by Sasha Troyan
“Moan,” she says. “Groan.”
“I told you. I don’t feel like playing.”
“Now, I’m going to put a suppository up your bum,” she says.
“No, you’re not,” I say, jumping up. She runs after me. We run and run until I turn round and tell her to leave me alone or I’ll never talk to her again.
I stop just outside Granny’s room and peer through the window.
Ethel is walking back and forth between the chest of drawers and the couch. Granny’s dresses are heaped over the back of one chair; her silk petticoats, bras, and corsets hang over the side of another. Her shoes have been placed side by side in a long line. Mummy’s standing in the middle of the room. She says something but I can’t hear what.
“You don’t understand,” Ethel says, as she places one of Granny’s dresses flat into the suitcase. It’s the blue-green one that looks like water.
“I do,” Mummy says. “But we must bury her soon. It’s been—”
Ethel continues to walk back and forth between the chest of drawers and the couch. Mummy continues to stand. She keeps touching Granny’s pearls around her neck.
“She wore these to our wedding,” Mummy says, touching the pearls. “Do you remember?”
“She wore them almost every day of her life,” Ethel answers.
Ethel turns her back to Mummy as she pulls out another drawer to the bureau and I climb onto the ledge outside Ethel’s window. I pull myself up onto the green shutters. I stand on top of the green shutters, then swing up onto the ledge outside Juliet’s window. She’s had her door closed since this morning. It’s her day off, but she didn’t want to go for a drive with Luis.
Her room is the same as it was at the beginning of the summer. Books lie on the floor. Clothes are strewn across her bed and chair. Juliet’s sitting on her bed. She’s wearing her wig, but she’s got it on back to front. She doesn’t seem to notice as she combs it in place.
I climb down slowly. Al is waiting and I’m glad. I tell her about Ethel and Mummy arguing, Juliet wearing her wig back to front. We hold hands as we wander through the garden. Al says she doesn’t need to look at me to understand what I’m going to say. She knows even before I’ve said it. That’s why we’re twins.
Every night Al and I get to sleep in Mummy’s bed. She says we’re a great comfort. I count the beams but I cannot fall asleep for a very long time. Sometimes, I see the morning light filter in. Mummy always falls asleep before me, but tonight she doesn’t seem able to sleep either. She gets up from her bed and I think she’s gone to pee, but then I hear a noise coming from below. I tiptoe downstairs through the living room. A silver shadow lights the portrait of the little girl above the mantelpiece. Her eyes seem to shift, as if she were following me with her gaze.
In the kitchen, I find Mummy sitting at the round kitchen table. There’s no light except for a narrow beam from the refrigerator. “Hello, darling,” she says.
“I can’t sleep,” I say.
“For some reason what I really feel like eating is a piece of biltong. Granny liked biltong.”
“Did she?”
I’m not sure what biltong is. I seem to remember a long strand of dried beef.
“Me and Catherine used to have midnight feasts of baguette and rillettes,” I say.
“I’m sorry she couldn’t come this summer,” Mummy says. “But I suppose with all that’s been going on it’s just as well.” She cries and I put my arms around her. I feel like crying too, but no tears come. I concentrate on the smell of her hair like flowers. I wish I were smaller so I could sit on her lap. But I’m too big. I try to think of something funny to cheer Mummy up.
“Remember the time Juliet spanked my friend Catherine instead of me?”
“Did she really?” Mummy wipes her eyes.
“Yes,” I say. “It was all dark so she couldn’t see. She just reached for someone lying on the top bunk bed and she must have grabbed Catherine instead of me and she gave her a beating with her shoe.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t realize it wasn’t you,” Mummy says.
She takes another sip of milk and now she has a big mustache.
“Juliet’s different in the night,” I say.
“Is she?” Mummy says. “How?”
“She sings and sometimes she cries.”
“It must be hard being a nanny sometimes,” she says.
“Mummy,” I ask, “is Daddy coming to the funeral?”
“He might. He says he’s coming. But I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
Nineteen
“Don’t move,” Juliet says. She is kneeling on the floor pinning my dress. It’s so hot I feel faint. I think a lump is growing on each side of my chest. Juliet says that soon I’m going to have breasts. I’m praying they won’t be as big as hers.
Through the window I can see the doctor, Mummy, Al, and Luis playing boules. At first Ethel was very disapproving when the doctor brought the boules over. “It doesn’t seem right,” she said. “The day of her funeral.”
But the doctor went for a walk with Ethel and let her talk and talk even though he couldn’t understand half of what she was saying because she talks so fast and when she got back and he suggested we play boules she said she didn’t see any harm in watching. I think she was so happy that Mum let the doctor come over she didn’t want to make too much of a fuss.
The boules are silver and reflect the sun. They make a special noise when they knock each other.
“My boule is definitely closer,” the doctor says.
“No,” Mummy says. “Mine is.”
“I assure you—” and his face goes a bit red.
“We’re not going to argue, are we?” Mummy says.
Daddy gets very mad when he looses at bridge. I don’t like to play with him and Mummy because he gets so upset if he loses.
“Men are all the same,” Juliet says. “Have you ever seen a woman get as upset over losing a game?”
“I do,” I say. “I hate it when you or Al or anybody beats me.”
“That’s because you’re still little,” Juliet says.
“Not that little. Soon I’m going to be a teenager.”
“Let me show you,” the doctor says to Mummy. He swings his arm but his ball flies wide of the smaller ball.
“It doesn’t seem to help you,” Mummy laughs and looks back at the doctor. He wipes his brow with the back of his sleeve and smiles. I wonder if Mummy has agreed to marry him. His hair is as white as Granny’s.
“Are you almost done?” I ask Juliet.
“Yes, yes, just stand still for another minute.”
“Come and play boules,” the doctor says.
“No thanks,” I say. But then I feel badly because he looks disappointed.
“What about you, Juliet?” the doctor says.
“Oh no,” she says. “I have to sew this hem.”
Luis is driving slowly, but we do not mind. He does not make swerves in the road. He does not sing. He keeps his eyes fixed on the hearse where Granny lies. When the hearse dips, the purple curtains part, and the gold handle of the black coffin flashes in the sun.
Inside, the car is like a furnace. Even the breeze blowing through the open windows is hot and so dry that our lips are parched and our throats filled with dust. I don’t even try to lift my leg or sit forward. Our clothes feel stiff and rough and the flowers I hold in my hand, Granny’s favorite, Ghislaine de Feligonde, droop over my fingers, their heads resting on my lap.
Al let me wear both her hearing aids. Sometimes they hurt my ears because the sounds are so loud. I can’t hear what anyone is saying because the background noise is too loud.
Ethel says that Granny is in heaven. Mummy says she does not know where she is, but that wherever she is she’s lying peacefully. I don’t believe either of them. I think she’s sitting in another vegetable garden eating tomatoes and smoking cigarettes.
“If only she had listened to me,” Ethel says. “Up at the crack of d
awn to see roses and then every evening climbing that hill to the vegetable garden. Whatever for, I’d ask her.”
Ethel’s never been up to the vegetable garden. The only time she went was when Granny died.
“Do you know I think she was still smoking?” Ethel says.
“Yes,” Mummy says. “You—”
“Sometimes I thought I could smell it on her clothes, but I never said anything because she got so angry when I did. But perhaps I should have. Perhaps—”
“Please,” Mummy says.
Ethel opens her dark green bead bag, then snaps it shut. She sits absolutely still. Even when a gnat settles on her nose, she does not move. She bought the same black hat as Mummy except Ethel’s hat has a long feather she had to bend in order to get into the car. Her hat looks like a dragonfly.
“How come Granny didn’t live until ninety five like our great-grandfather?” Al asks. “He smoked a pack of cigarettes a day.”
“Some people die sooner than others,” Mummy answers.
“Will I die soon and you too?” Al asks.
“Not soon my sweet but one day we all will,” Mummy says.
“Even Juliet?” Al says.
“Yes,” Mummy says.
Juliet laughs, “She thinks I’m indestructible.” Juliet keeps wiping her forehead. She’s wearing a black dress, but it wasn’t respectable enough so she had to wear a black cardigan over it. She keeps glancing up at the rearview mirror, but Luis stares straight ahead at the road. Al and I saw him cleaning the plastic that protects the photograph of his wife and children. He told us that he needed to have another photograph taken of them. They already look very different.
“What are you doing, Gabriel?” Ethel asks.
I look down and realize that I have been absentmindedly plucking the petals of Granny’s roses so that now all that’s left are the heads and drooping stems.
The air is so hot a thin haze covers the gold fields.
We stop in front of a small stone church. As we open the doors to the car, a string of swallows perched on a telephone wire fly up into the air, their breasts turning silver as they swerve towards the sun.
The church is cool and damp, dimly lit by candles. The stained glass windows throw blue and purple shadows onto the gray flagstones. Hundreds and hundreds of flowers fill the church. The scent is very strong and I think it’s gone to Ethel’s head because she rushes from bouquet to bouquet plucking out flowers, letting them drop onto the floor so that soon it’s covered with yellow flowers. Holding my hand, Mummy rushes over to Ethel.
“What are you doing, Ethel?”
“She hated yellow,” Ethel says.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Mummy says. We walk to the front row where Juliet and Al already stand. We are the only ones in the church except for the doctor and Luis who stand in the last row. Granny has lots of friends, but they couldn’t come all the way from South Africa.
The service begins, but I can’t understand what the minister is saying because he is so old and bent his chin touches his chest and his words seem to disappear inside of him. Ethel keeps leaning towards Mummy, asking, “What is he saying? What did he say?”
“Hush,” Mummy says. “I can’t understand myself.”
Then I hear footsteps. It’s my father. I knew he’d come. He lifts one hand and places one finger in front of his lips. The gold cufflink on his shirt glints as it passes through a ray of sun.
The minister keeps talking. Sometimes it sounds as if he is singing. I keep turning to see if my father is still there. The ray of sun has moved further and now he stands in the shade. His navy blue jacket and pants look black. He’s wearing a pink shirt.
I stare at the yellow flowers on the gray flagstones. I never knew that Granny didn’t like yellow. For some reason, the thought makes me sad.
“Come, come,” the minister says, motioning slowly with one arm for us to move forward towards the coffin. Ethel grips me by the shoulder.
I peer over the side of the coffin. I don’t recognize Granny. All her wrinkles are gone and her cheeks and eyes are puffed. Her mouth is drawn down. Her white face seems to float from within the purple ruffles framing it, but her brow, when I lean over and kiss it, feels like marble.
Outside the church, the light is blinding. Father bends over and kisses us on each cheek. “You’re big girls now,” he says, patting the tops of our heads. “I’m very sorry,” he turns to shake Ethel’s hand. “Yes,” she says. His lips brush Mummy’s cheek. Then he shakes hands with the doctor who looks down at the gravel.
“Juliet,” Daddy says. “I hope you are well.”
“Oh yes,” Juliet says.
“I don’t know what we would have done without Juliet,” Mummy says. “She’s been an absolute angel.”
“An angel,” Ethel repeats.
Juliet pretends not to care, but I can tell that she’s stopping herself from smiling.
“Are they coming soon?” Al asks.
“Any minute now,” Juliet says.
The doors open and four men come out of the church carrying the coffin. One of the men wears a gray tie with heads of people drawn in black. The coffin seems too big for Granny. I can’t believe she’s inside. What if she wakes up?
We follow the minister down a path made of tiny white pebbles. Al keeps picking up pebbles and slipping them into her pockets. By the time we get to the grave, her pockets are bulging. Some of the graves are so old there’s only a sliver of the tombstone left, while the names and the dates of others have been washed off. Besides Granny’s grave, there’s a tombstone for a baby. The dates are April 1970 to May 1970.
The lawn is very green. It almost looks fake. Sprinklers water the lawns and we all have to rush down the path in order to avoid getting wet. The minister apologizes. The four young men carrying the coffin rush through the spray, but they still get wet. The forehead of one glistens. Another got his ear wet.
It looks like Granny’s grave has been cut out, the edges are so neat and the rectangle so perfect. I wish they weren’t burying her here, I know she would have preferred the vegetable garden. As the coffin is being lowered, our father cries very loudly and I look down at my shoes. They’re black patent and reflect the grass. He cries and cries. Al holds my hand. I give her back her hearing aid.
The return walk along the white path seems longer even though we take exactly the same route. The sun is so strong it reflects off the path. I try to narrow my eyes.
I’m glad when we reach Luis’s car. But he’s sprayed it with more perfume.
“I don’t feel so good,” I say, leaning out the window.
“Why do you spray the car with so much deodorizer?” Ethel asks. “It’s almost insulting.”
“Insulting?” Luis asks.
“Like we all smell bad,” Ethel says, holding her nose.
“No, no, no, Mrs. Ethel.”
“I rather like it,” Juliet says.
I hear the vroom noise my father’s car always makes when it starts up. I turn and kneel on the seat and stare out the back window. He’s following us. The road dips, then climbs and sometimes I think my father’s gone, but then I catch a glimpse of him before his car disappears once again.
“Sit down properly,” Ethel says. “I said, sit down properly.” She pulls on the hem of my dress.
“Darling,” Mummy says. “Will you please sit properly?”
My father drives past us.
“All right,” I say.
I close my eyes and feel the car going up and dipping down. I try to imagine that I’m not in a car but in a ship. I imagine the cool blue water and the white froth, the sound of the boat hitting the waves.
“It seemed awfully short,” Ethel says. “Too short. Didn’t you think it seemed too short?”
“Yes, it did seem short,” Mummy says.
“Did you think it was short, Juliet?” Ethel asks.
“I beg your pardon,” Juliet says.
“Never mind,” Ethel says.
&nbs
p; I wish Ethel would stop talking. She’s like a mosquito, circling round and round your head. Sometimes you think she’s gone, but then you hear the droning in your ear and she stings you.
“Luis, didn’t you think it was too short?” Ethel asks.
“Yes, Mrs. Ethel, too short.”
“I was wondering if he would come,” Ethel says.
“Yes,” Mummy says.
“Luis, I think we have taken a wrong turn,” Ethel says.
“Yes, Mrs. Ethel.” He flicks his ear with one finger as if a fly had got in.
Brambles and wild rosebushes grow so far onto the road they scratch the sides of Luis’s gold car. Luis keeps saying, “Madre de Dios,” and wiping his brow with a white handkerchief. He continues going down the road, but the road becomes worse and worse, until it’s no longer a road, but a muddy lane.
As soon as we arrive at the house, Al and I run out into the garden, across the stone patio, through the yellow grass, but then we stop. Our father is talking to the doctor. The doctor’s white hair catches the light as he leans over the picnic table. My father flicks the ashes from his cigarette onto the grass. Max is sleeping between them. Al and I walk slowly across the grass holding hands. When we stand a few feet away, my father glances up.
“How are my girls?” he asks, brushing his hand through his hair.
“Fine,” I say and Al says a split second afterwards, “fine.”
My father laughs.
I bend over and stroke Max’s soft ears. His nose is dry. I wonder if he is sick.
“Do you want to see me do a handstand?” Al asks.
“Okay,” father says.
She stands on her hands and the skirt of her dress falls over her face. We can see her underwear. It’s white with little pink bows on the front.
“What about you?” Father asks. “Don’t you want to do a handstand?”
“No,” I say.
“Go on,” he says.
“No,” but then I stand on my hands and the skirt of my dress falls over my face and I’m glad because it’s all dark and my father can’t see me go red. Through the material, I can just make out the outline of his legs and shoes. The blood rushes to my head. I try to focus on keeping my legs straight. I balance for a long time, until I hear aunt Ethel say, “What are you doing? You’re much too big to do that.” Then I jump down and pull on my dress, tugging on the skirt with both hands as if I could stretch it to cover my knees.
