What Love Is

by Grant, D C

  Aroldo, Aroldo, I have to call him Harry now. It is strange on my tongue. I call him Aroldo in our intimate moments though. I think he likes it.

  Oh, he has just come to the door, he wants me to go on deck, for we are within sight of land. He is carrying Angelina in his arms and his face glows with excitement.

  “Come,” he says, “Come and look at your new home.” I cannot refuse him. He has filled out now, no longer thin and haggard, and our baby thrives in spite of her stark beginnings. I must make the best of this, I survived the war when many didn’t, my own family included. I will rejoice in what God has given me even though He took so much away.

  Yes, Aroldo, I am coming. Sorry, I mean Harry. Wait for me!

  Part of our History

  19 December

  Nonna was asleep in her armchair in her room when I arrived at the rest home, so I sat on the bed and continued reading the diary. When I finished, I closed it softly and wiped at the tears in my eyes. Poor Lina! Forced to leave the country of her birth and travel to a strange country. At least she was with a man who loved her, I could see that from the diary and from his entry – he was a hero, not in the sense that he performed a great deed of bravery in battle, but that he fell in love with and married a girl he hardly knew, and accepted the baby as his own, ensuring that both she and her mother had a chance of peace and security.

  Then I looked up and saw that Nonna was awake and watching me. I tried to hide the diary in the folds of the bedclothes, but she had seen it and knew that I had read it.

  “So you found Mamma’s diary and read it all?”

  I nodded, my throat so choked up that I couldn’t speak.

  “Then there is no need for me to retell the story. That is good, because I am old and tired and I don’t think I could tell it as well as she. The diary is yours now, Gina. Keep it safe and share it with your child.”

  “I don’t think I could, Nonna.”

  “What? Keep it safe or share it with your child?”

  “I’ll keep it safe, but I don’t think I can tell anyone what happened in the past.”

  “Why not? It’s part of our history. It happened. It’s who we are. To ignore it is to deny that either Mamma or I existed.”

  “But Nonna, your mamma, Lina, was … was … raped!”

  Nonna was quiet for a few moments. “Yes, she was, and her family killed. Only she survived and because she did, I was born, and thus your mamma, then you and now the little one. Yes, there was a moment of violence, but that one moment doesn’t define who she was and who she became. Neither does it define who I am.”

  “But Grandpa Harry wasn’t even your father!” I said.

  “No one could have been more loved by her father than I was, Gina. He called me his little angel. It was only after he died that Mamma told me the truth. It didn’t make me love him any less, in fact, it made me love him more.”

  Her eyes closed, she was tiring. I had no idea what to say, if anything.

  “When will you marry the father of your child?” Nonna said, her voice a bit stronger. I looked up to find her blue eyes staring back at me – the blue eyes of her violating father.

  “I … I … I’m scared.”

  “Of what, child?”

  I tried to put into words what was in my head. “What if we end up like Mum and Dad? I mean, Bevan and I have had our fights in the past and it’s even more difficult now with the baby on the way. He seems to have his stuff sorted out while I … I just don’t know, Nonna, sometimes I think I want to run away like Mum did when I was small. Why does love have to be so difficult?”

  “Love is not difficult, Gina, just flawed. We search for the perfect love but it doesn’t exist. Look at my mother – she took love where she could find it to care for herself and her baby – me. She didn’t question whether the love was perfect or not.”

  “But Bevan’s changed, he’s not the same man I fell in love with.”

  “You prefer the criminal to the man he is now? Yes, Gina, your mother told me about him. She doesn’t approve of him, I’m sure you’re aware of that. He made a mistake and he’s paying for that, but he’s still the father of your child and he needs to take some responsibility for that. You say you don’t love him for doing what is right?”

  I had to look away from her; I couldn’t meet my grandmother’s eyes. The bad boy was gone, but I did I love the new Bevan? I had to admit that in the beginning I had found bad boy Bevan attractive, but was that the kind of man I wanted my baby to know as its father? Lina had faced the world with a baby and a man who loved her, who was not the father of her baby – I had Bevan. I knew he loved me, in his own weird way; it was a love that was different, but it was love all the same. And, I had to admit myself, I was jealous that my love had to be shared with his God. But it could be worse. I could be stuck on a mountain, cold and hungry with a baby coming and a war being fought around me. Lina had survived. I could too.

  “Give him a chance,” Nonna said softly.

  “I will,” I said, but when I looked up, her eyes were closed.

  1 January

  A new day and a new year, and in about a six weeks’ time my baby will be born. It can’t come soon enough because I’m big and fat and ugly and I waddle like a duck. My back aches and my feet keep swelling up so that I have to sit down with my feet up. I’m tired all the time. Bevan is driving me crazy! He’s around me all day, do I want this, do I want that, am I too hot, am I feeling okay? Do we need to ring the doctor? Oh, Bevan, just leave me alone in the swimming pool so that I can cool off!!

  15 February

  Well, I never want to go through that again! How the hell did Lina manage, in a war-torn country in a bombed-out city with no pain relief and not even a proper midwife? If I’d known childbirth would be that painful, I’d never have gotten into bed with Bevan in the first place.

  But to see Bevan with our baby is makes it so worthwhile. I swear he loves her more than he loves me. He wants to call her Ataahua, Maori for beautiful, but I want her to be called Lina.

  I don’t want to fight, I’m so tired and sore and relieved that it’s all over.

  19 February

  Ata’s hair is dark like Bevan’s, but she has the most beautiful blue eyes. When she latches onto my breast and stares up into my eyes, there’s a connection that I can’t put into words – it’s like we’ve always known each other. Was that how it was with Lina? Was that what made her accept the baby that had been conceived in violence?

  And Bevan is as doting as Harry – taking her from me so that I can get some sleep, changing her nappy in the middle of the night, waiting on me hand and foot like a slave. I could get used to this!

  I’m glad that we could have a home birth so that Bevan could be there. The midwife is coming every day to check up on us because it was a home birth, and giving me advice, which is great, because sometimes I don’t have any idea what I’m doing. It’s all a little scary. But Bevan’s family are fantastic and Katie is a great auntie.

  Yes, I have to give in to Bevan’s wish and call her by that Maori name, but he’s agreed that her second name will be Lina. It’s like his ancestry and my ancestry have come together in our daughter.

  I have to make the most of this – my family has a history of producing only one child, a girl. Although the midwife said that there is no reason why I can’t have another, I don’t think I’ll be doing that in hurry.

  Oops, got to go, the midwife is here. Something tells me my life is going to be a whole lot busier from now on.

  22 February

  Talk about busy! The midwife says I have to get Ata into a routine, but she seems to have her own ideas about that. Look at this – it’s one in the morning and Ata is still awake. She’s not crying or anything, just looking at me with those blue eyes of hers. She’s fed and changed and not too warm, or cold, at least I don’t think so. If only she could speak. I could take her downstairs to Bevan so that he can look after her while I get some sleep, I know he wouldn’t mind, but
I can’t bear to let her out of my sight. At least we haven’t got any visitors tomorrow so I have a chance to catch a nap if I can. Man, it’s been like a zoo here lately with Ata the main attraction. I get how everyone wants to see her but it’s been a bit hectic. And Bevan’s so proud and wants to show her off to everyone. You’d think he’d made her all on his own! I just need to get Ata into this routine the midwife tells me about.

  Bevan’s parents have been really good too, helping out when they are around, and its obvious that they love Ata as much as Bevan does. Can’t say the same for my mum – she only came around once and then didn’t even stay that long. She just looked at Ata in her bassinet, stayed for a cup of tea and left. She didn’t even touch Ata. Said she’s not that keen on babies. Makes me wonder how she managed with me – no, wait – she didn’t, she dumped me on Nonna and left the country. Looking at Ata now and feeling the tug on my heart, I don’t know how Mum could do such a thing.

  My phone just went, a text from Bevan: Bring Ata down. I guess he can hear me moving around up here. It seems weird being up here with Ata and him down there in his room. I wish we could share a bed with Ata in the bassinet beside us, but its still hands off until we’re married.

  Ah well, I’ll take her down to Bevan and then I can get some sleep. She’ll soon let me know when she wants another feed.

  10 March

  Mum phoned me today and said that the rest home has contacted her to say that Nonna is not doing so well. They’ve decided to move her to the hospital wing, because she needs extra care. They’re moving her tomorrow and need our help. Mum’s asking if I want to go.

  I’ll have to take Ata with me, which will break Bevan’s heart, but he can’t breastfeed her, only me. It’s not going to be easy, taking my baby down there and trying to cope without Bevan’s help, but I haven’t been down since Ata was born and I want Nonna to see her.

  We can stay in the unit, which hasn’t sold yet. The market that had seemed to be humming along has suddenly fallen flat and no one wants a 70’s unit in need of a renovation. Mum told me that there is a residential loan in place, so as soon as it sells, the money will go towards repaying the loan.

  There’s so much to organize. We’ve got to get Ata’s car seat in Mum’s car, which may be difficult as hers is so old and Bevan doesn’t think it will have the anchor points, and then there’s all Ata’s stuff. Usually I have to take a big bag with me if I go out just for a few hours; I guess I will have to take so much more for a few days.

  Bevan says we should take his car, but I reminded him that he needs it for appointments. If I had my driving licence, I would take it, but I don’t even have my learner’s.

  My aching breasts tell me that Ata is due another feed, Bevan is waiting for me downstairs and there is pile of stuff I still have to pack.

  Final Waiting Room of Life

  11 March

  What a day! Up early this morning to feed Ata, then pack the car, every available space filled with baby stuff and the car seat taking up so much room, but at least Bevan’s dad was able to anchor it into Mum’s old car.

  Perhaps Ata picked up on our anxiety – she was grizzly the whole way down. I made Mum stop at Huntly to try to figure out why she was so whiny, but she refused the breast, her nappy was dry and she didn’t feel hot, so I jumped back in the car and we carried on.

  We went to the unit first to dump all our stuff, and then we went to the rest home. They were just starting to move Nonna, and it was apparent why they needed us because Nonna was talking in Italian again and not responding to English.

  “You’ll need to talk to her and tell her what’s happening,” they said.

  Ata choose that moment to break into a high-pitched wail. One of the caregivers stepped forward, “Do you want me to take care of the baby while you talk to your grandmother?”

  I was reluctant to hand Ata over, but I knew that they could take care of her, they were nurses after all. I felt a wrench at placing her in the caregiver’s arms. Mum didn’t offer.

  “Hello, Nonna,” I said in Italian as I went in.

  “Are you taking me home, child?”

  “No, Nonna, not yet,” I said. “They’re moving you to another room.”

  “I like this one.”

  “Yes, I know, Nonna, but you need looking after.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  But I knew from looking at her that she couldn’t look after herself. She was thinner and had shrunken in on herself. She’d always been small and now looked even smaller, her wrinkled skin hanging like the clothes on a stick figure. Her movements were slow and she couldn’t get out of her chair. It took two caregivers to get her into a wheelchair.

  She was silent as we wheeled her down the corridor, into a lift, down a few floors and into another wing of the rest home. While this was still modern and new, it had the look and feel of a hospital about it, and this was confirmed when we entered the room in which Nonna would stay. It was big, with its own bathroom, but there was a proper hospital bed as opposed to the ordinary single bed in her previous room, and there was lino on the floor instead of carpet. The room was empty apart from the bed, as Nonna’s chest of drawers and armchair still had to come down from her old room. To me it seemed sterile and unfriendly.

  A familiar sound behind me alerted me to the fact that the caregiver holding Ata was close behind me. I had no idea where Mum was.

  “We’ll get your grandmother settled in bed first,” the other caregiver said. “She can get into the armchair when it comes down.”

  I took Ata, and waited while they lifted Nonna onto the bed. She sat there looking a little dazed, and then she turned her head and fixed her eyes on me.

  “Ah, Patty, have you brought little Gina to see me?”

  Patty is my mother’s name. “No, Nonna, it’s me, Gina, and this your great-granddaughter, Ata.”

  Nonna frowned and looked at me.

  “Poor Mamma,” she said, like she had said when she had first moved in. “Poor Mamma, sins of the fathers.”

  Then she turned and looked out of the window. Mum came bustling in, saying, “The rest of the stuff is coming.” She looked around the room, and kind of deflated like a balloon as if the significance of this room had suddenly hit her. It was the final waiting room of life. In a moment of clarity I realized that someone must have died for us to be able to move Nonna into this room. I backed out of the door, Ata crying in my arms, and almost collided with the men bringing the armchair on a large trolley.

  “Sorry, miss,” said one of the men. “Are you all right?”

  “Is there somewhere I can go?” I asked, glancing down at Ata.

  “Yes, there’s a lounge just down the corridor. There shouldn’t be anyone in there at this time of the day.”

  I stumbled down the corridor and found an empty room with couches, armchairs and a TV in it. It looked like a normal lounge in a family home, complete with oil painting over the fake fireplace. I sank down onto one of the chairs and held Ata to me. She immediately started rooting for my breast, so I sat back and let her feed. As if sensing that I needed some peace, she drank quietly, her eyes staring up into mine as they always do, her little fingers curled around my index finger.

  I bent down and placed a kiss on her forehead.

  “It’ll be all right,” I said to her … to myself. “Nonna will be okay.” I was lying to myself. I knew it, but saying the words made me believe them.

  12 March

  Nonna is not okay. We spoke to the doctor today. Basically her heart is failing and it’s only a matter of time. Mum didn’t even cry, but I did. I think my hormones are all mucked up again.

  Mum asked how long it was going to take because she was again having to take time off work, but the doctor said that he couldn’t say when the end would come and we’d have to be close, just in case. Really, it’s embarrassing how heartless my mum can be.

  Mum and I are going to take turns sitting in her room because she’s talking in It
alian more and more now and seems to have forgotten that she understands English. It makes it hard for the caregivers, and hard for us too because either myself or Mum has to be there so that the caregivers know what she is telling them – when she’s able to.

  Mum’s at the hospital now and I’m at Nonna’s unit, as it’s easier to deal with Ata here. I’ve just spoken to Bevan on the phone, telling him about Nonna and that we might be down in Hamilton for a while.

  “So does she know who Ata is, that she is her great-granddaughter?”

  “Sometimes she does and then sometimes she thinks I’m Mum and that Ata is me as a baby.”

  “Have you spoken to her any more about what’s in the diary and about your great-grandmother, her mother?”

  “No, I daren’t. I mean she hardly remembers who I am, never mind remembering the diary.”

  “But it sounds like you’re running out of time.”

  “Maybe some things are best left in the past.”

  “Maybe they are, but maybe this is something you need to talk to your Nonna about before she goes, or else you’ll wonder about it forever.”

  I could hear Ata getting restless in her portacot – she wasn’t used to it. I wish I’d been able to bring the bassinet. “I’ve got to go, Bevan, Ata is due for a feed.”