Drowning in Her Eyes

by Patrick Ford

  Soon, their cousins surrounded them, wanting to know all about Albuquerque and New Mexico. Some thought it would be fun to live there, others preferred to stay in Worcester. It had not escaped a few of their male cousins that both Susan and Sarah were quite pretty, and they were curious about who they were dating and how serious it all was.

  “Do you, err, like, go all the way with your boyfriend?” said a tall, pimply youth called Karl who was suntanned and had peroxide blonde hair.

  Susan replied that she did not have a steady boyfriend, and it was none of his business anyway. Sarah became coy about it, and a blush worked its way up her fair-skinned neck and face. Karl boasted that he had joined the Marine Corps and been posted to Camp Pendleton, near San Diego, intimating that plentiful sun, surfing, and sex were to be had by all. He suggested off-hand that he could offer them the benefit of his experience with women. When that garnered no response, he slyly offered them a ‘smoke’. It was hand rolled and the tobacco was a funny green colour. The girls thought it was time to say goodbye to Cousin Karl.

  Marci had learned that there was a small bequest for her in the will, some personal jewelry, and a few thousand dollars. The house was to be sold and the proceeds divided between all the siblings and, since there were seven of them, that would not amount to much. Aunt Sophie was not happy about this arrangement. As she had been her mother’s primary caregiver, she thought the house should have been hers alone. Her complaints about this did not endear her to the others, and they parted in a rather restrained manner.

  Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA—1962

  In Albuquerque, life returned to normal for a little while. Jimmy had caught some flu-like infection. At first, he assumed he had some kind of reaction to the unaccustomed cold weather in Worcester, but it grew worse. He visited the family doctor, Willie Hammond, who prescribed some of the new antibiotics.

  “These should clear it up, Jimmy,” he said. “One good thing the war gave us was Penicillin and it works just dandy. Come and see me in a week; you should be fit as a fiddle by then.”

  However, the symptoms persisted and the doctor gave Jimmy a second course of the wonder drug. By the end of the second week, Jimmy felt better, apart from a persistent dry cough. As winter approached, the cough became worse and Jimmy began to feel run down. He was continually tired, and struggled to meet the demands of his important job. One day, after a bad fit of coughing, he found that he had begun to cough up blood. For a while, he ignored the problem. Then, one day at work, in the middle of a meeting with his ‘Master Sergeant’, Margaret, a paroxysm of coughing caught him in mid-sentence.

  Margaret was immediately concerned. Her hospital experience told her that this was something serious. “Get down to the doctor pronto,” she said. “That looks bad, and the longer you leave it, the worse it will become.”

  Nobody argued with Margaret. Jimmy came to attention and delivered a mock salute. “Yes. Ma’am!” he retorted and straight away phoned his doctor. Dr. Hammond sounded serious. “I think you should get over to the hospital right away, Jimmy. I’ll phone them and tell them what tests I want done.”

  Jimmy came home that afternoon after having x-rays, lung function tests, and all manner of blood tests. He confided in Marci. “I don’t want the kids to worry. Susan is in her Grad year and needs no distractions like this. In any case, it may be nothing. Look. I’m only forty-two, and that’s too young for anything serious.” They spent a normal weekend with the children—little league baseball, hot dogs, basketball for Sarah. Susan, the quiet studious one, spent some time in the library; she had a history assignment to finish. History was her favourite subject.

  Most did not know that, along with more than three thousand US military advisors, US Army helicopters were ferrying troops around a small country in Indochina.

  Goondiwindi, Queensland, Australia—1962

  This year the wheat crop had been down in yield. September did not bring the finishing rain to make it a good crop. Once home from boarding school, Denni and Jack had joined in with the work as usual. It was a dry, hot summer. For weeks on end, the daily temperatures had climbed above one hundred degrees Fahrenheit as the sun blazed down from a clear blue sky. Waterholes dried up and had to be fenced to prevent sheep bogging down in a desperate effort to get a drink.

  For the next six weeks, nothing changed. Paddy and Jack, Mick and Ollie spent days on end checking stock and water holes. Many sheep were dragged from the mud, but not all survived. Paddy had reduced his sheep numbers, and replaced them with more wheat and some cattle. He had a flair for dealing. He sometimes travelled throughout western Queensland, attending cattle sales. Occasionally, he would sell some of these at a profit at the next sale, but mostly they were put in charge of a drover and walked the many miles to Ballinrobe on stock routes especially chosen for any grass available on them. They would arrive in good condition, having taken advantage of the feed on the stock routes and were usually sold soon after at a good profit. The Australian cattlemen called this practice using the long paddock.

  In mid-December, summer storms began to gather. It grew unbearably hot and humid. For a while, the storms were brilliant lightning shows with little rain—all piss and wind—as Ollie described them. One stinker of a morning, as the workmen, Paddy and the kids gathered just after sunrise to decide on and allocate the day’s tasks, black clouds began to gather in the south-west, the direction from which the summer rains came.

  Mick observed, “I think this might be it, boss—bloody good rain at last.”

  He was right. By lunchtime, a persistent drizzle had started, and in the early afternoon, thunder and lightning rolled in. It began to rain heavily and did so for more than twenty-four hours. Lying in bed that night, Paddy was jubilant. “This rain will set us up for the summer and there should be enough sub-soil moisture for a good start for our crops.”

  Helen nuzzled into his shoulder. How lucky I am, she thought. I have a wonderful family and the best man in the world. Gently, she began to stroke him. She slipped out of her nightdress and began to make love to him. He responded in kind, and soon they lay gasping for breath, feeling as one.

  How Paddy loved this gentle but strong woman who had stood by him in good times and bad, and had given him such a perfect family. Later, in the dark, listening to the rain rattling on the iron roof, Helen decided to clear up some things about what the future held for Denni and Jack. “Paddy,” she murmured, “we have to talk about the kids. It will be the last year of school for them next year, and we have to do something about their futures.”

  Paddy, half-asleep in the afterglow of their lovemaking, was not ready for such a serious discussion. However, Helen had chosen her time well. A man is so vulnerable at this time, sated, warm, and with his soft woman cuddled alongside him, ready to say yes to anything she suggests. Many times over the years, Helen had used this technique to obtain the things she wanted, like a new car, or the just-renovated laundry.

  Helen continued. “Denni is a young woman now. I’ve made sure she knows about the birds and bees. She’s a sensible girl, and I don’t anticipate any trouble in that department. But what about her future, what will she want in life?”

  It was all very clear-cut to Paddy. “Well, I suppose she will marry some nice bloke and settle down. There are a few young fellas around here who will finish up owning a nice station.”

  “Paddy, she’s a very intelligent girl. Don’t you think she might have other ideas? I know she wants to go to university in Brisbane. I don’t think she wants marriage and kids right away, and I am not sure she wants to be a farmer’s wife.”

  “I don’t know about that,” said Paddy. “She is still mad about the horses. In fact, she is keener on the horses than Jack is. All he wants to do is drive the Land Rover and shoot.”

  “All girls love horses. I think it is a sex substitute for them, but times are changing. Look around you. That Dawson girl is going to be a doctor. Who would have imagined that ten years ago, a female doctor!”
Helen rested her case.

  “Oh, well, I suppose we can indulge her. She’s been a good kid and has worked hard,” replied Paddy. “She’ll come home after a few years, anyway, I suppose.” Helen didn’t think so. She would miss her daughter terribly, but the girl deserved her chance in life. She would not stand in her way.

  Paddy said, “At least there is no problem with Jack. He’ll be home with bells on, and won’t that be good? I can teach him all he needs to know about the job.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, Paddy. The world will require a better-educated farmer in the future. You have been a great man, and a pioneering one, but it is going to get a lot harder down the track. I would like him to study farm management,” said Helen. “Have you talked to him about this? Come to think of it, have you had the birds and bees talk?”

  Paddy was embarrassed to say he had not. His narrow religious upbringing made him reluctant to talk about sex. “Well, I suppose I will have to do that. He probably knows it all anyway, what with all the breeding animals, and he is studying Biology at school.”

  Helen said, “I don’t think that will be enough. I think he needs some direction. He seems to be spending a lot of time with Amy O’Neil. It wouldn’t surprise me if he is already active in that area.”

  Paddy was secretly pleased at this. He had been no saint in his youth, and understood what a powerful libido he had. He never espoused it, but he thought of sex as a wonderfully fulfilling game, with the ultimate pleasure at the end of it. He was immensely grateful that Helen was a willing and adventurous partner. He had heard many of his mates complaining of their wives’ indifference to sex and, in many cases, active avoidance of it.

  “We won’t have to wonder what Jack wants to do, anyway. It will be Ballinrobe or bust for him.”

  “Paddy, has Jack spoken to you about the army? He told me he wants to go to the Royal Military College when he finishes school and become an officer.”

  “What?” said Paddy. “Over my dead body! Look at some of those blokes that came back from the war. Mad, some of them, or pisspots. I won’t see my son end up like that.”

  “Our son you mean,” said Helen gently. “I still think he deserves his chance too. It’s not like there is a war on.”

  Meanwhile, not far to the north, in a small country in Indochina, the number of US military advisors has doubled. They are about to be joined by the first thirty military advisors from Australia. An undeclared war was about to get serious.

  Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA—1963

  On this Wednesday morning, Dr. White looked out the window at the city of Albuquerque. He had moved here from Chicago several years ago, fleeing the cold, crime, and congestion. It had been a good decision. He had prospered here, and his family loved it. However, it had not been all beer and skittles. Today was one of the bad ones. He hated this part of his job. In his waiting room was a patient to whom he was to deliver the worst of news, a young man with a family and a good career ahead of him. He was about to sentence him to death.

  As the nurse ushered him into the doctor’s office, Jimmy was still hoping for the best. This morning he had felt better than he had for a while, but he reasoned it was probably adrenaline-fueled anxiety giving him a high. He was ushered to a chair, greeting White with a nervous smile. “Mr. Baker,” White commenced, “I guess there is no easy way to say this. I am afraid that you have Mesothelioma, a cancer that rarely responds to treatment and is inevitably fatal. There are many treatments I can apply, surgery, chemotherapy and radium treatment. All of these will have bad side effects, some quite debilitating and painful. You should talk this over with your family. You should also obtain a second opinion if you think you need it. I am sorry I cannot offer you better news or a better prognosis. This condition is usually caused by exposure to asbestos fibres. Were you ever a miner or a processor of asbestos material?”

  “No,” replied Jimmy, “But I spent nearly four years in the Navy and there was a lot of asbestos insulation in those ships. Could that have been the cause?”

  “Probably,” said White. “Your condition is not unknown amongst Navy veterans.”

  Jimmy said nothing for a long time. He could not get his head around this news. “So how long have I got?”

  “It is very hard to say. Your condition may progress very quickly. On the other hand, if you are lucky, you may have two years. I can promise you no more than that.”

  Jimmy then asked him the question he always dreaded. “If you were me, what would you do?”

  Dr. White hesitated. “Even if you undertake any of the treatments I have suggested, your disease will not be cured. Indeed, surgery may exacerbate your condition, since disturbing the cancer may stimulate it into more rapid development. Chemotherapy and Radium both have serious side effects. You will lose your hair. You will spend long periods in hospital, and endure much pain. If I were you, I would let the cancer take its course and use what time you have left to enrich your life and that of your family. If you can afford to, take a nice vacation, travel, treat yourself to a new car or do whatever takes your fancy. Enjoy what time you have left.”

  Jimmy forced himself to his feet. “Thank you for your frankness, Doctor,” he said. “I will give earnest consideration to what you have told me.” He took the elevator to reception. In a semi-dazed state, he phoned Margaret to tell her he would not be at the office for the remainder of the week.

  “Are you all right?” she said. “I’m just a little off colour,” he replied. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  He crossed the street and began to wander aimlessly. Eventually, he found himself in a small park and sat on a bench in the cool shade of some trees. It was a lovely day. There were children playing on the green lawn. A couple of boys about James Junior’s age were punting a football, bursting with energy. He could hear a couple of warblers calling high up in the trees. All around him were the sights and sounds of normality, but now they had a particular piquancy. He looked at passersby as if he had never seen them before, and indeed, he had not, not with his new view of the world. How many of them knew when they were going to die? How many were thinking of loved ones left behind, of a life cut down in its prime?

  He sat for a long time and considered his new life. It was to be brutally curtailed, but he was, in a sense, set free by the knowledge. His family would be looked after. He had a substantial insurance policy, and Marci had her home in Worcester. They could sell the house in Albuquerque and he had substantial savings, along with a large block of company stock. Money would not be a problem.

  Marci saw the change in him as soon as he opened the door. Her face crumpled into tears. “Oh, no,” she wailed, “is the news that bad?”

  He nodded. “You’re looking at a dead man walking,” he said, “but I have come to terms with it. Now we must speak of how to make the best of a bad situation.” He looked at her face, at the bottomless depths of her wonderful brown eyes, and he felt his resolve ebb away. She took him in her arms and all the horror and tension burst forth. He began to sob uncontrollably.

  They did not tell the children, although Susan looked knowingly at her mother. She was closest to her father, and sensed something was worse than her parents told her. Later she confronted her father. “Daddy,” she said, “are you really okay?” Jimmy looked into another pair of brown eyes and felt a great sadness. He may never see his Susan grow up or see his grandchildren. He blinked back his tears. He had to be strong for them all. “I’m okay, Princess. The best is yet to come.”

  Goondiwindi, Queensland, Australia—1962-63

  Helen was right. Jack Riordan had tasted the apple, and it tasted damn good. Like most boys his age, he had been fascinated by the idea of sex for a couple of years now. Like most boys his age, he could hardly believe his parents had done this, were probably doing it right now! He used to listen for clandestine sounds of sexual activity without success. Like most other boys of his age, his great fear was that he would die before he had had a chance to experience it. At th
e end of his second to last year at school, he had become aware of his body and its needs. The first time it had happened involuntarily, the result of a delicious dream. Now he was like a fox terrier in the presence of a rat. He could not wait to begin.

  Goondiwindi in 1962 was still a small country town of twenty-five hundred people. Most knew each other, and Jack, as the son and heir of a prominent station owner, was well known to most of the town, more so since the story of his proficiency with a rifle had passed into local lore. It was no handicap either that he was a good-looking young man, tall, and with thick black hair. Some thought he had a slightly rakish air about him, one more attribute valued by the local girls. No matter where you are—Angels love bad men.

  Jack was not old enough to possess a driving license, but he knew the local Sergeant of Police, a friend of his father. Sergeant Ernie Molloy often came to Ballinrobe to fish and shoot ducks. He knew Jack was a proficient driver, and like with most bush kids, but warned him off the main roads. “And don’t drive in town, either,” he said. “If I catch you at it I’ll give you a bloody good kick up the arse!” Molloy had very large feet and very heavy boots, so for the next year, Jack used to drive to the edge of town and walk half a mile to the main street.

  The main entertainment for young people in town consisted of a couple of milk bars, run by gregarious Greek immigrant families, and the local open-air picture theatre. Pubs were out of bounds—the legal drinking age was twenty-one—so the options available to a young courting couple were very limited, especially when they were so recognisable in the town. No matter where you went, you had to pass one of the five pubs. There the drinkers gathered on the verandas and hanging out of the windows had a good view of all the girls with their beaus, and were not above offering all kinds of helpful advice.