I felt more at peace as I walked back towards Pearl’s house. But as I sat down on the couch I felt the tears come again. A flood of them. Pearl sat beside me with her arm around my shoulders and she cried too.
In the morning I packed my belongings into my suitcase ready for the afternoon flight, resting it beside the front door. I found Pearl in the silkhouse. She was winding tape around cardboard boxes, stacking each finished one on top of the others beside the door.
‘Oh good, you’re finished,’ she said. She straightened up and looked me up and down before making a disapproving clicking sound with her tongue. ‘No. That will never do for a wedding.’
I looked down at my shirt and jeans and back at Pearl.
‘Had you forgotten?’
I shrugged. I hadn’t put any details together except for catching the plane back home.
‘Come on,’ she said, taking me back inside. ‘I’ve got just the thing.’
In the house, Pearl opened her wardrobe and rummaged through her clothes. I sat on her bed and watched her, with some amusement, considering each gaudy dress she pulled from inside, with serious attention.
‘No. No that won’t do,’ she said to each item and I was glad. I laughed and she spun to face me.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Nothing.’
She returned to the cupboard. ‘Ah, here is what I was looking for.’ She removed a simple apricot cotton dress covered in large hibiscus print. ‘Try it on.’
‘Me?’ I said, thinking there was no way I would ever wear something as ostentatious as what she was holding. It wouldn’t have been far from my size – though clearly something she had held on to for quite some time.
She thrust it towards me and nodded.
I changed in the lounge room, tugging at the puffy sleeves and skirt that felt too full around my legs. I could only think of one other time in my life when I had voluntarily worn a dress and that was to my junior formal. It had been simple, straight and black. I might have made ornate and elaborate creations for others to wear, but there was no way I would wear them. I wasn’t that kind of girl. I felt awkward and gaudy unless I was in jeans and shirts. At least no one I knew would ever see me in it.
‘Take off your sneakers,’ she said, laughing and pointing to my feet.
Reluctantly I obliged, though I couldn’t see sneakers making any difference to my ridiculous appearance. What was one more odd accessory?
She threw a pair of sandals towards me and disappeared back into her own room. I slipped them on to my feet and, while they were a smidgen too large, they were not too bad a fit, considering. I looked at myself in the mirror and played with my hair, pulling my fringe evenly across my forehead and the length back over my shoulders.
I sat on the couch and waited for Pearl to come out of her room. I heard her singing, the same discordant sound, endearing and irritating at the same time. I smiled and began thinking of home. I’d been in Tonga for two full days, almost three, though it felt so much longer than that. I’d been so selfish and gutless.
Sally would have been dead. Truly dead. She would have been disconnected from her machines, the medication ceased. Her body left to pump its final blood, breathe its final breath. I had the image of her body on that hospital bed and tried to blink it away. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. I couldn’t undo what I had done or what had happened to Sally. Somehow I was going to have to come to terms with that. I realised I’d forgotten to ask Dad about the funeral but I was sure they wouldn’t have done it without me, surely?
I wondered what would have happened if the accident had occurred a few weeks later than it did. If her baby had lived, who would have looked after it? I wished Barry was the father because, in a way, he and I would still have had Sally. Or something of Sally’s.
It was a fair walk to the wedding. I felt awkward in my dress and sandals, dirt and small stones flicking up, getting stuck under my feet and between my toes. Apart from the floral dress I was wearing, I had a woven belt with tassels fastened around my waist. Pearl added this to my outfit before we left the house saying it was a sign of respect. She called it a Ta’ovala – if I pronounced it correctly – and her only comparison was to liken it to wearing a tie in Western cultures.
‘I’m so glad you came,’ Pearl said, linking my hand over her arm.
I wasn’t sure how to reply. Part of me was glad, too. I felt close to Pearl, like we shared something of each other and I couldn’t imagine going through life without her being a part of it anymore. Though a bigger part of me felt guilty for being there. For running away and leaving my family like that. There was no excuse for what I did. Mum must have been out of her mind with worry.
‘I could have picked a better time.’
‘Ah, there’s always better times for everything.’
‘Why did you come here? I mean, why here, exactly?’
‘It’s where Jack and I spent our only year together.’
‘But I thought—’
‘Sometimes life gives you second chances. His wife had died of cancer and,’ she laughed softly, ‘you wouldn’t believe it but we met by chance, one day, at the cinema in Sydney. His children were grown and, well . . .’ she shrugged. ‘We came here for a holiday and liked it so much we stayed.’
My mind was busy thinking. ‘So his children would be Mum’s half-sisters. Or brothers?’
‘Yes.’
‘Has she ever seen them?’
Pearl hesitated. ‘I think that’s what put the final rift in our relationship, you know. I wanted her to get to know his kids. I had this stupid thought that we could be a family of sorts. Silly,’ she added.
I couldn’t believe I didn’t know anything about it. I thought back to the memories I had of Pearl and her visits. But I didn’t remember hearing any talk of this other family.
‘Your mother didn’t want anything to do with them. She met Jack once, but . . .’ she trailed off. ‘She was such a wild thing as a kid.’
‘My mother?’ I said, incredulous.
‘Oh yes. She had a wild streak in her, that’s for sure. Never listened to a word I said. Always getting into mischief.’
I couldn’t believe it. For a minute I thought she must have been telling me lies. ‘I couldn’t imagine it.’
‘Boy, I could tell you some stories about her. I never wanted her to marry your father,’ she said, her voice turning softer and more serious. ‘That was the final straw, so to speak. She was determined but I didn’t think he was the man for her.’
‘What happened?’
‘She married him. Quickly. Said he was the love and light of her life and I should mind my own bloody business. Your mother always needed something else to believe in. She never trusted that she was enough. First your father, then the church. If there’s one thing I know, Ruby, it’s that we have to live by our own light. There’s nothing else we can do.’
I could see the church up ahead of us. There were people standing in small groups around the entrance. I didn’t feel so strange in my dress. There were women wearing dresses with various mats and tapa and taovalas tied around their waists. Men, too, in cloth skirts covered with woven mats. Garlands of flowers were strung around necks. I could hear singing, deeply melodious, rich harmonies.
‘She didn’t cope too well after you girls were born. And I was travelling a lot. And then I found Jack.’
I still couldn’t believe what my mother was like as a teenager.
‘She loved Sally. More than me,’ I said and I was surprised at where it came from.
‘Now, you are wrong there. She never had to worry about you like she had to worry about Sally. Boy, that girl was worse than her mother, from what I hear.’
‘I never thought Mum knew.’ My mind was reeling with this information. It was like I was looking back at my l
ife with a totally different lens.
‘You kidding? Why do you think your mother took Sally with her?’
I stopped walking. I’d always thought it was because she loved Sally more. It had never occurred to me that there was any other reason.
‘She always hated my name.’
Pearl smiled. ‘I think your mother needed to blame something for how things turned out. She really loved your father.’
I felt guilty with that thought. Like I was somehow responsible for hurting her too.
‘No one is responsible for our happiness or lack thereof. No one but ourselves.’
‘What happened to Jack?’
‘He passed away three years ago. I wanted your mother to meet him again but she never would.’
I felt a change in Pearl. Like she had exposed a vulnerability inside herself that she didn’t know what to do with. It was only slight but her body slumped, she felt heavier against my arm.
I was thinking how complicated life is and how there are no simple roads or paths. We are a fabric of mistakes and hurts; a family tree of fumbled attempts, successes and failures.
As we entered the church, making our way through a hundred or so guests, their faces alive with smiles and tears, I had this moment of clarity. Knowing that I’d passed though something, or crossed over something. An invisible marker in life. I could never go back to who I was. Only forward towards who I would be.
We stood and the timber pews creaked and groaned. An organ began to play and the feeling of being surrounded by a hundred Polynesian voices singing was a physical experience, the sound resounded through my body, and my response was emotional. The sound of happiness, a joyful sadness. I was surrounded by love in all its mysterious chords.
The bride arrived beside her soon-to-be husband. She was wrapped in tapa, decorated in flowers and woven wrappings. Barefoot, her ankles and wrists were enclosed in circlets of flowers. Her skin shone, luminescent with oil. Her face glowed with promise and expectation.
I felt transported outside of myself into this community. I could not understand a single word either spoken or sung yet I felt at home.
At the wedding feast, we sat on the ground at what appeared to be giant toolboxes. In the cavity of them there were trays and trays of food. Garlands of sweets and flowers were strung across the handle and under nets to keep the flies away.
Baskets and baskets of whole cooked pigs were brought out among the guests. The bride and groom were at the front, facing us all seated on large mats. They were presented with metres and metres of tapa, some lengths taking ten or more people to carry them, opened, displayed, then folded and placed before them.
I could not help thinking of my mother sewing white wedding dresses for people in the Aberdeen and how alien that whole concept felt among this wedding.
Pearl began talking to me about how religious Tonga was, how, since the missionaries came, Tonga embraced religion wholeheartedly.
‘It’s quite a conservative country,’ she told me.
But I could only see the beauty of that day and moment. There was so much food in front of us that we could only eat a fraction of it.
As we were eating, a girl stood before the bride and groom. Behind her, to the side, was a group of musicians. They began to play and sing and the girl danced. Her knees bent, she moved her head and arms in little flicks, the small movements of her feet moving her to one side, then the other. Guests began to stand, move forward and dance around the girl. A feeling of warmth and excitement spread through the crowd. We joined in, clapping. More people stood, moved to the front and either danced with the girl for a time, or placed paper notes on to the girl’s oiled skin. Some of the money dropped to the ground. People dancing around her picked it up and tucked it into the fold of the matting and tapa wrapped around her body. Pearl told me that the money would be given to the bride and groom.
I was only vaguely aware of the time. Soon I would have to leave that faraway place and all its mystery and magic. I would have to push through the small cocoon that had protected me from all that was real and present back home.
A friend of Pearl’s drove us to the airport. Pearl clutched me tightly to her and cried openly. ‘Oh my girl,’ she said. ‘I wish I could make everything better but I can’t.’
I nodded, feeling tears coming to my eyes.
‘Give your mother my love,’ she said, nodding as though I understood much more than she was able to communicate. ‘Tell her I will write to her.’
‘I’ll try to come back. Next year,’ I said, thinking I’d like to see the efforts of all our leaf chopping and gathering, all our love and attention bearing silk.
‘My babies are calling me,’ Pearl said, turning and walking out of the airport, towards the sunshine and her silk.
I had so much to think about on my way home but my head was a whirlwind that wouldn’t settle on anything coherent or reasoned. Instead, I closed my eyes, plugged in the earphones, and concentrated on my breathing. In and out. Unfortunately there was no time to change my clothes before the flight and I had to fly home in a gaudy ill-fitting apricot dress and beige sandals. I decided to leave the taovala fastened around my waist too.
19.
Both my mother and my father were waiting for me at the airport. They stood apart, Mum surrounded by a few of the Aberdeen, and Dad was alone. My heart lifted at the sight of him. I ran the last few steps and saw Dad’s face crease as he looked at me. I ignored it, rushing straight into his arms. He held me close and firm. ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ I said.
‘It’s all right, Button.’
Mum came towards me. I’m not sure what I expected, her admonishment and disappointment, but she said ‘I’m glad you’re all right.’
The Aberdeen kept their distance as I walked between my parents towards the baggage claim. I wasn’t sure if they’d spoken in person but I felt their tension. In that moment it was hard to imagine they were ever married, that they held each other and talked to each other with an uncomplicated familiarity when they seemed so different and so distanced. It was hard to imagine they were even acquaintances.
I began explaining my clothes to break the tension. I kept mention of Pearl to a minimum and focused on the people, the wedding, the silkworms. Dad put his arm around my shoulder and laughed.
‘I can’t say it looks good on you.’
Despite herself, Mum smiled.
We left the terminal for the carpark and I couldn’t help but glance around for Barry.
I went with Dad to his motel where he left me alone to unpack and change. I hadn’t touched my phone since the flight to Tonga and I turned it on. The screen flashed and beeped with the unanswered calls from Dad and there were a few voice messages, too.
It’s Barry. Please call me.
I know it’s wrong but I really like you.
I threw the phone on the bed and lay down. I wished a lot into those words but humiliation rose up inside me. I was totally out of my depth and wished I had someone to talk to about it. I considered Dad but it wouldn’t have been fair to him at all. I considered Becky but decided she’d get wound up in the excitement and turn it into something superficial and childish. I picked up the phone and texted Barry. I waited. And waited. Then I dialled his number. The phone rang out. I dialled again, the phone rang out.
I could only imagine the questions and complications that Sally’s condition presented at the hospital, my parents and the Aberdeen. I didn’t really want to know, I didn’t want to ask, but I couldn’t help those thoughts going around in my head. It was the night before the funeral and I wondered where her body was and how she went from that body on the bed, still warm, yet gone to wherever she was, waiting.
Dad and I caught a taxi to Mum’s house. Somehow all of our combined raw emotion had become a shroud of melancholy. Like a deep and peaceful sadness.
> Mum’s house was lit with candles. I recognised many of the same people from the Aberdeen but they appeared different to me now. We were enveloped in a community of singing. Quiet, unaccompanied voices. The song never ended, it resonated with the same rise and fall of sadness. That steady, pulsating rhythm of endless emotion. We sat on the couch and, after a while, I didn’t feel strange at all. No one was looking at anyone but rather we were made to feel alone and connected all at once. For a moment I glimpsed something of what my mother found so compelling about her religion.
My mother wasn’t in the lounge room and, after a while, I stood and left my father, walking downstairs to her sewing room. I heard the machine, the staccato of needle bursts running fast, then stopping, running fast, then stopping. I stepped into the doorway and she turned her head a little, acknowledging my presence, without fully turning to see me. I walked over to her and sat on the floor beside her legs. We didn’t talk, the singing and the sound of the machine spoke for us, guiding us along an invisible track through the river of our sadness.
I leant my head against her legs and felt her body pause before continuing with her task. I leant in closer and let my head rest against her skin. I felt her warmth and was reminded of this exact moment so many years before when I would have been no older than four or five. The feeling of my mother at her sewing, the sound of those needle bursts imprinting themselves within my skin? Is this where I first sat, dreaming of what I could create? Was this moment my formation? When I was young I wanted so much to be like her. What a blessing are those moments when there is nothing to worry about, no thought of trouble or grief in the world.
I stood and looked around the room. There were drawers and tables containing materials and threads, needles and bias bindings, bobbins and dressmaker’s chalk. I took some material and scissors and thread and made something for Sally.
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