GRETA
It happened in the middle of the night.
I woke with stomach cramps, like the curse, so I went to the toilet. I was dizzy and confused and I knew something was wrong. And then, when I looked into the toilet…I was screaming and there was blood on my nightie and on my hands. The first person I saw was Angeline. She flung open the bathroom door and ran to me, and when she saw what I could see I could hear her, like an echo resonating around me…
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…
I turned, saw her white face, and knew the truth. Then the black and white tiles came up to greet my face.
I woke later in blackness. My head was throbbing, and I could taste blood in my mouth. Doctor Marsh was there, and Tomás’s face loomed above mine. He was holding my hand and there were tears in his eyes. I was astonished. I’ve never seen my husband cry, not even when his mother died. I knew it was bad then, and I croaked, The baby…and he just let the tears slide down his face, and then I knew it was true and I knew it hadn’t just been a nightmare, and I was afraid to touch myself, to feel the empty shell I now was.
CHRISTINA
They drove down a long straight road, with the flat fields stretching all the way to the bottom of that large blue mountain. It hypnotised her. Every time she looked at the hazy blue form, it made her want to fall on her knees. She found it hard to peel her eyes away from it.
They passed the odd wooden house or barn. They looked so sweet and old-fashioned. This wasn’t how she’d expected America to look. The cab turned right into the main street, and it was even more like a film set. Pretty little clapboard houses and shops stood side by side. The town was bustling with people eating ice creams and wandering in and out of speciality shops, with window displays of crystals and crafts, sculpture and paintings. Everything was shiny and bright.
They left town and drove down a couple of quiet residential streets. Even here the houses were picturesque. She could see water, and the car turned up a slight incline and went across a bridge. Cian pointed out the window. ‘Look, Mammy, boats! Is that the sea?’
‘I think it’s a little river.’
‘It’s the Swinomish Channel,’ said the cab driver, turning slightly. ‘Where you going again?’
‘1274 Chilberg Avenue.’
‘All righty, nearly there.’
Christina’s stomach tightened. She found her water bottle and took a huge swig.
‘Look, Mammy!’
Where were they now? Suddenly the road had widened and they were driving through a street of run-down houses, some no better than shacks. There was rubbish piled up outside and litter on the road, with scraps of cars here and barrels and bits from bikes there. The picture-postcard image was shattered.
‘Sorry about this,’ the driver apologised. ‘It’s just not important to them to keep their houses nice, you know. It’s a shame.’
‘Where are we?’ Christina asked.
‘This is the reservation.’
Once she looked past the chaos, she could see pieces of sculpture outside nearly every house. They passed one porch with a huge totem beside the door and another place with a wooden eagle on its gable. There were lots of people about here – children running across the street and women sitting on rusty garden furniture outside the houses, chatting and looking serene amid all the debris. On one side of the street was a hut with FIREWORKS FOR SALE written on the side.
The driver read her thoughts. ‘That’s for July Fourth,’ he explained. ‘We’re not allowed to sell fireworks, so you can only buy them on the reservation. You should see it down here on the night, it’s crazy!’
Once they were out of the reservation the houses became more spaced out, with dark green woods fringing either side of the road.
‘Chilberg Avenue!’ the driver announced.
The car veered to the left, and they were travelling down a road alongside a scraggy beach with piles of white driftwood and a stretch of blue water. There was land on the other side, an island, not the vast expanse of ocean Christina had expected. To her right were more houses, all different and all equally attractive. There were no people about any more, just beautifully manicured lawns and verandas decorated with spinning wind chimes. The car pulled in to the left outside a dark brown wooden house with glass all along its front.
‘Here we are.’
Christina slid stiffly out of her seat, with Cian following her. She licked her lips. Her mouth tasted of dread but she had to do this now. There was nowhere else to go.
‘Is this Granny’s house?’ Cian asked.
‘I hope so,’ Christina said, paying the cab and taking her case out. There was no one around. Just one truck passed by on the road and pulled into the beach a short distance ahead. But she could see a car parked in the garage of the house. There was someone home.
She walked up to the front door, Cian skipping ahead. There was no knocker, just a hanging chime. Christina tapped it with a metal stick hanging next to it. It tinkled into the distance.
They waited.
GRETA
It’s still April, and it’s snowing. The world is grieving, like me – all the buds, the new life, has been tricked, shivering and shocked in this unexpected cold spell. I sit at the window on the top landing and stare at the snow. Up I look at the white nothing sky, and down I follow the whirling blizzard. Large flat flakes melt as soon as they land. Some cling onto the grass, but the yard is wet and black, touches of white making it look even dirtier.
Christina comes now and sees the snow, and she starts to jump up and down. Snow, snow, snow, she trills. It’s beautiful! Mammy, Mammy, can we go out and play with it?
It’s melting, Christina, it won’t stick.
But there’s enough for snowballs, please, please, she pleads, and her baby blue eyes open so wide that I can’t look at her, it hurts too much, so I say, Ask Angeline, and she goes away.
I’m looking at snow falling on snow. The fragile flakes are tiny souls fluttering to the ground, like my baby, like all of our lives. I gaze at the white blank of the sky, and in that instant I lose my faith. It’s like a torch that has been pulled out of my grasp, and now I’m groping in the darkness. Everyone becomes shadows – Tomás, Christina, Angeline. I’d like to step into the wall and let them all pass me by.
CHRISTINA
They heard footsteps and a woman opened the door. She was tall, with wavy grey hair and thin lips. Christina looked at her. She thought she’d know, but she was completely unsure whether this could be her mother or not.
‘Hello,’ she began nervously, speaking slowly so that she could catch her breath. ‘I’m looking for Greta Comyn.’
There was no recognition in the woman’s face. Christina’s heart plummeted, her pulse slowing down.
‘I’m sorry, I never heard of her,’ she said, but just as the woman was about to close the door in Christina’s face, she paused. ‘Oh, wait! Maybe it’s Grettie you’re looking for.’
‘Grettie?’ Christina repeated.
‘Yeah, Grettie, my husband’s ex. I’ll ask him.’ She turned and called out, ‘Bill!’, and then turning back said, ‘Who are you anyway?’
Christina paused. ‘I’m her daughter,’ she stuttered.
‘And I’m her grandson,’ Cian spoke up confidently.
The woman stiffened and took a step back. She was obviously shocked.
‘I’ll get my husband. Just wait there.’ She didn’t invite them in. Her eyes were hard, the colour of flint.
They stood for a few minutes and Christina could feel Cian getting bored next to her. He began fidgeting and then started to kick a large white stone which was on their veranda.
‘Stop that, Cian, it could be precious.’
‘It’s only an old rock.’
‘I said stop it.’
An old man appeared. He looked about seventy, with long straggles of grey hair and a cowboy hat on his head. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans, so old they were practically white, and a sweatshirt c
overed in spatters of paint. His hands were large and bony and covered in paint as well. He looked at Christina suspiciously.
‘You looking for Greta Comyn?’
‘Yes. She’s my mother.’
‘She never told me she had a daughter.’ He continued to stare at her.
Christina coughed. ‘Well, she left when I was very little. I haven’t seen her for a long time. I’m from Ireland,’ she added.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I recognise your accent.’
Cian kicked the rock into a small plant pot, knocking it over and spilling earth onto the decking.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Christina said, scrambling onto her knees and trying to scrape the earth back in. ‘Cian, I told you to stop doing that,’ she snapped.
‘It was an accident,’ Cian whined nervously, staring at his feet.
‘It’s okay,’ said the man. ‘Come in, will you?’
The woman had disappeared, so they followed the man into a room overlooking the sea. The walls were covered in drawings and paintings – giant canvases covered in abstract splashes of blue and white paint. He motioned to a large brown couch and Christina and Cian sat down. Then he went over to a small bureau by the window, opened a drawer and pulled out a framed photograph. He passed it to Christina.
‘There she is, my wife for a year. Grettie from the Emerald Isle.’
Christina looked at the woman in the photograph. She was in her mid-twenties, with waist-length ginger hair. She took her own picture of her mother out of her handbag and compared them. There was no doubt that this was the same woman. In this photograph she was grinning broadly, holding the hand of a man with long black hair streaked with grey. Christina looked up again at the old man.
‘Yep, that’s me. Our wedding day would be twenty-five years ago now. 1978,’ he nodded. ‘I was just starting out as a painter then. We were so broke.’
The couple had bare feet and were dressed in scruffy old jeans. Greta was wearing a cheesecloth shirt and he had on a pink T-shirt. There was a big dog sitting behind them, staring cynically at the camera.
‘Is that a wolf?’ Cian asked, looking over Christina’s shoulder.
‘No son, that’s a coydog.’
‘What’s a coydog?’
‘It’s a cross between a coyote and a domestic dog. We called him Tiger, cos he was wild!’ The man sighed and looked straight into Christina’s eyes. ‘That woman had so many secrets. I’m not surprised she has a daughter. It’s funny she never told me though. I’ve got a daughter too. She lives in Seattle with her little boy now.’ He smiled at Cian. ‘He loves reading all about wolves and coyotes. Here,’ he said, handing Cian a book with a picture of a howling coyote on the cover, ‘I got this for him. Would you like to look at it?’
‘Thanks,’ Cian said, taking the book and slumping onto the floor with it.
The man held his hand out to Christina. ‘I’m Bill, by the way,’ he said. ‘Bill Prynn.’
‘Christina McDonagh.’
‘I’m sorry if you’ve come a long way, because I don’t know where Grettie is now. We have no contact at all.’
So this was it, the end of the line.
‘What about Henry?’ said a voice from behind her; it was the woman. Christina hadn’t seen her come back in the room.
‘Who, Martha?’
‘Remember Henry? That Canadian fella? That’s who Grettie went off with.’ Bill looked confused. Martha walked into the centre of the room.
‘Bill’s memory is a bit hazy nowadays,’ she explained to Christina. ‘Grettie was a lot younger than Bill. I could tell she wasn’t going to stick around. She went off with Henry, remember, Bill?’
‘Oh, God.’ The old man’s face had gone even paler and he flopped down on to the couch. ‘I had forgotten.’
He looked completely shaken. Martha turned to Christina and said in a loud voice, ‘So your mother ran off on you, did she? That doesn’t surprise me. She did the same to poor Bill here and I had to pick up the pieces. She took off with some drifter from Vancouver, Henry…what was his last name?’ she murmured.
‘Kittle,’ Bill said faintly.
‘That’s right, Kittle. I think he went to work up on the west coast of Vancouver Island, place called Tofino.’
‘Thanks, that’s great,’ Christina said uneasily.
‘Well, I wouldn’t be too hopeful. I’d say she’s long gone by now. That was years ago.’
‘Twenty-four years,’ whispered Bill.
‘I’m sorry—’ Christina started to say.
‘Oh, don’t mind him,’ Martha interrupted harshly. ‘He gets real upset when he can’t remember important stuff like that.’
All Christina wanted to do was leave. ‘Well, thank you, and I guess we’ll be going,’ she said quickly.
‘Stay,’ Bill said lamely. ‘Have some coffee.’
‘No, really, we have to go.’ Christina grabbed Cian and hauled him off the floor. She handed the book back to Bill.
‘Wait a minute,’ he said, and getting up shakily he went into another room. Christina stood awkwardly. She could feel the familiar quickening of her pulse. She had to get out of there fast. Martha was squinting at her.
‘I can see Grettie in you,’ she said.
‘Did you know her well?’ Christina asked.
‘She used to work in my bookstore in town,’ is all Martha said, but the expression on her face told Christina that the women hadn’t been friends.
Bill came back in and handed Christina a small dusty canvas. Thick crusts of blue, black and white paint converged in the centre of the picture – it looked like a sea storm.
‘I called that one Grettie,’ he said. ‘I think it describes the essence of her, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ Christina said. ‘I never really got to know her.’
GRETA
The snow is long gone. It’s sunny and bright. Everything is new and fresh, the lambs and the calves. Everything is full of life, apart from me.
Angeline told me that it’s May Day tomorrow. She said I should try to eat something. I know she means well, but food doesn’t interest me. I’m trying. I go to Christina’s room and watch her play dolls and try to find myself again in her happy little singsongs, and I tell myself my daughter should be reason enough to live.
It was a boy. They could tell me that. Matthew.
Doctor Marsh said that this happens to scores of women and I was only fifteen weeks gone so that it’s not so bad, it could be worse. How exactly? I asked him. And then he huffed a bit and said nothing and left Tomás pills, which he called anti-depressants, and said I should take them if I didn’t feel any better soon.
Tomás said that we could try for another as soon as I feel strong enough and I just stared at him like he was mad, and I said I never, never wanted to go through this ever again. He looked quite shocked then and said to just give it time, but I said to him no, I don’t want another child. I wanted this child and if I can’t have him then it’s over, all over. He looked frightened then and left me alone.
So he slept in the spare room, but after a few days he came back into our bed. He thought I was better. And when he tried to touch me I just jumped right out of the bed.
He asked me to get into bed and tell him what the matter was, and I said I didn’t want him to touch me because I was scared of getting pregnant again, and he said it was okay, he wouldn’t touch me, he’d wait, but I said never, never. I don’t think he believed me.
A couple of days later he asked me to take the pills because he said that they would make me feel better. And I took them because I didn’t care. They made me feel miles away from everyone, like I was bound and gagged and the pain was numbed, but it was still there at the back of it all, waiting for me.
I walked around the garden with Angeline and I told her how the pills made me feel and she said maybe for the moment I should give them a try until I feel a little better and then get rid of them. But I said they made me feel worse. So she told me t
o stop taking them.
I threw the pills away, and now the pain is sharp again and I’m grieving. This makes Tomás cross. He wants me to smother my suffering. I see him going to talk to Angeline about what to do and I no longer care. They talk about me as if I’m a child.
And Angeline said maybe we should chant together and that might make me feel better, and I said no, I don’t want to believe in anything.
CIAN
Cian likes the picture of the coyote puppies. They look just like fox cubs. He saw fox babies once at home, in a den, before they were shot. The two coyote puppies are leaning their heads on a log, and one is asleep and the second one looks all dreamy. Maybe he could bring a coyote home with him, and then if it had puppies with Whiskey, their dog at home, he would have a coydog too. Cool.
He’s thinking this when suddenly Mammy yanks the book out of his hand and drags him up. That hurts. But he says nothing because they’re in a strange place and there’s something wrong. The old man is sitting on the couch looking very sad, and the old woman is staring at him. She looks like a witch.
They are outside now, and Mammy is walking too fast.
‘Mammy!’
Maybe she’s frightened of the witch too. He is running, but still she’s too far ahead. He’s scared and wants her to stop walking. He wants her to take his hand. He wants to go home now.
She goes on the beach and he follows her. Normally this would be great because he loves the beach and they could make a sandcastle and all the big piles of wood would be brilliant to make a den. But he runs after Mammy because he’s worried she’ll forget him.
A Small Part of Me Page 13