Fauna

by Donna Mazza

  ‘A quick word?’ She turns to her desk. ‘Emilia, go outside until the bell goes. The others are setting up for the assembly.’ She beckons me to sit in the small school chairs. Heart racing.

  ‘Sorry to nab you like this but I have been concerned about some of the things Emilia has been saying about the baby. I have a duty of care to make sure everything is all right so we can offer support to the children.’

  My breath is shallow, Asta sits awkwardly on my lap and I adjust her. Delay. ‘Um, what do you want to know?’

  ‘Is Asta healthy? Is there something not right with her? Emilia is very anxious about her, and about you too.’

  After Asta’s birth, Fee coached me on how to respond to these kinds of situations. It seemed simple at the time and LifeBLOOD® are very clear about what to say but somehow I am blank, uncertain. Mrs Hughes’ steady eyes fix on Asta, then me. Back and forth. She can see through the lenses of the sunglasses. The beanie drawn back, Asta’s brows, wide face, broad mouth.

  ‘She’s an unusual-looking girl, were your other two anything like her?’ Fake smile. I don’t trust her.

  ‘No,’ quick and defensive. ‘She’s different. Just different that’s all.’

  ‘I don’t mean to pry, Stacey. I’m just concerned about your daughter and if there’s an issue with the baby we can help to support her. To deal with it. It’s hard on siblings when there’s a new baby, and even more so when that baby has special needs.’

  ‘Special needs? You mean you think she has a disability?’

  ‘I never said that. I’m just trying to work out if there’s something we can do to help Emilia.’ She waits. I have no words to add and my heart is racing. ‘We’re a community and we look out for each other.’ Panic rising. I tighten my grip on Asta and get up from the low chair.

  ‘Thanks for your concern, Mrs Hughes.’ And I walk quickly from the classroom. The bell rings for the start of class and I rush to the car, drive quickly home.

  Asta and I lock in on the couch and I text Isak in panic—‘I think Emmy’s teacher has guessed.’ He doesn’t respond.

  An hour later, he walks through the front door.

  ‘So I had a call from the school counsellor and she wants to speak to us. I said we’d be there this afternoon before we pick the kids up from school.’

  I fill him in on my conversation with Mrs Hughes, realise it makes me look very inept at explaining things. ‘It’s my fault.’

  ‘Well, no shit, Stacey.’ He’s annoyed. Short with me. I shrink inside, face tingly with anxiety. He heats leftovers in the microwave and eats them on the couch. Asta suckles, looks over and smiles around my nipple. He ruffles her hair. ‘You just have to lie, Stacey. They told you what to say.’

  ‘I don’t like it though. She doesn’t have a disability.’ Just the word makes me want to cry.

  ‘I know. They said to tell people it was a rare genetic condition not a disability.’

  I don’t know that it makes a lot of difference.

  ‘And what do you think they’d conclude from that? Mrs Hughes said she was special needs.’

  ‘Look, we’ll go and reassure the counsellor and hopefully that will do it.’

  At the back door, a butcherbird flings itself at its reflection in the glass, seeing a palm tree in the living room. It bashes itself softly, over and over.

  The counsellor’s office is in the school administration building. When we drive up, Jake’s class is out on the sports oval playing baseball. His little figure on the pitch so familiar. A small version of his father. There are plenty of parking spaces. Isak opens the back door and takes off Asta’s hat and glasses, unclips her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ My voice is shrill. Try to settle down.

  ‘Not hiding, Stacey. They want to know so if we let them see then they might be off our case.’

  He can’t tell them the truth. I grab the hat and stuff it in my bag before he locks the car.

  ‘We tell them what we’ve been told to say but at least if they see her they’ll understand why you cover her up.’

  I don’t like it and I am panicky but we walk into the school administration offices. The counsellor is tall and blonde, striking blue eyes. We have never had a reason to meet her. She shakes Isak’s hand, then mine. She glances at the back of Asta’s head.

  ‘I’m Anna. Come in.’ Her office is uncluttered, with comfortable chairs. There are several plants and a wide window onto the sports oval. Isak sits, cradling Asta. Her strange and beautiful face. I want to hide her, to keep her safe, but there she is, exposed to the eyes of the world. Isak chats nervously, commenting on the birds in the garden around the school and asks if she ever sees magpies swooping the children on the oval. Trying to charm her. She shifts in her chair, looks at me, avoids the baby.

  ‘Stacey, Isak, you know why we’re here.’ She looks directly at Asta. Eyes fixed, then consciously shift back to me. She is distracted. They dart back to the baby.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Hughes had a conversation with Stacey about it this morning.’ Isak sits forward, ‘There’s a time and place for these conversations, Anna, and Mrs Hughes chose the wrong time and place to confront my wife.’ I didn’t think he would take this angle but he is firm and assertive. I rub my fingers across the locket, back and forth. Genie from the bottle.

  ‘I apologise. No, that wasn’t following the right procedure but I’m sure Mrs Hughes was just trying to engage in a casual conversation.’ She glances at me—young and pretty.

  ‘You can’t engage in a casual conversation when you are talking about disability.’ He said he wouldn’t use that word. He avoids my eyes. Asta flails her arms in his lap and the counsellor is distracted by her. Isak holds her little hand still. ‘It’s serious and a parent is very sensitive about the wellbeing of their baby.’

  ‘Yes, I understand that. But we do have a duty of care to your other children so if they are having difficulty coping we need to be able to support them. To help them understand and deal with the change to the family dynamic.’

  Asta grabs his ear, looks up at him. Draws his attention, then, ‘Da.’ Loud and distinct. Joy inflates me inside and Isak’s face glows. I see tears in his eyes and he swallows hard.

  ‘See, she doesn’t have a disability,’ I say.

  Anna smiles. ‘How old is she again?’

  ‘Five months,’ he says. Not quite.

  ‘She’s very advanced then.’ We all look at Asta, her wide mouth seeking out Isak’s earlobe. Anna laughs nervously. ‘Perhaps you can tell me why Emmy is so concerned.’

  Isak is a little tremulous, ‘You can see she looks a bit different. Well, genetically, she is different.’ He’s going to tell her the truth. I rise from the chair a little, look at him. His eyes dark and stern at me and I sit down, reprimanded silently. ‘She has a genetic condition. It’s very rare and that’s why she looks this way.’ Anna’s eyes dash between us, assessing our relationship, the signs of cracking. I can see she is suspicious. Her light eyes see through us.

  ‘I don’t think she believes you, Isak.’ He glares at me.

  ‘It’s an inherited condition,’ he continues. ‘Like Down’s syndrome, it causes a variety of symptoms and abilities so we aren’t sure what to expect from Asta and how she will develop.’

  ‘Is it chromosomal?’ She glances at me, tries to engage me in the conversation. What I might say could unravel everything. I am silent.

  Isak pauses, ‘Yes and no.’

  She is puzzled now.

  ‘Does it have a name? Then I can do some reading around it and better know how to help.’

  ‘We don’t want your help.’ The words are acid and I spit them, raised bile. She squints.

  ‘Stacey.’ He stands up. The counsellor stands too. Both above me, looking down. He is white with anger. Asta’s face still and staring.

  ‘Okay, now everyone be calm,’ her well-schooled voice. ‘Let’s just sit down and keep talking.’ She sits slowly, and Isak follows. ‘Now, I can see there are some
stresses in your family life. Whatever they are, let’s just focus on the children here. I can refer you to an external provider for relationship counselling too.’

  I want to cry but suck it down. We are both silent.

  ‘It’s very difficult to have a child with special needs and we know, there are other families who face these challenges.’

  She makes us another appointment for the end of the week and Isak mumbles about being sorry and getting time off work for it. She shakes his hand, avoids my eyes but I touch her damp fingers.

  In the days that follow, he is remote from me and focuses on the children. Speaks to them, feeds them. Goes. I am a leaf in the sun, slowly drying out, curling in on myself. I could crack and crumble into tiny pieces, unnoticed under foot. I could dissipate into the earth in a moment. Fragments of dust and cellulose merging into landscape.

  The night before the appointment he breaks through my husk.

  ‘I’ll go to this appointment tomorrow. I don’t think you are up to it, Stacey.’

  I feel my blood rise in anger. He thinks I can’t deal with it, that I’m rash and stupid. I say nothing of this. Agree it is a good idea. ‘What will you say?’

  ‘I’ll say what we are meant to say.’

  ‘About me?’

  He lowers his eyes. Reaches for my hand and sighs deeply. ‘I’ll say you have postnatal depression.’ He pauses, waits and looks at me. Waits. ‘I think you do, Stacey. I think you have postnatal depression.’ He waits. ‘Have you thought you might?’

  I am altered. I feel her blood in my blood. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You are not yourself.’ This is more true than he could possibly imagine.

  ‘I don’t know if I will ever be the person that I was.’

  He shifts, sits beside me with his hands on mine.

  ‘You will be. Don’t worry. It will pass. And she’s growing up so fast. Before you know it, she’ll be weaning and then you’ll start to feel your energy come back.’ His eyes are a little glassy with tears.

  In some simple, practical way I know he is right but he can’t see the invisible workings of her traces, circulating through my heart and brain. The way her difference has become normal to me, made us one in our alien-ness.

  There are moments when I am home with Asta I feel such oneness with her that I think it must be what enlightenment feels like. Feeding her, changing her, bathing her, putting her in her bouncer, I am in orbit around her and completely fixed on her beauty. In awe and in love. Her little body grows robust and strong and she is more mobile each day, turning over, pulling herself up on her arms. Almost crawling. At five and a half months, she can sit and sometimes I prop her with cushions to make sure she is safe, but she isn’t fragile like my other babies.

  Each day and most of the night I nurse her. She feeds and feeds and feeds. And as she feeds, my own flesh withers and shrinks. I tell them, through the BubBot, that she needs food, but each week the message comes back to wait until the right time. I push my body further, giving it to her, every last piece, every last drop. I am her sustenance. And all of this while the television chatters in the background, a new bird-flu virus, people suffering, dying, blowing each other to pieces in another place, a monster storm season in the Caribbean again. Then the relief of watching people cook and renovate houses. It stays on the periphery of my consciousness. My attention is with her.

  Today Dimitra is coming so I shower and dress before Isak leaves with the kids. The cleaners went through the house yesterday. I took Asta for a long walk while three women repaired a week’s chaos in each room. They sent a message when they were done and we came home to the scent of disinfectant and a defamiliarised house. For a day or two everyone tries to keep it clean, a little afraid of the neatness. I leave Asta on the floor in the living room and clean up the breakfast things. When I return she has moved away and is half hidden behind the couch. The doorbell rings at exactly nine.

  Dimitra is sculpted into a red dress today and greets me with a smile, trailing a carrier on wheels filled with her equipment. Perfume of sweet spice. In the living room, Asta has moved again, her legs and broad feet visible around the side of the couch. I pick her up, sit her on my lap while Dimitra sets up the table with her tests. Her laptop camera trained on the two of us.

  ‘Stacey, I gather from what Isak put on the BubBot that you are not feeling well. Perhaps we can do some tests, if that’s okay with you. I want to assess you.’

  ‘For what? Postnatal depression?’

  ‘Just some quick questions. We use the Edinburgh test so it’s well tried and very reliable. I’ll film our appointment if that’s okay with you too.’ I nod and she starts to read from her laptop in a formal tone. ‘Have you been able to laugh and see the funny side of things? A, as much as I always could. B, not quite so much now. C, definitely not so much now. D, not at all.’ She waits.

  ‘A.’ It is quite clear what the right answer is so I give it. I don’t want her to prescribe me any medication. She looks up, eyebrows raised. Continues with question two. ‘B,’ I respond. If I mix it up and don’t seem quite so perfect, perhaps she will think I am being honest. Ten questions later.

  ‘I’ll just submit your responses, and …’ She waits, staring at the screen. ‘If you answered the questions truthfully, then your score puts you in the low range.’ She widens her eyes at me. Knows.

  ‘I told everyone I was fine.’ I know it’s obvious that I’m not.

  ‘You’re doing well considering, in my opinion.’ She shifts in her seat. ‘It’s not a foolproof test, it’s very basic. If you are feeling sad or struggling, please talk to me or I can make you an appointment with Fee if you would prefer.’ She reaches for Asta, changing the subject. ‘She looks so well.’ She raises the end of the sentence like a question and I know this implies a response is needed.

  ‘She’s growing, as you can see. Feeding a lot. I mean, really—lots. I would like to feed her something else. I know you’ve said to wait but it is pushing both of us to wait.’

  ‘Six more weeks, Stacey. It’s important for her microbiome and that is going to help her immune system so I’m sorry but you really must wait. Just remember that feeding her is the most important thing you are doing at the moment.’ Dimitra lays her on the change mat, measures her limbs, head circumference.

  Looks in her mouth and feels around with a gloved finger. ‘Did you know she is cutting teeth?’ I hadn’t noticed. Dimitra adjusts the camera on her laptop and photographs Asta, zooming in with the touch screen. Asta squirms, coos at her. Weighs, notes. A sample of breastmilk and blood. It’s all very officious and organised but when she is finished she does not leave. She stays beside me on the couch, while Asta settles in for a feed.

  ‘We had a team meeting last week at LifeBLOOD® in Sydney and we were discussing your family situation and how we might do the best thing by all of you.’ Her eyes cool and serious.

  I jolt. ‘If you were all discussing our family, don’t you think one of us should have been there?’ Isak should be here now.

  She sniffs and nods, will not engage in me criticising their system. ‘There is a common feeling that it would be good for all of you to have a bit more space.’

  Not sure what she means. ‘A bigger house?’

  ‘Yes. Some distance from being in the spotlight and more space outside too. How would you feel, and how do you think Isak would feel, if we put you on some property, got you out of the city?’

  We have never thought we could move, especially onto ‘property’. The idea of it is a relief.

  ‘Neither of you have any family connections in the city.’ She waits for my response.

  ‘No.’ She would know my family connections. ‘Where?’

  ‘We had somewhere in mind, not that far from where you had your holiday. Just a couple of hours south. Between Bunboory and Mandoora.’ She struggles to pronounce the towns. Probably only seen them marked on a map.

  ‘On the coast?’

  ‘Somewhere close to the beac
h, they said. There’s a property available there now with some natural bush and a little pasture for animals.’

  ‘Can we discuss it first?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. But Isak’s company have a refinery there and they have a position ready so we can’t wait too long.’

  ‘You’ve already contacted them?’

  ‘It’s a beautiful place, Stacey. If you and Isak are ready, we can send you down to take a look.’

  ‘I’ll talk to him.’ But I know already there is no choice. That they have honed in on Isak’s own desire, that they know he will say yes because it is what he wants. I want it too.

  ‘It will mean less support from us though Stacey. We won’t be able to continue with cleaning services or meals. But it is generally felt it will be better for you to have some space to bring up Asta.’ She looks firmly in my eyes. ‘Dr van Tink has a lot of confidence in your discretion.’

  When she has left, I put Asta in the pram and we walk to the lake. I take a bag and collect the blown wrappers and dropped bottles as we walk under she-oaks and along the grassy bank. The prospect of wider landscapes to walk in lifts my spirit. I will never need to see Mrs Hughes or that counsellor again. Emmy will complain, miss her netball team and her school. Jake will be easily lured by a quad bike. Familiar swamp-hens wade in the low water amid reeds, seeking out modest prey. Small black coots float unremarkably on the surface. I am already saying goodbye to them. We will move and it is my choice too, this time. Maybe I do have some control.

  We drive south in the winter. The long straight of the freeway, rooftops without end. Remnant farmland. Eventually the forest each side of the road. It burned in the summer, a wild uncontrolled blaze that threatened towns and made it to the news in the city. Tall dead trees stand dark amid the ragged regrowth, fringing around the bases. Light green in contrast to the char of the trunks.

  The road transitions subtly, becoming less bright and massive. Forest thickens and closes in around the highway. An ear, soft and rounded on the road. Its edge trimmed with visible fur, surrounded by a mash of bone and flesh, tumbled pale organs. A thick tail still intact strikes out across the white line. It moves in the breeze of the car. I am queasy at the sight, almost feel it in my gut as it disappears beneath us. Dragging our lives into an unknown future.