Sugar Town

by Robert Nicholls

  He seemed different in the light of day. Louder, more insistent, coarser. I put it down to shock. He croaked on, waving his fists in the air. Unable to see, as Bridie and I could, the stirrings of contempt he was provoking on Sergeant Morrow’s face. Morrow’s head tilted back, drawing his raw gaze up to a far corner of the ceiling and his lip curled disdainfully. As Johnathon’s rant continued, Morrow’s head began to bob with impatience. Whatever argument the men had been involved in, it seemed, had ended prematurely.

  Morrow sucked a breath through his teeth and, with caterpillar slowness, began to turn in Johnathon’s direction. He reminded me of a predator and I steeled myself to watch him bite. Before he could loose a word, however, Roger Dabney laid a controlling hand on Johnathon’s arm.

  “That’ll do, Johnathon,” he said. “I’m sure Sergeant Morrow will work out the proper course of action.”

  Johnathon frowned, opened his mouth to reply and thought better of it, subsiding into a brooding silence. Dabney’s voice wasn’t the one we’d heard from the corridor either.

  This meant, of course, that the one who’d been speaking about Rita, though the voice had been at a volume and timbre I’d never heard him use before, was Sergeant Morrow. Why Rita, ten years in her grave, should be a reference point in their argument – why she seemed to be on practically everyone’s minds, in fact – was, in my mind, fast becoming the mystery of the day. And for her to be spoken of with such venom! I briefly wondered if there wasn’t some new Rita McFarlane in town, who neither Bridie nor I had met.

  * * *

  With Cranna’s harangue suddenly ended, attention turned to Sergeant Morrow. He retrieved his cap from the foot of the bed and turned it in a careful little circle, scanning its inner circumference. He flipped it over and patted a speck from its brim. He drew a long, slow breath, raised his eyes to Bridie’s and, in his tinny voice said, “Lucky escape.”

  Then he fell still, all except for his eyes which kept moving, crawling like robbers over her hair, her face, her throat, her breasts. Johnathon and Dabney were also still. Dabney went back to studying his chart and Johnathon gave me a sly wink. Bridie’s arms tightened across her chest and she flushed with embarrassment.

  “Yes,” she whispered, looking down at Morrow’s shoes.

  I hated him at that moment; for the way he looked at her – inspected her – made her feel small. If anyone ever looked at me like that, I resolved – like I was the suspect apple in the bin – I would turn to stone and fall on them with all my might. In fact, the sergeant did turn his eyes on me then. I stared at him, unblinking, defying him with every ounce (and it took every ounce) of courage I had. He smirked, I thought, then flicked an itch from his nose and looked away.

  “The Doc’, here,” he said, indicating Roger Dabney, “says you an’ your brother and Amalthea Byerson brought the old man in las’ night.” He jerked a thumb in Isak’s direction. “And it seems the old bloke had a story to tell . . . before they knocked him back out. Somethin’ about space junk. That right?”

  “I wouldn’t know what story he had to tell,” I grunted.

  “No? Didn’t see anything?”

  I shrugged. It wasn’t that I cared if he knew about the Space Thing. It was just the least helpful response I could dredge up.

  “Uh huh.” He stared at me and I stared back. “What about your brother? Reckon he mighta seen anything?”

  “Mighta seen talking trees for all I know. He takes medication for that kind of thing.”

  Morrow glanced at Doctor Dabney who nodded slightly and went back to his chart.

  “You bring him along with you anyways, eh, when you drop in – later in the day.”

  As when he first demanded my presence, it wasn’t a request and he didn’t wait for confirmation. Instead he raised his cap and squared it carefully on his head.

  To Bridie, he said, “Gotcher hands full with this one, eh?” And over his shoulder, he said to Cranna and Dabney, “We’ll finish our talk later. Meantime, you do what the good doctor tells ye, Johnny. Not too much excitement, I think. Isn’t that what you were saying, Rog’? Before this nice Queen o’ the Harvest Festival came in?”

  “Stillness and quiet,” said Dabney. “Stillness and quiet.”

  Morrow’s eyes scurried once down and back up Bridie’s body, like a pair of greedy mice, dancing up a corn stalk. He whisked a thimbleful of air through his nostrils, as though savouring the smell of her and one eyebrow arched itself, like a surprised cat. And then he went.

  * * *

  A long, slow breath leaked out between Bridie’s lips. She looked like a rabbit that some wild thing had tracked almost to her door before, in the last yards, losing its hunger. The two remaining men stared at us, the edges of Johnathon’s mouth seeming to betray sympathy, the set of Dabney’s, impatience.

  “So,” gruimbled Dabney, “I take it you came to see if the downed pilot survived?”

  “Yes. Well, no! Not just that! I . . . I ran into Dana Goodrich. She was telling me that . . . !” She stopped, uncertain how to proceed.

  “What?” demanded Doctor Dabney. “She was telling you what?”

  “She said . . . there was some talk here . . . about my grandmother! And, well, Grandma Grace has kind of been on our minds lately – Ruthie’s and mine. So I thought . . . !”

  “I’m surprised at you, Bridie!” he huffed. “People with sense don’t put any store in what Dana says. And I might add that the same goes for anything Johnathon might have said yesterday. I can promise you, with the pain-killers he has in his system, it’ll be days before he’s making reliable sense.”

  He glared at Johnathon and made a toss-away gesture with his hands. The argument we’d stumbled into, I guessed, had seen these two on opposite sides. It pleased me to think that Johnathon was principled enough to stand against the doctor – maybe both the doctor and the policeman together – though I had no idea what principle he might have been defending.

  At his point, however, with the three of us staring at him, Dabney must have realised that he had suddenly become the odd man out. He made a visible effort, reining back his volume and arranging a mask of concern on his face. His tone became buttery with solicitude.

  “However, now that I think on it, your grandmother’s name did come up, Bridie!” He nodded in Isak’s direction. “The old fellow, you see! But he’s always fretted about the past; especially when he’s on the grog. And we wouldn’t like to imagine what sorts of things are in a past like his, would we? Let alone have to sort the real from the imaginary!”

  He tried a comradely chuckle which sounded like a crow gagging on plastic and no one joined in.

  “Anyhow,” he continued, gesturing offhandedly at her banner, “Sugar Town’s Harvest Festival Queen must have better things to do with her time than follow up rumours spread by silly girls. Speaking of which . . . !”

  He turned his attention on me then. “Ruthie! I’m told you’ve been worrying the mayor with some sort of conspiracy nonsense. Is that right?”

  My hackles had barely relaxed from Sergeant Morrow, and now they were straight back up again. I didn’t like him condescending to Bridie as though she was thirteen and, even though I WAS thirteen, I wasn’t going to be a ‘silly girl’ without a fight.

  “I asked a question, that’s all. If you can’t ask the mayor a question about his town, who CAN you ask?”

  He looked at me, his lips clenched tightly, and I looked right back at him, as steadily as a stone. He looked like he was holding back a verbal pummelling, which he must have succeeded at because, in the end, he just nodded. I nodded right back at him. I felt that we understood each other.

  “How’s Asael?” he asked, a sudden change of topic which threw me entirely.

  “Asael? He’s fine! Why?”

  He nodded again and this time I didn’t join him.

  “He spent some time with my nurses, last night – after you brought Isak in. There were signs, they said, that he may have had
a seizure. Did he have a seizure?”

  All eyes were suddenly on me and I felt the blood flaring in my cheeks. I hadn’t followed up on his ‘vision’ in Alf’s paddock. Or on his stillness while perched on the Gourd. He’d come out of it on his own both times and I’d simply ignored it, too busy with my own tangents. I hadn’t even properly pressed him about his medication (though, in all fairness, it wasn’t actually my job to do that!) I began to stutter and stumble over words, as you do when you’re caught out. A trace of a smile flickered across Dabney’s lips.

  “You can ask the mayor,” he said, in what he probably imagined was a fatherly tone, “anything you want to ask him, Ruthie. Of course you can. I’m glad you did, in fact, because I’m sure Lyle would have put your mind at rest. But . . . !” I knew the lecture was coming and hated myself for deserving it. “You’re a big girl now, Ruthie. You have responsibilities . . . to Asael . . . and to Bridie. Even to the community, in some ways. They give you and your family their support as best they can; and they need your support in return. In the here and now. Understand?”

  I couldn’t bring myself to look at him or to answer him. It’s dead awful, not to have a leg to stand on! And to add injury to insult, to have someone like Johnathon in the background, watching and listening! I could happily have crawled into my own pocket and disappeared.

  “Of course you do,” Dabney smiled and he actually patted the top of my head. Self-satisfaction oozed from him so thickly, I thought I could feel it on my scalp. He wasn’t finished though. Having put me in my place, he turned to Bridie.

  * * *

  “And you, Bridie!” The one good thing was that the disappointed look she’d fixed on me evaporated. “Are you looking after yourself? Not letting yourself get too . . . stressed?” And to her sheepish nod, he said, “You’re sure? You’re positive? You’re sleeping well? I know you’re dealing with a lot – a single de facto parent looking after two young siblings! One of them with an impairment.”

  I assumed he was talking about Asael but I also noted that, for an instant, he looked squarely and openly at me.

  “And of course there’s your father. It must be a worry, him being off in the remote jungles, out of touch, living hand to mouth as he most probably is, knowing him! And you’re here, wondering! And then things from the past pop up and of course you can’t explain them because of your amnesia! Tell you what! Why don’t I prescribe a little something . . . just to help you relax! You don’t have to take them, but you’ll have them at hand if you feel the need arise . . . to take your mind off the everyday world for a bit!”

  I could tell by her silence that she was considering the offer seriously. Perhaps the doctor was right. Perhaps life was getting ahead of her. She looked at me. Perhaps I was too much for her.

  “No,” she said, lifting her head and dropping her arms to her sides, trying her best to look like she was in control. “I’m fine, Doctor. Thank you?”

  “Roger. Please. After all these years, I think you can call me Roger.”

  “Thank you . . . Roger. It was just . . . mention of my grandmother that . . . ! Well! You of all people know . . . Roger, that I have these gaps in my memory. But just lately . . . I’ve had this feeling that, if I really tried, I could remember! It’s like I’m feeling my way down a dark street and I know there’s a corner somewhere near. If I could just get to it . . . find it . . . there’d be light . . . and I’d remember! I want to find it but . . . I suppose I’m frightened! But if someone was talking about grandma Grace, well . . . I’d want to be there . . . to hear, wouldn’t I? To learn?”

  Dabney glanced at Johnathon. I assumed there was some professional indiscretion happening, discussing people’s personal medical conditions in the hearing of others. But then he continued on, taking Bridie’s hands in his.

  “Of course you would, Bridie! Of course you would! That’s perfectly natural . . . perfectly understandable. But you know, like I said to Ruthie, there’s a bigger picture to consider. The whole town was deeply affected by your grandmother’s tragic death – and by Rita’s. Re-opening those wounds could be a very bad thing – for you and for rest of the people in Sugar Town. I’m talking purely medical and psychological points of view, of course. Very bad. My professional advice, Bridie, would be to stop thinking about that elusive light. You owe it to yourself . . . and to the people of Sugar Town. Listen to this, Ruthie, I’m talking to you too. It’s ten years in the past, all this stuff! And that’s where it belongs! Leave it there. Let time do its work. Can you do that, do you think? Both of you? Focus on the good memories and the good experiences you still have? Eh?”

  Bridie looked at him bleakly and I looked at my feet. Even to me, his words seemed almost right! The town truly had given unfailingly generous support to her, and through her, to Asael and me. Through all those hard years since the Reverend left. Could they forgive her – or us – could we forgive ourselves – if we repaid their kindness with ingratitude?

  “Where in the Book does it say it,” Dabney asked softly, “– I know you’ll know – that we are members, one of another? Eh? Where does that come from, Bridie?”

  She did know, of course. “Corinthians four, twenty-five.”

  “Right,” he said contentedly. “I knew you’d know. That’s us, isn’t it! All of us here in Sugar Town – members, one of another.”

  She nodded, beaten. I didn’t nod. Instead, I thought of his threat to Isak: ‘I’ll have you committed!” Somehow it seemed like maybe Isak had missed out on being a ‘member of us’.

  Dabney was already jotting on his pad. “Okay. So no more dark streets in the imagination. We’re just going to refuse to go there, aren’t we?”

  She nodded again, shallowly.

  “Good girl.” He tore the sheet from his pad. “You stop and see Matron on your way out. Then you’re to go home, take one of these tablets, have a long, cool shower and a cup of tea. You may feel like sleeping for an hour or so. Just go where it takes you, okay? Good. Off you go now. I’d let you stay for a visit with Johnathon but he really needs to be resting. And I need to run some tests on Isak here so . . . it’ll be best if the room’s quiet.”

  Johnathon laughed lightly, his first words since having been shushed by Dabney. “The old fella’s got them stymied! He’s been three parts dead for years, from the booze, but he woke up this morning with springs in his feet! They had to sedate him, would you believe it!”

  All four of us turned to look at Isak, small and frail beneath the sheet. One red-rimmed eye sagged fractionally open and his cheeks, bristling with grey, leaned like wet paper against his bones. But his jaw was firmly clenched, his breathing steady and even.

  “It was him that Dana heard talking about Grace,” Johnathon said. “No telling what set him off. Maybe just waking up and finding himself here! Probably the first time he’s been near a hospital since . . . you know, since that night he brought her in. Would’ve brought back memories, I guess. Her dying here ‘n’ all! But I mean, where better, eh? If you have to go? Good doctors, good drugs and . . . !”

  “Be quiet, Johnathon!” snapped Dabney. Then, more softly, he added, “Didn’t we just ascertain that Bridie’s trying to avoid those memories? She doesn’t need that talk. Any more than any of the rest of us do!”

  Johnathon turned a fierce eye on him, but didn’t speak again. So even he could be put in his place, it seemed. The realisation startled me a little.

  Dabney turned back to us, again solicitous.

  “He’s not entirely himself just yet. Which is another reason why I can’t let you stay. Stillness and quiet, they’re the remedies.”

  “Oh, yes! Fine!” Bridie blurted. “We’ll be off then. Perhaps I’ll call back . . . tomorrow?”

  We were half-way down the corridor when I touched Bridie’s arm.

  “I just forgot something. Keep going. I’ll catch you right up!” And I turned back to the room. I didn’t hesitate this time, but strode right in. Even so, I picked up a last few
words that Dabney was addressing to Johnathon.

  “ – better for all of us, if you don’t encourage her.”

  “I just wanted to say,” I said, “how glad I am to hear that Isak was up and bouncing this morning. Such a nice old man, with such interesting stories. Be a shame if someone went and had him committed for telling them, wouldn’t it? Us being members one of another and all!”

  I waited and watched. It only took a couple of seconds. They both turned surprised faces to me. Dabney’s neck seemed to grow an inch longer and his eyebrows rose like startled birds. I nodded once. This time I was sure that we understood one another.

  * * *

  In the dark, twisting cave of Isak Nucifora’s mind, a tiny light is burning. In that light, Gracie Albion stands, beautiful, mature, round-hipped and shimmering.

  “They need you,” she’s saying into the darkness. “Sugar Town needs you. As I always have.” The walls of the cave bead with tears.

  * * *

  It was after four o’clock when we left the hospital. The light was beginning to soften and the air was its gentler late afternoon self. The atmosphere between Bridie and me, however, was crackling with tension once again. As soon as we reached the footpath, she pulled me to a stop.

  “You didn’t say anything about a seizure!”

  “It wasn’t a seizure!” I lied. “Not really! You saw him this morning. He’s fine.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not really’? What kind of a seizure isn’t really a seizure?”

  “The kind that’s more like a . . . waking-dream thing.” And I told her about Asael’s vision of Rita.

  “Was he in any danger?”

  “No, none! There was only me and Amalthea and old Isak. And you just saw what shape he was in!”

  “And The Thing!”

  “Yes, ‘and The Thing’. But it’s harmless, Bri’, really! It’s just a bit of junk!”

  “Junk that glows in the dark?”

  I walked away from her. In my mind, it was her who should be looking into having Asael’s dosage levels reviewed. And as for the Space Thing – Queenie – he and Amalthea would already have been out to see it, and in the daylight, I was sure, it would seem much less exotic to both of them. Besides which Sergeant Morrow was onto it and would certainly be having it collected very soon.