by Julia North
My hands tremble as I fill in the answers as honestly as I can. Questions two to five deal with my childhood and family. Are there drinking problems in your family? The bloodline of our generational curse rises up at me through the veins of time. I give a wry laugh as I remember Dad telling my nine-year-old self, ‘Good news, Lissa. Mommy’s given up drinking.’ He was so happy about it and I still can remember the mixture of joy and relief that flooded through me at that moment. I’d burst into a torrent of happy tears and hugged him so hard it hurt. I’d thought it must’ve been the visit to that revival tent that did it, that all our lives had suddenly been cleansed, that from then on our family would be new and different, and just like Pastor Jorge’s happy one. What a joke. All it meant was that Mom started drinking a different brand of wine instead of her usual Zonheimer, but I guess at least its chemical reaction on her brain was of a far milder variety. What the hell was in that Zonheimer that it could turn her into such a bitch? I think Dad also thought it meant she was stopping, and I remember his smile fading as quickly as it came when he saw Mom pull the two-litre bottle of Lieberstein out of the Spar shopping packet. But if he’d been honest with himself, he’d have seen he had a drinking problem himself, albeit just a weekend one.
I hold my head in my hands and give a low laugh. My whole long, ancestral line probably had a problem. I never met my granddad, but who the hell gets hit by a train unless they’re pie-eyed crossing the tracks? That’s probably why granny was teetotal and hated alcohol. Well, good for her; at least there was one person in our family who saw the light – shame we didn’t all follow her example. I let the rest of my family parade one by one through my mind. Aunty Yvonne, and even Nat and Elsa have drunk too much at times, despite their self-righteous attitude. They’re not immune; none of us are. Perhaps the whole lot of them should’ve joined me in rehab – we could have added a new name to the pack of Happy Families: Mr and Mrs On-the-Waggon and their three daughters, Teetotal, Sobriety and Abstinence, all being happily treated by Dr Brink. Except, of course, our pack is broken and shredded, the chief card blown apart in a stinking fountain of blood.
My chest constricts and tears fill my eyes. I wipe them away and shake my head from side to side to chase away the dark thoughts which are crawling like cockroaches through my brain. Dr Brink will be back soon. I have to finish this without ending up a crying wreck. I look down at the final question. It asks me how I feel about being here. I place the pen back in my mouth and stare down at the letters until they blur. I guess if I were to answer that honestly, I do have a sense of relief. There is a part of me that’s actually glad I’ve come. Yes, shame still eats into me, but I don’t need to let it smother me any more. I count back the days. I’ve been sober for two days now – that’s something – a glimmer of self-respect, the start of my own resurrection perhaps? I haven’t suffered any of the DTs like some drunks; in fact I haven’t even taken a tranquiliser, an anti-depressant – nothing. I’ve done it on my own. I’m not one of the million Valium and Prozac junkies who’ve needed a new crutch to help them get rid of the old one. No, I’ve done it in my own strength, drawn deeply from my own spirit of self-control. I lift up my head and look out towards the window and mouth a ‘Well done, Melissa’ to myself before leaning back into the soft armchair and taking in a long, deep breath right down to my belly. A smile creeps across my face. That’s the first time for I don’t know how long that I’ve been kind about myself.
A tap on the inter-leading door makes me jump. Dr Brink enters. ‘You done?’ he asks in a warm voice.
‘Yes, I think so,’ I mumble.
‘Good.’ He settles into the armchair opposite me and for a second we stare at each other without speaking. The clickety-click of the whirring fan fills the room.
Dr Brink clears his throat. ‘I’m hoping we can have some sessions in which we really explore the roots of your drinking, Melissa. It’ll be a bit like peeling an onion. We’ll have to take off layer after layer until we get to the bitter core. Once we’ve exposed it; we can heal it. Is that okay with you?’
I give a wry smile and nod. Yes, I guess being an onion is a good metaphor for me. I’ve burnt myself with my own juices; stung my own eyes so that they’re red and running and full of pain. It’ll be good to shed the layers, expose the rotten core, but somehow I doubt if it’s really possible.
‘Shall we go through the questions, or would you rather just talk?’
I look down in silence at my family history splattered across the clipboard. ‘Perhaps just talk.’
‘Okay.’ Dr Brink leans back into his chair and holds his hands together like I’m about to give confession. ‘What do you think the roots of your drinking are?’
Chapter 6
‘Look … there’re some dust devils playing in our wake,’ says Daddy, glancing into the rear-view mirror as we speed along through the wide desert spaces of the Karoo. I turn and look out of the back window of the Zephyr. Five spinning circles of red dust are dancing behind us as we zoom over the dry sand plains.
‘They’re chasing us.’
Daddy laughs and puts his foot down. ‘We’re too fast for them.’
Mommy clicks her tongue. ‘Slow down, Jon.’
I look out at the desert with its dots of dark green thorn bushes. ‘How come the plants don’t die here, Daddy?’
Daddy catches my eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘They’ve got waxy leaves to keep in water, but I think even they’re a bit thirsty today.’
Daddy’s right, their leaves are hanging. I know just how they feel. I haven’t even got any spit left to swallow. I push my head out of the passenger window and peer up at the wide blue sky. There’s not even one cloud up there and the air outside feels like the inside of our stove.
‘See those hills,’ Daddy says, ‘they’re called the “Three Sisters”, just like you three.’
I squint my eyes at three humped hills far in front of us. They look like rondavels with their flattened tops. Two are huddled close together while one sits further apart. I grit my teeth and look at my sisters with narrow eyes before asking impatiently, ‘When will we get there, Daddy?’
‘Not too long, Lissakins.’ Daddy gives me a wink.
‘Agh, this old Karoo goes on forever.’ Mommy sighs and turns her head to look out at the desert. ‘I don’t know how Yvonne and Piet live here. It would drive me mad.’
Daddy looks at Mommy and shrugs his shoulders. ‘Sheep need space.’
‘It’s high time people moved on from the bloody great trek,’ says Mommy, pushing her lips together.
The land rolls out forever and ever in front of us until it melts into the blue sky like it’s been swallowed up by the sea. There must be dinosaur ghosts living here, it’s so big.
‘If you aren’t careful with those ANC friends of yours we’ll also end up having to run away and live in the middle of nowhere,’ says Mommy, still staring out the window.
Daddy frowns. ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Maria!’
‘You have to be more careful, Jon. You know it’s dangerous. Thabo and Isaac are visiting too often.’
‘Let’s just enjoy the beauty of the Karoo, shall we?’ Daddy says, but Mommy’s face just grows more angry.
My chest tightens. ‘Why can’t Thabo and Isaac visit?’
‘See what you’ve started,’ says Daddy.
Mommy turns and glares at me. ‘Just look at the Karoo, Melissa.’
I push out by bottom lip and stick my head out of the window again.
‘Look girls, there’s a good view of the Three Sisters now,’ says Daddy as the three rondavel hills come up by the side of us.
Nat and Elsa look up from the Jackie magazine they’re reading and roll their eyes at each other. ‘Turn up the radio, Dad,’ says Nat, flicking back her Barbie hair as she leans forward onto the back of Daddy’s seat.
Daddy turns up the volume as the stupid Moody Blues sing Knights in White Satin. They look at each other and smile and then sing the words of the song.
All they ever do now is talk about love and boys. I stare hard at them but they don’t even notice.
At last we reach the high iron gates at the entrance to Aunty Yvonne’s farm. Daddy stops the Zephyr and gets out and squeaks open the gates, pushing them hard against the high barbed wire fence. He drives us through and then gets out again to close them.
He drives up the long dirt drive lined with umbrella trees on each side. I squint up through the green-laddered leaves and thorns and smile at their round yellow pom-poms of flowers and then push my head out some more to look back and count the red dust devils which are still dancing along behind us. There’s a small wind blowing and the red dust tickles my nose. It smells like my paint set.
A big field of mealies whizzes by on the side of us. It looks like a golden sea with all the hundreds of yellow stalks of corn reaching up to the sky like they’re praising it. I just want to run and run forever and hide in their arms and stare at them until my eyes turn to gold. The farmhouse appears: it’s white with green window shutters and a green roof. It grows bigger and bigger as we get closer.
Daddy parks near the double garage as the door of the house flies open. ‘Jonnie, Maria … Agh, how good to see you guys!’ A fat woman with long black hair piled high on her head like a coil pot runs towards us, waving her hands in the air. Her top’s a bright red satin and bounces up and down like a giant strawberry jelly as she runs.
Daddy smiles and gives her a hug. ‘Hello there, cuz, long time no see.’
She hugs him back and then smacks her lips on both his cheeks. ‘It’s been far too long, Jonnie. Now where’s that Maria?’
Mommy climbs out of the Zephyr. They hug each other and Aunty Yvonne kisses Mommy hard on both cheeks. Mommy smiles and then pats her favourite orange and green dress which is very creased from the car. She frowns and wipes away some of the dust on it and then strokes down some hair that’s sticking up from the hug.
‘Agh, and you, little one, you must be Melissa. Agh, no Jonnie, she is too sweet. Come and give Aunty Yvonne a big hug.’
I try not to pull a face as she puts her fat arms around me. As soon as she lets me go I pull away and move over to Daddy.
‘She’s much better than a son hey, Jonnie.’
‘Of course.’ Daddy laughs and puts his hand on my shoulder.
‘Three girls are just fine for me,’ says Mommy, giving me a small smile.
Aunty Yvonne turns to Nat and Elsa. ‘Agh, and these two! What beautiful teenagers they are! So petite, just like little dolls, and they’ve got your lovely, long blonde hair, Maria. Come over here and also give Aunty Yvonne a big hug, girls.’
Elsa and Nat stand stiff like two wattle trees while she hugs them. She strokes Elsa’s Barbie hair and then Nat’s.
‘You look like twins.’
Nat and Elsa say nothing. I frown at them. Why are they so rude? Mommy will be cross. Elsa whispers something to Nat and she giggles.
‘Right, folks, in you come. Piet’s got some nice cold gin and tonics waiting. We’re going to have a braai later with some lovely fresh lamb chops on the fire. This is so exciting. I can’t believe you’re all here. It’s been far too long. That Elsa was only four when I saw you last and Natalie was just three, and you, little Melissa, was still just a twinkle in your Daddy’s eye. Now you’re nine years old already. Agh, but she’s precious, Maria.’
‘Yes,’ says Mommy with a faraway look in her eyes.
‘Right, folks, let me show you the way to the bedrooms. I’ve put the three girls in the one room with a camp-bed in the corner for Melissa, and you two are in the guest suite.’
‘Sounds lovely, thank you,’ says Mommy.
Nat and Elsa walk towards the house. I glare at their backs. They’re even wearing the same mini dress, except Nat’s is bright green and Elsa’s is pink. Why do they have to always have everything the same and look like Barbie dolls while I have to have the camp bed? Why do they always have the best just because they’re bigger? But as we walk deep into the big house I feel better. It smells of polish and roses. The floor has black tiles and lots of cosy armchairs with roses on the cushions. It feels like a happy house and I’m glad I can stay in it for a week, even if I’m going to be by myself.
‘Oh Maria, I can’t tell you how good it is to see new faces. I can’t believe it’s ten years since we saw each other.’
‘Yes,’ says Mommy, still with that faraway look still in her eyes. ‘In the blink of an eye the time’s gone.’
Aunty Yvonne gives Mommy a strange look. ‘You’re quite a deep one on the quiet, hey?’
Mommy blushes and gives a shy laugh. ‘It’s probably the creeping menopause I guess; it makes you wonder where it all goes.’
‘I know just what you mean, my girl,’ says Aunty Yvonne, ‘but at least you’ve had three lovely children.’
Aunty Yvonne gets a sad look in her eyes and Mommy gives a small smile and nods.
Chapter 7
The next day I’m on my own with no-one to play with. I wish we’d brought Eunice, but Daddy said she needed to have a holiday back in the Transkei with her own children. I wander into the lounge and plonk myself down on the soft armchair by the window. I can see Mommy and Aunty Yvonne who are sitting on the porch. I peer at them through the burglar bars and hear them talk.
‘I’m scared just now the bloody police are going arrest Jon,’ Mommy says. ‘He’s too involved with that ANC.’ Her voice sounds cross.
‘Agh, you know how he feels about apartheid.’ Aunty Yvonne leans across and pats Mommy’s arm.
Mommy’s face stays pouty, while my throat grows tight. I don’t want the police to take Daddy away. Maybe I should talk to him. I wish he would come back now instead of being with Uncle Piet and the stupid sheep again.
‘We’ve got children to think of,’ says Mommy, ‘he can’t risk everything. Things are getting worse in the townships.’
Aunty Yvonne goes quiet for a bit. ‘He’s an ex-Royal Marine, Maria, it’s in his blood. But you’re right, I’ll try and speak to him. Agh, it’s a horrible old world we live in, hey? Give me your glass, I’ll pour us another G & T.’
Aunty Yvonne gets up and comes inside. I hide behind the chair as she goes to the trolley and pours some drinks from the big gin bottle. I grin. She hasn’t even seen me. I wait until she closes the door before I creep out from behind the chair and sink back into its big rose cushion. I can hear Nat and Elsa giggling from the bedroom. I push my lips together and narrow my eyes. I hate them! Why do I always have to be by myself? Why do they always have to think they’re such big deals just because they’re older? I grind my teeth together as thoughts stomp like angry buffalos through my head. I wish everything was different. I wish I was a boy; then maybe Mommy would be happy with me? Maybe Nat and Elsa would like a little brother better; maybe they would play more with him?
I hate being the baby and having short hair the colour of a chestnut. It isn’t fair. It just isn’t fair! I look around the room for something to throw. I get up and pick up the glass ashtray. It feels heavy in my hand. I want to throw it at the window and smash it so that the glass shoots out like the ANC bomb Mommy shouted at Daddy about before we left. Why do I have to be by myself? Even Auntie Yvonne’s Great Dane, Tiggy, doesn’t want to play with me. She’s gone with Dad and that stupid Uncle Piet who doesn’t even talk to me.
I drop the ashtray back on the table. The loud thud makes me feel better. I kick the side table and then the trolley. I look at the bottle on the trolley. It seems to make Mommy and Auntie Yvonne happy. I can hear them laughing now. Mommy’s not cross any more. Why shouldn’t I have some too?
I twist the red lid with fierce fingers. I put my nose on the open top. Ugh, it smells horrible. Maybe it tastes better. It must do if grown-ups like it so much. I pour some into the bottom of a glass. It looks like water. I lift the crystal glass and taste it with the tip of my tongue and pull a face. It’s bitter and burns my lips. I pick up a bottle of coke from the trolley and fizz it i
n before taking another small sip. That’s better. It slides down my throat and makes a small fire in my tummy. I smile as a funny feeling falls to my legs. They feel so heavy. I take a big sip and then another. This is nice; it makes my mind stop thinking. My whole body feels happy now. I grin to myself. It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay. This must be why the grownups drink this. It’s happy juice. I take another big sip and then fill up my glass with some more. The warm fuzziness fills my whole body and I give a little hiccup. I pour a bit more with some coke. I don’t care about anything any more. I don’t care if Nat and Elsa don’t want me. I don’t care if Mommy wants a boy instead of me. I just feel happy, happy, happy. I start to sing, Nkosi Sikilele iAfrika, the song Daddy taught me but that I must only sing in secret at the top of my voice, but I stop after the first line as Nat walks in.
‘Lissa, you okay?’ She gives me a strange look.
‘Yesh, I was jusch singing. I’m fine.’
‘What’ve you had?’ Nat comes closer, sniffing the air around me. ‘You look sheepish.’
I frown. What’s she talking about sheep for?