The Songs

by Charles Elton

  If Joseph had died, she would not have gone to Isaac Herzl’s house to suggest he go to the funeral. What would have been the point? But because Sally had made sure that Joseph did not die, it had given her the reason to go to the house. The idea had not even occurred to her until yesterday at the hospital. It was like a leaf that had landed on her shoulder, gently blown in her direction by Joseph and Sally. Without them, it might have been blown by some other gust of wind and landed in the gutter. And then she would not have found Rose.

  Sally and Rose looked quite different from each other. That did not faze Shirley at all: it was not a look-alike competition. Sally had been small and dark-haired. Rose was tall and had mousy blonde hair. Until she got ill, Sally spent a lot of time on clothes and makeup. Rose certainly didn’t, with her sloppy jeans and baggy sweatshirt and chopped hair. In fact, she could do with a makeover, Shirley thought: maybe sometime she could treat her to a day at the Sanctuary. But the best difference between Rose and Sally was that she was not particularly thin — you could even say that she was almost on the verge of chubby.

  Shirley was both excited at having found Rose and terrified about losing her, like some cruel fairy tale in which you found the gold, but then an evil wizard made it vanish. Shirley thought that she normally made a good impression on people, but she knew that was not the case yesterday with Rose: she must have seemed like a madwoman to her. It was fair enough to knock on the door and suggest politely that a father should take some responsibility for his son. Anyone might do that. But all that talk about horoscopes and birthdays, and then guessing the day right — what could Rose have thought about that, with her obsession with statistics? If she had been gambling in a casino with those odds, Shirley could have bought a mansion.

  What she could not tell Rose was that, unlike gambling, her guess had not just been lucky. It was not exactly that she had been certain, but after finding out about Greenlanes and then her ambition to be a doctor, a path through the woods had suddenly opened up and Shirley followed it. Anyway, she had had nothing to lose. If Rose’s birthday had been some other day, Shirley would have just smiled and politely taken her leave and Rose would have just thought that she was a strange woman who liked playing silly games. And she would have left the house before that awful woman arrived.

  Shirley had known immediately that it was a strange household. Her antennae were finely tuned to that kind of thing. When Sally was alive, theirs had been such a happy house. She could not imagine what went on in the Herzl household. No wonder Rose seemed so odd. That woman looked like a little old lady, but she had crazy eyes. And Iz Herzl? Was he locked in the attic like Mrs. Rochester in Jane Eyre, not allowed to see people and singing his Hebrew songs to himself? Rose seemed like a lonely child, her head always in one of those medical textbooks. Her brother was probably her only friend and now he was dead. If only she got the chance, Shirley knew she could fill that void.

  She and Rose were obviously so similar: Shirley talking about Sally without mentioning that she was dead, Rose doing the same thing about her brother until the very end when she had told Shirley in the street. How old was he when he died? What did teenagers die of apart from anorexia? Shirley knew that there were fewer of them, but boys could be anorexic, too. It was unlikely, though, and Shirley did not need another link between Rose and Sally: she had enough already. Maybe the boy had been on drugs or had got meningitis. Maybe he was hit by a car as he was running away from that awful house.

  But at least she had found Rose, a girl born on the day Sally had died. She was very lucky except that it had all gone wrong. She thought about what she should do now. The first thing was to make the bed and have a bath, do her hair and put her makeup on. She might see if her hairdresser could fit her in later. Whatever was going to happen next, she wanted to look her best.

  Later, she was sitting in the kitchen. She had opened another bottle of the wine she had bought for David’s visit and had made herself a meal. After she had finished, she got her headed notepaper out: she was going to write Rose a letter. That was really all she could do — she could hardly go round to the house again. That woman would probably get a restraining order against her.

  Rose was obviously an unusual and clever girl: she would not respond to something conventional — “I was so sorry to hear about your brother’s death. My thoughts are with you” or a flowery condolence card with a message inside saying “With Deepest Sympathy.” She had to somehow get through Rose’s shell. She thought the best way was to be as revealing as she could about herself, to hold nothing back, and then maybe Rose would do the same. She began to write:

  Dear Rose,

  Firstly, I want to apologize for my behavior when I came round to your house yesterday. I must have seemed very strange to you and I would like to reassure you that I am actually a very normal person who lives in a nice detached house not far from you in Highgate with Virginia creeper all over the front and a little driveway with a garage at the end of it, not in an attic with cats.

  You will have realized how upset I was about your half brother being in hospital. I visit him every day. It was with the best intentions that I came to your house. I simply thought — and still do — that your father and Joseph should be reunited and bring the years of pain to an end for both of them.

  But there was more to my strange behavior, and while none of it is an excuse, I feel I should explain it to you. Firstly, my husband recently left me after 38 years of what I thought to be a happy marriage. I will get over that in time, of course, but I will not pretend it has not been painful. The other thing I should have told you yesterday is that my daughter, Sally, is dead. I sometimes find that difficult to say. She died 16 years ago. She had anorexia — a terrible, terrible curse. With the funny coincidence of you both being at Greenlanes and wanting to be doctors, you reminded me of her a little bit. I don’t really know any girls of your age so I enjoyed talking to you.

  And you must forgive my silliness over your birthday. I know you think star signs are very trivial but I’m rather intrigued by them, I’m afraid. Sometimes I read my horoscope and am amused to be told that I will meet a tall dark stranger or that my finances will improve because Mars is in the ascendant! Because of my interest in that kind of thing, trying to guess people’s birthdays is a bit of a party trick of mine. Of course, I’m almost never right, so you can imagine my surprise when, by some amazing fluke, my guess was correct! I have always been a lucky person, although not recently. As you pointed out, the odds are completely against it but then people win the lottery, don’t they? You are a very clever young woman and I expect you know the odds for that, too!

  I am leaving the most difficult part of this letter to the end. I was shocked when you told me that your brother had died and while I do not want to indulge in any superficial condolences, I just wanted to say that I know from my own experience that the death of a young person brings with it grief that is without bounds. But despite everything, your brother will never leave you, as my daughter has never left me.

  Nobody in your family owes me anything, but I think that they owe something to Joseph. If your father changes his mind about visiting, please tell him that his son is at the Princess Grace Hospital in St. John’s Wood.

  I send you every good wish.

  Yours very sincerely

  Shirley Isaacs

  Shirley had to have several goes at it before she got the letter as she wanted it. She had told the truth as best she could but obviously there were some things she could not say. Shirley knew that the one thing that would scare Rose off would be to tell her what she knew about her and Sally. She could not tell Rose that she had been born the day Sally died, and she needed to add some detail to pretend that she was interested in everybody’s birthdays and not just Rose’s. Actually, she had no interest in star signs and certainly never read her horoscope. And guessing birthdays was her party trick? Well, that was the best she could come up with, ridiculous though it was.

  Even though
the last post had gone, she walked down the road to the post box and put the letter in. She did not want to change her mind about sending it. She was not going to falter now.

  Rose

  THERE WERE TWO REASONS I finally went to the hospital myself to see Joseph: one was plain curiosity; the other was Huddie. He would not have let me get away with not going.

  I had a strange feeling walking down the corridor. I was nervous about seeing Joseph because I did not know what I was meant to feel about meeting a new brother. I turned a corner, and I almost jumped. Shirley was there, sitting on a chair. She stood up, with a great smile on her face.

  She grasped my hand. “Oh, Rose, I’m so glad you’ve come. How have you been?” she said.

  “I’ve been fine, thank you.”

  “Would you like a cup of tea? We could talk for a while before you go in to see Joseph.”

  “Well, he’s the reason I’ve come, so maybe I should just go in now.”

  Shirley put her hand on my arm as if to stop me. “I’m so sorry about your brother,” she blurted out. “Can I ask when he died?”

  “A couple of weeks ago.”

  Shirley gasped. “It must be so raw. You must have wept and wept.”

  “No, not really.”

  “Oh, Rose — don’t hold it all in.”

  “I don’t think crying means you care more. Anyway, I don’t cry. Huddie cried a lot when he was small, but I never did.”

  “Had he been ill for a long time?”

  “Well…forever, really,” I said. “He had Duchenne.”

  Shirley obviously didn’t want to ask what that was, so I told her: “It’s a form of muscular dystrophy. It always kills you.”

  “How awful!”

  “Only in comparison with other people’s lives. And there’s no point comparing anyone else to Huddie.”

  “I hope he had a wonderful send-off. I think that’s really important.”

  “Where would we be sending him off to?”

  “I just meant…”

  “If you meant was the funeral good, yes, I think it was. It didn’t take long.”

  “I hope there was some music. With your family…Did your father sing?”

  “He doesn’t sing anymore. I’ll go in now.”

  “Take as long as you like. Then we can have a chat.”

  I knew Joseph might be unconscious, but I knocked on the door anyway. I didn’t know the etiquette for that kind of thing. The room was quite dark. I stood by the bed for a while and then I pulled up a chair and sat by the bed. There was an IV drip stand on the other side, like a coat stand.

  I had no idea what to do. Finally, I said, “Hello, I’m Rose. Rose Herzl. We have the same father: Isaac Herzl.” I paused because I was leaving a moment for him to say something, but all he did was move a little and his eyes opened. Then I went on: “I know you haven’t seen him for a long time and I’ve come to see you instead because…well, he’s old and he isn’t great on his feet.” I thought it was okay to tell an ill person a small white lie. “I’m sixteen and I had a brother — well, he was your brother, too — called Huddie. He was fifteen and he died a few weeks ago, but he might have come to see you as well except he was in a wheelchair. He died at home, not in hospital,” and then I added hurriedly, “not that being in a hospital means you’re going to die, of course. I’m planning to be a doctor. I’m going to study medicine at university.”

  I did not know what else to tell him, or whether there was any point in telling him anything at all, but I would have felt bad if I had just sat there in silence. I did not want him to think that I was just there because you were expected to visit family in hospital. I waited for another five minutes by his bed, and then I got up.

  Well,” I said, “goodbye.” Then, feeling foolish, I added, “It was very nice to meet you and maybe we can do it again sometime.”

  As I reached the door, I heard him say something. It was muffled, but I could tell what it was: he had said, “Rose.”

  I turned in surprise. “Yes, I’m Rose.” I went back to his bed, but his eyes were closed. I touched his hand and said, “Joseph?” but he did not speak. Maybe he had been talking in his sleep.

  Shirley was hovering outside. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had been listening at the keyhole.

  “How was it?” she asked. “What did you think? About him, I mean.”

  “I’d like to have seen if he looked like me or my brother, but it was hard to tell because of the swelling and bruising. Huddie and I didn’t really look alike but siblings often don’t. Everybody has two versions of their genes and they can be different. Which version a child gets from their parents is totally random. I’m going to study medicine, but I’m interested in genetics as well.”

  “Right,” Shirley said, nodding her head.

  “He said my name.”

  Shirley gasped. “That’s amazing! He hasn’t really been able to say anything up to now. He must have responded to you. He doesn’t really know any children. He knew Sally. He loved her. There must be some…”

  I picked up my rucksack and put it over my shoulder. “I have to go now.”

  “Please stay.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  I had hoped to escape without having this conversation, but maybe it was inevitable. “Because I know what you think and I don’t want you to go on thinking it,” I said.

  “What I think?”

  “About me and your daughter.”

  “I don’t think anything, Rose. It’s just nice talking to a girl Sally’s age.”

  “I looked up the old pupils at Greenlanes. She died on the day I was born. You think that means we’re linked in some way, but it doesn’t.”

  “But isn’t it an amazing coincidence!” she said desperately.

  “No! A coincidence is identical twins from Kazakhstan who are separated at birth and meet in Oxford Street. Do you know how many people are born every day? The number of people in the world who’d be born on the same day as your daughter died?”

  “No,” Shirley said reluctantly.

  I reached into my rucksack and rummaged around. I was pretty sure my calculator was in there.

  “I think there are about seven billion people in the world.” I began tapping numbers in. “Fifty percent of them will be women so that makes 3.5 billion. Say fifty percent of the women are of child-bearing age: that makes 1.75 billion. Let’s say women have their babies between the ages of fifteen and forty-five and they have an average of two children over that thirty-year period. That’s one in fifteen. Divide 1.75 billion by fifteen and that’s 116,666,666 babies a year. Divide that by 365 and you have 319,634. That’s the amount of babies born in the world every day.”

  There was a silence. Finally, Shirley said, “That was impressive, Rose.”

  “I like solving that kind of problem.”

  Shirley nodded. “And what about Muswell Hill?”

  “What about it?”

  “How many people do you think live in Muswell Hill?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know…twenty-five thousand? Thirty thousand?”

  Shirley gently took the calculator out of my hand.

  “I’m quite good at these things,” she laughed. “I did all the accounts for the…club I used to belong to.” She began tapping. “Okay — let’s call it twenty-five thousand people. Half of them are women so that’s twelve thousand five hundred. I think you said half would be of child-bearing age so that’s 6,250. You divided by fifteen, so that’s…416 born every year. Divide that by 365 and it’s…1.14. Shall we round that down to one? Isn’t that what people do?” She looked at me. “So there was one person in Muswell Hill born on the day that Sally died. Of course, it could be just another coincidence.”

  I couldn’t bear this. I couldn’t bear the lack of logic. “What difference does it make if it’s Muswell Hill?” I almost shouted. “It’s got nothing to do with distance. If you really believe that your daughter has a
soul or something that gets released when she dies, it wouldn’t go into somebody just because they’re up the road. It doesn’t go by bus. It doesn’t get tired if it has to travel too far! It can probably go at the speed of light. It could get to China as quickly as it could from one end of Muswell Hill to the other.” I put my head in my hands. “This is so ridiculous. It isn’t me you want, it’s somebody else.”

  “Don’t you think it’s possible?”

  “No, of course I don’t! There aren’t spirits! You’re dead or alive. It’s like a light switch — you’re on or you’re off.”

  “There are things in the world that can’t be explained, Rose.”

  “No there aren’t! Unexplained things are just things that haven’t been explained yet. They’ll get explained when more research has been done, when we’ve got the technology or whatever.”

  “Oh, Rose, you must have faith in something.”

  “I’m a Swedenborgian!” I shouted. I grabbed the calculator back from Shirley and threw it into my rucksack. “I’ve got to go. You’re dragging me into some world that doesn’t exist. People need something concrete to rely on, like a compass or the position of the stars or prime numbers. Without them you’re lost. You’re just floundering around in the dark trying to force things into being the way you’d like them to be. If there were spirits, Huddie would be with me now.”

  “I think he is,” Shirley said quietly. “Only you won’t let yourself see him.”

  I looked at her, then turned and ran up the corridor and pushed hard through the door at the end, making it bang against the wall.

  Joseph

  WHEN HE BEGAN to feel pain, Joseph knew he was coming back from wherever he had been. Dreams didn’t hurt but real life was all about pain. His face ached; if he moved his stitches hurt; his arm in plaster itched. The doctor said that was all good: his body was healing, the nerves were reconnecting. That might be a good thing — he suspected that his nerves had probably been disconnected for most of his life.