BECKER

by Gordon Reid

  Chapter 29

  Saturdays come and Saturdays go, but this was a bad one. First to arrive were Hank and his grandchildren, two boys. Anika having been there for an hour to supervise the hired hands, whom she had recommended and for whom she felt responsible, working in the kitchen, loading the oven with all sorts of exotic dishes. And sticking bottles in the refrigerator, which was full up to dolly’s wax as it was. Then came two teachers, who were known to be an item, from the local school. Plus the headmistress, who would have been snaky about it if she’d not been asked. Bearing gifts of course for the birthday boy, who was embarrassed, not having had a birthday gift since he first set eyes upon Adeline Atkins eleven years ago. She and her children being of the kind unable to resist opening any package, which looked as though it might contain something either edible or which you could return for the money.

  Then Bob and Muriel, she being self-conscious since she’d made her shameful confession to Becker about the press clipping. And now unsure whether he had told Robyn and too scared to ask. Then the couple from across the road. Followed by the couple from up the side lane. Then Laura Langley and finally, almost late, Chook and Dell, she having had to wash her hair. Chook was riding her big black Harley, the girl up behind, hanging on for dear life. Smiling and giggling and saying, as she got off, ‘Oh, my gosh, that was like wow!’

  Taking off her helmet and shaking out her hair. Everybody staring at such a lovely piece of work, her mother being very clever. Getting off and walking up to Harry Becker in her skin-tight jeans and saying, ‘Hi there, Harry!’ and giving him a big birthday kiss on a cheek. ‘You haven’t met Robyn, have you, Dell?’ ‘Robin? As in a bird?’ ‘No, Robyn with a why.’ Dell laughed. She had the prettiest of laughs. ‘My, you are big, Robyn with a why. But it’s perfectly obvious why, isn’t it? When are you due?’ ‘Oh, in three weeks.’ Three weeks?’ ‘Wow, that soon?’ They laughed. Everyone was laughing. Happy, to say the least.

  ‘Come in, Dell, and meet some people,’ Becker said. He showed her around and everyone said, ‘How nice to meet you, Deloraine.’

  ‘Oh, please call me Dell, everyone does.’

  ‘Dell?’

  ‘Yes, Dell, but my brother calls me Delly and sometimes Dilly and, when he’s really trying to be clever, Ding Dong.’

  ‘Ding Dong?’ Muriel asked.

  ‘As in ding, dong, dell!’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, isn’t that awful?’

  ‘Oh,’ Muriel said, ‘this is my husband, Robert.’

  ‘How nice to meet you, Robert—’

  ‘Elliott,’ Muriel added.

  ‘Oh, yes, I was thinking, Robert, Roberta—’

  ‘Yes, dear, for the baby.’

  ‘Oh, isn’t that lovely?’

  Old Bob shook a bit. ‘They’re naming her after me.’

  ‘Bob, I just said that to the young lady.’

  He did not seem to hear her. ‘Used to know a fellow named Duffy down in Victoria—’

  ‘Excuse me, Dell,’ Becker said, interrupting. ‘I hear you always start with a soda, lime and bitters.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, thank you!’

  ‘You’ve met everyone?’ Muriel asked.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘How’s the assignment going?’

  ‘Oh, it’s gone.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘Yes, I handed it in a week ago and—’

  ‘And?’

  ‘My tutor said, ‘The limit was two and half thousand words, Miss Duffy. This looks more like five-thousand!’ ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I know, but she has such an amazing story to tell, hasn’t she, Harry?’

  ‘She?’

  ‘Yes, Stacey gave me an interview.’

  ‘She did?’

  ‘Told me how her parents escaped from Odessa and all the terrible things which had happened there during the war and—’

  ‘In Odessa?’

  ‘Excuse me, Dell. Here’s your soda and bitters.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Harry! Yes, Stacey told me about the siege of Odessa. It went on for two months until the Germans had flattened the city. Then they moved on, leaving the Rumanians to occupy Odessa, but the Rumanians went mad.’

  Muriel could not quite hear. ‘Mad, dear?’

  ‘They did the most horrible things.’

  ‘Horrible?’

  ‘They slaughtered all the Jews and the Communists and Gypsies and anyone who was anti-fascist and—’

  ‘Oh, how awful,’ Muriel said. ‘Did you hear that, Bob? How old was her father then?’

  ‘Eleven.’

  ‘Only eleven?’

  ‘Yes, and he witnessed the horror, what the Rumanians did. People shot in the street, some strung up on poles as warnings, the poverty and despair and humiliation—’

  ‘Excuse me, Dell,’ Robyn said. ‘Mum and Dad, would you like to come to the table, get something. You’ll have to come back here with a plate. Or, shall I select something for you? We have turkey and ham and—’

  And so it went. They had fifteen adult guests, two caterers and four children. It took a while to get everyone served, the table being overladen with all the food you could ever want, and then some. Everyone happy and chatting like mad. It was a lovely day at the end of August, a freshness in the sun. People taking plates outside to sit on the west-side verandah, the sun having come around. All chatting and sparkling.

  Bob had been introduced to a teacher who knew Derrinallum. And Mount Elephant, and some of the story of Christopher Mountford, who shot himself and left the whole estate to this girl, Caitlin somebody. ‘Caitlin Maguire!’ Bob said excitedly. ‘She was my mother!’ So excited to have someone else to hear the story of. Muriel had to hold his plate, to stop the turkey falling off. He was getting carried away, something he should not do, a man with his heart.

  There had been no sign of old Albert of next door. Twice Becker tried to spot him coming through the peppers, but not a movement.

  Chook and Dell were on the verandah, leaning on a rail, eating from their plates and admiring the scenery. At least Dell was, but Chook was admiring her. You could see Chook was in love, nervously in love. A tough, mannish woman like her. It was both good and sad to see. She didn’t have a hope. Anyone could see that. Dell was a happy-go-lucky girl, who loved to be alive. Loved to meet people. Loved to have fun. Loved to be the focus of all eyes.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, hushed. ‘Where’s the loo?’

  ‘I’ll show you’.

  ‘Oh, just point me.’

  ‘Back through the kitchen, turn left and then left again. There’s a small doll on the handle, saying, This is it.’

  ‘Really? What’s the doll’s name?’

  ‘Lulu.’

  ‘Lulu? A loo called Lulu? How clever!’ She exited, laughing.

  Laura Langley came up. ‘My God, Stacey, you are outrageous.’

  ‘I’m outrageous?’

  ‘Everyone can see what you are doing. How do you propose to proceed from here?’

  ‘On the way out, she said she’d like to ride for miles with her hair blowing in the wind.’

  ‘Did she? And I suppose in her naïvité she thought she’d be safe in the hands of another woman?’

  ‘I thought I’d take her down to The Rock.’

  ‘What on earth is that?’

  ‘About thirty ‘k’s’ south. A great slab of the earth’s crust sticking up out of the plains. One thousand feet up. Great view from the top too.’

  ‘You’ve been there?’

  ‘Yep, thought we’d climb it together.’

  ‘In single file? With her going first, no doubt? In those tight pants?’

  ‘Oh, to have a figure like that.’

  ‘I suppose you hope to shag her one-thousand feet up?’

  ‘She’s too virgin
al to be shagged by anyone.’

  ‘Really? Where is she?’

  ‘Must have run into someone.’

  Becker had put on one of his old favourites. Ray Charles and friends were singing: ‘I can’t stop loving you, I’ve made up my mind...’

  Robyn came out, still picking at her salad. ‘Hullo, you two.’

  ‘Where’s Dell?’ Chook asked.

  ‘Dancing,’ she said, ‘with Harry.’

  ‘With Harry?’

  ‘Uh hum, with her arms about his neck.’

  ‘My God, he’s trying to steal her from me!’

  ‘Why not? He’s the birthday boy.’

  ‘How’s everything going?’ Laura said.

  ‘Marvellously, isn’t it, darling?’ She patted her belly. ‘A bit cramped in there, isn’t it?’ She finished chewing. ‘Never mind, you’ll soon be out. Out into the great big world.’

  She walked to the edge of the verandah, above the steps. Stood looking away across the paddocks, taking in the world, complete in its fecundity. She complete in hers.

  ‘Isn’t this the most heavenly—? Aren’t we the luckiest—’

  At that very moment, twenty-eight minutes past one on a perfect day at the end of August 1996, the house blew up, bang! Short, sharp and terrible.

  Chapter 30

  Late that day, Becker woke up in Wagga Wagga Base Hospital. He woke up slowly, fearfully. Had to blink and look hard to get his eyes open, to focus. His head was bandaged and something heavy was on his left leg, low down. His back felt broken. His guts felt awful, like he was going to vomit. He tried to look around, but his head barely moved, so he had to strain with his eyes. Something blurry was sitting beside him. Male or female? It was not clear. A senior nurse came with a dish. ‘Ah, so you are awake, Mr Becker?’ He didn’t hear her say that, but he guessed that’s what she’d said. She said something else, bending to give him jab. ‘What’s that?’ he tried to say, but couldn’t hear his own words. ‘Metoclopramide,’ she said. ‘You’ve been vomiting.’ He didn’t understand; it was like trying to hear when your ears are full of water. So he watched as the needle went into a thigh muscle. ‘You’ve had surgery,’ she said. ‘Your left leg is in a splint. Your back is badly cut. You have two fractured ribs, and you’re deaf.’

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘You, are, deaf,’ she said. ‘You’ve, been, blown, up!’

  Still didn’t understand, but could guess. It was coming back. He’d been blown up again, first in a car Canberra and now on a farm. He had to think. Where was the farm? It came back slowly. At least he had memory of some sort. It had been fun, he’d been dancing. There had been a pretty girl. Then chaos. Something had fallen on him, flopping him down. He’d fallen on something human, hard to say exactly what. Then something else had smashed his left foot, or his left leg, low down. Not sure, actually.

  ‘A doctor will be with you soon, now that you’re awake.’

  What? he said. He wasn’t sure that he had said anything. But the nurse seemed to understand.

  ‘He will check your hearing.’

  He thought she said something about hearing. He could not hear on the left side, but he seemed to have some hearing on the right.

  ‘Can’t hear me? He will stick something in your ears, to check them out.’

  Out?

  ‘Check your ears, in case of damage.’

  Injury?

  The nurse withdrew the needle, affixed a small plaster and picked up the dish. ‘I’ll be back to see you later,’ she said. ‘Doctor will be along soon. In the meantime, your friend here will explain what happened.’ He couldn’t understand. She saw that he couldn’t understand and pointed, jabbing a finger to his left. With which she walked off briskly, the way nurses do, straight and true. He looked to the left. His neck hurt, but he managed to get his eyes to move far enough that way. Gradually he made out something, sitting or slouching or huddled or hunched on his left. Did she say, Friend? What friend? He didn’t have any friends. Now.

  ‘What happened?’ His own voice was only a blurry thought.

  ‘It blew up,’ someone said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your house, it blew up.’

  Still, he could not understand. The figure beside him rose and stood and turned around and came into view. It looked like a tall man with long blond hair.

  ‘Chook?’

  ‘That’s me.’ She leaned over, spoke slowly and carefully. ‘Your house blew up.’

  He got that. His house blew up. He couldn’t quite hear it, could not quite read the lips, but he could guess.

  ‘The house?’

  He ached. He wanted to go back to sleep, but didn’t. He didn’t want to know, but he had to know. Before he gave up.

  ‘Anyone—?’

  ‘Injured? Almost everyone.’

  ‘Everyone?’

  ‘Some kids, outside playing, were uninjured. But Robyn—’

  Robin? He did not know anyone named Robin.

  ‘Robyn, she was standing on the edge, when the blast hit her. Of the verandah, I mean.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘She was blown off, hit the grass. Head first.’

  At last, it came to him. ‘Robyn?’

  ‘Yeah, your wife. She didn’t make it, mate.’

  ‘Robyn? Dead?’

  ‘I’m sorry. They got her here to hospital. Still alive then. They tried, but they couldn’t save her. Broken neck, mate.’

  ‘Robyn,’ he said again, whispering now. He was giving up. He couldn’t think properly. His head hurt, a bad headache. His ear drums must be split.

  ‘Brain damage too, they think. They managed to save the baby.’

  He began to cry, not with his voice or with his mouth, but with his brain. It was too much. He couldn’t come back. Someone was dead, then something about a baby. He wanted to get out.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Chook said.

  He sank down, eyes closing. ‘No,’ he said.

  Chook leaned right down, a few inches from his face. Put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Harry.’

  ‘No,’ he said again. Then he sank right down. Glad to be escaping. Didn’t want to come back. Not to a world where there never seemed to be an end to it. They’d tried again to kill him. Failed in Canberra, but they’d got Evelyn. Now they’d killed Robyn. He was a failure. He’d failed to protect her, a woman like that. Who wouldn’t hurt a fly. A lovely woman, affectionate, grateful. True, a true friend. He wanted to cry. The failure and the misery and the loss—too much, too much. Life was an endless song of loss and longing, that’s all there was to it. It had been a mistake, being born.

  A man came and stuck something in his ears. Got down close to his face, breathing and grunting. Twisting the thing in his ear. And saying, Mmmm, to himself. Then did the same thing to the other ear. Then he said, ‘The, drum, in, the, left, ear is split. Not, too, bad, in the right. No, damage, there.’

  ‘Ear?’ He managed to hear himself say that.

  ‘Yes, the left eardrum, it, is, split. There may be damage to the cilia.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The small, hairs, in the canals. It could become permanent if we don’t act quickly. You need steroid treatment immediately.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Steroid. The nurse will bring you some cortisone tablets in a minute. You must take them, if you want to save hearing in that ear.’

  The doctor went away.

  Time went away. Nothing happened. He slipped back into his dreaded state. A state in which he was entirely to blame for the disaster. He’d try to sleep. Hours would pass. Nurses would arrive, take his blood pressure. Check his eyes. Worried about brain damage. This went on for three days. Not that he’d be completely asleep, but retreated into a place where you are both asleep and awake. He’d been able to hear soun
ds and occasionally, voices, and feel movement and even hands. One night, he was sure someone was washing him. On another, he was being rolled onto one side, and later onto the first side. And on yet another, young women saying: One, two, lift!

  When he did wake up, he did it suddenly—as if he’d had a long sleep after a hard day’s work. His visual focus was better, his hearing too. A woman came and tested his hearing. Put earphones on his head. Made squealing noise. ‘Can you hear that?’ she’d say. Then she’d change the frequency. ‘Can you hear that?’ He’d lost eighty percent in the left ear. It seemed that he’d been saved from complete deafness in that one, probably by the cortisone. She said his hearing in the left should improve as the split drum healed itself. The other ear was better. The drum was intact and the loss was only fifty percent. It should soon improve as the concussion wore off. It was improving already. He could now distinctly make out what was being said to him, if only in his right ear.

  The woman packed up her gear and went away. Chook had been present, watching.

  ‘The local constabulary have been in to see you,’ she said. ‘I told ’em to piss off. You weren’t in any condition. An inspector and a sergeant. The sergeant said he knows you.’

  Becker didn’t want to see anyone. The concussion had worn off and his hearing, at least in the right ear, had improved.

  ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘I told ’em all they needed to know.’

  ‘There was a girl,’ he said.

  ‘Dell? You saved her. You fell on her, then the roof fell on you. You saved her. She’s been discharged. Came around to see you, but you were out to it.’

  ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘Old Bob,’ Chook said.

  ‘Bob?’

  ‘He had a heart attack.’

  ‘Serious?’

  ‘He’s dead. The funeral’s tomorrow, Thursday.’

  ‘I should be there.’

  ‘You’re not fit to go.’

  ‘And Muriel?’

  ‘Shocked but not hit.’

  ‘Anika?’

  ‘In the kitchen at the time. A wall blew in. Bits fell on them, two caterers and Anika. Nothing serious. One of the caterers is dead. Another badly cut.’