was safe to take off. The hospital told me all about it.”

  “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  “And once you were in the air, you were in the air. You did the best you could when things turned bad. You tried to save four lives. You did the best anyone could have done. And you managed to save one life.”