by Geoff Nelder
The three conversationalists rose out of their pews and in the candlelight found each other for a group hug. In the quiet, they heard a lone voice singing.
“We never get any peace even in here,” moaned Mel.
“Better than hearing gunshots,” Irene said.
“I thought Liz was coming,” Senita said, still sniffing.
“I fucking have,” said a voice beyond the candlelight. They heard a walking frame clump on the floor towards them. “Fuck this thing.”
“You all right, Liz?” asked Irene. “Did I see your Jacob this morning? Oh God, or was it yesterday?”
“How should I know when you saw him, Irene? But tell you what, when you see him again, any of you, tell him don’t bother coming home. That’s if the fucker would know where home is.”
Senita gasped. “Liz, you and Jacob are so much together. What’s gone wrong? Besides this memory thing.”
“He can’t handle losing his memory.”
“Yeah,” said Senita, “My Pat’s taken off. Dunno when though. I found a few sheets of paper this morning full of numbers. So, I says to meself, I bet he forgot his PIN number and it freaked him out.”
“Well, money isn’t any use,” Mel said.
“It might have been when he forgot his PIN number,” Senita said. “Don’t suppose you know when Jacob left then, Liz?”
“Probably yesterday judging by the black eye I’m sporting.” A rush of candles closing in on her face sent her reeling. “Hey, it’s all right, I can do without you setting my hair on fire as well.” They all relief-laughed.
A soft singing of “Amazing Grace” reached them but stopped as the sound of an empty plastic bottle dropped on the stone floor made them all look to the back of the church.
“Do you think Father Fielder’s here?” Irene asked.
“His car’s not in the parking lot,” Senita said.
“He might have gone to his family back East,” Liz said. “Either way, we’ve done our praying, ladies, so let’s go for what else we’ve come for. If that fucking warbler’s left us any.”
Irene’s candle, like the others, flickered as they neared extinction so the women walked with purpose to a rear office. An oil-lamp added an amber glow and illuminated another woman filling a canteen with water from an old tap and re-starting “Amazing Grace.”
“Hey, you beat us to it, Celia,” Irene said.
“I sneaked in when you lot were gassing,” Celia said, a woman in her fifties who Irene knew always wore a long, turquoise kaftan.
“Thought the water might run out tonight, did you?” said Liz, positioning herself to be next with her two-litre bottle.
“Not really. On the other hand, it won’t last forever.”
“None of us have any water in our houses,” Irene said. “Jack reckons the pumps have packed in ’cos no one’s been maintaining them.”
“I’ve heard the military have taken over the water,” Senita said.
“Yeah, to make sure they’ve got enough,” Celia said. “Though I’ve also heard that there isn’t any army. They’ve not been paid, so they’ve gone home.”
As she filled her container, Irene said, “I’m relieved that for at least another day we have water.” Irene had found that the taps at her home brought no water, then read her note saying where a sure source was in the town. She had no idea why the church tap worked. Maybe it had a huge tank, built a century ago when farm folk in the area could use it before a deep well tapped the ground water.
Outside, the women held hands, taking comfort from each other before heading home through the chilled, starlit desert town. A fire in the suburbs added a glow to the sky and worry to the women.
“The school?” Mel said.
“Looks like it,” said Liz. “I heard talk this afternoon of there being food and drink in the cafeteria there.”
Mel said, “To think I spent years in there as a kid. Shame. Another part of my life gone.”
“Gunshots probably came from there,” Liz said.
“Might have been gas canisters exploding,” Irene said, clutching at less aggressive options. “Anyway, we should make our way home now while the ne’er-do-wells get drawn to the flames.”
They hugged, hoping to re-congregate the next day.
Irene had a mile to go in the dark and kept to walls wherever she could. A paper in her dress pocket held her address. Instinct told her to be as inconspicuous as possible. So it came as a shock when someone came up behind her and called her name. “Irene, slow down please.”
“Oh, God, it’s you, Celia. What you doing sneaking up on me?”
“I forgot to bring my address.”
“Don’t you live on Rushmore Street? Oh, my God, that was years ago and maybe you moved. I can’t remember either. Don’t you have any clues?”
“I know all these places, Irene. I used to foster kids and that took me into an awful lot of houses in Rosamond. There are clues all around me, all leading to too many houses.” She cried. Irene put her arms around her shoulders.
“You’d better come home with me, Celia. We can look in the phone directory for your new address.”
“So it will be. Aren’t you clever, Irene?”
Irene had a sinking feeling, and sure enough, a few moments later a cracked melody of more “Amazing Grace” disturbed the cats. They both started giggling when a dog howled. A slamming door shut them up. Running footsteps stopped them until Irene’s flashlight allowed her to recognise Eddie, her thirteen-year-old son. She cried with sorrow for the kids. They had such a small life and the forgetting disappeared it so fast.
“Mom, come in quickly, it’s Debbie.”
Irene looked at him. Confused, because most of her remaining continuous memory had Eddie as a much younger child. She supposed each morning she had to get used to a more grown-up son. She shook her head to react to his bawling about his younger sister. Her first reaction was to blame him for slamming the door and scaring them half to death.
“What have you done to her this time, Eddie?”
“Nothing, Mom, but she just sits there crying.”
“Where’s your pa?”
“He’s not back.”
A range of dangerous scenarios went through Irene’s mind: the fire at the school, his talk of farm raids and tendency to seek liquor and its instant consumption. But she had a domestic crisis to deal with.
“Come on, Celia, play happy families.” Irene tugged at Celia’s elbow. Eddie followed them in with a long face.
“It’s not that happy at the moment,” he said. “Debbie won’t come out of her room.”
“She often does that until meal times.” Irene exchanged an ironic laugh with Celia at the child-rearing clichéd angst.
Irene called Debbie’s name as she climbed the stairs after stopping a second to detect sobbing sounds. Thank God they’d refused both kids’ frequent whining demands for door bolts. She knocked as she pushed the nine-year-old girl’s bedroom door open.
“Debs, what’s the matter, darling?” Irene asked in vain as her daughter sat on her bed, arms wrapped around her raised knees making herself as small as possible. Her shoulder-length red hair tangled at the wet, straggled ends. A flickering oil lamp gave her an eerie glow, projecting odd shapes on her wall. Irene sat on the end of the bed. “Come on, sweetheart, tell your mom what it is. Has your brother been bothering you, again?” Irene put out a hand to lift Debbie’s chin so her red eyes could be scrutinised. She reckoned that no matter what her children said, their eyes told her the truth. She saw fear and confusion, and by doing so, Irene trembled, wavered in her normal cool demeanour.
“Oh come on, Debs, say something.”
“She won’t, Mom,” said Eddie, “or can’t.”
“I know,” said Celia, who’d followed them up the stairs. “What’s your favourite food, Debbie, dear? Your favourite food is?”
They all looked at the girl, willing her to verbalise her thoughts. Her lips trembled, giving the onlookers hope an inte
lligible word would emerge. All three closed in, making the terrified girl shrink into her pillow.
Irene erupted at Celia and Eddie. “For God’s sake, get back! Celia, the phone book is downstairs in the kitchen, find yourself and get your husband to come and get you.”
“I’ve got a husband?” Celia said. “Since when?”
“Two years... or was it three? Oh, I don’t know. Find your address and my Jack will take you home.”
“If he gets home,” said Eddie, showing Irene Debbie’s diary, which had its last scribbled entry a fortnight ago. It said:
lectric gon Pa hit Ed iM skard
A tear pearled at the corner of his eye. Irene knew he was the hardest kid at school.
She glanced a scowl at him before turning a sweet smile again at her daughter. “Now, Debbie. Where were we? Well— why not—what is your favourite food? Tell me and I’ll make it for you.”
“Yeah, right,” whispered Eddie.
Irene used her most pleading face, pouring emotion into her own wet eyes. “Come on, sweetheart, what is your favourite food?”
Debbie opened her mouth a little and uttered, “Food.”
“Yes, lovely, yes, yes. Food, food. Now what is your favourite food?”
“F-food,” said Debbie, a little louder.
“Yes, dear, now what kind of food?”
“Food,” said Debbie.
Eddie spoke up, “Say peanut butter and jelly, dumbass,” and ducked to avoid his mother’s left arm sweeping around. Turning back, Irene saw Debbie curl up once more.
“I’ll bring you some food, girl, just a minute,” said Irene, ushering Eddie out and down the stairs. “What the hell is that all about, Eddie? What have you done to your sister?”
“Nothing, Mom. It’s the memory-loss thing.”
“What, she’s just forgotten her favourite food? I don’t think so.”
“No, Mom, she’s forgotten how to talk. She hasn’t written in her diary for two weeks. But you’ve seen that newspaper article we keep to remind us every day. We’re losing a year for every week and that’s eight years since it started.”
“My God...the poor girl’s only nine. God, Jack, where the hell are you?” Then she realized they had no power. No bread for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; Debbie’s favourite food.
“She was learning the word food when we kept saying it, Mom. She doesn’t remember what it is. Mom, I’m only four years older than Debs. That means I’ll be the same as her soon, won’t I? I can’t work it out, Mom.” He cried, hugging her as his mother spread peanut butter and jelly and tears on crispbread for her daughter.
“Another month yet for you, son. Oh God, this is awful. It’s inhuman forgetting. I’m going to bake some bread tomorrow. Damn, there’s no electricity for the oven. I know, I’ll build a fire in the yard. Damn it, yes. Hey, Eddie, are these twists you made today? Good boy.”
“Mom, I don’t want to forget any more. I can’t remember how to do stuff, the TV doesn’t work, or my games...”
“Games don’t matter shit, you stupid kid. They never did. You still play with Tommy, don’t you? And that blond kid, what’s his name?”
Through tears, Eddie looked puzzled. “Mom, I don’t know no Tommy. I hung around with some kids down at the mall today, but none of us knew each other. I’d never thought about memory before, Mom. Never thought I had any use for it. But it held all my friends.” He burst into more tears.
Irene softened and hugged him again. She wanted to say comforting words but none came. Eddie hit it square on. The use of memory. She had her childhood memories like all those in retirement homes in their rocking chairs. Her Eddie had lost that. Forever gone. Eddie interrupted her morbid thinking.
“Mom, what’s gonna happen to Debbie when she forgets everything?”
“God, son, what do you mean? I’m going to take her this snack. Here, I’ve done some for you, and drink some pop, while there’s still some.”
Ignoring the food, Eddie followed his mother up the stairs. “But, Mom, next week her memory will be when she was born. Then what? Will she remember to eat, drink and breathe?”
“Stop pestering me with such nonsense, boy.” Irene gave up on the fight to stem the tears. She sat on the bed and pushed the plate at Debbie, who looked at it with crimson eyes. She grabbed at the brown-splattered crackers and shoved them in her mouth.
“Instinct, see,” said Celia, who had followed them again up the stairs. “Some things our bodies carry on doing even though we don’t think too much about them. Like animals.”
“But will we be able to find food and cook it?” said Eddie. “We’ve got loads of canned and bottled food, but will we know what they are when our memory has completely gone?”
“Search me, Eddie,” Celia said. “Hey, our notes and newspaper clippings aren’t going to help much when we forget how to read.
“I’ve got stuff on my recordable player. That’s what us kids were doing down at the mall, reading to our players.”
“What about batteries?” Celia asked, looking at Irene who was hugging Debbie.
“There’s loads of batteries in the stores but loads of players use solar like lots of other stuff. Mom, there’s solar cookers in the stores. Maybe I should tell Pa.”
“Good idea, son, we could leave a cheque to cover the cost for the storekeeper when he comes back.”
“Sure, Mom,” Eddie said, looking up at Celia, with a look beyond his thirteen years going on five. “Did you find your address, Mrs, er, Celia?”
“Not there, Eddie. Guess we might be unlisted or we haven’t got a phone except the mobiles, and I can’t find mine.”
“We’ve got room,” Irene said. “There’s a futon in the spare room.”
“Irene, you’re an angel.”
“Yeah, well keep low because just lately I think I’m married to the Devil.”
They spent an hour munching and thinking. Irene rocked Debbie to sleep as if she was a nine-year-old baby. Maybe it was just as well each day started fresh. Irene knew she’d sink lower than a toad’s belly in a dry well if she carried her children’s burden over from one day to the next. A day at a time gave her little opportunity to dwell on how bad it could get. She glimpsed herself in the future but dismissed it as too incredible to contemplate. She had to be brave. Braver than her husband who’d gone wandering off again. She knew Jack’s masculine aggression had put him on he-man mode; a real-life game to play.
A white light filled the room and swept away.
“Your pa’s home,” Irene said to her children, whether they listened or not. She eased her arm away from the sleepy Debbie and ushered her son out before Jack came charging in.
The front door slammed, shaking the thin staircase walls as Irene and Eddie started down.
“Get yorn and the kids’ clothes together,” Jack called up. His unshaven face glistened with perspiration, but at least his shirt had no blood staining it. “We’re leaving in a hurry.”
“Oh, my God. What have you done now?” Irene stayed motionless on the stairs, clasping a hand to her mouth with her other hand grasping Eddie.
“Nothing, you stupid mare. There’s no water nor food left here. It’s madness to stay in a desert town. You know that, don’t you?” His wide eyes told her to agree while he rushed past them to get the suitcases off the top of their closet. “I got us some transportation,” he said with uncharacteristic glee.
“Jack, I gotta tell you something about Debbie.”
“Tell me on the way, Irene. We gotta go while it’s dark.”
“You’ve stolen a bus, haven’t you?”
“No, I bought it. What do you think? It doesn’t matter shit how I got it, just be grateful, fully fuelled and all. It’ll get us easy to LA.”
“Hang on, Jack. Cities are trouble. We’ve got notes about it all over.” She opened drawers to grab clothes.
“Trouble because there’s food and water in them, so there’s fighting. We’ve got protection, Irene, firearms. I kno
w you don’t like ’em, but to survive, we got to take chances.”
“I don’t like it. The highways are blocked by gangs, we got—”
“Notes, I know, but Charlie knows back roads all over.”
“I might have guessed he’d be behind this.” She glared at him. They had a history with Charlie who lived on the edge of the law and had served time. She’d worked hard to keep Jack in his great technician’s job by denying him access to his school friend except on bowling and card nights.
Irene, still upset with Debbie’s worsened state, turned on Jack. “We’d be safer in the country. We have our kids to consider.”
“Exactly. Charlie’s got pals in LA. They’ll look after us.”
“He said that, did he? Has he checked with them, lately? Come on, Jack, it’d be everyone for themselves. Think about it.”
Jack shrugged in agreement and helped her to fill cases. “Okay, where are we going? Any bright ideas?” He took clothes and toiletries off her to accelerate packing.
“My folks have a farm near Monterey. They have their own water supply from the hills.” She expected him to blow up, but he stood as if in suspension, as if he was thinking about her alternative destination.
“I’ll put it to Charlie. It’s much farther but maybe better. Now get what water and food we got out to the vehicle.” He grabbed a couple of bulging tartan cases and went outside with Eddie dragging a case with him.
“Is there anything I can do?” called Celia, poking her head round Debbie’s door as Irene returned there with a case.
“Celia, I forgot about you. You heard? Good, saves me explaining. You might as well come with us. Go down to the kitchen and start piling food and full drinking bottles into bags and boxes, whatever.”
Eddie ran back in. “Hey, Mom, cool transport. I wish I could tell my new friends.”
“I knew he’d steal some school bus.”
“Naw, it’s like an army war truck. I’ll get my games and stuff.”
Jack came in and grabbed a box of food that Celia had put there. He looked at her, his eyebrows crept down.
“She’s coming, Jack. Celia has nowhere to go.”