by Nōnen Títi
He’s gone mad. I need to get up before he kills me. “Please Dad, stop. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t say anything; they did.”
He keeps swinging the rein wildly, screaming, crying and shouting that I hate him.
“No Dad, I don’t. Please stop!” I manage to grab the end of the rein when it hits the ground next to me and yank so he stumbles, giving me time to get up and back away. Aware of him, afraid of him, I turn and run – headlong into Uncle Alistair.
“Where’s Mariette?”
Suddenly there are more voices; many people. I see two of them stop Dad, who is still yelling.
“I didn’t do it. It was an accident,” I tell Lizette’s father.
“Where’s Mariette?” he repeats.
“She went inside.”
“Inside where?”
“The house.”
“Oi!” Uncle Alistair hollers to the other men. “She’s safe. She’s in the house.”
The men all stop and turn. My uncle makes me walk, his hand around the back of my neck. I feel like a criminal. I’m not even sure if she went to the house. “I didn’t want this. They forced me. I’m sorry,” I tell him and I keep saying it.
More people appear when we get to the hallway. They’re all talking but I can’t make out who is who, forced to look down by the fingers around my neck. I don’t want to be here.
I’m only released when Mariette’s mother takes my hand. I let her lead me to an upstairs bathroom. There, in front of the mirror, I’m confronted with what I hadn’t yet felt: My face, arm, sides and legs are covered in welts caused by the rein… Caused by Dad! Everything is wrong suddenly, so terribly wrong. I only realize that I’m crying when Aunt Karen pulls me close. Just like that, in the middle of the bathroom, she holds me the way I think Mum sometimes did when I was little. I can’t stop shaking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
“It is over, Jerome. It’s over.”
MARIETTE
Footsteps in the kitchen and then coming down the stairs make me shudder. I don’t want people. I roll as far as I can into the back corner and try not to breathe. I don’t want to remember.
Dad’s voice announces that he’s found me. I hear him move the crates.
“No. Go away! Leave me alone.”
More bodies come closer. “Are you okay?” they ask.
I scream at them to stop touching me. I kick at their reaching hands.
“Tell her everybody is okay, Gerard,” someone says.
Dad repeats the words. I don’t care. I’m not coming out.
“Let me handle this, Gerard. She’ll want a shower.”
Aunt Alison tries to pull me up. “No, let go of me!” I yell.
“Girl, you smell like fish,” she says and puts her arms under mine and around my chest and drags me away from the corner. Suddenly I can’t fight anymore. I keep my eyes shut tight. When we reach the stairs she loosens her grip and I’m pulled up from above by my arms. I sense people in the kitchen but don’t open my eyes. I’d like to run, but I let it all happen. I can’t think straight. I don’t want to.
“Stuart told me everything,” Aunt Alison says when we’re alone in the back bathroom.
“No.”
“He did, Mariette. I know Stuart. We won’t talk about it for now. We’ll just get you cleaned up.”
She gives me no choice and I can’t fight her. I let her undress me and follow her instructions: I shower, dry off, put on another set of clothes, rinse my mouth, comb my hair and I still feel just as dirty. I’m choked up, unable to speak, unable to cry anymore and I don’t want to be in the kitchen but she makes me sit in front of the stove. Granannie hands me a cup of steaming chocolate milk. The smell makes me sick but I keep holding it. It’s something to do, to look at. I try to not see anybody else, but I know Stuart is there, on Aunt Alison’s other side.
I look then anyway, through my lashes; Dad, Grandpa Will, Glen, Uncle Rory and Toine are on the other side of the table. The big clock says half past four in the morning. It’s very quiet, just like in the barn. My body jolts with the memory and the drink spills. Aunt Alison cleans it up. I can feel Stuart’s eyes on me. I stare at the stain. Why isn’t anybody talking?
Toine’s mother walks in, announces that Marie is with the kids and sits down at the table. She whispers to Uncle Rory while Toine, between them, keeps his head low. Grandpa Will is looking at me. What did Stuart tell them?
After an eternity the door opens again. Mum walks in, her hand on Jerome’s back. His face… When he glances my direction I turn away. Serves him right, whatever it was. I don’t look at Mum either. It seems like everybody is being silent on purpose.
This ends when Lizette walks in with both her parents. She is clean and dressed for travel, carrying her shoulder bag. It’s crowded in the room now.
“We’ve got two hours. How is Charl?” Uncle Alistair asks.
“We don’t know yet. Guillaume said they’d call,” Grandpa Will answers and tells Lizette to sit somewhere. Then he raises his voice. “Okay, you kids, listen to me. I’m not going to ask for explanations or accounts of who did what and why. What I want you to tell me is what people remember on this weekend.”
He can’t be serious. Nobody answers.
“What do people remember today, Stuart?” Grandpa Will demands.
“The wars.”
“Which wars?”
“The World Wars.”
“Right, the wars, but what exactly about them do the soldiers remember? What do they think about today?”
“The friends they lost,” Lizette says.
“No. Not often, anyway.”
“The danger,” Stuart tries.
“Maybe, occasionally.”
“How they fought for peace?” asks Toine when it’s his turn.
“Never! Jerome?”
Jerome shakes his head and doesn’t answer.
“Glen?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you had better start thinking very hard, very fast,” Grandpa Will tells him and asks me next.
“How terrible it was,” is all I can come up with.
“No. They remember the good times; the time they were in power, their victories, all the new friends they made and the little competitions they had between them. The rest they’d rather forget. On days like today they’re officially allowed to long for the time when they could act without guilt because the other guy was the enemy, the time they could roam through the streets of the captured towns and terrorize the locals, take the women, murder the men – even children. Don’t be fooled. These remembrance days aren’t here to warn us about the horrors of war but to glorify them so governments can trick stupid young boys into becoming soldiers. But there is no glory in war. Wars can’t be won; people can only lose them. This family has lost an awful lot of people due to the wars and we don’t want to be reminded. That’s why Granannie won’t allow TV or radio, because she doesn’t want the memories. This farm may be the only place she can hide from the hero nonsense during these weekends – or so we thought until you kids decided to recreate it.”
The silence in the room is even more intense than before. I stare at the ground, but I can feel Granannie’s gaze and I know that Grandpa Will is looking around at everybody before he goes on. “In times of war people lose control of their common sense; not just the soldiers, but everybody. The hormones rush and stop people from thinking rationally, and so things get out of hand. Charl lost control when he heard what was happening. We couldn’t calm him down, so Guillaume and Matthieu have taken him to a doctor. That’s all you need to know for now and each of you had better start thinking about what I just told you.”
Another silence follows but it’s violently interrupted by the sound system starting to broadcast two girls’ voices. I look up at Lizette before thinking about it. Her face slips into a grin. Moments later the noise is replaced by shouting in the garden.
“Now what?” Uncle Rory asks.
JEROME
The news my uncles brought back wasn’t good. Dad has to stay in the town’s hospital on tranquillizers and nobody knows for how long.
“What about school?” Rowan asks.
“School will have to wait a bit. Your father is more important and from here you can visit him once they allow it.”
Which they don’t, for now, and that’s fine with me. I don’t want to see him and I’m sure he won’t get better if he sees me right now. There’s a giant red line running over my face, slowly turning blue. It doesn’t hurt so much as that it looks bad. And school I’d miss like a toothache at best.
Rowan asks a lot of questions. He wants to know what we’ll do on the farm all day and if we can visit the town. Like most of the other kids he has no idea what went on last night and Grandpa Will wants to keep it that way. We’ve all been strictly warned to think but not discuss. All Rowan knows is that Dad is ill and I’ve been in a fight.
“That’s silly. Jerome wouldn’t do that,” Rowan told Grandpa Will, but that was before he saw me. Nobody seems to know what made Dad go crazy all of a sudden, except that he’d been drinking quite a lot. Nobody mentioned anything other than our night-time disaster. I’m not sure what Rowan tells Grandpa Will now that they’ve gone for a walk together, but Rowan doesn’t know either.
“Come and help me peel some potatoes,” Granannie says.
Glad for something to do I oblige while she cuts the greens.
“What happened between you and the other boys that means you can’t look at them?” she asks.
I don’t know how to answer that and focus back on the potato. When I glance at her she is smiling.
MARIETTE
“I think they should have help. She can’t be expected to take care of two growing boys,” Dad says to Mum during the drive home.
“It’s only for a little while.”
“She’s too old. She should give up her hard-headed determination and move to a facility nearby; enjoy her last years.”
“Come on, Gerard, she loves the farm and Uncle Will is perfectly capable of handling those boys.”
“I love Granannie’s home. I don’t want her to leave and Grandpa Will too. He’s like a giant teddy bear to cuddle,” Miranda chimes in.
“I’d feel better if they were closer so we can help out.”
“If old people are still capable they should be independent, Gerard, and-.”
“Listen to yourself, Mum,” I interrupt her. “You’re as bad as he is: ‘if’ and ‘still’. You’re talking down on her, both of you are. I think Granannie is right to stay where she belongs even if she wouldn’t be capable.”
“Nobody asked you. You’ve caused enough problems,” Mum replies.
“Sure, now it’s my fault. I guess that’s all I’ll hear from now on. We were just having a bit of fun. It was the boys who couldn’t control their animalistic instincts.”
“No Mariette. You’re not just the victim in this. If I’m well informed yours was the first move and the second and the third. Where two people fight, two are to blame,” Dad says.
I kick the back of his seat as an answer.
“Stop that.”
“What happened?” Miranda wants to know.
“None of your damn business.”
“Jerome lost his diary and a photo of his mother when you soaked his things last year,” Mum says.
“Fuck, I can see whose ride you’re on.”
“Show some respect for your mother or you can walk home,” Dad threatens.
“Fine, stop the car. I don’t need this.”
“Be quiet, Mariette,” Mum says.
“No, stop the car. I want to get out. I can see I’m not wanted. Why don’t you adopt Jerome?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t get home alone.”
“Who says I’m going home?”
“Just give it a rest. We don’t need your dramatics.”
“‘Just give it a rest’, ‘just behave’, ‘just make sure you pass your grades’, ‘just act normal’,” I mock Mum’s voice. I can see her clenching her teeth in the passenger mirror and her knuckles turn white around the handgrip above her door as the automatic locks click into place.
Figures she’d blame me. It wasn’t us who made this get out of hand. We weren’t fighting, just joking around. It was their fault. They had the worms ready. If we hadn’t acted first… I’ll get them back for it, I swear, and this time it won’t be just a bit of water. This time they’re going to wish they were dead. “Oh!” It is making me furious all over again. I hope Jerome’s face will be scarred forever. I wish I’d followed Uncle Charl… I wish I’d done it. Now they’re all over him feeling sorry for him while I get blamed for starting it. Oh shit, will I ever get him for that. I’ll burn their clothes next time and they can sit in the ashes. I’ll torch their tent when they’re in it, bragging perverts. That’s what I’ll do. I hate men.
“Mariette, stop. You’re ruining it.”
“What?”
Miranda pulls at the magazine I was looking at earlier. The pages are crumpled under my fingers.
JEROME
It’s Tuesday. Toine and Lizette are back in school today, as are my classmates. Some, like Glen and Mariette, don’t start back until tomorrow. I don’t have to go back at all because Dad had a nervous breakdown and won’t be able to leave the hospital for at least four weeks. That’s what Grandpa Will says when he returns from his visit.
“And it’s unlikely he’ll be able to go back to work or drive you to school after that, so we’re thinking you should each stay with a relative until the end of the year.”
“You’re my closest relative,” I tell him.
He smiles at that, but doesn’t say what I already know.
“With who?” Rowan asks.
“Well, we may have a small problem there. They’d all be happy to have either one or both of you, but Guillaume has no space. Matthieu has the same problem we have: they’re in the country without a high school nearby. Marie is never home and has no kids your ages. That leaves four choices: Gerard, Alison, Rory or Alistair.” He looks at me. Translated to my age group that means Mariette, Stuart, Toine or Lizette.
“I wouldn’t mind homeschooling for a while,” I say.
“That may be an option later, but I believe you’re better off going to school for now.”
“Why? I never learn anything I can’t learn from a computer faster.”
“Nevertheless.”
“Can I stay with Marc?” Rowan asks.
“You can. Alistair suggested as much.”
Rowan dances through the kitchen.
“Alistair will take you both if you want,” Grandpa Will says.
But I can’t. Lizette could have drowned and I didn’t even try. Besides, I remember her dad’s hand on my neck. “I’m better off without school. I’d only get bullied.”
“Not if you have a cousin right there with you.”
“Didn’t all your kids go to high school in town every day from here? I could do that.”
“Your grandpa Jerry worked in town, Jerome. He drove there every day. There’s no bus service,” Granannie says.
“Please let me homeschool then. I could help with the work here.”
“No, Jerome. You have a choice of four. If you can’t make the choice, I will have to make it for you.”
There’s no arguing with Grandpa Will. Aunt Alison would be better than Uncle Rory, but I couldn’t face Stuart and Toine right now or their snotty sisters. And it would be Jacqui I’d go to school with, because Stuart is in some apprenticeship after having dropped out a year early. The last option is totally unthinkable. I like Aunt Karen. Uncle Gerard is kind and Miranda is sweet, but… I don’t want to go somewhere else. Why did my dad have to fall apart like that? Why couldn’t someone else? Why does everybody have a mother except me? N
or a father anymore. Why couldn’t he have stayed asleep in his drunkenness? How did he know anyway? Somebody must have told him where to find me. Somebody made Dad go mad. And now he gets to hide in some hospital and leaves it all up to me again. But I won’t this time. I don’t care anymore. Rowan will be okay with Marc and anything is better than school.
“What are you thinking?” Granannie asks.
“I don’t want to go anywhere, not even home. I want to stay with you.”
“Tant pis, Jerome, too bad. Charl will be ill for quite some time. Staying here is not an option.”
MARIETTE
It’s Wednesday. I bang my alarm on the head and turn over.
“Mariette, are you up yet?”
Here we go again, hollering every morning because it’s getting late and ‘you can’t possibly survive until lunchtime without breakfast’. I roll out of bed to keep her from coming in and dig out my faded black pants and the once-green now-grey school shirt from the pile on the chair where they’ve sitting been since last week. Only a few threats are left of the embroidery that once spelled ‘Flatland High School’.
“People will think I never wash or iron,” Mum whinges, coming out of Miranda’s room.
“So?” Who cares what people think? There’s nothing in school to be tidy for. Certainly not for the boys, which is what most girls do, wearing their skirts up to their cheeks. How pathetic is that? They should just shoot all male babies when they’re born; that would solve all the world’s problems. No more wars, no more sex-crimes, no more cowboy presidents smiling on TV while bombing women and children on the other side of the world. No more popes or generals, no more Kathleen falling head over heels every few weeks, no more Stuart or Jerome.
I kick my bag down the stairs ahead of me.
“Hey, what’s that for? You’ll ruin your books,” Mum scolds from behind me.
“Maybe that’s a good thing. What’s in them worth the ink?”
“Don’t be so negative. Get some breakfast or you’ll miss the bus.”
I walk out the door without breakfast and leave Mum to complain to the walls. She’s very good at that.