A Small Part of Me

by Noelle Harrison

  Then Tomás was gone and she was lying in bed. There was a nurse standing by her and she picked up her wrist and pressed a finger on her pulse.

  ‘I want to go home,’ she whispered.

  ‘And you will, dear,’ the nurse said, ‘but not today. Let’s get better first, shall we?’

  ‘I’m not sick,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, but you are,’ the nurse said confidently. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t be here, would you?’

  The nurse had given her some pills. ‘Now pop them in,’ she said encouragingly and stood over her until she did as she was told.

  The first few weeks became one large lake of sorrow. She was right in the centre on a tiny crannog and there were no boats about. Her mind was so confused that the water became the sky and the rain the reeds and she was wet and hot at the same time.

  The times she saw Tomás it was as if he was standing behind ten glass plates. She would reach out to him and beg him to take her home. He could say nothing to her.

  She decided to stop taking the pills because she believed they were the cause of all her trouble. She hid them in the cuff of the sleeve of her nightie and flushed them down the toilet when she could. She thought, Now they’ll see that I’m better. But no one noticed.

  Still, her lake dried up and she began to see her little girl clearly in her mind’s eye.

  ‘There I am now,’ she would say to herself, ‘sewing away, and look at Christina, up she gets! She’s dancing to the cotton reel song. Aha! Let’s dance then.’ And she would begin to spin with her daughter, their eyes locked onto each other, the world a whirling blur behind her.

  Then the nurses stopped her and held her down. The doctor said she was elated, and they put her in a white room all by herself, a place where the sanest person would go mad.

  When Tomás stopped coming to visit her, she gave up on love. He broke her heart. And even though the drugs had her duped, she still woke in the night, heaving with pain. She could have loved him forever.

  It was out of that dark hole she had crawled. She had fought with every last fibre of her being to find her bearings again. She thought that she would never trust another living soul ever again.

  CHRISTINA

  ‘How about we head into downtown Victoria for a while, check out the harbour?’ Luke asks her. Christina nods – she’ll do anything to postpone tomorrow.

  Luke drives along the coast road, parking as soon as they hit the centre of the city. They walk along the wall of the inner harbour, then take a little boat-bus around it.

  They can hop on and off the boat, so they disembark by a café and eat fish and chips, then they walk along the gangways looking at sweet little houseboats that look like they belong in fairytales. At one point a fat seal pushes his head out of the water and Cian squeals with excitement. Luke buys a large white fish from a nearby stall, and she watches as Cian leans over the water and gives it to the seal. Clumsy and awkward above water, the seal glides away under the surface. It pushes up beneath her, and it looks like a white sea-ghost rising out of the depths, with dark weeping eyes and elongated grey limbs. She turns away.

  ‘You don’t like the seal?’ asks Luke.

  ‘It looks spooky under the water, like a phantom mermaid,’ she replies.

  It’s mid-afternoon by the time they leave the city and follow the signs for Nanaimo. Christina spreads the map out on her lap.

  ‘It looks like we’re going the wrong way around,’ she says.

  ‘It’s the only way around,’ Luke replies, grinning.

  She raises her eyebrows. ‘Christ!’ She traces her finger along the thick green line, following it up to Nanaimo and further until it breaks off and becomes red. At this point it turns inland, and she traces it all the way across the island until it takes a right-angle turn and ends up on the west coast in Tofino.

  ‘It’s a long way,’ she says.

  ‘It’s not too bad,’ he replies. ‘But yeah, we could stop off on the way, stay the night somewhere. It’s a long ride for Cian.’

  ‘All right, I don’t have to be there until tomorrow…it’s just money,’ she says nervously.

  ‘I told you, it’s okay.’

  ‘As soon as I get to my mother, I’ll make sure she pays you back, every cent.’

  ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘Luke?’ Cian pipes up. ‘What’s your job?’

  ‘I’m a bus driver.’

  ‘Really?’

  Christina watches the way Luke glances at Cian. He’s so easy with her son, as if they’ve known each other all their lives.

  ‘Sure. I drive that big shuttle bus you got from Seattle airport to La Conner.’

  ‘Why weren’t you driving it that day?’

  ‘I’m on my vacation right now.’

  ‘Did you always want to be a bus driver?’

  Luke chuckles. ‘No, not really. That wasn’t the way I was raised, to be something.’

  She wonders about his childhood, how different their worlds have been.

  ‘What do you mean? Everybody wants to be something.’ Cian kneels up on his seat, leaning over towards Luke.

  ‘What do you want to do when you grow up, Cian?’

  Cian answers instantly. ‘I want to be a clown or a horse dealer, like my daddy.’

  Christina laughs and Luke smiles at her. ‘Well, that sounds real exciting,’ he says.

  Cian sits down again and curls up, bringing his knees to his chest as he stares out the windscreen. ‘I’m going to build my house right next to Mammy’s cottage, so then I can see her every day and not just the weekends.’

  The easy mood is shattered. Luke says nothing, but she can sense him thinking. Christina stares out the window, her back turned to Luke, willing Cian to stop talking.

  ‘Do you think judges are always right?’ Cian asks Luke.

  ‘That’s enough now, Cian,’ she says. ‘Luke’s trying to concentrate on driving.’

  ‘But he can drive and talk,’ Cian says cheerfully, and then turning to Luke he continues, ‘I’m not so sure. How can a judge know if my mammy is good or not? He doesn’t know her.’

  ‘I guess you’re right,’ Luke says quietly.

  ‘He’s just talking nonsense,’ Christina says hastily, fiddling with the zip on her jacket.

  ‘No I’m not,’ Cian says indignantly. ‘I asked Granny why you had to live somewhere else and she said the judge said so because you’re not able to look after me properly.’

  Several seconds of silence crawl like dead weights and she feels fear creeping towards her. But Luke says nothing, just carries on driving, and Cian instantly forgets what he has said, instead picking a scab on his knee.

  ‘Hey, I could do with a coffee,’ Luke speaks up, pulling into a garage. ‘Either of you want something?’

  ‘Yeah!’ Cian says. ‘Can I have a double chocolate muffin?’

  ‘The boy sure knows what he wants. Christina?’ Luke looks over at her, but she tries not to catch his eye. ‘Just a coffee, thanks.’

  Once Luke is in the store, Christina takes Cian’s arm and pulls him towards her.

  ‘Ow! You’re hurting, Mammy!’

  ‘Cian, you’re not to talk about all that stuff,’ she hisses.

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘About me not living with you, and what the judge said.’

  ‘Why?’ He looks at her with innocent blue eyes and her heart melts.

  ‘Because…because it’s a secret, okay?’ Her voice softens. ‘Just between you and me.’

  ‘Can we not tell Luke about the secret?’

  ‘No. It’s just between us, all right?’

  He nods back at her, his face suddenly serious. ‘All right.’

  They head off again. Christina sips her coffee while Luke turns on the radio. He flicks through the channels and pushes a CD into the player.

  ‘Have you heard of Damien Rice?’ he asks.

  She shakes her head. ‘No.’ She watches the road unfold in front of her. It’s wi
de and grey and empty. The surface is unblemished, the bends not too tight and the hard shoulder is ample. Nobody drives towards them; nobody hugs their tail. They’re alone, gliding to the west, so very far, far away from all that she was.

  She closes her eyes and listens to the singer and his poetry. It makes her tip forward, her chin touching her chest. She imagines herself singing now, feeling free.

  ‘I like the music,’ she says.

  ‘It’s good,’ Luke replies, glancing over at her.

  He turns it down a little as she says, ‘Did you study art?’

  He laughs. ‘God, no! I never went to college. No, I only started drawing the other day.’

  ‘I like your pictures.’

  ‘They’re just doodles you saw.’

  ‘But they were…I don’t know, strong. All the lines were really deep, powerful, as if nothing got in the way between your eye and your hand.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ He looks at her curiously.

  ‘I mean that you look like you’re drawing instinctively rather than worrying how something should look.’

  ‘That’s a nice thing to say.’

  ‘It is?’ She pauses then, staring at the white lines on the road. ‘I always think that if I hadn’t got married I would have gone to art college. I would have liked that.’

  ‘Well, you sound as if you have an eye for it. There’s lots of folks out there with talents they never get the chance to use.’

  ‘Is that what you think? Everyone has their own thing they’re good at?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘And you’re discovering it now, through drawing?’ she continues.

  ‘Well, no…’ He looks a little embarrassed now. ‘I’m just messing about, but you know, I always thought about making pictures. Sometimes I think visually. When I have a feeling, like anger or joy or sadness, I see it in colours and shapes. I even see it as figures and places. It’s like the art has a secret language. I don’t need to explain anything with words, I can just say what I want with the picture.’

  ‘I like that,’ she says, and as he speaks Luke begins to fill out for her. He’s not just another man, he’s something else.

  ‘These last few days,’ he continues, ‘I can’t stop drawing. It’s like a therapy.’

  ‘Therapy for what?’ she asks hesitantly.

  But he doesn’t answer her. Instead he pauses, glances over at Cian looking out the window, then quickly into her eyes before he turns back to the road.

  ‘And what are you running from?’ Luke asks quietly, changing the subject.

  ‘Too much.’ She cuts him dead, leaning forward and turning up the music. ‘Too much to say.’

  THE COTTON REEL SONG

  What’s a metaphor? Christina asks.

  Angeline leans towards her and brushes her hair out of her eyes.

  It’s a comparison between two things. For instance, that cotton reel with our hair could be a metaphor for life. The thread represents us as we spin around the reel, which is our destiny.

  Christina closes her eyes and imagines herself, Mammy and Angeline dancing around the cotton reel, attached by coloured threads. They fly in and out of each other and make a pretty plait – blue, red and green – so that the wooden tube of the spool is completely hidden.

  She hums to herself. The adults are talking, then laughing, but all she can hear is the sound of the cotton reel song, on and on inside her head. She opens her eyes, humming still, and looks at the large wooden spool wrapped with their hair still lying on her mother’s sewing table. She decides that her mammy has made a tiny piece of magic and she fingers her hair where her mammy cut a strand, but of course she can’t feel where the small piece is missing.

  Christina looks into the fire and sips her sweet cocoa. She can see a little city in the grate with flame red walls and tiny blue hearths. She imagines the little people living there and their busy little lives. The fire couldn’t burn them. They would be made of something other than flesh, they could survive intense heat.

  Christina!

  It’s her father.

  Christina, are you not listening to me?

  Sorry, Daddy.

  I’ve two tickets for the circus. There’s one coming to Navan.

  She jumps up immediately and runs over to him on the sofa.

  When? When? When? She pulls at him excitedly.

  Well, that’s the problem. It’s tomorrow and I can’t take you because I’ve some new stock arriving.

  She slumps her shoulders and looks down at the ground.

  But, her daddy continues, picking up her hand again, either your Mammy or Angeline can take you. Who would you like to bring?

  She looks up and without hesitation says, Angeline!

  They would look so pretty together, especially if Angeline dresses up as well. But as she thinks this she sees her mother’s face. She looks upset.

  I don’t think I should, Tomás. Greta ought to bring her, Angeline says.

  No, it’s fine, her mother says stiffly, collecting up her sewing things and opening the little drawers of her box, putting it all away.

  Christina is torn. She doesn’t know what to say, but it’s too late to change her mind, she’s made her choice.

  It’s probably best, considering your condition, Greta. You don’t want to be worn out, her father says.

  What does he mean?

  But before Christina has a chance to ask, Greta gets up and takes her hand.

  Come on to bed, she says briskly.

  They go out into the chilly hall and Christina feels as if she has done something wrong, but her mammy says nothing.

  Mammy?

  Yes?

  What’s your condition?

  Her mother pauses, bends down to pick up one of Christina’s dolls, and hands it to her. She smiles. Don’t worry about what Daddy said, it’s nothing to do with you.

  Christina hugs her doll. But what does it mean?

  Your condition means how you’re feeling.

  Christina frowns. Are you sick, Mammy? She had noticed that sometimes her mammy had been unable to eat, and some mornings she stayed in bed. But her mammy laughs softly.

  No, not at all. She takes her hand, and they go up the staircase two at a time. My condition is a little secret and soon I’ll tell you what it means.

  Promise?

  Promise.

  Her mother bends down and they embrace. The familiar scent of her mother comforts her, and she doesn’t want her to go back downstairs now. She clings tightly to her.

  Mammy? She mumbles into her mammy’s shoulder. Will you sit with me until I go to sleep?

  Of course I will, sweetheart.

  Her mother’s shadow is cast long. It is above her on the ceiling, like a big bird hovering. Christina pushes herself down further into the bed and watches it as her eyelids slowly drop. She wakes with a jerk and the shadow is still there. She closes her eyes, secure in the knowledge that her mammy will not go. She will sit through the night, until only daylight can snuff out her shadow. Then it is safe to leave.

  LUKE

  The sun is shining as Luke drives along the edge of Sproat Lake. Framed by tall trees along its shores, the lake is a small O of blue, nestled inland.

  He feels so far away from the city now, and the closer he gets to the western edge, the more he feels the itch to be free.

  They stop at a couple of guesthouses but they’re all fully booked, so he heads back into the town, pulling into the car park of the first hotel. They clamber out of the truck, stretching their legs.

  ‘I’ll go see if they’ve got rooms,’ Luke says, jogging into the front of the building.

  There’s a strong smell of wet paint in the foyer, but the hotel clerk cheerfully informs him that they have vacancies. He goes back outside, catching sight of Christina and her son. She’s spinning Cian around in her arms and the child’s face is wide with joy, screaming with pleasure. Luke can hear Christina’s deep laugh. It tugs at him. Why does he feel suddenly responsib
le for this strange woman?

  And then it dawns on him. Today he has felt part of a family for the first time since he was a small child. A wave of intense sadness washes over him. He was married for nearly ten years, and yet never felt this symbiosis with another adult before. He just wishes that Sam were with them because then it would be perfect.

  ‘Okay,’ he says as he strides towards Christina. ‘They’ve got rooms.’

  ‘Great,’ she says, gently dropping Cian on the ground. She looks worn out.

  ‘We’ll dump our gear and get some food,’ Luke says.

  It had been years since Luke had been to Port Alberni. He had come here first after he left the island that day, practically running through Tofino in his haste to get away. He had worked in the pulp mill for a while before moving on to Victoria and trying to get work unloading fishing boats down the harbour. It was late summer then, he remembered, because when he arrived in Victoria it had been October, the season of fog. Some mornings he would wake up hearing the moan of the fog horns, which he found comforting, not frightening, and then in his mind’s eye he could see the fog rolling in from the channel over the trees, gardens and houses and he’d turn over in bed and go back to sleep, secure in the knowledge that there’d be no work that day. He could hide in the white, blank fog.

  They walk down the broad streets of Port Alberni. Nothing has changed that much. The town still has the air of somewhere no one wants to stop. There are a few deserted restaurants and eventually they pick a small diner with neon lights called The Paradise Café, which somehow looks a little more cheerful than the rest. Inside three televisions blare from different corners of the room. They slide into a booth.

  Luke looks at Christina. She’s been very quiet since he asked her what she was running away from. He recognises her introspection and doesn’t intrude, focusing his attention on Cian instead and making paper planes out of the napkins.

  She plays with her food again, but tonight she orders a Coke and sips slowly at the brown fizzy liquid, staring past him at the door as if she expects someone to walk in any minute.

  The roads are quiet as they stroll back to the hotel. The dark night sinks in around their shoulders and he feels them blend into each other as they walk. They say goodnight. Cian hugs him tightly outside their room and Christina glides past him. Now the door is closed.