As it passes, the rock knocks me from the wall, somehow damaging my left shoulder and heart.
The floor from which I’d scrambled has gone, and I’m falling now, faster and deeper. There is no point in crying out, I somehow know, because nobody’s going to help me. I pass other people, who seem also to be squatting on tiny ledges. They watch me fall with their big eyes.
I look down at myself and see that my heart has dislodged from my body. It is falling at the same speed, still tied to me by thick cords which keep us together. I grab it and feel it pulsing. It feels awful, sticky yet slippery. I try to push it back into my chest, but it slides around in my fingers.
I suddenly know I’m a goner, and give myself over to death. As soon as I have this realisation I feel peaceful, my arms and legs stop thrashing around trying to stop my fall, and instead of falling I’m floating.
The demon laughs, a fearful sound, just below me. He is standing with his arms outstretched, waiting to catch me. I’m unable to stop myself floating down directly into his arms and I scream, ‘No, no’, in an effort to avoid this contact. Death I don’t mind, but him I do.
Mum continued to scold, nag and lecture me during my every waking moment. I almost didn’t mind this, however, because it was a break from the dreams. From somewhere in her past, Mum recalled that scrubbing floors on your hands and knees was a good exercise to strengthen the muscles for childbirth. My afternoon walks were reduced to twenty minutes, followed by ten minutes of scrubbing. Mum prepared soapy buckets of water and told me which patch of the floor to scrub each day.
Arthur became solicitous, asking me if there was anything I wanted to eat. He was concerned about how thin I was, even though Mum continued to force food on me that she said I had to eat, such as carrots, pumpkin, spinach and liver. She mashed them so as to conceal any flavours I objected to, and made fried patties out of the ingredients I said I detested. When invited by Arthur to nominate something I would like to eat, I found I hankered for prawns. Later, when he heard me stir in my room, even at midnight, he’d get up and go out in the car to wake up the fishmonger and bring home a parcel of prawns. The fishmonger, who lived above his shop, didn’t mind, Arthur said, because he knew about ‘women’s cravings’.
Mum’s delight at the approaching baby was so thick that people began to say that they thought she was acting as if she was having a baby herself. At the same time, my displeasure at her constant scolding about what pregnant women should and shouldn’t do, coupled with my inability to articulate my problems and the horrors going on in my mind, caused me to seek bizarre forms of relief. If I was awake in the afternoon when Mum was due home from work, I would put my hands around my throat and squeeze until I fell into unconsciousness. After one such episode, Mum became furious when she noticed bruises on my neck. So, from then on, I experimented with locating the exact points on which to put pressure to gain the same effect.
The blackouts usually only lasted a few minutes, but they left me dazed, which was sort of euphoric. I welcomed the spinning lights in my head, a vortex into which I could disappear, no dreams, no reality. I kept hoping that I wouldn’t recover from them, that by some accident my heart would just stop and all the pain would be over.
Dellie’s sixteenth birthday-cum-engagement party was drawing near, and the house became a hive of activity. Food and soft drinks were brought in by the bootload, and it sounded as if the entire soccer team had come to string fairy lights up in the garden. I stayed in bed.
On the Friday before the party, I had to make my now weekly visit to Dr Ward. Mum told him that the court hearings in Brisbane had been put on hold until after I’d given birth, as I was too weak and too close to time to travel. When she shared this information with him, I momentarily wondered how she kept abreast with what was happening in regard to the police proceedings, and why she told the doctor rather than me.
He explained to Mum that this would be my last visit. He would see me at the hospital before the week was out. She left me at the bus stop in the main street to catch a bus back to Aitkenvale, and she said that if I felt anything between then and when she arrived home from work, I was to call out to a neighbour who would ring her at work. Mum, of course, still had no phone.
While I was waiting for the bus, I was delighted to see my dear friend Jeannie from years ago. She was very obviously pregnant, and because I knew her to be non-judgemental, I told her that I was too. I walked with her down the street a little and would have gone further, even to her home, had she indicated I would be welcome to tag along. Instead, she seemed anxious to get rid of me, although she’d been pleased when we’d first spotted each other. I thought she must have been meeting some guy who she didn’t want me to see.
When I left her I walked to the next bus stop where I ran into yet another friend from the past—my old dancing partner with whom I’d won jive competitions, Renata.
She was pleased to see me, and said, ‘I’d heard you were back in town. There’s even been a rumour that you’re pregnant. It’s because of that blouse you’ve got on. Come out, come out with me tonight. Let’s wear our dancing gear again. God, I’ve missed you.’
We chatted briefly and when I walked away I realised I was lonely. The isolation Mum had established for me by buying the house at Aitkenvale had served its purpose very well.
When she arrived home, Mum came into my room and said that she was putting Leonie in to sleep with me in the double bed from now on.
To my protests she replied, ‘if you think I want to wake up one morning and find you’ve had the baby in there all by yourself, you’re mistaken. I know you, my girl, and I wouldn’t put that past you at all!’
I still didn’t believe that a real baby was going to be the end product of all this discomfort, and I hadn’t made any arrangements. Mum packed a little suitcase from a list Dr Ward’s office must have given her, and left it by the door of my room.
The next day was a blur of noise and comings and goings. Mum was screaming out orders, tinting her hair while ensuring that all the plates and cups which she kept packed in the upstairs toilet were washed, dried, and put on tables under the house. She tried to interest me in cutting crepe paper into streamers, but I refused to come out of my room.
There was a lull in the evening as friends who’d been helping around the house all day went home to get dressed for the big occasion. Mum said I was to get out of my pyjamas, put on a smock, and sit in her bedroom where I could watch the festivities from the window. When I baulked, she said the real reason she wanted me to sit there was so that she could keep her eye on me from the garden.
In Mum’s bedroom I put my head down on the sill and went to sleep, unfazed by the music that blasted out from the speakers in the yard. I was woken by the presence of a man standing in the doorway. He startled me because I didn’t know him. He introduced himself as ‘Skip’ and asked if I was alright, why didn’t I join the party?
Shortly after he left, Mum came upstairs and told me that the oldies were going to Aitkenvale Hotel for a drink, and to let the young people enjoy themselves for a while. They were only going for an hour and I was to come along with her.
Her’s and Arthur’s cronies were all there, and we sat in a big circle in the beer garden. I was put into a soft lounge chair so that I’d be comfortable. Skip was amongst them, although he didn’t look as though he was even legal drinking age yet. He seemed to make it a point to sit near me.
A waiter delivering a full tray of drinks walked past the back of my chair and stumbled, accidently hurtling his load of glasses and beer onto me. Even/one gasped as beer soaked through my hair and clothes instantly. I tried to get up, but was so advanced in my pregnancy that I was clumsy, heavy and awkward, and fell back into the chair. Skip raced away and got towels from the bar, but nothing could remove the sharp stench of beer which filled my nostrils and made me nauseated. The drinking session was cut short as Arthur took me home.
I showered immediately but the smell remained. The odour
of beer was one of the strongest associations I had with the night of my nightmare. I screamed out and wept so much all night, as I struggled with the demons and flashbacks evoked by the incident, that Mum had Leonie move back into her own bed and leave me alone.
Everybody spent the following day clearing up. Dellie was proudly showing off her engagement ring and musing over the gifts she’d received, working out whether they were meant as birthday or engagement gifts, or a combination of both. Her fiance, she told me, was entitled to regard half the engagement gifts as his own, so it was important for her to sort this out.
Over the next few days, Mum wouldn’t let me be alone for more than a few minutes. If things went on this way, I thought, my sisters would be rostered to accompany me to and from the toilet. In all these months I hadn’t shared anything with them, either about what had happened in Brisbane or what I was going through now. When I was around they stared at me warily, until they became involved in a conversation of their own which took their attention from me.
I was sitting on the front verandah with the two girls on the floor playing at some game when Leonie looked up at me, watched for a moment, then yelled, ‘Mum, Mum, you’d better come.’
I was surprised by her call because nothing was the matter with me, apart from a twingy backache which I had from sitting upright on the wooden chair. Mum came and stood beside me.
‘Got pain?’
‘No.’
She remained standing there for a few minutes. I was watching the girls play and thinking that as soon as Mum saw for herself that everything was normal she’d go back inside. Again the discomfort fluttered across my spine.
‘That’s it, Roberta,’ Mum said, as I twisted slightly.
‘No, Mum, that’s not it. There’s nothing happening at all, I’m just uncomfortable on the chair.’
‘Well, you’re going to have to be uncomfortable on a chair up at the maternity ward.’ She raised her voice, ‘Arthur, come out and drive this child up to the hospital.’
Dellie and Leonie leapt up and began dancing and chanting. ‘We’re going to have a baby. Oh, goody, we’re going to have a baby.’
I was disgusted, and glad to get away from them. Mum accompanied us in the car, rushing ahead when we arrived to give the nurse my name and details. The nurse called the sister, and they consulted a chart and began nodding their heads and whispering. I heard them say Dr Ward’s name.
I was taken into a room and helped to change into a hospital robe, then taken into another room and told to lie down for a while. A clock on the wall said it was twenty minutes to five in the afternoon. A nurse sat beside me with her fob watch on her chain. The sister came, rubbed my arm and said she was going to give me a very small needle. Almost as soon as she had done so, the hands on th clock ceemed to jump to five-thirty, and I could see it only mistily through my tears. I heard their voices as they talked, ‘Dr Ward said he’s coming immediately. She’s to feel nothing. You stay with her, Nurse, that’s all you have to do.’ I drifted off again and remember very little.
I woke up surrounded by white—white ceiling, white curtains, white sheets. My hands fumbled onto my stomach and encountered a wide elastic binder of some description. My stomach was still raised and I thought, ‘Oh, a false alarm. Mum will be mad at me.’
A wardsmaid woke me again when she brought a plate of soup on a tray. I sat up, took two or three sips, which were enough, and slid back down again.
Through a chink left in the curtains by the wardsmaid’s entry I could see beds diagonally across from me. Women sat up in them, and nurses hurried back and forth handing babies wrapped in bunny rugs out here and there. I briefly wondered why I’d been put in this ward to wait for my labour to begin when everyone else here had already had their babies. I turned over and went back to sleep.
Voices talking just beyond the curtain in sharp but hushed tones woke me.
‘Has she asked to see her baby yet, Nurse?’
‘No.’
‘Doctor said she’s not to be given the baby until she asks.’
Who was this strange woman they were talking about who didn’t even want to see her baby after all the trouble she’d gone through in having it, I thought, and drifted comfortably back to sleep.
‘Mrs Patterson.’ I opened my eyes, someone was calling my mum. A sister stood at the foot of my bed.
‘Mum’s not here,’ I answered groggily because she was looking at me. ‘I’m Miss Patterson, her daughter’
‘We call everyone here “Mrs”,’ she told me archly, her voice loaded with meaning.
‘Your doctor gave instructions to bring your child only when you asked for it,’ she continued. ‘But a whole day’s gone by and you haven’t asked. Visitors will be here soon, and I thought I’d give you the opportunity. You can say no if you want:
‘Have I had the baby?’ I replied.
‘Does that mean yes?’
‘What was it? What’s the baby?’
‘A son. You have a fine son.’
Oh, oh yes. Bring him. I’ll see him.’
She walked away briskly and soon returned with a bundle which she placed across my knees. I’d hauled myself into a sitting position, the better to look at what appeared to be a present. A very small sleeping face lay at the top of the bundle, just visible from the folds of the bunny rug.
‘Can I open it?’ I asked.
‘He’s yours, Mrs Patterson. You can do as you like with him,’ she said, and brushed her way out through the curtains.
Between the wider gap she had left, I could see women peering across at me. They were silent. I suddenly thought that they were worried that I might dash the child to the floor.
I drew the bundle up onto my stomach and began to unwrap it. A small wrinkled arm, and then another, emerged. I counted the fingers on each hand to make sure none were missing. Then opened the rest of the wrapper and counted the toes, I saw a wide strip across the child’s stomach and realised this was covering his cord. I was too afraid to pick him up in case I hurt him, so I just unpinned his nappy and peered in to make sure the sister had told me the truth about the child being a boy.
A boy. I wrapped him up again with a feeling of satisfaction. At least here was something I’d done right. The child had all his fingers and toes, and even a great swack of hair on his head. I sat waiting for the nurse to come and take him away again, after I’d assured myself that he had arrived with all his pieces intact.
As the nurse’s rubber-soled shoes approached, squeaking towards me on the highly polished floor, I heard a woman’s voice say to her in hushed tones, ‘Nurse, she didn’t even hold her baby.’
Tears sprang into my eyes, if somebody had told me what it was I had to do, I thought as the nurse removed the bundle, I’d have done it. Never mind, I’ll do it next time.
Just a few minutes later the curtains were drawn back a little and Mum and Arthur came crowding in. Mum looked anxious.
‘You’re supposed to be in a private room. I paid for a private room. The sister said all the private rooms were full, and they had to put you here. Are you alright?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
Her face brightened. ‘Here’s some fruit for you, and a milk chocolate bar. You’re to eat them all up, you hear! You’ve had a son, have you seen him? Have you put him to the breast?’
Put him to the breast? What was she talking about? How was I supposed to have ‘put him to the breast'?
I looked shocked. Mum patted my hand. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said kindly. ‘I’m sure they’re feeding him alright. I’ll just go and look. Come on, Arthur’ She steered him out and as he passed through the gap in the curtains, he looked back at me with a very pleased expression on his face.
This whole event had been a new experience for him, and when they returned from the Baby Viewing window, he was beaming.
Mum pulled a magazine out of her bag and put it on the bed. ‘We’ve got to go. Dellie and Leonie are in the car, children aren’t allowed in, you
know. As soon as you see Dr Ward, you tell him you want that child circumcised.’
I was still flicking through the magazine when Dr Ward walked in. He pulled the curtains closed and bent over me, speaking softly. ‘How are you, Roberta?’
‘I’m fine, thank you.’
‘Well, you’ve had a healthy son, and as you know, your mother has decided you’re to keep him.’ I knew nothing of the sort, but I suppose I should have guessed from all the arrangements she’d been making at home. Still, I was surprised that something like this could have been decided without my ever being a party to the consent.
‘Mum said he’s to be circumcised,’ I said, grasping at something to say to sound knowledgeable.
‘He doesn’t need it. They’re not done automatically anymore, and he doesn’t need it. You’ll have to start thinking of a name for him soon.’
I couldn’t argue about the circumcision because I didn’t know what this conversation between the doctor and my mother, via me, was all about.
‘Yes,’ I said, in answer to whatever it was he was asking me. Whatever he said, I’d agree with. It seemed safer that way.
Next morning a nurse came to my bed and said that Dr Ward had given instructions for the baby to be bottle fed, but I could feed him the bottle if I wanted. They were going to give me some pills to dry up my milk.
‘Okay. Yes.’ There seemed to be no choice left to me in all the decisions that were being made, and I felt too insignificant in the process, and too ignorant of the details, to be involved anyway. The nurse showed me how to hold the baby and put the bottle in his mouth. It just felt as if I was feeding a baby for someone else. He drank it all, then gnawed on his fingers until the nurse came to take him away.
I was surprised the next day when a visitor arrived during the afternoon. It was Skip, the young man who’d come to see me during the party, and who’d sat beside me when the tray of beer was accidentally dropped on my head. Could it have been only four or five days earlier? It felt like a hundred years.
Snake Cradle Page 26