Names for Nothingness

by Georgia Blain

  He is from Denmark. ‘Christian,’ he tells Liam, who wonders for a moment whether he is telling him his religion or his name (at that stage Sharn would have rolled her eyes at his stupidity, but she is not here, and even if she were, there would be no light-hearted banter).

  He is hitchhiking his way around the country.

  ‘Alone?’ Liam asks.

  His English is clear, with no trace of any accent, as he says that he was travelling with his girlfriend until a few weeks ago. ‘She has gone back home.’ He glances out the window and they are silent again for a moment.

  ‘Is she your daughter?’ Christian nods in the direction of the back seat.

  Liam smiles as he explains once again that Essie is his granddaughter, stepgranddaughter, actually. ‘She has not been well,’ he says, trying to pull together a plausible explanation that does not lie too far from the truth. ‘She’s been staying with us in the city. I’m taking her back now. To her mother.’

  Christian just nods, and Liam can see that he is not all that interested, that there has been no need for any explanation at all.

  It is not until they have travelled for about half an hour more, until Essie stirs, opening her eyes to the brilliant green of the country, that Christian begins to reveal something of himself.

  He is older than Liam had assumed.

  ‘I was married,’ he says. ‘Back home in Denmark. We had been together for about five years and we were married last year. We met in medical school and we were both doctors together.’

  Liam glances across at him and makes a quick mental calculation as to his age.

  ‘She was –’ and Christian looks out the window ‘– someone who needed a lot of love.’

  Liam nods as though he understands.

  ‘I had to tell her how much she meant to me. All the time. I had to give her all my attention. If we went out together, I had to talk to her and her alone. If I went out on my own, she would ring me to find out where I was, and when I would be back. And if I complained, if I said she was a little excessive, she would say that it was clear I didn’t love her, that people who loved each other did that, of course they did.’

  Liam glances into the rear-vision mirror and sees Essie stirring, rubbing her eyes and waking. He looks across at Christian, who is staring straight ahead. It is strange how driving creates intimacy, he thinks to himself as he listens to Christian talk, strange how you can find yourself revealing more than you normally would.

  ‘It was not that she became worse once we were married. She was no different, but I think I panicked. I felt the door closing, you know? I began to withdraw. I became secretive. I slept with other women. The more she wanted me to be a particular person, the more I became the person she did not want.’

  Liam checks his watch. They will have to stop soon. Essie will be hungry, and he needs a break before they make the last part of the journey. He glances across at Christian as he asks him what happened.

  ‘She left me.’

  Liam does not say anything.

  ‘I came home one day and she was gone. And then, you know, I wanted her back more than anything. I begged and pleaded and told her I would change, I would be the way she wanted me to be, but she wouldn’t listen.’ Christian smiles slightly and drums out a tune on the dashboard, his fingers tapping nervously. ‘That’s what happened. Nothing dramatic, but it killed me. Strange, hey?’

  ‘Not really,’ Liam says. ‘No stranger than most relationships.’

  They stop at a petrol station, and Liam orders a burger for himself and baked beans on toast for Essie. Christian has his own food.

  ‘I am a vegetarian,’ he explains as he produces a neat package of fruit, vegetables and nuts. ‘Raw food only,’ he says, and he offers Essie a slice of apple. She is shy but wants the food, and as she reaches for it she quickly buries her head back into Liam’s chest.

  In an attempt to create some kind of atmosphere, the owners have stacked hay bales in one corner of the dining room, with a spinning wheel sitting next to them. There is a cassette player on top of the hay, and the tinny sound of country and western music pipes up from the single speaker. Liam smiles to himself as he imagines Sharn getting up and turning it off. She hates country and western. Whingeing, moaning music, she calls it. She has little time for any music, actually, although she complains constantly about how bad their stereo is. (But you never even use it, he tells her. Because it’s so bad, she responds.)

  Liam puts Essie down and she crawls over to the player, swaying slightly to the sound as she takes tiny bites out of the slice of apple.

  ‘What was wrong with her?’ Christian asks, and he nods in her direction.

  Liam has forgotten he told Christian that Essie was ill and when he remembers, he does not know what to say. If he explains how malnourished Essie was (a fact that he, himself, is unsure about), he will have to tell Christian how Caitlin lives. This does not worry him in itself, but he fears he will have to go further, that in talking about Caitlin he will be obliged to approve or disapprove of her chosen lifestyle, and he cannot do that, he is in no state for such certainty. But when he opens his mouth to speak, the words come out without him even thinking about them. What does it matter? He does not even know this man.

  Christian bites into a carrot stick, and looks at Liam. He is perplexed. Liam can see it in his eyes, and as he thinks over the story he has just told, it is not surprising that he does not understand. Simply telling it out loud to a stranger has made it all seem insane, ridiculous.

  ‘So,’ and Christian picks his words carefully, ‘she wanted you to take her daughter?’

  The waitress puts the hamburger and baked beans down on the table. Tomato sauce is oozing out of the side of each, spilling blood red across the chipped white plates. He calls Essie over and when she does not respond he goes and picks her up, sitting her in the highchair as he tells Christian that yes, as far as he knows, Caitlin said she was worried about her, that she wanted Sharn to take her.

  ‘But then she never rang you, she never wanted to find out how she was, she never contacted you?’

  Liam shakes his head. ‘And we couldn’t get in touch with her. We had no number for her. I don’t know,’ and he looks up at the ceiling. ‘I was sure she would just come and get her. And if she didn’t, well, I thought we should take Essie back.’

  Essie grins at the mention of her name, holding her slice of apple aloft for a moment and then letting it drop as Liam leans over to catch it before it hits the floor.

  ‘Maybe she doesn’t want her.’

  Liam spoons some beans into her mouth, taking a bite from the burger in his other hand as he does so.

  ‘Have you thought about that?’

  He has tomato sauce on his sleeve now and he rubs it in, concentrating on the task at hand, nothing in his actions giving away the fact that Christian is voicing out loud the doubts that have crept into his own heart. Nothing, that is, except the inordinate amount of attention he is giving to ensuring that the sauce is well and truly rubbed into his sleeve.

  ‘I mean, some women do not want their children. It is as simple as that.’

  Maybe it is. Sharn had never wanted Caitlin and no matter how much she had tried to construct a different reality, it was an edifice that had never had any hope of standing. Maybe Caitlin, too, had not wanted a child. Maybe he has no business taking Essie back to her. Maybe Sharn was right. He does not know, and he feels the goodwill of the morning slipping like silt between his fingers.

  ‘Maybe,’ he finally says, and he holds another spoonful of beans out towards Essie.

  ‘But, as you said, she is living in an alternative community. She is, perhaps, different in how she relates to the world, in how she lives out her wants and needs.’

  Christian takes a sip of water, and Liam hopes he will not continue ruminating when he puts the glass down. He mops up the tomato sauce on his plate with a piece of the hamburger bun and asks Christian what happened to his girlfriend.

&n
bsp; ‘Who?’ Christian looks confused once again.

  ‘The one you were travelling with.’

  ‘Ah.’ He wraps up what remains of his lunch, carefully placing the fruit, vegetables and nuts back into separate bags. ‘I don’t know.’ He shrugs. ‘Since my marriage ended, I find it hard to be with anyone for long. I cannot get my wife out of my mind,’ and he smiles at his own foolishness. ‘You have been with your wife for a long time. You are a lucky man.’

  Liam avoids a response by telling Christian that Sharn is not his wife.

  ‘But you have a good relationship? You are still in love?’ Liam does not answer. He counts out the money for the bill without looking up.

  ‘Let me,’ Christian says, and his voice is gentle. ‘You are giving me a lift.’

  Liam waves his hand in the air, but Christian insists. ‘I am sorry,’ he says, ‘if my questions are too personal.’

  Liam tells him it is all right. ‘It is just a strange time,’ he says, and he wipes at Essie’s mouth with the corner of a serviette. ‘I don’t really know where I’m at,’ he adds, but Christian is already up at the counter, and his words are unheard by anyone other than Essie. ‘I’ll see you in the car,’ he calls out, and Christian nods in his direction.

  SHARN HAD ONLY EVER GIVEN Liam sketchy details of her journey. She had not told him how exhausted she was when she finally got to the closest town, the one that Freya had told her about. They had not talked much about the trip at all, and on the few occasions that they had, she had not wanted him to be able to say that she had not been thinking straight, that tiredness had affected her reason. She had done the right thing in taking Essie. It was important that he understood that.

  But the detour to Sassafrass had taken longer than she expected, and it was dark when she got to the town. The night was hot and there was a huge moon hanging low in the sky, thick grey clouds scudding across it so that for one moment everything was silvery and for the next it was black again.

  She should have just stopped at the pub and taken a room for the night. That was what she intended to do, and she slowed down momentarily but did not pull over. The directions that Freya had given her were in her bag and she took them out. She was wired. She had been driving for so long, and she just wanted to get there, to see the place where Caitlin was – better still, to see her – before she stopped.

  It should only have taken her about twenty minutes to get to the house, but she took a wrong turn that led down to a river, where some kids were parked. They were smoking bongs in the back seat of their car, and she had to ask them how to get back to the road. They just looked at her with red eyes and told her to go back the way she had come.

  When she found the right turn-off, it started to rain, a hot night storm, the drops sizzling as they hit the bitumen and the moths flying thick into the windscreen. She almost went straight past the driveway. There was no sign, but Freya had told her where the entrance was, that it was the only drive along that stretch of road, and she had been leaning forward, rubbing the fog off the windscreen, trying to make sure that she didn’t miss it, looking so intently that she didn’t even see it until she was right there, and she turned rapidly, the tyres squealing as she did so.

  The rains had turned the drive into mud; potholed slime. If she went over ten kilometres an hour, the car slipped and slithered, the wheel spinning in her hands as she tried to right it. Great toads were illuminated in the headlights, looking up at her before turning, slowly, and hopping away, back into the darkness.

  There was no light from the end of the drive, and when she came to the gate she wondered, for a moment, whether she had gone the wrong way again. She turned off the headlights and sat in the car, waiting for her eyes to adjust. The heater was up high to try to demist the windscreen and she was sweltering. She opened the door to the rain and let it soak right through her as she walked up to the gates, her feet slipping in the mud.

  She could not see anything. Not immediately. And then, gradually, she was able to make out the darkness of the house in the distance, a great bulk of black against the night. The gates were locked. She could not open them. She shook them slightly to see whether she was mistaken, and then harder in an attempt to move the padlock, but nothing even rattled, and she knew she had no chance of getting in there that evening.

  She turned to the car, wet and dispirited. She would have to go back to the town and return in the morning. It was as she had expected, but still it felt wrong to be so close and unable to complete the journey

  Her clothes were soaked through and she searched for the keys in her pocket. She had left them in the ignition without realising, but when she turned them, the engine did not click over. It grated, an ugly sound; not once but each time she tried again. The rain was hammering against the window, unbelievably loud, and she shouted out, ‘Fuck this,’ her voice drowned by the torrent, as she realised she had no choice but to sleep the night, drenched and exhausted, on the back seat, unable to get help until the morning.

  LIAM CALLS SHARN AGAIN. It is after ten. He has put Essie to bed and he has eaten some of the fruit and nuts that Christian gave him, aware that he has been putting off speaking to her, not wanting the reality of their situation to stand, stark and harsh, in front of him.

  ‘I’m here,’ he tells her, and she is silent for a moment, unwilling to give anything to the conversation.

  ‘Where?’ she eventually asks.

  He tells her the name of the town and the pub where he is staying. ‘But I’m not sure how to get to the house.’

  ‘You’ll have to ask,’ she says.

  ‘I am asking.’

  She says she doesn’t really remember, that it was so long ago, but he knows she is not speaking the truth, and he waits.

  The directions, when she gives them, are vague, but he scribbles them down, knowing they are probably more accurate than she would like him to believe.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ Her voice has that sharp pitch he knows well, and it exhausts him. He does not want to go back to an argument that they have already had, one that they are incapable of resolving, and he tells her this, speaking softly so as not to wake Essie, who sleeps curled up in the middle of the bed.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ she says.

  He doesn’t.

  ‘You should have told me. We should have gone together.’

  ‘I did tell you. I always said I would do this.’

  ‘But you didn’t say you were actually going. You didn’t get me to come with you.’

  She is technically right. She usually is. He does not have the energy to explain that this is not the point, that if he had asked her, she would have said no. He knows this and she knows this. But it is all in the land of the hypothetical and entering that territory would get him nowhere.

  ‘I’ve been driving all day,’ he says. ‘I haven’t eaten. I’m exhausted.’

  ‘So?’

  He sighs. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  ‘No. Don’t go.’ Her words are tinged with hysteria, and then he hears her intake of breath as she asks him again, more calmly, not to hang up. ‘Please.’

  ‘How’s Essie?’

  ‘She’s fine. A bit sick of being in the car, but she’s remarkably well behaved about it all.’

  There is silence again, and he screws up the paper bag containing the last of Christian’s food and tosses it across the room. It misses the wastepaper basket by the bathroom door and rolls under a vinyl chair in the corner.

  ‘Maybe we should just face facts.’

  He knows where she is heading and he does not want to go there.

  ‘Maybe it’s over.’

  She is pushing him. Short, sharp jabs, and he does not know if he has the strength or heart to stand still and take it. Not now, he thinks. Not now.

  ‘I mean, maybe you don’t love me anymore. Maybe it’s been over for a long time, and we should just be adult about it.’

  He sighs. ‘Don’t do this.’

  ‘Why n
ot?’

  ‘Because I’m tired. Because it’s just going to get ugly.’

  ‘Well, say it. Do you still love me? Do you want us to stay together?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  She is silent again, and he wants to hang up. To put the phone down and go to sleep.

  ‘What about you?’ he asks. ‘Can you honestly say you still love me?’ He knows she can’t. It has been a long time since either of them has said those words to the other.

  ‘Maybe love isn’t the point.’

  Maybe it isn’t. He doesn’t know. She is dragging him down into murky waters, and he feels as though all his senses are clogged with mud, reeds, leaves and dirt. He cannot breathe.

  ‘So, that’s it, then?’ she asks. ‘After all these years?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, it sounds like it.’

  ‘Can’t we just wait until I get back?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we should talk.’

  ‘What about?’

  He leans forward on the bed and stares at the brown flecks in the carpet. She has twisted and tangled him, caught him tight in a net and he knows he walked right in there. He breathes in deeply and closes his eyes. It is himself he sees. Standing high in the mountains in Nepal. Footage from all those years ago. His face young and joyous, the sky impossibly blue behind him, and he wants to remember what he was like. Younger. That is obvious, and he smiles to himself. Happier? It is a question he does not want to ask. A weight shifts, lifts from him as he becomes, for one brief instant, a young man again; a young man who held an icy snowball in his hands, the fresh, sharp air stinging his cheeks as he looked out to the next bend in the path, no further than that.

  ‘I’m going to go.’

  She may be crying now. He doesn’t know.

  ‘I am sorry,’ she eventually says, and he is surprised at the softness of her words.