Green Dream

by Robert Gollagher

  The bald mechanic came over with Michael to the Tiger Moth, stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth, and waited.

  “Thanks, mate,” said Michael, as he turned to climb up into the rear cockpit of the biplane.

  “No worries, mate.” The mechanic walked around to the front of the plane and stood by the prop.

  Michael strapped himself in. Anyone looking would have seen only Ruth’s head poking out of the front cockpit and Michael’s poking out of the rear one. Michael leaned his head sideways, over the edge of the cockpit, and yelled at the mechanic. “Righto, mate. Let her rip.”

  The mechanic put a meaty hand on the big prop and swung it with the kind of nonchalance that comes only from years of practice. The engine coughed into life as the mechanic stood back. He waved at Michael.

  “Okay, Ruth. We’re going to start taxing out, now.”

  Ruth spoke loudly into her headset, above the noise of the engine. “Okay.” She could not see Michael, for he was seated directly behind her. Nor could she touch him, for the two cockpits were completely separate. All she could hear was the reassuring sound of his voice. She tried to keep calm.

  Michael released the brakes and allowed the Tiger Moth to start rolling forward along the taxiway. He pumped the rudder pedals, swinging the nose left and right to get a clear view over the big nose of the aircraft, as they slowly rolled forward towards the runway. It was a quiet afternoon at the small local airport and when Michael radioed the tower for clearance to take off, he was given permission to do so without delay.

  A couple of minutes later, they were lined up at the base of the runway, ready to take off.

  “Okay, Ruth. Here we go. I promise you, you are going to love this. There’s nothing to worry about. Are you ready?”

  “As ready as I’m ever going to be.”

  “Okay, then. Here we go.”

  Michael opened the throttle wide. The propeller raced, Ruth felt the wind of it rushing past her open cockpit, and the Tiger Moth started to roll down the runway. As they gained speed, Ruth gripped her seat and hoped for the best. She wondered more than ever why she had agreed to this. She had always been afraid of small planes.

  And then, all at once, the Tiger Moth was no longer on the ground. The big rubber tyres which stuck out beneath the biplane no longer carried the weight of the aircraft. They were airborne, smoothly and slowly climbing up and away from the airport. The noise, both from the engine and from the wind, was much louder than Ruth had expected. But somehow it was exhilarating, too.

  “Whaddaya reckon, Ruth?”

  “I ... don’t know what to say, Mike.”

  “What’s that?”

  Ruth yelled more loudly into her microphone. “I said, ‘I don’t know what to say.’ I didn’t know it would be like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Like this.”

  “You don’t like it? You want me to put her down? We can land right away, if you’re scared. It’s up to you, Ruth.”

  “No, no. I mean, I didn’t know it would be so much fun.”

  “Fun?” said Michael, surprised.

  “Yes. Mike, it’s wonderful! Can we fly over the city?”

  “You betcha we can. Where do you want to go?”

  “I’d like to see our house, if we can.”

  “Okay. We’ll be there in a few minutes. Enjoy the view.”

  Ruth looked out over the side of the cockpit, the wind blazing across her face, her scarf fluttering now and then as it got picked up in the slipstream. She looked down at the airport. It slowly receded into the distance. It was a beautiful, clear day.

  “I told you, you’d love it, didn’t I?”

  “You did, Mike. You were right.”

  Ruth heard Michael laughing over the intercom.

  Shortly, they were circling high above Ruth’s Mount Pleasant home. Ruth could see dinghies sailing on the Canning River. She could see the red roof of her house. She could see the riverside route she took on her long walks. And, most of all, she saw the city suburbs stretching out almost endlessly. She remembered coming to the city, fifty years before. There was hardly any of that, back then. How everything had grown! she thought. It made her realise how many years had passed, how long it had been.

  Michael turned the Tiger Moth out to the ocean, and when they reached the beaches, he turned north and flew high above the crowded white strip of North Beach, Cottesloe and Swanbourne, staying a little out to sea so as not to annoy the people below. Houses and small apartment buildings hugged the shore, but there were almost no high-rise developments, so unlike most cities in the world which were blessed with beautiful beaches, and this pleased Ruth. She remembered the hot summer nights when she and Fred had taken the kids to the beach, all those years ago. Ruth loved this city, and she was glad that she had made it her home.

  After flying for nearly an hour, Michael told Ruth it was time to return to the airport and land. To her surprise, Ruth loved the landing, floating smoothly down in the graceful, old aircraft, gently bouncing on the big tyres and rolling gradually back to a slow taxi. By the time Michael had taxied back to the hanger, switched off the engine, and was helping Ruth dismount from the front cockpit, she was bubbling with enthusiasm.

  “That was fantastic! I never imagined it would be like that. Fred was right. It is magical. I should have flown years ago.”

  Michael helped her step down off the lower wing and onto the ground. She had already removed her cap and goggles.

  “Thank you, Mike. I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time, when you tried to talk me into it.”

  “That’s okay, Ruth. But now it’s getting late. It’s time for dinner, I think. Don’t you?” He didn’t wait for her to reply. “So you might want to brush your hair, coz I’m taking you out for tea.”

  “Oh, Mike. You don’t have to do that.”

  “I am, Ruth. So no arguments. Have you ever been to the revolving restaurant, the one at the top of the skyscraper?”

  “Mike, now don’t be silly. You don’t need to take me there.”

  “You haven’t? Good. Well, that’s where we’re going.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Tonight.”

  “But I’ve nothing to wear.”

  “Sure you do. I’ll take you home first.”

  Ruth found she had nothing to say to this. Two hours later, she was seated opposite Michael, watching the magnificent views of the city sweep by as the restaurant slowly rotated, thirty floors above the ground. Ruth wore a smart, brown pair of slacks, and a long-sleeved, white blouse. She still had her grey hair tied back in its customary sensible bun, although she had allowed herself to put on a little make-up, something which normally she would never bother to do. She had thought she better make the effort, since Michael had even brushed off an old suit for the occasion.

  “Order anything you like, Ruth. It’s on me.”

  “Anything?”

  “Anything.”

  “I fancy a bit of the lobster, actually, Mike.”

  “Anything but the lobster,” Michael said seriously. Then he burst out laughing, looking at the disappointed expression on Ruth’s face. “Of course you can have the lobster. Whatever you want.”

  “Don’t play with me, Mr Andrews,” Ruth replied mockingly. “If you taunt me, I shall order caviar.”

  The evening seemed to race by and all at once it was over. Soon Michael was driving Ruth home and Ruth was thinking about the view from the restaurant, remembering the twinkling stars of the houses along the South Perth foreshore, across the river, the war monument rising up from the top of Kings Park, and the lights of cars racing along the freeway interchange and over the Narrows Bridge. She was thinking how pretty it all was, and how she had seen it, that day, for the first time from a little biplane and then from the revolving restaurant. It had been a great day.

  “Goodnight, then, Ruth,” said Michael, when they had gotten back home and he was retiring to his room. “I hope you had a go
od day. I just wanted to say thanks for everything. And I hope you liked it.”

  Ruth put a bony hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I loved it, Michael. Really. It was a wonderful day. Thank you. After all, you must have better things to do than take an old lady flying.”

  “What old lady? I don’t see any old ladies, here.”

  Ruth laughed. “You’re a terrible liar, but thanks anyway.”

  That night, Ruth dreamed of Fred, and of flying.

  It was a happy dream.

  Chapter 20

  Michael had noticed the coughing. He had noticed Ruth working less and less in the garden, in the three days since she had gone flying. All of a sudden, Ruth sounded like a two-pack-a-day smoker, and she had never touched a cigarette in her life. The nights were the hardest part. Michael could hear her coughing, even with the door to his bedroom closed.

  In his heart, Michael knew what this meant. He knew that things must have been getting dramatically worse for Ruth, that her body must have suddenly tipped out of balance, finally defeated by the cancer inside her. He knew it must be the beginning of the end. In his heart, he knew these things. In his mind, he denied it.

  Michael had quizzed Ruth about the coughing. She had been to see her doctor on Friday. He had given her new medication. But the cough continued to worsen. All of a sudden, Ruth was looking very old. It was a transformation that Michael tried to ignore. Still, he had argued with Ruth and had tried to get her to see another doctor.

  He remembered what she had said.

  “My doctor is a perfectly good doctor, Michael. He’s doing the best he can. The pills just don’t work any more.”

  “Come on, Ruth!” he had replied, “We can find another doctor, try something new. Surely they can fix a cough.”

  Ruth had looked at him as if he were the one to be pitied, as if it were he, not she, who was in trouble. “It’s not a cough, Michael. It’s more than a cough. I have cancer.”

  But now, on Sunday morning, his mind could no longer ignore what his heart knew to be true, because Ruth didn’t get out of bed. They had taken to eating every meal together, whenever Michael was home, but when he went to the kitchen for breakfast that morning, Ruth was not there. He thought she was probably sleeping in, so he went to her room and knocked.

  “Ruth! Are you in there?”

  The voice that replied was soft. “Michael?”

  “Are you coming out for breakfast?”

  “Michael, could you come in here, please?”

  Puzzled, Michael slowly opened the door.

  Ruth was in bed, sitting up against the headboard. She looked disorientated. Michael was horrified. “Ruth – are you okay?”

  “No, Mike. I can’t get up. I ... can’t get up.”

  Ruth seemed embarrassed, but when Michael thought about it months later, he decided it was not so much embarrassment as annoyance that was in her voice. Ruth was an independent woman. Her illness had finally taken that independence from her.

  “Can you help me up, Mike?”

  Michael rushed over to her. “Take my hand. It’s okay. We’ll get you up.” With an effort, he swung Ruth’s tired body around until she was sitting with her legs dangling weakly off the edge of the bed. Her feet hung down beneath the hem of her nightgown. “Okay. There we go. How do you feel?”

  Ruth took a deep breath. It was a mistake. Before she could answer, she was caught in a paroxysm of coughing. At last, she spoke. “Something’s wrong, Michael. I can’t feel my legs. I can’t seem to move them. We’ll have to go to the hospital. Damn it.”

  Michael nodded. “Okay, okay. I’ll get you there.”

  Ruth hung her head down in despair. “I was hoping it wasn’t going to be like this, Mike. I didn’t want this. Not like this.”

  Michael didn’t know what to say. “I’ll phone for an ambulance, Ruth. We’ll have you there in a jiffy.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the peaceful riverside suburb was disturbed by the insistent siren of an ambulance racing along the river road towards the city. Michael sat in the back of the ambulance with Ruth, a trip which forever burned the noise of that siren into his memory. For years afterwards, he could never hear that kind of siren without thinking of that terrible, final trip together, even though Ruth’s condition did stabilise when they treated her in the hospital, and she did regain some movement in her legs.

  Michael visited Ruth every day, twice a day. The doctors wouldn’t let him stay any longer than that. The sight of Ruth broke Michael’s heart. He didn’t understand the doctors’ explanations, that metastatic cancer had spread into Ruth’s spinal cord, cutting off part of the nerve supply to her legs. He didn’t really know what they meant by ‘pulmonary oedema’ causing her coughing. He really only heard one thing the oncologist had said.

  “We’re sorry, Mr Andrews, but the cancer has spread to nearly every part of the lungs. You can see it on the X-ray, here, here, and here. It’s a miracle that she has made it this far.”

  “What are you saying? That it’s hopeless?”

  The oncologist was an old man himself. His hair was dark grey and neatly cropped. He stooped a little, in his white laboratory coat. His skin was olive brown and his eyes were dark. His face was Chinese. Michael would always remember this face, remember the eyes looking at him kindly, remember the quiet expression of sympathy as he spoke the words. “Yes, I’m sorry. She has a few days, at most. There’s nothing more we can do.”

  Michael couldn’t accept this. “Nothing? But ...”

  Dr Cheng had looked calmly at Michael. “We will keep her as comfortable as we can. But I can’t stop the cancer any more.”

  The old doctor had arranged for Ruth to be moved to a private hospital, once the scans and tests had all been completed. Ruth was happy to be out of the oncology ward, which had been filled with so many other desperately ill people. She slept most of the time, but she was pleased to see Michael every morning and night in the new privacy of her own hospital room. There was a television, which she rarely watched, and a stack of books, which Michael would constantly refresh. Michael tried to stay cheerful, when he visited her, but the sight of Ruth getting dramatically thinner, her wrinkled skin sunken over the hollows of her cheeks, and her complexion turning an orangish grey, broke his heart.

  “I brought you some music,” he said one day, holding a tiny tape deck. “As long as you promise not to play it too loud. You might wake up the nurses.”

  Ruth laughed, and coughed. “As long as you didn’t bring me any of that modern rubbish. I’m too old for rap music.”

  “I got Glen Miller. Big band.”

  Ruth took the tape, and smiled. “You remembered?”

  “Yeah. You made me dance to it. I remember.”

  “Fred and I used to go dancing, you know. After the war. That’s how we met. I met him at a dance in the school hall. The other teachers were jealous. He was a dashing young man.”

  Michael felt a tear well up in his eye. “Really?”

  “Oh yes, Michael. When I saw Fred, I knew he was something special. I knew.”

  Michael tried to smile.

  “Are you okay, Michael? Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yes. Yeah, I ... It’s just a little hard, you know.”

  Ruth reached a hand across her bed and patted his hand.

  Michael felt a stab of guilt. Here he was, visiting a dying woman, and she was the one consoling him. She was the greatest woman he had ever met, apart from Marie.

  “I heard from Claire today,” said Ruth.

  “Your daughter?”

  “Yes, my good-for-nothing daughter. She’s living in Canada with that wealthy engineer of hers. She didn’t learn a thing from Sally’s death, you know, Michael. She didn’t learn a thing. She doesn’t think she did anything wrong at all. When that bastard husband of hers had finished beating my granddaughter and he died, she cried for him. She used to tell me how much she missed him. You know, Mike, she never cried for Sally’s beatings. She never cried for all
the terror, all the pain her daughter went through. She just lied and covered it all up. I’ll never forgive her for that.”

  “Is she coming to Perth?”

  “She’ll be here in time to read the will. You can bet on that.”

  “I never had any children,” Michael said, to change the subject. “Marie and I were thinking of trying, before the accident.”

  “Were you?”

  “Yeah. Marie was saying that it was time.”

  “Did you want kids, Mike?”

  “Yeah. I wanted them.”

  “Hmmm. I thought you would.”

  “Well, there’s still time, isn’t there?”

  Ruth was surprised by his sudden optimism. “Yes, there is.”

  As the days passed, Ruth had more and more trouble talking. She coughed incessantly. Michael would simply talk to her, or read books for her. It was obvious, even to him, that the end was very near. He wondered how much longer there was left.

  “There’s no time left.” That’s what Ruth had told him, when he asked her how she was feeling, two weeks after she had gone into hospital. “There’s no time left, Michael.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I haven’t been talking much, have I? I’ve just been listening.” Ruth’s voice was a whisper, between coughs. She hadn’t walked since the day Michael had taken her to hospital.

  “That’s okay.”

  “No, you don’t understand. It’s because of the pain.”

  “What?”

  “The pain. It feels like there’s a fire in my chest, like someone is twisting me inside. That’s why I haven’t said much. It hurts to speak.”