Southern Ruby

by Belinda Alexandra

  I couldn’t see how any living thing could survive in the oily toxic-smelling water. We’d have to be careful of cuts, which could quickly turn septic in the heat. I wanted to shut my eyes against the destruction around me, but I had to keep watch for anything that could pierce the boat. The water was so high that street signs and even traffic signals were submerged under the surface. Shoes, paper, toys, letterboxes and suitcases all floated in the water. Leroy’s oar struck something and a shape drifted up from the murky depths. At first I thought it was a shark, but then I saw the eyes: human eyes, wide and staring. The man’s shirt floated up around his bloated torso. Leroy pushed the body away as respectfully as he could.

  ‘I’ve seen plenty of them,’ Elliot said, his voice breaking. ‘There was a whole family bobbing around near the overpass — mom, dad, kids and grandparents. I hope I don’t come across anybody I know.’

  We reached a bridge where people were sitting with plastic shopping bags filled with clothes on their laps. The towels on their heads were their only protection against the sun. They looked hot, dirty and exhausted. I glanced at our foursome and realised we looked the same.

  ‘Have you heard if they’re coming to pick you all up?’ Elliot asked the people on the bridge.

  A man nodded. ‘A truck came about an hour ago. Dropped off some water and took some people. The driver said he’d be back.’ He handed us a couple of bottles of water to share. ‘Sorry there’s not more,’ he said. ‘He didn’t give us much.’

  We thanked him and each took sips of the warm water, grateful to have something to drink.

  Once we’d loaded our bags and Flambeau’s box onto the bridge, Elliot got back in the rowboat.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I asked him.

  ‘There are hundreds of people stuck on their roofs and trapped in their attics. They were calling out to me when I came to get you. I’ve seen dogs and cats too, clinging on to bits of wreckage. I’ll never be able to live with myself if I don’t help as many as I can.’

  Our eyes met. I knew it was dangerous and that if he went out there again in that shaky little boat, he might not come back. It was a miracle that he’d survived the first time. My lips trembled and I leaned over and kissed him like it might be our last goodbye.

  ‘Be strong for your grandparents,’ he said. ‘We’ll find each other again.’

  I watched him row off, back in the direction of the Lower Ninth Ward. It seemed like an insurmountable task for a few individuals to be rescuing all those people and animals. I clenched my fists and shut my mind to what could happen to him out there. Elliot was right — I had to stay strong for Grandma Ruby and Leroy.

  There was no cover on the bridge and the sun beat down on us mercilessly. I found the escape route pamphlet Oliver had given me and used it to fan Grandma Ruby.

  I looked at my arms and legs. They were darker than they’d ever been. Even as a teenager I’d been obsessed with premature ageing and had always smothered myself in sunscreen and never purposely tanned. It was like New Orleans was bringing out the blackness in me and this experience was happening for a reason I couldn’t fathom yet.

  Flambeau pecked at his box. He must be getting hot in there. I opened the lid and offered him some cracked corn, but he turned away from it. Even he didn’t have an appetite.

  We waited in the burning sun for another two hours. I stared out at what had been a busy neighbourhood but all I could see now were the tops of trees poking above the water, some submerged roofs and floating debris. The absence of city sounds — traffic and sirens — was unnerving.

  ‘Lord have mercy on the people trapped in their attics,’ said the man who had given us the bottles of water. ‘With this heat they are going to burn up like the bodies in the tombs in the old cemeteries do.’

  I grimaced and looked back to the water. Boats were arriving with more people: rubber dinghies, aluminium fishing boats, canoes. I buried my head in my hands. If these were the only vessels available for rescue, those people still alive in their attics didn’t stand a chance. At the sound of a motor rumbling I lifted my head. I expected to see an army truck but instead a rust-riddled courier van pulled up beside us and the long-haired driver beckoned. ‘I can take four of you. It’s all I’ve got room for in the back.’

  The people who had been on the bridge before us declined. ‘We’re one family. We go together or not at all,’ said one of the older women. She indicated to us. ‘You can go. You’re only three.’

  I glanced back to the van’s driver who was sliding open the rear door. His hair was greasy and streaked with grey and his overalls were covered in stains. This wasn’t a time to be fussy about appearances, but who was he?

  I glanced back to Leroy and Grandma Ruby for guidance, but they were both sitting on the hot concrete with their shoulders slumped. Grandma Ruby’s face was beetroot red. She hadn’t had her warfarin tablets and there was no more drinking water. I bit my lip. Who knew when any other means of transport would arrive? I nodded to the driver and helped Grandma Ruby and Leroy into the van, which was half filled with boxes. I put our bags and Flambeau’s box in before climbing in myself. The driver slammed the door shut and we sat in the gloom as he turned on the engine and drove away. I stared at the back of the driver’s head through the safety grille with no idea if we were being transported by a selfless citizen trying to help out or whether I’d just placed us all in the clutches of a serial killer.

  After a short and bumpy ride, the driver brought the van to a halt and opened the rear door. ‘This is as far as I can take you,’ he said. ‘If you keep walking up ahead you’ll get to the Superdome. They’ve got food and water there. Good luck!’

  I thanked him, ashamed I’d doubted his motives, and glanced at Leroy. I knew he had not wanted to go to the Superdome. But he only shrugged. There were no other options.

  I linked my arm with Grandma Ruby’s and guided her towards the Superdome, while Leroy carried our bags and Flambeau’s box. We were walking up the steps when a young black man wearing only shorts and running shoes stopped me.

  ‘You don’t want to take elderly folk in there,’ he warned. ‘They’re better off out here in the open. The electricity’s off so there’s no air conditioning and the toilets are backed up. It stinks worse than a sewage pit. Knife fights have been breaking out all morning and somebody committed suicide by leaping from a balcony.’

  I recoiled. Suicide? Knife fights? This couldn’t be real! We found a place on the dome’s patio instead, with thousands of other tired, dirty and bedraggled people who had gathered there, most of them black. It looked like a scene from a refugee camp in a Third World country. Babies without clean nappies were sitting in their own filth, their parents looking lost and vacant-eyed. There was garbage everywhere. And that smell! I looked around and saw a corpse lying on the walkway, covered with a blanket. A curtain came down in my mind, closing out the horror around me. If I started to think of the implications of so many people gathered in such desperate circumstances with no rescue in sight, I would shut down. I couldn’t afford to shut down. ‘I’ll go find us some water,’ I told Leroy.

  I’d only walked a short way when I saw a television crew arriving, with a young reporter. As she began speaking to camera, a woman with braided hair yelled at her, ‘How’d you get here before the government? There’s no water! No food! Old people and babies are dying!’ She pointed to the covered corpse on the walkway. ‘That woman over there had an oxygen tank but it ran out on her. She died where she sat. Ain’t nobody come to collect her and she died yesterday!’

  The cameraman moved to film the corpse, but then the woman who’d been shouting spotted me. She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me over to stand next to a white couple.

  ‘Film the white people!’ she screamed at the cameraman. ‘Film the white people! You keep filming us black folks and nobody ain’t ever going to come!’

  The news reporter was about to ask me something, but a black man with a crying child in his arms rushed
towards her and took her microphone. ‘The National Guard brought enough food and water for the first couple of days, but now more and more people are coming and it isn’t enough! Tell me, how can the government of the United States get to Iraq in a matter of hours and they can’t even come to New Orleans to give their own citizens food and water? Is it because we’re poor? Is it because we’re black? Is it because we’re the wrong voting demographic? We are goddamn citizens of this country! I’ve been paying taxes for years! Where is my government now?’ The man broke down into sobs.

  He’d articulated the desperate situation perfectly. Why were these people still here three days after the storm? And without enough food and water?

  The reporter and cameraman moved on, and the white couple introduced themselves to me as Matty and Dave from Melbourne. I couldn’t believe they were Australian.

  ‘We haven’t slept a wink,’ Dave told me. ‘Everyone keeps glaring at us like we’re personally responsible for President Bush not doing anything. But we’re suffering too.’

  ‘How did you end up here?’ I asked them.

  Matty’s shoulders stiffened. ‘On Sunday morning the staff at our hotel said we had to get out. We went to the airport, but all the flights were cancelled. Then we tried the Greyhound terminal and the train station, but they’d closed too. We had no way out! We called the Australian embassy and they told us to come here. At first it was mainly homeless people, poor families and a whole bunch of backpackers who’d had no idea a storm was coming. It was all civil at first, but now that the conditions are deteriorating, fights are breaking out. One of the guards told me there are over twenty thousand people here.’

  They asked how I’d ended up at the Superdome and I explained that I was there with my grandparents. ‘I’ve got to get my grandmother some water. She has a heart condition.’

  Matty reached into her bag. ‘I’ve got half a bottle left — here, take it. Surely this can’t keep going much longer? This is the United States, after all. I’m expecting Superman — or at least Arnold Schwarzenegger — to appear at any moment and save us all!’

  I thanked them and wished them well before returning to Grandma Ruby and Leroy. Grandma Ruby was snuggled in Leroy’s arms and they were deep in conversation. After giving them the water, I walked a little distance away so as not to intrude. What must it be like to have believed someone was dead for fifty years and then to find them again?

  I stared out at the floodwater surrounding the Superdome. It wasn’t as deep as in the Lower Ninth Ward. The speed limits and the lines painted on the roads were visible under the water. Army vehicles would have no difficulty getting through it — so where were the convoys? I looked at the tired and desperate faces around me and shuddered. Could it really be possible help wasn’t coming because most of the people who needed it were black? Grandma Ruby’s stories of the Civil Rights Movement flooded my mind and for the first time the implications of Leroy being my grandfather dawned on me. I knew that when I got to tell Tamara and Leanne that while in New Orleans I’d discovered I was one-quarter African-American, they’d think it was the coolest thing ever. Australians associated black Americans with entertainers and soul singers, but here in the United States things were different. Now, seeing all these people trapped here, suffering poverty and discrimination because of their skin colour, I saw nothing cool about it at all. It made me sick.

  Grandma Ruby voiced a similar opinion when I returned to her and Leroy. ‘I thought after all our sacrifices, New Orleans had changed. But look at these poor people. Nothing has changed! Does the government even think of these wretched souls as human beings? Why haven’t they sent in planes with food and water for everyone?’

  A National Guard sergeant approached me. ‘Are you a foreigner?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m Australian,’ I told him.

  ‘We’ve got to get you out of here. You’re not safe. We’ve got gangs, shootings and rapes. There are crack addicts wandering around crazed because they can’t get a fix. Foreigners are easy targets. I’ll take you to the basketball arena. We’ve already escorted a group of foreign tourists there.’

  ‘I’m with my grandparents,’ I told him, pointing to Grandma Ruby and Leroy. ‘My grandmother has a heart condition and she hasn’t had warfarin for three days.’ I didn’t tell him about Flambeau, who was hidden in his box again. I was worried somebody would steal him to eat.

  ‘All right,’ the guard said. ‘There’s a temporary clinic at the arena.’ He eyed Leroy. ‘And it will look better if your grandfather comes too. But walk with me real slow and don’t look happy or relieved. There could be a riot if it appears like I’m giving you special privileges. But we take care of our guests here in New Orleans.’

  To get to the basketball arena we had to pass through several armed barricades. The walk took us a long time because Grandma Ruby was unsteady on her feet. The sight of her weakness made me queasy in the stomach but I kept reassuring myself that she’d be fine again once she’d had a proper amount of food and water and was back on her correct medication.

  The arena was dim inside, except for intermittent flashing blue lights from a smoke alarm nobody had switched off. At least it wasn’t overcrowded like the Superdome.

  The guard showed us to some seats in the stadium. ‘You’ll find the medics over there,’ he said, pointing to a hallway.

  Grandma Ruby was panting, so I gave her some time to rest before suggesting we head to the medical help area. Leroy took one of her arms and I took the other. Her flesh felt cold and clammy — too cold for the stifling heat inside the arena.

  As we entered the hallway, the stench hit me like a punch in the throat. I gagged at the sickly smell of urine, vomit and faeces. Dozens of people, mostly elderly, were lying on army cots or sitting in wheelchairs while volunteers, equally as filthy and ragged as we were, fanned them with bits of cardboard. I could hear foreign accents, including a number of Australian ones, everywhere and no longer had to wonder what had happened to the unsuspecting tourists who’d come into New Orleans the previous Friday.

  I spotted Matty and Dave and called them over. ‘Could you help with my grandmother?’ I asked. ‘She can barely stand.’

  Dave brushed a fly away from his face. ‘There are no more cots — I’ll see if I can get her a chair. It’ll be a long wait until a doctor or nurse can examine her.’ He returned a few moments later wheeling a push-cart trolley with a plastic chair placed on the platform. ‘There aren’t any more wheelchairs,’ he said apologetically. ‘I had to improvise with this wheeled cart.’

  It was humiliating to put Grandma Ruby on something that was intended for moving boxes, but there wasn’t any choice.

  As Dave and Leroy took her arms to help her onto the chair, Grandma Ruby staggered. I steadied her and noticed her face was drooping on one side. ‘She’s having a stroke!’ I cried.

  A young nurse who had been taking a patient’s blood pressure stood up and rushed over to us. She studied Grandma Ruby’s face and asked her to lift both her arms, which she couldn’t do. A frown wrinkled the nurse’s face when I told her about the lost warfarin.

  ‘It could simply be dehydration,’ she said, pinching Grandma Ruby’s skin. ‘We haven’t got any medications, not even aspirin. We ran out yesterday. All I’ve got left is IV drips. We’ll put her on one and see if it helps.’

  Leroy shot me a panicked look. ‘Isn’t there a doctor who can look at her?’ he asked the nurse. ‘She might be having a stroke!’

  The nurse dragged her hand through her hair. ‘I’ll get one to see her, but they won’t be able to do anything more than I can,’ she said, her own frustration clear in her voice. ‘I’ll put that drip in now.’

  I held one of Grandma Ruby’s hands while Leroy fanned her with a piece of cardboard to keep her cool. My mouth was dry and it hurt to swallow. Grandma Ruby might be having a stroke and we couldn’t do anything about it.

  The nurse put the drip in Grandma Ruby’s arm, but she continued to worsen. Her beau
tiful skin was drawn tight over her cheekbones and her body was curled up on one side. She tried to say something but all that came out was a raspy moan.

  ‘Don’t die on me now, Ruby,’ Leroy pleaded, stroking her hair and weeping. ‘Not now we’ve found each other again.’

  I wanted to scream, but at who? Not at the other people who were suffering around us, or at the kind, overwhelmed and exhausted nurse who was doing the best she could to help. I pressed my face into my hands, as if by doing so I could make the whole nightmare disappear and transport us back to ‘Amandine’, where we would sit in the summerhouse drinking mint juleps and none of this would have happened.

  A doctor arrived and checked Grandma Ruby’s vitals. When he studied her face, his own expression turned grim. ‘She’d better go to emergency,’ he told the nurse, indicating a screened-off area at the end of the hallway.

  ‘Can we go with her?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ he replied firmly. ‘Help out here. I’ll come and tell you about her condition when I can.’

  A man whose entire head was bandaged except his nose and mouth tugged on my arm. ‘They’re not taking her to emergency,’ he whispered. ‘That’s the morgue. They’re taking her there to die.’

  His words made the blood rush to my head. I tugged at the neckline of my top as if I were suffocating. ‘No!’ I said. ‘That can’t be true!’

  ‘He’s talking nonsense,’ a female volunteer with a Danish accent said. She handed me a pair of latex gloves and a surgical mask. ‘Ignore him and help us. We’re desperate.’

  THIRTY-ONE

  Amanda

  Leroy looked on the verge of collapse too, but he rallied himself, picked up a piece of towel and started cleaning the vomit off the front of an elderly man’s hospital gown. Motivated by his example, I grabbed a garbage bag and collected the empty drink bottles and soggy adult diapers strewn over the floor. I worked like a maniac to push away my terror that Grandma Ruby might not make it through the day; or, if she did, she’d end up paralysed.