In the Real World

by Nōnen Títi

  “Despite your panic you broke the window in order to get help. That was pretty clear thinking, but now you’re upset because I took over, am I right? I asked for water, but you ran off.”

  “I just wanted to tell you what happened, so you’d know.”

  “At that point I had no need for more information.”

  “I just thought it better if I stayed, because… but you wouldn’t even listen.”

  “Mariette, look at me. In a crisis situation democracies don’t work. In an emergency, discussions lead to deaths. Only one person should be in charge. Regardless of you being there first, your place was to obey my orders.”

  “But I just wanted to help.”

  “I needed your help. I needed the water to wash out his stomach. Ambulances aren’t parked around the corner here, you know.”

  I have no response for him. I hadn’t thought about that; I’d assumed it was for cleaning. “I thought you thought it was my fault, like Jerome; that I shouldn’t have gone there.”

  “You should have told me right away, not Jerome. I appreciate you not wanting to place undue blame, but I wasn’t a policeman or a judge; I am his father. A bit of trust wouldn’t have harmed.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “This means we’ll have to start over, Mariette. We have to go back to zero and we’ll have to be patient, not just with Charl but with Jerome too. I’m going to suggest he return with you in two weeks’ time, which is about when Charl may be coming home again. That way Jerome can have school distractions and a normal family life, which he’s never had much of. It’ll give me a chance to deal with my son without Charl losing his dignity in front of his kids. Can you understand that?”

  I nod.

  “Listen carefully, Mariette. What I’m saying is that I will inform Jerome about that and you will not. What I’m saying is that you will not in any way make him feel he’s not welcome, nor will you make life difficult for your mum and dad. If all goes well with Charl, all you kids, all six of you, will spend the summer holidays on the farm as planned. I’ve not finished with the other three yet either. If you have a problem keeping to that, you will find out then how hard working on the farm can really be. And I strongly suggest you start watching your moves at school too.”

  I nod to acknowledge that I heard him, my hand on the letter in my pocket, but when he leaves I haven’t yet mentioned it. I didn’t have any intention of making life hard for Jerome. I just wish, as much as he does, that I could stay here. I don’t want to think about going back to school. I might as well get a job. Nothing I do will ever be good enough anymore.

  I talk to Granannie about it at night. “It would be for Jerome too. We wouldn’t interfere with Grandpa Will and Uncle Charl, I promise. We’d do all the work you want.”

  “You can’t hide away from the problems, Mariette. You will have to go back and face them.”

  “There’s nothing to face. They’ve long decided to fail me anyway. It would be prison, nothing else. I can’t do that. Please talk to him.”

  “What makes you think this is Grandpa Will’s idea and I will be able to change his mind?”

  “Could you at least try?”

  “You are not listening to me, Mariette. It may have been Grandpa Will telling you, but I made the decision.”

  “You did?” I have to recover from this figurative slap in the face. Somehow I’d always assumed she was my ally.

  I don’t mention it again. They’re together in this, so I’ll have to convince Mum. I don’t mention it to Jerome either and I keep the existence of the letter away from all of them. I have no idea what to do with it. I should have shown it to Grandpa Will right away but I didn’t. Besides, Uncle Charl might not want them to know. It was obviously a secret. He’d die – bad pun – if he knew I’d read it.

  It’s just one sheet of paper, but the suggestion of an intriguing romance is enough to spark me into writing a story. The idea of Uncle Charl having led a double life with its mysterious narrator, who I imagine as a tall, dark, Yanni-kind of guy, only because his name is Nikos. At least now I know why he tried to kill himself. That incident with Jerome didn’t cause his depression and neither did I.

  Over the next two weeks I write a bit of my story every evening. Instead of breaking up, as the letter suggests my uncle did for the sake of his kids, I have them all live together in the end to give Jerome a new family. I keep the story inside my folder in my bag.

  In the last week of our stay on the farm, Stuart and Rowan go back to Uncle Alistair’s with a letter for Lizette; my grandparents’ home has no internet connection and a phone call is too direct. In the meantime, Jerome’s been to visit his father once and Grandpa Will has told him he’ll come home with me this Friday. It seems like he expected that.

  Aunt Ellie arrives on Wednesday. She’s Grandpa Will’s only daughter and not married. She spends as much time abroad as she does here. She’ll stay with Granannie so Grandpa Will can take us from the town by train and stay the weekend. I’ve tried several times to convince him that we can manage the trip together, but I don’t think he trusts us – not me, anyway. I can’t deny that I’ve thought about quietly disappearing. I’ll find a way yet, but I’m not humiliating myself by going back to school on Monday.

  JEROME

  It’s only six when I roll off the airbed, trying to be quiet so not to wake Grandpa Will. I offered to take Uncle Gerard’s futon downstairs so he could have my room to himself, but he refused. I tiptoe to the bathroom and take a shower. I’m still stripping the sheets when he wakes up.

  “What’s the hurry? Isn’t this Saturday?”

  “Just couldn’t sleep; I had a dream,” I answer.

  “A dream you can share?”

  “No.” I turn to hang the towel over the radiator.

  “Will you be okay, Jerome? I know you’d hoped to never go back to school, but for now it’s better this way.”

  I tell him once again that I’ll be fine. “I don’t mind being here as much as last time. At least at this school I don’t have to be afraid every day and I look forward to seeing Fred again.” What I don’t tell him is that I like to pretend I belong here; that I have two sisters and normal parents. That feeling was especially strong when we arrived last night after Uncle Gerard picked us up from the train station. I recognized it as a sort of homecoming. I know where everything is and I know the routine. I love the routine, the knowing what will come next; that dinner will be on the table and that everybody will stay in tonight.

  “Why tidy up all your bed wear? Leave it out; I won’t fall over it,” Grandpa Will says.

  “I don’t mind doing it.”

  I leave him to get dressed and go downstairs, thinking I’ll be the first one there, but I find Mariette and Uncle Gerard in the kitchen.

  “This is something that would need considerable research, Mariette. I’m not willing to embrace an impulsive move like that at this stage.”

  “There is no other stage, Dad. I’m not going back.”

  “Good morning, Jerome. Did you know that Mariette has been making plans to study through a correspondence school or has she just sprouted this idea?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I have thought about it. I found all the addresses and I read the web page. I can call them on Monday. Will you please give me the chance? It isn’t even that expensive.”

  “You wouldn’t study, Mariette. It all sounds nice, but you’d slack off.”

  “No, Dad, I wouldn’t; not if the subjects actually made sense for a change. You’re projecting what you’d have done at my age.”

  Mariette is getting agitated and it’s only seven-thirty in the morning. This will get out of hand unless her parents give in to the idea.

  “I’ll talk to your mum,” is the best my uncle can do.

  “No, don’t. Make a decision for yourself for a change. Mum is scared of doing anything different from the neighbours. I thought I could trust you.”

  Uncle Gerard stands up and w
alks out the door.

  “Shit.”

  “Maybe if you weren’t so aggressive…”

  “…Maybe if you’d mind your own business,” she answers.

  That afternoon when we’re out shopping I catch Mariette trying to convince Aunt Karen. “You wouldn’t want everybody in the neighbourhood saying you did a bad job raising your kids, would you?” she asks.

  I turn my eyes away when she looks at me. I want nothing to do with this.

  “I’ll think about it. Maybe next year,” Aunt Karen says.

  “No, Mum, it’s now or never or I can leave if you’d prefer. I’ll go far away and get a job. I’m allowed to drop out.”

  “You’ll never get a good job if you don’t have a degree. Nowadays even lollipop ladies need to have a university diploma,” Aunt Karen says.

  “Which shows you how much nonsense it is. It’s only a status symbol.”

  “Without which they won’t give you a job anywhere, Mariette.”

  “Okay, already, let’s just go.” Mariette starts walking in a bit of a hurry when Grandpa Will and Miranda come out of the shop.

  Does she really think her parents won’t discuss this with him? I can’t blame her for trying, but my aunt and uncle won’t make such a radical decision easily. They’re not the kind to do that and she’s hoping to get them to promise her before Monday. Not a chance.

  After dinner Miranda serves a cake she baked earlier with Mariette’s help. The decoration, made with three colours of icing, shows the face of Mr Moralis – at least, the letters underneath suggest as much. “I get to have his brains. That’s the biggest piece because it’s full of air,” Miranda says.

  “Don’t go filling her head with ideas. She still has to go to that school,” Aunt Karen tells Mariette, who makes sure to hack hard into the cake head to give her sister the piece she wants.

  “If you’re clever, Mum, you’ll enrol her somewhere else because they’ll discriminate against her from the moment they hear her name.”

  “Of course they won’t. Would they do that, Jerome?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When Mariette gets a job, I get to have her room,” Miranda says.

  “Mariette is not getting a job. Don’t believe everything she tells you,” Aunt Karen replies.

  At Miranda’s request we agree to play board games, which is what I picture when I imagine a family doing things together.

  “Let’s play The Game of Life. That’s so true. As long as you play by the rules, you’ll reach the finish, no matter how many useless moves you make,” Mariette suggests.

  She gets no reaction to that and doesn’t push it any further that evening, but on Sunday she turns her manipulation game on full.

  “Dad would let me but he’s afraid you’ll blame him,” she tells her mother.

  “Mum is only worried you’ll get involved and do the work for us,” she says to Uncle Gerard.

  “It is too early, Mariette,” he answers.

  Next she calls Kathleen and talks on the phone for a long time. “Kathleen did her work experience in a print shop. They’re looking for permanent help. I’ll call them tomorrow.”

  “You can call them after you come home, and for a weekend job only,” Aunt Karen says.

  Mariette replies that there’s no law to keep her in school and she won’t stay here if she isn’t wanted. Uncle Gerard shakes his head at me as if to say, “Nothing’s changed”.

  “Now you see what goes on all the time when she’s home,” Aunt Karen says to Grandpa Will, who doesn’t respond to that.

  “See, you’d prefer it if I’m not here,” Mariette says.

  “That’s not true! I prefer peace, that’s all.”

  “You can have all the peace you want if you don’t force me to go back to that concentration camp.”

  “Enough Mariette, that kind of reference is uncalled for,” Grandpa Will says, and that silences her for a while.

  She starts again when the news comes on showing the Prime Minister busily denying Amnesty International’s charges of breaching the Human Rights Act.

  “What’s the use of going to school if some maniac president is out to blow up the world for his own personal glory while his puppy dogs lick his arse instead of protecting their home?”

  “Could you please refrain from commenting on everything?”

  “Oh, you mean like in school; don’t have an opinion? What did you want, Dad, a robot? You should have refrained from something else in that case.”

  I glance at Grandpa Will, embarrassed by Mariette’s insults and then try to rescue the evening: “You know, he went to school and it certainly didn’t do the world any good,” I tell my uncle, gesturing to the TV. “But people like Einstein, da Vinci, Edison, Tolstoy, Benjamin Franklin, Monet and Pierre Curie were all homeschooled. In fact, Einstein was kicked out of school with the message that he was dumb when he was our age.”

  “I appreciate you trying to help, Jerome, but we need to look into this. I don’t even know if it’s legal,” Uncle Gerard answers.

  “It’s legal. Besides, we’re sixteen; we could drop out. I don’t mean to cause problems, but it would be nice if we could homeschool together here. We’d learn a whole lot more than any school could teach us.”

  Aunt Karen stands up and busies herself with coffee and cups, the way she does when the conversation gets troublesome. Mariette sends me a thank-you look and it looks like my efforts have restored the peace. After Miranda has gone to bed, Grandpa Will stands up. “I’ll retire as well. Don’t hurry, Jerome. I usually read for a while.”

  “How about a little good luck drink first?” Uncle Gerard asks and pulls out a bottle of vermouth and five glasses. “Nothing heavy, just a warming-up drink before bed,” he promises me.

  I agree to try some.

  “We’ll drink to Charl getting better this time, no matter how long it takes,” he says when we toast.

  “You should consider this your second home and come and go as needed,” Aunt Karen tells me.

  I smile at her; that offer of belonging lets me keep the dream going.

  Grandpa Will gets up again. “I’ll certainly sleep all right now; goodnight, all.”

  The rest of us sit in silence for a bit after he leaves the room. I sip the drink and enjoy its warmth; not just the sensation the liquid causes, but us being here – family warmth.

  “So you went to see Charl?”

  I describe the visit. “He never once looked at me.”

  “Give it time, Jerome. Try to relax,” my uncle says.

  “I’ll try.”

  “We should all get some sleep. Tomorrow is Monday. I’ve bought some new shirts so you can each have two and we have an appointment at eight-thirty to sign a contract, Mariette, so I’ll drive you in,” Aunt Karen says.

  “Are you deaf or just stupid, Mum? I’m not going. I certainly won’t sign any pathetic contract and you can’t force me. You don’t have a legal leg to stand on.”

  “Except maybe the fact that we’re still feeding and housing you,” Uncle Gerard tells her.

  “I’ll leave right now if you don’t want me and I don’t need your charity!” Mariette throws her glass across the room.

  I sink the rest of my drink, hoping it will take away the pain like it seems to do for Dad. A moment later I hear the front door open. Aunt Karen jumps up and runs into the hallway. Uncle Gerard follows her and I follow him to where Aunt Karen is pleading with Mariette to stop her going out the door, the way I used to do with Dad. They stand opposite each other like two cats, tails up – Mariette taunting but not really leaving and Aunt Karen somewhere between fury and tears. “Don’t be ridiculous! You can’t go out alone at night.”

  “What do you care anyway? You can’t wait to be rid of me. Who knows, maybe I’ll get killed so you don’t have to be ashamed for the neighbours anymore.”

  Aunt Karen, much less in control of herself than Mariette, shouts that it isn’t true and grabs a hold of Mariette’s jumper.
Almost too quick for me to follow, Mariette yanks it loose and kicks her mother. Aunt Karen moves to slap back at her but stops herself at the last moment.

  “Go ahead, do it; see what good parent marks you get then. You might as well say goodbye to Miranda too,” Mariette sneers.

  I want to step in. I’d like to stop my cousin from saying these things, but I don’t think I can do that and a lump in my throat makes speaking impossible. I wish Uncle Gerard would stop her but he only tries to talk his wife into backing off.

  “I’m only doing this because I love you!” Aunt Karen shouts, ignoring Uncle Gerard.

  “If you loved me you wouldn’t send me back to school, but as it is, it’s pretty clear you don’t give a damn, so goodbye!”

  Now Mariette really does step through the door and threatens to close it. She has nothing with her, not even a coat. The streets are dark and deserted. There’s no transport. What will she do? I’d like to run after her. I’d like to kick Uncle Gerard to make him stop her.

  “No, Mariette, don’t leave. We’ll talk about it. I’ll call the school in the morning. Just don’t go,” Aunt Karen begs the door, and very slowly it re-opens as my aunt keeps pleading.

  There is just an inkling of victory in Mariette’s eyes when she looks at me. “Are you saying we can homeschool?” she asks her mother, her voice artificially sweet.

  My head has just registered that she pulled it off and that I won’t have to go back either when Grandpa Will, in dressing gown, steps in from behind the door. “No, no, no, no,” he says and pulls Mariette inside by her arm while pushing the door shut. “She is going to school. I will take her.”

  It takes Mariette seconds to assess the situation. “You fucking bitch, you tricked me!” she shouts at Aunt Karen and kicks again, but she can’t get out of Grandpa Will’s grip. “Can’t you mind your own business?” she yells at him and tries to physically fight him, but to no avail. I never knew my grandfather had self-defence experience, but with a simple arm grip he has her bent over and makes her walk in front of him, effortlessly, as if he’s only half his age. He stops in front of my uncle. “Your choice. Decide now,” he says.