by Jessica Bell
“Mummy you look so silly!”
“Good morning, Bonnie!” That was my mummy in a chicken voice that sounds like she has chopsticks up her nose. “Are you ready, brrrk!, to cluck around the garden of, brrrk!, glorious chocolate heaven?”
She’s making me laugh and I’m laughing rool loud.
“This is serious, brrrk!, business my child, you have some serious, brrrk!, hunting to do, brrrk!, my little chickie dee.” Mummy does her chook movements even bigger now and it looks like she is going to cluck her arms and head off. I’m laughing rool hard now and my breath is going funny and I’m making noises like Little Miss Piggy. Then Mummy goes all floppy and falls on my bed and makes a big sigh with her eyes closed. She has a big happy smile and she lies next to me and grabs me tight in her arms and kisses me all over my head and my eyes and my mouth and my nose and hair bits that go up and down when people talk.
“I love you so much, sweetheart.” That was my mummy, not me. I never called Mummy sweetheart before, but I do say I love you to her. And that makes me think of the question I was going to ask.
“Mummy, can you show me the love you found now?”
“I am showing you the love, sweetie.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s here.”
“Where?”
Mummy makes a big sigh and says, “The love is right here between us. You can’t hold it like a ball. It’s something you feel. Just like you feel now about me, and I feel about you.”
“But you said that you found love. How can you find sumfing you can’t hold in your hand?”
Mummy makes a funny noise through her nose. She does those funny noises a lot lately.
“Darling, you tell Daddy and Ted and me that you love us all the time. Are you holding love in your hand when you say that? No, you’re not. You’re feeling it, aren’t you?”
This makes me think and I go um and look up at the roof and I would be looking into the sky at the clouds if I was outside.
And then I understand what she is asking and I say, “No, I just say it to you because you say it to me.”
Mummy laughs and does more animal noises and shakes me with the gentle word a bit and hugs me a bit more tightly.
“Darling, you will understand it better when you get older. I promise.”
“But I want to understand now!” That’s me getting louder with my speaking. I know it’s rude to get loud with speaking but I can’t help it.
“Okay, Bonnie. Listen. How about we get you dressed and washed up, then we can do the egg hunt, and then we can talk about what love is as a whole family at the table when we eat lunch?”
I’m going to say no when Mummy breathes in rool quick and says, “Did you hear that?”
“What?” My ears go prick like a dog, I think.
“That’s the sound of Daddy and Mary. Quick, up you get, put on your dressing gown and go wash your face, and then we can start the egg hunt.”
“Okay.” That’s me getting up and putting my dressing gown on so I can go hunt for chocolate eggs with Daddy and Mary and my Ted in the garden.
This is going to be the best day in my whole entire life. And guess what? I sawed some rooly pretty butterflies in the garden yesterday and I decided I’m going to catch one in a jar and Daddy said that he’s going to teach me rool interesting things about them. It’s fun when Daddy teaches me things. I think he’s better than Dr Right and Mrs Haydon.
I think Daddy should be a teacher.
IN THE GARDEN MUMMY has put lots of little baskets with lots of little yellow chicks and pink bunnies, and I said to her that she was supposed to hide them not just put them around the garden, and she says that she did hide them you silly duffer, and that the baskets are there to put the eggs into when I find them and that makes me think and I think that it makes good logic.
Daddy and Mary and my Ted and me all look in different places in the garden and Mummy is calling out funny stuff that doesn’t make logic.
“Ted you’re warm! John you’re really cold! Mary you’re getting warmer! Bonnie you’re getting hot! Good girl!”
“I’m not hot. I’m just warm.” That was me yelling so Mummy can hear me over her loudness. And everybody laughs at the same time and that makes me cry because it gives me sticky feelings in my belly like pineapple jelly like when Sara and Bianca call me a fruit loop at school.
Mary comes over to me and pats my head like I’m a kitten and then gives me a hug. She smells like pretty flowers today and that makes me feel a bit more calmed.
“Don’t cry, Bonnie.” That’s Mary being nice all whisperly. “That’s just what you say when someone is getting closer to finding the treasure. It’s a good thing. It means that you are really close to finding some eggs. When someone is cold, it means they are far away. When someone is hot, it means they are really close. And you are really close!”
This makes me think and I think it doesn’t make logic. But I have learnted that English is silly and doesn’t make logic most of the time, so I think I just have to be learning to like all the unlogic stuff.
Mary wipes my tears away with her sleeve and I sniff and nod.
“Can you give me a smile?” That is a nice trick question. I like Mary sometimes.
I smile and nod and go to look inside the grasses behind the plum tree because that’s where I am and Mummy said I’m hot and that means I’m close to the treasure. And when I move some of the grasses to the side I can see some silvery blue purpled shinies! I reach in and I pick up three little chocolate eggs and I hold them above my head and I scream “Eureka!” because I learnted in school that some man in histories said this when he found sumfing rooly important and that in some other language, I forget which one, that the word means “I found it.”
And then after I say that really smart word all bodies in my backyard start to clap and yell hurrahs and I do a funny dance and Mary does it with me. Mary is funny sometimes. But then my Ted does a loud noise with his throat and everyone except me and Mary goes on pause. My Ted is holding the biscuit box my mummy did a pray to the sky with.
“Mummy put the biscuits there so I couldn’t eat them.” That’s me talking so that my Ted can understand why there’s biscuits buried in the garden.
But my Ted opens the biscuit box and pulls out the book! The badly book! I want to yell out no! and take it away and throw it over the fence to the horribly lady next door, but my voice is gone and I don’t know where to look for it. Ted’s face is all red and shiny and his breathing is all loud, and Mummy and Daddy move next to each other, and Daddy looks at Mummy’s shoes again and puts his arm around her shoulders. Mummy has both hands over her mouth and there’s tears falling down her face, and then she whispers my Ted’s name.
My Ted opens the book and it looks like he’s reading invisible words and then after a minute he chucks the book at my daddy and it hits him in the face. My mummy yells, “Ted! How dare you!” rool loud and it makes me put my hands to my ears. But Daddy is rooly quick and he catches the book and holds it to his chest and hugs Mummy into him a bit more tightly.
“When were you going to fucking tell me about this, this … this cold-hearted plan of yours, huh? You stupid fucking bitch. How long has this been fucking going on?” That was my Ted and he’s speaking rool loud and he’s saying rool bad words and the horribly lady over the fence yells out to shut the fuck up arseholes. I think that word means bottom, but I’m not surely.
“Ted, I, I, I—” That was Mummy and I think she has lost her voice too. It’s all the book’s badly, the book has to go in the fire and not get a raincoat!
Then my Ted does sumfing really violent. He stomps up to my mummy and punches her in the face! Then my Daddy punches my Ted and I can see blood coming out of his nose and there’s a lot of yelling and screaming and punching, and Mary isn’t doing anything, she’s just standing there holding my basket of eggs and my legs start going all rattling and my heart all bumpy in my chest rool hard, and then I can feel my voice comes back
rool loud and I scream and scream and scream and run to Daddy and Mummy and my Ted and I yell for them to stop doing hurting that it’s not nice and to stop, please Daddy, Mummy, stop stop stop!!!
And then all bodies in the backyard go on pause except for the oxygen. My mummy is on the ground holding her hands over her eyes and crying rool lots and my daddy and my Ted are touching the red on their faces and Mary is making crying sounds but rool quietly like she wants to be invisible.
It’s all the book’s badly, but it’s my mummy’s badly too because she didn’t listen to me when I told her it has demons in it. And I don’t know why, it doesn’t make much logic, but I get this rooly badly feeling in my tummy and my chest and my head and my face goes all burning and I scream rool loud at my mummy, “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!”
And I run down the driveway rool fast and I can hear my mummy and my daddy and my Ted call my name but it sounds so far away inside my oxygen and my bumpy heart in my ears, and I run and run and run and I get to the road and I don’t stop and then I can hear a rooly loud horn like they blow at the beginning of the Melbourne Cup and and and then I hear a really big bang-clang and a loudly screeching and screaming so loud that I’ve never heard noises so big before and then everything goes magic colours and I can hear more screams and crying and big heavy feet around me.
Then the world goes a big black.
Bonnie ... I don't think I can do this. I'm devastated. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't let you hold love ...
April 28th, 1984
~Daddy
My precious Bonnie,
The doctors said you didn’t feel any pain. I think the world gave it all to Penny and I. I am thankful for that. I am thankful that you were spared a horrific death. But one thing I am not thankful for is that you had to leave us with so many unanswered questions.
Dr Wright gave us your session tapes. We can’t stop watching and listening to you. I think Penny is going to make herself sick with them, but I can’t bear to take them away from her. If I try to turn the VCR off she becomes hysterical. She hasn’t spoken for days. She’s tried so many times to write you a goodbye letter, but every time she picks up this book she breaks down. So I think it’s best if I write for the both of us.
I promised Penny I'd give you all the answers you’ve been hoping for:
1. It’s called ice cream because it’s made of ice and cream. But I do agree with your magnificent logic that they should be called I-quiets. It’s the only food I want to enjoy in complete silence too.
2. Mary is not more special than you. I love you the same and sometimes oh so much more.
3. Sometimes grownups don’t say what they’re thinking because they don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings. But you are right. We should all say what we are thinking. We should all say the truth. Invisible words are bad. The world would be a better place if we had the courage to get all our thoughts out in the open, and if you had the chance to grow up big, I think you would have made a perfect mother.
4. Ted calls you a young lady because you are just as intelligent as any of us. If not, more so.
5. Mummy liked to think the man on the moon was real because a thought like that sounds magical. She knew it wasn’t really real. Just like you knew that the Easter Bunny wasn’t real. But to pretend that they are real, makes life so much more fun.
6. Sometimes grownups ask questions that don’t need answering because, to be frank, as you get older, you become more selfish and believe that you have the right to get your own way all the time. I suppose you are lucky to have left us when life still seemed bigger than yourself.
7. Grownups shake their heads a lot because some things still surprise us. Even though we like to believe we know everything, we don’t. We are just children in grownup skin.
8. Why do grownups make simple things so difficult? I don’t know. I’d really like to know the answer to that one myself. I wish you could have grown up to be a beautiful woman, and find the answer to that very important and intelligent question. We could all do with a bit of simplicity in this life.
9. It is silly that the stuff on the ground in the park is called the same as the voice of a dog, isn’t it? I couldn’t agree with you more. There are always going to be things in life that people don’t like, or even understand. But if you don’t learn to accept them the way that they are, and this goes for people too, you will never feel true happiness. That’s something I have learned from you, Bonnie. Thank you.
10. And lastly, now this is the most important one, are you listening? It turns out that you can hold love like a ball. You were right all along. But it’s not the shape of a ball, it’s the shape of a book. This book. And tomorrow, my love, I will put it in your hands, before we put you in the earth. The earth that gifted me with the most beautiful thing in the world. You, Bonnie my love.
Only you.
If you enjoyed The Book, please do Jessica the honour of leaving a review on Amazon.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I was a child, my mother, Erika Bach, and my father, Anthony Bell, wrote in an illustrated journal by Michael Green called A Hobbit’s Travels: being the hitherto unpublished Travel Sketches of Sam Gamgee. This journal is the inspiration for this book. Thank you for keeping it, and blessing me with such an amazing treasure. It will always have a special place on my bookshelf. I must also add that in Part One of this book, there are some excerpts that are used verbatim. Thank you for your permission to do this. Without your precious words, this book would not exist.
I must also thank my editors, Dawn Ius and Leigh T. Moore, for their insights and expertise in helping me make The Book the best it could possibly be, and to Stacey Larner for her sound advice regarding Bonnie’s voice.
Bitter Like Orange Peel
For Allison, my half sister whom I adore.
Kit
His head is ripped off. In that photograph. Of him. Kit spots it buried among four years’ worth of undergraduate essays—the photo she stole from her half sister, Ivy, and misplaced in an effort to keep safe.
She drags her bottom dresser drawer out too far. The stiff wood clunks as it slips out of its casing and hits the floor with a thud. Sitting cross-legged and naked on the hot, itchy carpet, she stares at the photograph. At five-year-old Ivy’s carefree grin and trusting arms wrapped around her father’s knees at the Melbourne zoo. A drop of sweat tickles Kit’s crotch. She scratches herself and wipes her wet fingers on the carpet beside her thigh. Stares at her father’s hand placed delicately on the top of Ivy’s head, and Ivy’s sideways and upward glance toward his nonexistent face. Kit touches the top of her own head, imagining what his touch may have felt like, what she would give to have been Ivy those twenty-five years ago, before she was even born.
She stands. Her knees crack. They’ve cracked ever since she fell off her bicycle when she was six and the rubber seat supposedly ruptured her hymen. It didn’t hurt. She rubs her left hand on her thigh to dislodge the tiny beige pebbles that have embedded themselves into her palm. Stupid new garden path. She places the photo on her bedside table, propping it up against the wall behind her bedside lamp, where her four-year-old self drew a wobbly shape of a rainbow with blue biro on the cream parchment. It’s still there.
Kit sighs, squints at Ivy’s apparent joy in the photograph, and bites her thumbnail. It rips off too low and starts to bleed. She sucks it, then hooks it under the knuckle of her index finger to stop the flow. It stings like the time she accidentally lodged a sewing needle below the nail. She’d heard that the white crescents at the base of people’s nails were actually full of air and wanted to see if she could pop one like a balloon and listen to the air wheeze through the hole.
There’s no better time than now.
She scoops her university papers out of the drawer like an eagle catching prey, and with one swift movement drops her entire collection of archaeological lecture notes, research method essays, and Cypriot artifact analyses into the cardboard box on her bed. But the post
graduate application form she has to fill out and submit before the month is out, which is folded six times over and stuffed into the smallest pocket of her handbag, has a heart of its own. She whispers, “Not now. Not yet,” to the rhythm of its beat, and zips her handbag shut.
Ivy
In the staff room at Seattle’s Ditsy Daisy’s Café, Ivy is having a cigarette break when her mother, Eleanor, calls. With one glance at the caller ID, she switches her to voice mail. The last thing she needs right now is to be told she should quit smoking. Especially by someone who has the ability to scare the pants off an extinct ape with medical facts and statistics. Not to mention the fact that she was lectured enough about her smoking from her ex-husband, Amir. Enough to last her till she finds the missing link.
On Ivy’s way out, her colleague, Raquel, gives her a snarly look as she returns to the floor. People are starting to walk out. She’s been swamped with take-out coffees and unable to tend to seated customers. Ivy grabs her computerized notepad and approaches a middle-aged man with long grey hair in a ponytail, the only man alone in the whole café. He is wearing cowboy boots and has a briefcase under his chair.
Two things I never thought I’d see together.
“I’ll have an Americano, please, ma’am. And don’t put any sugar in it. Last time, the waitress put sugar in it.” The man relieves a tickle in his nostril with his long pinky fingernail. He squeezes and rubs his nose several times during this request, interrupting his serious glare at Ivy with the occasional inspection of his fingertips.