The Things We Promise

by J. C. Burke

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘They call it an underwater sealed drain.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Don’t knock the bottle over,’ Zane told me. ‘Otherwise I’m a goner.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  He nodded. ‘That’s what the nurses told me.’

  ‘So you’re stuck in bed the whole time?’

  ‘Nah. I can put the bottle in a little trolley and take myself off for a walk.’ He winked. ‘Want to go down to the TV room? Police Rescue’s on soon.’

  Zane swung his legs out of the bed and stood up. He had lost a lot of weight. His hospital pyjama pants were so loose he had to hold them up. He reached out to me with his other hand, which had a drip in it.

  ‘Still a bit weak after the crypto,’ he said as I took his hand. ‘Lost ten kilos in three days. They reckon I was about to go into a single room.’ His grip was tight around my fingers and I started wondering if he was meant to be out of bed.

  He shuffled a few steps and pointed to the bottle. ‘Put it in that trolley over there, Gemma,’ he instructed. ‘But don’t lift the bottle up too high. It has to stay down below the level of my chest or I’m a goner.’

  Not the kind of thing I wanted to hear again. Carefully I manoeuvred the bottle into the trolley, checking a few times that it was securely in place and not about to smash on the ground.

  I could hear Zane chuckling. ‘You look scared shitless, Gemma.’

  But what did he expect? I was standing in a tangle of tubes with a glass bottle that if I knocked over Zane would be a goner. I wasn’t scared. I was terrified. And I didn’t even like Police Rescue.

  ‘Now I’ll take the pole with my drip and you push the trolley,’ Zane was telling me. ‘Okay?’

  So, the accident waiting to happen – that was Zane and me – started the slow journey down the corridor to the television room.

  The TV was already on but it was tuned to 21 Jump Street, a show that I loved. Probably because the main guy, Tommy, was played by Johnny Depp.

  Zane climbed into one of the big, comfy recliners. He was breathless and I wondered if he needed oxygen, but in a second he was back to bossing me around.

  ‘Park the trolley here,’ he said, patting the side of the chair. ‘Can you open the blinds too?’ he asked, pointing to the windows. ‘I hate the way they close everything the minute the sun goes down. It depresses me. I like looking at the lights. Wondering who’s out there and what they’re doing.’

  The view was awesome, even at night. All those lights twinkling and sparkling as though we were looking at some exciting land that we couldn’t quite get to, only watch and wonder about. I pressed my nose up against the glass, my breath leaving a circle of condensation. Before I knew what I was doing I realised I’d written the name ‘Ralph’ into the misty layer. Quickly, I rubbed it out, hoping that Zane hadn’t seen. When I turned around he was gazing out the window. Lost in his own thoughts too. I wondered if there was someone he’d left behind at home. Someone 937 kilometres away whom he loved?

  ‘See that light way out there?’ Zane pointed. ‘That tiny light way out on the horizon?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s a ship. Way, way out at sea. I wonder where it’s going?’

  ‘Probably to some exotic island,’ I answered.

  ‘Tahiti sounds nice.’

  I laughed.

  ‘You know, I’ve never been to the beach. Never swum in the sea,’ Zane said. ‘Swum in rivers and dams. But never the ocean.’

  ‘But, but …’ I started. ‘How can you live here and never have been to the beach?’

  ‘I didn’t come down to the city until I was sick,’ he answered. ‘This is the first time I’ve left Garrandai. I’ve never been away from home before.’

  I left the sparkling lights and sank into the chair next to Zane’s. Why was I shocked? Zane’s story was similar to the ones Billy had told me. Guys who couldn’t stay in the country because they were gay. Who found that it was only here, in the city, that they could be themselves.

  ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever go home again,’ Zane said.

  ‘Of course you will!’

  Zane grinned at me. His teeth were straight and square and fitted his mouth like they’d been made to order. ‘I’m not saying I’m going to die,’ he explained. ‘This bloody AIDS thing isn’t going to take me. They reckon there’s a new drug around the corner. Just waiting for approval or something.’ Zane closed his eyes as though he’d lost his breath. I was about to suggest I get a nurse when he whispered, ‘Maybe … I mean, I don’t know if I can go home.’

  This time I know I saw his Adam’s apple roll in his throat. But I didn’t have a how-to guide for this. I couldn’t flick through the index and find the page that would tell me the reply for a line like that. I’d have to muddle my way through.

  ‘Is that because you’re queer?’ I could ask about this, I told myself. It wasn’t off limits. My brother was queer. I knew this story. I’d grown up with it. ‘Is that what you mean when you say you can’t go home?’

  ‘It’d kill my dad, his only son being a fag. Maybe my mum too,’ Zane told me. ‘They think I’ve gone overseas. On a big world trip.’

  ‘What? Zane! What about your friends? Do they know?’

  ‘The only bloke who knows is our family doctor, back home.’

  I hadn’t even realised but I had dragged my chair closer to Zane’s.

  ‘He’s pretty much told me to go. Not that I was planning on sticking around.’

  ‘What do you mean? Did he give you a blood test and—?’

  ‘Nah! He wouldn’t even put a needle near me ’cause I told him I was a homosexual and that I was sweating at night and feeling crook all the time.’ Zane’s foot, those perfect toes, were tapping in triple time on the floor. He was shaking his head and bending his fingers back until I thought they were going to snap. But he kept talking and as much as I wanted to block my ears and bury my head in my lap, I knew that I had to listen to Zane’s tale. ‘You know how hard it was to tell the doctor I was a queer? I’d never told anyone before. Just kept it here.’ Zane hit his chest. ‘But I got scared because I’d read enough to know I was sick. I thought all doctors take that oath and that means they’re meant to care for you and not judge you.’

  He looked at me as though he was unsure whether he’d got this right or not. I nodded. Not once but about four times. It didn’t matter whether you were here in the city or 937 kilometres away. I agreed. It was a fair thing to think.

  ‘Who I was with … well, he was married, but he just disappeared one night. It’d been a bad harvest and everyone thought that’s why he up and left. I think the doctor knew something. He said to me, “In some cases it’s better to leave and not bring shame upon your family. Maybe folk think it was a bad harvest that drove you away. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was your sins.” So I packed up and told everyone I was going to see the world.’

  ‘That’s terrible! That doctor should be—’

  ‘That’s how we do it in the country, Gemma. We don’t make a fuss.’

  ‘Still!’

  ‘By the time I arrived in the city I had my first dose of crypto,’ he explained. ‘Pretty much went straight to hospital. They put me in a single room too. But I didn’t know what that meant back then. Lucky, hey?’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Not too far from here. Share a place with some other fellas.’ Then in a completely new, sparkly voice, Zane said, ‘Can you change the channel, Gemma? Police Rescue’s about to start.’

  I couldn’t contain the rage I felt inside. I thought about ringing a radio station or writing to the newspaper. Perhaps I could write a story about what had happened to a young guy from the country who had AIDS. I could even add in my own experiences. I’d call my story ‘The Glove Syndrome’. It was holidays so I didn’t really have an excuse not to. All I seemed to do most days was hang around at the hospital, talking to Zane or trying to study the theory
of osmosis or read my school novel, 1984, without falling asleep.

  Sometimes when I opened my eyes, Zane’d be watching me, that big grin pasted onto his face. It didn’t spook me because often I found myself gazing at him when he was asleep too.

  I thought I had met all that sad had to offer. Seeing how Saul had changed on the video, tiny Maurice disappearing into his pillows, and catching Billy’s face when he was lost in a thought and I could almost hear his heart cracking. But watching Zane sleep was perhaps the saddest.

  Zane was meant to be overseas. Sunbaking on a beach in Greece. Swimming in the sea for the first time. At least, that’s what his family thought. But instead here he was, asleep in a hospital bed with a tube in his chest, a drip in his arm and an oxygen mask on his face.

  Somehow, I had become his visitor, his friend, his family. I didn’t know anything about him. Yet I knew more than the closest people to him, the ones who had known him all his life.

  When Mum had said, ‘You’re hanging out with Zane a lot,’ I’d answered, ‘That’s because he has no one else.’

  18

  JULY

  13 weeks to formal

  AT LAST IT WAS COLD. IT WAS AS THOUGH winter had suddenly remembered it was meant to be here and came barrelling through the sky bearing icy cold winds. People scurried through the streets, their heads down, their hands buried in pockets.

  The other sign that winter had arrived was that our car had broken down. It wouldn’t start and had to be towed away to the mechanic’s.

  Mum flew into a total panic because that evening she had a fitting with Catrina’s mother and bridesmaids. She had never been so behind with her work. She still had seventy-five beads to hand-sew onto one of the bodices and she didn’t know how she was going to get it all done, and also visit Billy at the hospital when she didn’t have wheels. Aunty Penny was of no use because she was on night duty and needed to sleep during the day.

  I told Mum to take a chill pill and that we’d make a plan. So today, we were playing tag. She would do just the morning shift at the hospital. I’d have a sleep-in (except I didn’t mention that part of the plan) and then stay with Billy until evening.

  I was in Mum’s workroom because she had a full-length mirror in there. I couldn’t stop admiring my reflection in my black-and-white coat. Was it possible to be in love with a piece of clothing? Because I was pretty sure I had fallen in love. Coats didn’t talk to you, so Ralph had given me plenty of experience with this type of crush.

  ‘Cara Gemma?’ I heard Mrs C sing out to me. ‘You ready to go to hospital?’

  ‘Coming.’ I took one last glance, then grabbed a container of Billy’s pumpkin mush out of the freezer and locked up.

  Mrs C was waiting downstairs at the entrance. ‘Bella, bella,’ she said when she saw me. She ran her hands along the collar and down the sleeves. ‘Is so smart, Gemma. Beautiful. Is one Saul buy for you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Isn’t it the best?’

  ‘Cara, cara Saul.’ Quickly she blessed herself.

  Outside Mr C was tooting the horn. Mrs C and I held hands as we made our dash down the path and through the mini cyclone that’d just erupted in our suburb.

  The Fiat swayed in the wind and the windscreen-wipers squeaked double time as they tried to sweep the rain off the window. Poor old Mr C had to keep rubbing off the condensation with the sleeve of his jumper so he could see where he was going.

  ‘Raining cats and pigs,’ he shouted.

  ‘Sure is!’ I yelled back, instructing myself to tell Billy what Mr C had just said because he would piss his pants at that one.

  ‘Okay.’ Mrs C started on the arrangements. ‘We are picking up Mamma, you are going to Billy. Later Mr C will drive you home.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Mr C said, saluting me in the rear-view mirror. ‘I am taxi today.’

  As we neared the hospital we could hear sirens howling down the streets. Police cars and fire-engines were blocking off roads and redirecting the traffic.

  ‘I’ll jump out here,’ I told Mr and Mrs C.

  ‘No! No! Gemma!’

  ‘But we’ll be stuck for ages and I know Mum’s probably stressing up there because she’s got hems and beads to finish by 7 p.m.,’ I started. ‘Wait at this corner. I’ll explain to Mum where you are. Okay? Don’t move.’

  Mrs C was waving an umbrella in my face. ‘Take, take.’

  I ran across the road weaving around the traffic, my black-and-white coat billowing in the wind. Raining cats and pigs. I reminded myself again to tell Billy.

  As I’d suspected, Mum was stressing out. ‘You were meant to be here half an hour ago, Gemma!’

  ‘Something happened. There’s traffic everywhere,’ I told her. ‘They’ve blocked off the street. Mr C is waiting for you on the corner, just down from Maccas.’

  ‘Did you remember Billy’s mashed pumpkin?’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’

  ‘Did you write his name on the container?’

  ‘Yes, Mum. His name and his bed number and I’ve already put it in the patient fridge.’

  My brother and I watched Mum rush away, bags of sewing swinging from each arm. Then Billy lay back into the pillows and sighed. ‘I hope they like their dresses,’ he said. The thrush in his mouth was bad. He was dribbling a bit because it hurt his throat to swallow. Sometimes between words he had to stop and suck up the spit or wipe his mouth. We all pretended we didn’t notice. ‘Mum has put her heart and soul into them. She’s been sewing beads all morning. They should be paying her a bonus.’

  ‘Poor Maryanne.’

  ‘Poor Maryanne,’ Billy agreed. ‘She needs a few days at home. I don’t know why she comes in here every day. I’m twenty-five years old. Not five!’

  ‘She likes being with you, Billy.’

  ‘She needs a rest. And I do too.’

  ‘Is Zane in the TV room?’

  ‘He’s having an X-ray,’ Billy said. ‘They took his chest drain out this morning.’

  ‘Wow. He must be pleased.’

  ‘Zane’s mates came in last night.’

  ‘What? From home?’

  ‘No,’ Billy answered. ‘His flatmates. Kind of an odd bunch.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘They just don’t seem to fit together. One of them was pretty old and the other one was just weird.’

  ‘I wish Zane’d tell his family and friends back home where he really was,’ I said. ‘It just doesn’t seem right. Does it?’

  ‘It’s Zane’s choice, Gem. And it’s a double whammy for a lot of families.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They find out their son’s gay and that he has AIDS.’

  ‘Yes, but I bet his dad’s not like ours.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  I shrugged off Billy’s comment. He didn’t know, either. Besides, I’d imagined myself contacting Zane’s family. I’d imagined the reunion they could have here in 9 South West.

  I’d been thinking about asking Zane if he’d let me write to his parents. Maybe he needed someone to do that for him. Maybe that’s why he’d told me in the first place?

  ‘Do you mind if I close my eyes?’ Billy said, yawning. ‘Have a little nap? It hurts my tongue to talk.’

  ‘No. You have a sleep. I think I’ll go down to Maccas and get Zane that cheeseburger with extra gherkins. He’ll probably be feeling like it now his drain is out.’

  ‘He already mentioned the cheeseburger this morning,’ Billy said. ‘His mouth must be in better shape than mine. I couldn’t think of anything worse.’

  When the lift doors opened they revealed Zane in a wheelchair, that insane smile beaming from his face. ‘My drain’s out!’ he announced. ‘My lung’s all good and working.’

  ‘I’m so happy for you.’

  ‘We have to celebrate.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, hopping into the lift and pressing the ground button. ‘I’ll be back with a surprise.’

  The doors closed but I coul
d still hear Zane shouting, ‘Extra gherkins. Please!’

  Perhaps something I had learnt these past couple of months was not to knock the simple things in life. Like a good cheeseburger with extra gherkins. Especially if you’d been trapped in a tangle of tubes or your guts had been attacked by crypto or your mouth was so sore from candida you could only look forward to eating vegetable mush.

  That wasn’t the case with me. I was merely a spectator. But there were days in 9 South West that I found suffocating, even after an hour. The air was fake. The sounds were muted. The lights were always on. But you could still see out to a world on the other side of the glass that teased and taunted because you were no longer a part of it. No wonder Zane liked to stare out the window and imagine how other people were living their lives.

  Outside it was still raining cats and pigs and the wind was tossing up rubbish and sending it flying. But it was open space and the air was real and suddenly it felt like a type of freedom I hadn’t experienced before. It was different to being allowed out past midnight or sleeping at Andrea’s when her parents were away. It was so much bigger than that and yet so much simpler.

  There was no point holding up my umbrella because it was only turning inside out. So instead, I held the collar of my coat tight around my neck, put my head down and made a run for it.

  When I reached a barrier barely half a block from Maccas, a policeman stopped me. ‘You can’t go past here,’ he said.

  ‘I’m just going to Maccas,’ I explained, a bit breathless and taking shelter under one of the awnings. ‘It’s just there.’ I pointed. ‘I’ll come straight back. I’m not going any further.’

  ‘Sorry, love.’

  ‘But I have to go to Maccas and get a cheeseburger. It’s for one of the patients at the hospital.’

  ‘No thoroughfare from this point.’

  ‘I’ll only be a minute. I promise. Please?’

  ‘I’ve told you, miss. You can’t go past this point. There’s been a gas leak in the street. You’ll have to get your cheeseburger somewhere else.’

  I stomped away, hissing under my breath, convinced that the policeman thought I was lying and that the cheeseburger was for me. What would he know anyway about being a boy from the country, 937 kilometres from home, sick and alone and only wanting a cheeseburger with extra gherkins? He was probably the type who’d put on gloves if he knew I’d come from the AIDS ward.