Jessica

by Bryce Courtenay

  But Moishe would say to her in an exasperated voice, ‘Jessie, don’t you see, Australia rides on the sheep’s back. If the common people hope to own the wealth of the land, the golden fleece, they must overthrow those who exploit them. Surely you can see that?’

  But Jessica never could see it and she considered Moishe’s greatest gift to her wasn’t his belief in the brotherhood of man, but the fact that he taught her how to really read, not only for pleasure, but to search for meaning and to ask questions. It was something she would continue to do for the remainder of her life. Jessica also learned that a mental hospital is an even harder place to survive in than the bush. Avoiding being beaten up or raped by the ward attendants was a constant preoccupation. She would watch as female patients who resisted the advances of the brutes in charge of the wards were given ‘the jacket’ or, in the winter, ‘the wetpack’. They were put into strait-jackets and either marched off to solitary or hosed down with cold water and left to freeze in a cell. It was said to be a treatment to calm them down, but she could see the fear in their eyes when they came out of treatment. Most often it was an experience which caused them to sink even deeper into their misery, confusion and despair. Some caught pneumonia and died, others developed bronchitis. So a lot of the female inmates capitulated, allowing themselves to be used by the ward attendants rather than face time in isolation in the jacket or the wetpack.

  Survival became Jessica’s singular purpose. She soon learned that a broken heart was of little use in a mental institution and that if she hoped to survive she must keep her grieving to herself. Jessica began to ingratiate herself with the female staff and became useful in a hundred ways. This ensured that she would be left alone, yet come under the protection of the matron, who helped to keep her safe against the groping paws and thrusting thighs of the male ward attendants. Pretty soon they gave up thinking of her as a patient and she was allowed to wander freely within the grounds without being watched over.

  Jessica seemed to have an uncanny knack for calming the most agitated of inmates. In time her presence in the wards was welcomed and sometimes even regarded as necessary. Silence, or the sounds we make to comfort a small child, she soon discovered, was the best cure. She would sit with a patient for hours, simply holding a trembling hand, sometimes making soothing noises, sometimes singing softly and rocking them, often enough saying nothing but allowing them to feel her warmth. After a lifetime with Joe, Jessica was an expert at silence and at providing company without seeming threatening.

  The patients learned to consider Jessie as someone their confused minds could relate to. She didn’t shout at or hector them, she didn’t beat or threaten them, or try to make them do things they didn’t want to, or were afraid of. She’d just sit and hold their hands or read to them, the gentle rhythm of her voice seeming to calm them, even when they were incapable of understanding the meaning of her stories. When an agitation in one of the wards broke out, ‘Call Jessie!’ became a common cry among those ward attendants who didn’t enjoy the business of beating a patient into submission.

  Jessica was by nature a kind person, but she was no angel of mercy. In everything she did, from the moment she was wakened by the ward bell at six o’clock in the morning to the eight p.m. bell which signalled the lockup and silence for the night, she worked to gain her release from the institution. She was using Joe’s rules - work hard, keep your trap shut. Do more than the other bloke, don’t whinge, keep your head down and it’ll turn out all right in the end. If she showed no signs of being a loony, she reckoned, then sooner or later they’d have to let her go.

  Jessica’s one thought in life was to return to her child. The pain she felt for her lost baby she mostly kept to herself, but she would weep for Joey in the lonely, dark hours after midnight. Her sobbing was drowned in the cacophony of moans and sudden screams and the endless weeping and nightmares of the harmlessly insane.

  Slowly, through an ocean of tears, Jessica’s hatred for her mother and sister grew and her resolve to avenge herself became a hard, tight wad of bitterness wrapped around her heart. If she gave the impression of being serene and saintly, in truth Jessica was becoming an avenging angel who thought of nothing else but her freedom and the reclaiming of her child.

  Jessica had been admitted to the Callan Park lunatic asylum based on the evidence presented in a report by Hester and the Reverend Mathews and prepared in the presence of the police magistrate at Narrandera.

  The day after Joe’s funeral, Jessica’s wrists were tied with tent-rope and she was taken from the manse to the Narrandera police lock-up and kept in a cell for three days while the papers needed to have her committed were sent up from Sydney. Thereafter she was handcuffed and placed on the train and escorted to Sydney by a cheerful young police constable named Tommy Holbrook, a cheeky young lad who had gone to school with Jessica. The moment the train was out of sight of Narrandera station he’d removed her handcuffs. ‘She’ll be right, Jessie,’ he’d said, comforting her.

  Upon arrival at Callan Park, Jessica received a cursory examination by an ageing, overworked, unshaven and exhausted physician in a dirty white coat trying to cope with the shortage of medical staff over the Christmas period. He was doing his best, with the help of generous libations of Tolley’s brandy taken from a bottle in the bottom drawer of his desk.

  His questions were peremptory and his impatience soon apparent. Jessica, who was still in shock, simply stared at the wall while he interrogated her in a voice devoid of enthusiasm. It was plain enough to see that he had long since lost any sense of compassion for his patients. Unable to get her to respond, the harassed doctor turned to Tommy Holbrook. ‘How did the patient behave coming to Sydney? Was she violent? Hysterical? Constantly weeping? Did she shout out or scream? Curse the other passengers?’ he asked, holding the nib end of his fountain pen upwards and repeatedly tapping the cap fixed at the other end of the stem on the surface of his desk. Perhaps this was intended to intimidate Tommy or was merely a sign of the doctor’s frustration — whatever, it escaped the young country constable’s notice.

  Tommy Holbrook shrugged. ‘She didn’t say nothing all the way, sir. Nice an’ quiet and mostly slept.

  Didn’t need no handcuffs neither. If you want my opinion, sir, if Jessie Bergman’s a loony, then I’m the Police Superintendent.’

  The doctor sighed. ‘Medical science is greatly obliged to you for your diagnosis, constable.’ Then, turning back to Jessica, he announced, ‘Miss Bergman, if you refuse to talk to me I will be forced to make a decision based only on this.’ He picked up the report from Narrandera by its corner, lifted it and then let it fall from his fingers back onto the desk. Then he reached down into the open drawer for the brandy bottle and, leaning back, withdrew the cork. ‘Well, what will it be?’

  ‘They stole my baby,’ Jessica said in a voice barely above a whisper. ‘They stole my little baby.’ Then she brought her hands up to cover her face and started to sob uncontrollably.

  The doctor watched Jessica for a few moments. He took a generous sip from the bottle, sighed, then corked it and replaced it in the drawer. Looking over at the young constable, he pointed to a chair against the wall. ‘Bring her a chair, constable,’ he commanded.

  When Tommy had placed a chair in front of the doctor’s desk, the physician instructed, ‘Sit down, Miss Bergman.’ Then he looked at her, hard-faced. ‘I have no time to waste and you, I assure you, will have lots of time for tears later, so I’d be obliged if you’d spare me from them now.’ Then without further ado he began to write.

  The Hospital for the Insane Callan Park

  * MEDICAL REPORT*

  Patient Name: Jessica Margaret Bergman

  Sex: Female

  Age: 19

  Examined by: Dr J. C. Warwick — Admitting Physician Date: I January 1915

  Comments: The patient appears from the report submitted by her mother and the local Anglican minister
(report included) to be suffering from an acute delusional psychosis, as well as an advanced state of hysteria. She believes that the child born to her sister is her own.

  This delusion may have been triggered by the death of her father on the same day as the birth of her sister’s child. It is understood the patient was very close to her father.

  The patient has shown a tendency to violence and needed to be physically restrained when she attacked her mother at the funeral of her father, accusing her of stealing her baby. Her sister was known by her church community to be pregnant for the appropriate time leading up to the birth of her child. The patient is said to have suffered a nervous condition for several months prior to the birth of her sister’s child, a condition that was diagnosed by a doctor at Narrandera Hospital. The statement submitted by her mother refers to this in her own words as ‘a bit of a nervous breakdown, but we thought she’d got better’.

  It would appear that the patient comes from a good, working-class home with a caring mother and sister, both respected members of their local church congregation. They agreed to commit her only after she had made frequent threats to kill the mother and sister and it was feared she might harm the infant.

  I have been unable to communicate with the patient to ascertain her point of view (if any), as she is so preoccupied with her delusions. I recommend she be committed for treatment pending a further examination by the Medical Supervisor.

  Signed: J. C. Warwick, MBS.

  At the completion of his report Dr Warwick looked up again. ‘Miss Bergman, my recommendation is subject to verification by the Medical Supervisor, who will not be returning from his Christmas holidays until January 10. Do you have anything to say?’

  ‘About what, sir?’ Tommy Holbrook asked, speaking for Jessica.

  The doctor sighed. ‘I am recommending that you be committed to this institution,’ he replied, as if the question had come from Jessica and not the young police constable. ‘Do you have anywhere to stay until you return for a second examination?’

  Jessica appeared to be very frightened but gave no other indication that she understood the question. The doctor turned to Tommy Holbrook. ‘Constable, does she have anywhere to stay here in Sydney?’

  ‘No, sir, I don’t think so. We come down in the train and come straight on here.’

  ‘Very well, Miss Bergman, you may stay in one of our minimum-security wards until your committal is confirmed.’ He reached over and picked up a small brass bell and rang it. A sullen-looking nurse of indeterminate age appeared at the door. ‘She’s to be placed in a low security ward until further notice,’ the weary physician instructed, scribbling an admission slip and handing it to the woman.

  ‘Come,’ the nurse said, taking Jessica roughly by the elbow and escorting her to the door. ‘We’ll have no crying here, stop it at once!’ And so life in a mental asylum began for Jessica.

  Tommy Holbrook took a step towards Jessica then stopped. ‘Don’t let the mongrels beat ya, Jessie. You come home soon, ya hear?’ he called after her.

  Dr Warwick looked up and in a desultory tone said, ‘Constable, in the time between now and your becoming the police superintendent, it might be as well to keep your opinions of those of us who labour in this parlous institution to yourself.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Certainly, sir,’ were the last words Jessica would hear spoken by someone from home for almost four years.

  Jessica never received a second examination, and she was never officially declared insane. The system simply took over and she became an inmate, an anonymous set of digits, Number 4281, which gave her no rights and no freedom and, because of her insanity, was regarded as attached to a name without a personality of its own. Jessica soon learned that her only hope of returning to the outside world was to be examined by three outside doctors appointed to the governing board. Each would be required to see her separately, a task which no one in the wards could remember ever having been undertaken. The three-member examining board only visited the hospital twice yearly and when they did, they enjoyed a splendid lunch given by the Medical Supervisor which invariably terminated in the late afternoon after brandy and cigars and with a great deal of bonhomie from all concerned. They left promptly at four o’clock, usually too inebriated to walk in a straight line. Jessica also learned that there was a further catch to this impossible scenario for escape. No such examination could be held until her family or someone of equal responsibility first agreed to take her under their supervision for a probationary period of six months after her release from the asylum.

  In her first year at the institution Jessica wrote to Hester and Meg on seven separate occasions to beg them to meet these conditions — to give her a chance to prove her sanity, promising in return not to make trouble.

  She received no reply. Hester and Meg had utterly deserted her.

  She then wrote to old Dr Merrick, explaining her circumstances and begging him, as an act of mercy, to come to Sydney to identify her as the patient he had found to be pregnant. But the letter was returned unopened with the notation on the front of the envelope by the Postmaster at Wagga Wagga: Addressee deceased.

  Under Jessica’s gentle care and friendship, Moishe Goldberg made such splendid progress that after a year, and with the importuning of the Chief Rabbi of Sydney who somehow arranged for the three gentlemen doctors to assess him, he was allowed to leave, and placed into the care of his family. The impossible had happened and Jessica comforted herself with the notion that if it could happen once then it could happen again.

  Moishe Goldberg had been away from Callan Park barely a week when he arrived back to visit Jessica with an armload of books. As it turned out, the books were simply an excuse to visit her. They’d gone for a walk within the high walls of the institution and Moishe had halted under one of the English oaks in the park, the pride and joy of the hospital, which was described in a government report concerning the lunatic asylum as ‘A garden of pleasure, a bit of Old England in a faraway land’.

  ‘Jessie,’ Moishe said suddenly and clumsily, ‘marry me.’

  Jessica was completely taken aback. She had never contemplated the likelihood of a proposal from the young Jew. Moishe had once told her he couldn’t marry until after the revolution, after the overthrow of the capitalists. This decision had not evolved from a discussion concerning his feelings towards her, but was simply a statement he’d made in the course of some conversation. ‘A man going to war does not leave a wife behind to mourn him should he die,’ he’d declared rather melodramatically at the time, reminding her of Jack.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked now, touching her chest. ‘Me marry you?’

  Moishe nodded, increasingly embarrassed.

  ‘Why?’ she asked, too surprised to be tactful.

  ‘Jessie, just think, it could be your way out of here! Besides, I now know I love you.’ Moishe raked his bony fingers down his face. ‘I’ve been gone a week and I’ve not slept a wink for thinking of you.’

  Despite the knowledge that marriage to Moishe Goldberg might eventually lead to her freedom, Jessica refused his compassionate offer. She was smart enough to know that whatever had happened between herself and Moishe, he’d never be completely cured of his dark moods and she didn’t want another Joe in her life. Besides, she didn’t love Moishe Goldberg. Jack Thomas, she told herself, was the only man she would ever love. She would find another way to gain her freedom.

  In her imagination Jessica could see Joe shaking his head. ‘Jessie, yer too bloody stubborn, get the hell out of there, girlie! Yiz can always bugger off from that Jewboy!’ Moishe’s father, Solly Goldberg, a butcher of kosher poultry with a nice sideline in German sausage, had been overjoyed at the news of Jessica’s rejection of his son’s proposal of marriage.

  However, he was also a man of conscience and felt he owed a debt to Jessica for the return of his prodigal son to the bosom of the family. And so he decide
d to come out to Callan Park to thank her, not only for her care and kindness to Moishe but also for rejecting his son’s hand in marriage.

  Bondi Beach to Rozelle is a long way to come on a hot Sunday and Solly Goldberg was a big man, sufficiently rotund so that his arms were only just long enough for his hands to clasp about his middle. He took the electric tram into the city from Bondi Beach and then the omnibus from the Town Hall out to Callan Park, lugging a large basket loaded with several bottles of lemonade and crammed with Jewish delicacies which Moishe’s mother had prepared for Jessica.

  Solly Goldberg was plainly not accustomed to any activity which required self-locomotion and by the time he arrived at the asylum he was huffing and puffing like a sawmill engine.

  Jessica had been waiting out the front for him, having been informed of his proposed visit by Moishe who, despite her rejection of him, still came to see her each week. She didn’t quite know what to expect. While Moishe spoke often enough of his father, he’d never taken the trouble to describe him. Jessica supposed he might look somewhat like Moishe, who was tall and almost thin enough, he often joked, to slide through the brass letter slot in a door.

  Therefore it was somewhat of a surprise when a huge bear of a man with a red and profusely sweating face lumbered up the path leading to the main entrance of the asylum. Seated at the back of his bald head, he wore a brown derby hat — which Jessica was later to discover covered a skull cap — though without a single hair on his head she could never understand how either managed to stay on Solly’s cranium. He was making heavy work of his progress and when he eventually reached her he stood for a moment, panting. ‘Miss Bergman, my compliments,’ the huge man said breathlessly. Jessica noticed that the coarse cotton shirt under his jacket was so wet with the effort of his journey that it clung to the surface of his expansive stomach and clearly showed the outline of his navel. The tzittzit — the tassels hanging from his waist, which he later explained to her were the fringes of his prayer shawl, that he wore inside his shirt — dripped with perspiration.