Careful, He Might Hear You

by Sumner Locke Elliott

  Then Vanessa turned her back on them and her back was very straight and angry, and next to him he heard Lila begin to make purring sounds which meant her asthma was coming on again, meant something was wrong. But what? What could go wrong now? Everything had been settled with the judge, hadn’t it? He turned quickly to Lila with the questions on his face but she only smiled and he saw that her lips were trembling, and now there was no time left for questions because Mr Gentle had come flapping up in a black gown with a little grey wig perched crookedly on his yellow hair and he was speaking in undertones to the tall black-haired man, who nodded and then, taking Vanessa’s arm, led her away through a big arched door. Then Mr Gentle came up and whispered to Lila, who said, ‘Oh, no—why? Can’t he be with me?’ Then there was more whispering and finally Mr Gentle said, ‘Now, sonny, come along with me and I’ll show you where to wait.’ He drew back quickly towards Lila but she said, ‘Go with Mr Gentle, PS,’ and Mr Gentle took him by the hand and they started off down the long hallway. Lila called out, ‘Wait. Wait a minute; I forgot his gloves,’ and came running after them, purring very loudly now and pressing his woollen gloves into his hand, leaning down and kissing him wetly and saying, ‘Don’t worry, pet. We won’t be very long.’ Looking back as Mr Gentle tugged him along the corridor, he saw Lila wave to him, blowing kisses, and saw her turn away and walk towards the big door where Vanessa had disappeared.

  Mr Gentle whisked him around a corner, down some steps to a door, knocked on it, and a voice said, ‘Come in.’

  It was the room where he had waited with Lila to see the judge and the same fussy young man was sitting behind the desk.

  ‘He’s to wait here,’ said Mr Gentle, and the young man nodded and Mr Gentle flapped out, closing the door.

  What? Why? Was he going to see the judge again?

  ‘Sit down, sit down,’ said the fussy young man. ‘Over here by the radiator where you’ll be warm.’

  What were they doing? Lila had promised he’d see the judge in court with her; be with her all the time.

  He sat down on a hard chair and the man turned back to the desk, reading a long paper. It was very quiet in the room. Every now and then the radiator gave a little sping sound and a clock ticked slowly like water dripping. There was a cold feeling in him now, spreading all through him, and he wanted to go to the bathroom but didn’t like to ask the man.

  Nothing to do but wait and look at the dull pictures on the grey walls. Whatever they were doing, it couldn’t take too long. But would Lila know where to come and get him? He tried to think of it being safely over and of how they would go home on the ferryboat and sing all the way and then have the fatted calf, whatever that was, but the cold feeling went on spreading through him and it was like the night he’d wakened and found Lila and George had left him alone in the house.

  What could they be doing that would take all this time? Was it an hour? Two hours? He looked up at the big clock but the numbers were strange to him, all funny X’s and V’s. Wasn’t it lunchtime? Or even after? But then wouldn’t the judge sooner or later have to go home for his tea? Everybody went home when it was night. Everybody except George, who went to work. By now he was sure it was long after lunchtime and something awful had happened, so awful they couldn’t tell him yet. Lila had been locked up or had fainted, like she had one day on the back steps, suddenly falling down flat like a rag doll and frightening him terribly because he thought she was dead. Perhaps they had taken her away somewhere to a hospital and in the excitement had forgotten all about him. Now he was icy cold all over with fright. He thought of opening the door and running before the man could stop him. But where? There were so many doors outside. Suppose he couldn’t find her in this big building?

  Just as he was making up his mind that he must risk it all the same, must get up and go, run quickly before another minute ticked away, a buzzer rang on the desk and the young man put down his papers and said into a box, ‘Yes, your honour.’ Quacking noises came from the box and the young man said again, ‘Yes, your honour.’ At the same moment there was a tap on the door and to his relief, Mr Gentle came into the room with the tall black-haired man who had been with Vanessa. The young man said, ‘Go right in, gentlemen,’ and they crossed the room without even looking at him and opened the door to the judge’s room. He caught a glimpse of the judge taking off his black robe as they closed the door behind them.

  Where was Lila? If it was over, why hadn’t she come to get him? As if in answer to his question, the young man said, ‘Won’t be long now,’ and sat down again to read. Lila must be waiting outside then and any minute now …

  But it seemed an awfully long minute. He could hear voices from behind the door and the judge’s dry cough. Once, straining to listen, he thought he heard the judge say, ‘Mrs Baines.’ Perhaps Lila was in there with them, had gone in through another door with the judge, and he hung on to this hope until at last the door opened and he saw that the judge was alone with Mr Gentle and the black-haired man; heard the judge say, ‘Oh, I think to avoid any scenes …’ and dropped his voice to a low mumble while Mr Gentle and the other man nodded, looking very serious, said, ‘Yes, your honour. Thank you, your honour,’ and started to come out when the judge said to Mr Gentle, ‘Oh, wait. There’s one other point in regard to Mrs Baines,’ and drew Mr Gentle back into the room.

  ‘Well, now,’ said the black-haired man, smiling and showing a lot of very white teeth. ‘Well, now, PS, I’m Mr Hood. How do y’ do? Goodness me, you’ve had quite a long wait, haven’t you? Now let’s see, got your coat?’

  What? What was all this?

  ‘Where’s Lila?’ he said. ‘I have to wait for Lila.’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ said Mr Hood as though he didn’t see at all, and opened the other door, and they went out into the hall but not back the way he had come with Mr Gentle.

  ‘Where?’ he asked, cold all over hanging back until Mr Hood took his hand, opening another door as sunlight hit them and he saw the little gritty courtyard where he and Lila had met Mr Gentle that other day.

  Millions of little bright specks swarmed in the air, in his eyes, like beetles; yet he knew they were not really there. Nor was Lila. Beyond the iron fence there was a big black car and a chauffeur was holding open the door.

  He said, ‘No,’ but could hardly hear his own voice. ‘No,’ he said, but went on down the steps towards the car, feeling cold and wet down his legs, walking stupidly like a baby as if any minute he would tumble over. ‘Can I see the judge?’ he asked, and Mr Hood laughed and said, ‘Oh, not now. The judge is very busy,’ and hoisted him into the big empty car, got in beside him.

  Off they went, as he turned to look out of the back window but could see hardly anything because of the swarms of bright beetles everywhere blotting out the people in the street walking calmly about their business as though nothing was going on. Perhaps this wasn’t going on and he would wake in a minute in his own safe room.

  ‘Do you know who that is?’ Mr Hood was pointing to a statue. ‘That’s Queen Victoria.’

  Past St Mary’s Cathedral now and flying under the great Morton Bay fig trees and up William Street to King’s Cross, down past Rushcutter’s Bay, the stadium one side and the harbour blue and shining on the other, towards Edgecliffe, towards Double Bay and beyond that—another hill, then one more. He closed his eyes to shut out the beetles.

  There wasn’t any doubt where they were going!

  ‘Look,’ said Vanessa, opening the door to his bedroom. A big shiny blue car stood by the bed; blue leather seats, real rubber tyres, black fenders, steering wheel, a horn, pedals. A big Meccano set in a red box, a model ocean liner with three funnels, a big grey stuffed donkey on wheels, a little theatre with a curtain that went up and down and a set of little cardboard people whose legs and arms moved on strings, to act on the little stage; two new Doctor Dolittles, The House at Pooh Corner, The Tale of Pigling Bland and boxes of games—Lotto, Snakes and Ladders, and Horseracing.

  He coul
dn’t feel anything about these presents. He couldn’t think about it now, couldn’t think about anything yet. There were still beetles buzzing about in his eyes and ears.

  Vanessa was talking all the time, forgetting her own rules and sitting on the bed, still wearing her black hat with the gold ball on it. She seemed to be explaining something to him but he couldn’t take it in, couldn’t hear properly because the room was so noisy and bright and he knew that he mustn’t cry in front of her because he didn’t want her trying to comfort him, trying to put her arms around him. He looked just past her all the time, looked through the window at the distant chimney pots of the Lawson house. By keeping his eyes very wide open and swallowing a lot, he was able to stop himself from crying but the effort made his head ache and his throat sore. The important thing was to keep looking out at the chimneys and to pretend that none of this was happening; occasionally to nod so that Vanessa would think he was listening.

  ‘Darling,’ Vanessa was saying, ‘are you listening to me? Do you understand?’

  Yes, yes, he understood. Of course. How do you get a chimney to stay up?

  Really, Vanessa was saying, really, darling, everyone should be very happy, even Lila. He must see that the judge had taken endless trouble thinking it all out so that there could never be any arguments or trouble again. Yes, everyone was going to live happily ever after. But he only half listened. Something about the long school holidays and Lila which Vanessa thought was jolly fair considering everything that had happened. Lila was to have half of something or other but a long way off, after Christmas. Easter too. And when a public holiday fell on a Monday—did he understand? One must bow to a court decision and Vanessa would bow to it, even though she was disappointed that they had not got everything they wanted. However, that was Logan’s fault. They would have got to England if Logan had not been such a stupid, vindictive fool eager to hurt her for reasons she would not go into until he was older. Never mind, everything would be one long treat from now on. There was to be no school, no piano or riding lessons for the rest of that week. It was to be a ripping holiday until next Monday with only the two of them. Would he like to go to a matinée at the theatre next Saturday? A picnic at the zoo? Ian Lawson’s birthday party?

  He just kept on looking at the chimney pots while she went on and on. Next year there was to be Edgecliffe Preparatory School, then, when he was ten, Cranbrook Boarding School. Listening to her mapping out his life reminded him of a dream he sometimes had of standing on a railway line with a great enormous express train bearing down on him and being unable to move a foot. Thank goodness the little new maid came bustling in at last to say that Vanessa was wanted on the telephone.

  Vanessa said he could never guess in a million years what was for lunch, took a quick look at herself in the wardrobe mirror, seemed very pleased with her reflection, pleased with everything, and went clicking off downstairs.

  One day, he thought, he would be grown up and then he would find the judge. You wait, he said to the judge, you just wait, seeing the judge cower, beg for mercy on his knees while the rope was put around his neck and PS (who now looked like Richard Arlen) gave quick orders to the other cowboys to get on with the lynching.

  But that was only pretend and this was real. The bed was real and the wallpaper and the smell of the big house and the sound of the grandfather clock chiming downstairs. The very, very worst had happened and who could count the years it would go on. It was what Vere called ‘the bloody end’. There would be no use in trying to escape because the judge would only have him brought back again. The judge was law, under the King, and that was stronger than anything in the world except God. Stuck. Absolutely stuck. Forever. Even if he were allowed to go home for—what was it?—public holiday on a Monday, no good saying he wouldn’t come back because Mr Hood would come for him in a car. No use now, anything. He felt in his pocket for a handkerchief and found Lila’s crushed package of marmite sandwiches. It was surprising to find himself crying like a baby over some silly sandwiches but he gave in to it, diving on to the bed and holding the pillow over his mouth so that nobody would come running. He cried until it became hiccuping; then as even the hiccuping finally stopped, he lay still, looking up at the ceiling with its white plaster ornaments. The beetles had stopped buzzing around now and he felt heavy and sleepy, wanting to nestle down into sleep and hide there from the feeling of loss. He knew that something was lost and gone and that it wasn’t only Lila. Whatever it was, he would never find it again and like the moment now of falling asleep, like the moment of being born, he would not remember.

  Coming unexpectedly with warm rains and bursts of hot sunlight, steaming the lawns, the spring made Vanessa more than usually burdened with the sense of sadness and loss which comes to most people with autumn.

  Spring with its vulgar, bursting, vernal greening had always filled her with a sense of mortality. She felt herself to be in direct contrast to it, full of musings on age and uselessness. In London, she had briskly dispensed with it under new cretonne slip covers and firmly shut it out behind dry-cleaned drapes.

  But here, the spring was not English and gentle—hinting apologetically at summer, with bluebells and lambing. Here it was harsh and abrupt, assaulting one with sudden sharp, salt, seaweed smells, aromatic eucalyptus and the sickly sweetness of wattle. It rang with the laughter of kookaburras and the squawks of galahs.

  She wakened too early in the mornings, aware of the new white-hard sun and the old remembered smells that turned her mind constantly back to Waverly. Sometimes, emerging suddenly from sleep, the persistence of girlhood was so intense that she seemed to hear Pater call to her and Sinden laugh softly.

  ‘Go away,’ she said to them, and pushing these ghosts away and kicking off the sheets angrily, would rise and brush her hair. But the ghosts lingered, nourishing their pale ectoplasm on the warm fecund air, hovering on the stairs, constantly reminding her of their presence in the smell of beeswax floor polish, linseed oil, camphor and cedarwood. Outside, the briny harbour smell mingled with arum lilies and the air was full of thunder. It made her feel that someone was walking silently close behind her and when the trees dropped tiny nuts and berries on her head and shoulders she jumped with fright.

  As the days lengthened and warmed, her nervousness increased. She became quickly irritable, finicky over the folding of napkins and the necessity of scouring toilet bowls. She peered into kitchen sinks and investigated the laundry minutely; went through the house scattering orders and criticism until Ellen twice gave notice, twice took it back for a small increase in wages. In her methodical way, Vanessa tried to find a reason for her sense of disquiet. It was merely the weather, she told herself. It was the horrid Australian spring added to the natural after-effects of the court case. She had heard, or read somewhere, that victory brings with it a sense of defeat; the longed-for thing, when it comes, is not as sweet to the taste as the anticipation. Tomorrow she would feel better, get hold of herself. But more and more she strayed and the hot sky pushed down on her, full of thunder and the warnings of rainbirds. Heavens, she thought, I’m getting to be just like Lila. Then caught herself gazing across the harbour as she often did these days, wondering what Lila was doing at that exact moment, surprised to find herself wondering.

  Did Lila hate her? An icy silence lay between the two houses. Lila might as well be on the moon, so why wonder about her? What was this curious new weakness that allowed Lila to intrude suddenly on her thoughts? Angry with herself, she slammed drawers, shutting Lila inside them. To hell with her.

  Perhaps it had something to do with Ettie. There was an odd secrecy about Ettie these days and it was not concerned with drinking. Vanessa searched through the known caches and could find no bottle; yet Ettie tittered about, laughing easily as though she had some secret information that amused her. Was Ettie getting senile? On the contrary, she seemed more than usually alert, more socially active. Unexpected elderly ladies arrived in the afternoon for bridge and tea. (‘Really, Ettie,
you might have warned me. I don’t think we have any cake in the house; I’ll have to send Elsie out.’ ‘Tee-hee—I’ve already sent her, Ness.’) It began to give Vanessa the feeling that she was the dependent one. Perhaps again, it was just this deadly spring, bringing inertia to her but filling Ettie with a new boldness. It could only be the spring of Capricorn that made Ettie suddenly take to gardening and sent her out in a large straw hat to trowel and weed among herbaceous borders. But this detracted from Vanessa’s power. She was no longer able to question Jocko the gardener. He was now in cahoots with Ettie, and without any advice from Vanessa, they planted and potted, transplanted and limed relentlessly in the hot sun.