‘We were good together,’ she says. ‘You know what I mean?’
‘No – not – no.’ I grin, weakly.
She isn’t smiling. ‘Anyway – I left the city with nothing. I was sleeping on a mattress on the floor above the hotel where I worked.’
‘The one in Swiggin?’
Nah. Appleyard Flat. But his place is out on the other side of Swiggin. Pretty far out the other side actually, where the dregs live who’ve not had even one decent opportunity in life and the people heavy into booze cos grief and guilt and whatever else and the people rabbiting on all night about Jesus and the ruined twenty-somethings and the people just out of jail, battered, and the people with nothing left, running away hard. The dregs. I guess you could say we’re both dregs too – that’d be fair enough – all us folks with no such thing as a second chance.’
‘Yeah.’
‘But you had a second chance, Wren?’
‘I have had one, yeah.’
‘Lucky you—
—anyway—
—after we’d been going out about three months I moved in with him and – look – I’m telling you this because I want to, but it’s just for you, okay? Don’t tell anyone.’
‘Okay.’
‘Because in the end, I didn’t want to see his underside so I didn’t see it. D’you see?’
‘I do.’
‘Where he grew up it was rough. He lived in a shed on a big block with his mum and dad and seven brothers. He’s the youngest. Up north somewhere. His dad strung up curtains to divide the shed into rooms but really – anyway – dunno if they even had electricity, maybe a generator. The thing is, the family – they’re – I dunno, I mean they’re different from him, or maybe it was that I wanted him to be different. Now that I think about it, I just really wanted him to be different from the rest of them but I’m not sure he is at all. His older brothers like guns. They’ve got a lot of them. Rugers and Winchesters and shotguns and pistols. One of them shoots kangaroos with a crossbow. They used to go pig hunting together. They’ve got hunting knives and machetes – you know the ones with the saw on one side and curve blade on the other?’
‘Yeah, I know them.’
‘Yeah. The way they all took care of guns and knives was like they were their most precious things in all the world. They always had something on them – under the seats of their cars, inside their boots, ready to go even when they came round to our place for dinner.’
‘Did you mind?’
‘Yeah I minded. I said I didn’t want guns in our home.’
‘Did they stop?’
‘No.’
—
‘Anyway – the first year was sweet – we even got married, I had a dress and shoes and flowers and everything and we had our own place and enough money to keep the phone on. After that—’
She tries to say something more but it’s like her throat has closed up and stoppered the words. She coughs and tries again but it’s no better.
I stay still and wait, just like she waited for me all those days ago.
‘After that it all went wrong. See, his place is a big block. But like I said, it’s a way out of town, right on the edge of the bush. No buses go out that far. I’ve never got my licence. So we were cut off, which was okay for a while, it was just us – right on the edge of the bush. We didn’t need anyone else and we liked it that way. He didn’t want me to work at the bar and I was happy about it except – whenever he left for three or four days at a time, he worked with the council – fixing roads and stuff – did I already say that – sorry—
—
—it got lonely—
—lonely is heavy, y’know?’
‘I know.’
‘—and a lot of the weekend, he’d work on his bike, he’s got this old Triumph, and his mates used to bring round cars and they’d fix them up – or try to – and then his brothers would drive up in one of their utes and he’d go off with them and when he came back – he’d come inside and straight away I could feel it – I could smell it – not every time – no – and sometimes a few of his mates would be there and they’re all right and we’d sit round, have a few beers, watch a movie and—
—and—
—sorry—
—
—
—
—the first time I didn’t figure what was going on and I was so shocked I didn’t even notice the pain. Because – he’s really good with some things, always kept the backyard mown and fixed up the jeep and he’s really funny – he’s clever. What d’you call it? When someone’s a sweet-talker. A charmer? And we were good together people said. Even his mum said so and she’s a scary woman. He never shouted. He never punched the walls. He didn’t throw stuff – sometimes he’d do something so – sweet. He bought me my first new guitar as a surprise, a Taylor, mahogany, steel strings with a pickup and a card that said—’
She opens her hands, palms up to the sky and shrugs. ‘It’s no use now.’
We are together.
She rubs her eyes redder.
And I hold her hand gentlefirm.
Us here, scrunched-up, haggard and half-wild. Alive against the fog with no heartbeat, alive against the weight of its expressionless ghosts.
‘The first time,’ she says, so quietly I have to lean forward to hear her, ‘the first time he put his hands around my throat—
—his hands are—
—I guess you could say, wide – strong, and—
—he counted the seconds out loud until I – I don’t know, I passed out. The next time was worse. I thought, ohfuck he’s going to kill me—
—
—but he didn’t – he—
—he – well you know already – here and here – with his cigarettes. He did it and he grinned like he had no soul and he said, good girl, like I was his dog and he just kept on doing it and grinning.’
The pearl holes in her skin.
She shudders.
And I shudder too, whisper, ‘I love you.’ But the way she is looking at me is full of sadness. She sees something in me that I can’t see, something not right.
The silence.
I offer her the last of the water and rub her hands between mine to keep them warm.
‘Did you love him?’
Hands still, not cold, not warm.
‘Do you love him?’
Not breathing, no shadow, white-blue light with no shadow and no sound at all.
‘Yeah – I don’t know—
—I love him—
—well I wanted to – I did.’ Tears in her voice.
She says, ‘Never mind.’
She says, ‘I couldn’t believe it. I kept thinking, no way, not him, not us. I wanted for us to work, y’know? I kept thinking, together we make it work, we make it right—
—together—
—but the rage was always there, he just hid it most of the time—
—sometimes he didn’t say anything but I knew because he’d go still, he’d freeze, and his eyes—
—it was in his eyes—
—hunting eyes—
—
—and—
—so—Wren, thing is, when you wake up and you don’t know if you’re going to be – you don’t know if you’re going to make it—
—every day like that—
—the dread – it drains you away—
—when he said I’d done something wrong or I’d pissed him off or my lippy was fuckensleazy, and I’d be like, what? I mean—
—I’d say to myself, try harder – make it work—
—say, come on, you’re not stupid, figure it out, how not to make him angry – because I didn’t want to—
—fail again, you know?
—
—I kept trying but I couldn’t get it right and I didn’t know why and I kept on not getting it right – I just lost it, I mean – I was losing him and losing me, couldn’t remember who I was, everything was so mixed up in my head—
—
—I thought about ending it – all – ending—
—but I was so tired I couldn’t even figure out how to do that. Y’know the tired where you stop caring about everything? You stop feeling? You can’t be bothered to care whether you’re breathing?’
‘Yeah. I do.’
‘Anyway, one day I was in the front yard and I just said, hello to these blokes who live down the road. When they’d left, he came out and said, you’re on with them, aren’t ya? I said, no. He said, shut ya mouth, you don’t talk to nobody. The hardness in his voice, the raw – it was coming from a part of him that – I don’t know – it was the animal in him. He dragged me inside. He said, shit. He said, look at your face, do I have to tell you again, do I? Only way. And then he laughed as if he was joking around and I laughed a bit too cos I was like, please god let him be joking around and then he pulled the plug on the end of the phone line from the socket and cut the cord with a knife and wrapped the cord around my neck. He was choking me pretty bad. He started counting down from ten and he said, when I get to zero, I’m going to fully fuck you up, and then I passed out. I woke up on the floor and he was gone—
—I didn’t go outside the house a lot after that—
—even though he came back that night with takeaway and a bottle of wine and he said he was so sorry, he said I didn’t understand him, how hard it was for him, that it was my fault for not understanding how hard it was for him and he said I didn’t say thank you enough and he had to teach me how to say thank you and he sat on the bed and bowed his head and rubbed his eyes and then he held my hand – and he said I was the only one in the world, the only one in the world he could rely on, the only one he could trust, the only one in the whole world he loved and he said if I ever left, he’d kill himself and is that what I wanted—
—
—and then he said he was the only one who loved me—
—and I thought, yeah it’s true – and I cried—
—and he kissed me – and – he said, I want you, only you and—
—well.’
‘You’re beautiful.’
‘Wren.’
‘Yes?’
‘Stop.’
‘No.’
‘See the thing is—’
She heaves, her breath all fog, the rawness.
‘He doesn’t didn’t – he didn’t ever love me – he doesn’t love—
—hell. D’you know how much that hurts?’
She heaves, her breath all fog, the rawness. Both of us raw.
‘I should’ve figured ages before. But after that it got better for a bit. He was different. We talked more – I loved when he said he loved me. And I loved him even though I didn’t get exactly why – but that’s love, isn’t it? Love lies.’
‘I guess.’
‘Yeah.’
‘I guess the only thing that doesn’t lie is death.’
‘That’s not what I mean at all.’
‘What I think.’
‘Wren. You’re not all gone to shit like you think you are.’
‘Huh.’
‘So anyway I figured that because I couldn’t make him happy—
—I mustn’t be good enough—
—not a good enough person—
—for him, for anyone—
—not good enough for anyone, see?
—that hurt. Lost him, lost me—
—shrank myself down to be the smallest, smallest I could be – bled myself away—
—if you’d asked, who the hell are you? – d’you know the answer?’
‘No.’
‘Nobody.’
‘I love you.’
‘Oh, Wren.’ She sees something in me that I can’t see – maybe wrongness, maybe failing, maybe fear. I can see that she sees it even though I don’t know what it is.
I say, ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t have to be sorry.’
‘Why did you stay?’
‘He said if I left, he’d come after me. I wasn’t sure if half his stories were true, but I believed that. He’d get his brothers to help. He likes knives too much. And I had no money and nothing left in me strong enough to run.’
Our eyes meet. I’ve no words strong enough to give, so I give her everything I have in my eyes.
—
She says, ‘Know what, though? It worked out okay. Once I knew I wasn’t alone anymore. I said to him, that’s it, you can’t – like that – you have to stop, because I’m pregnant and it’s your baby – your son—
—and for once he listened and from then on all the hours and days he wasn’t home, I’m not – I wasn’t – see?
—not lonely—
—and when he comes home, I’m not lonely either – and I’m not scared of sleeping, not scared of waking up, not scared of the dark, not scared of his voice or his hands or his eyes, and the bruises on my neck go yellow and fade—
—because this precious—
—his son—
—our son—
—nobody can take that away, see? I sing to Angus every morning, you have me and I have you and so we will always. And I already knew his hair would be angel hair and I can feel the round of his head under my heart – and his soft as soft skin and his funny little hands – and how he’ll sleep on my chest, close and warm and safe, so close I’ll feel his heart beat next to mine and I’ll wrap my arms around him tight so nothing can come between us and in the morning he’ll wake me by singing and I’ll sing too, three little birds – here by our doorstep – lalala – and we’ll giggle and sing some more and I’ll say, I’ll keep you safe forever and, us – together – we’re okay – and for always yes – yes—
—do you see Wren? That’s how I found the courage – this child, my son, all my dreaming, all my love for him, us together against the world – do you see?
—we’re alive—
—Angus, my love—
—my son will save my life. Do you see?’
Only now does she begin to cry, from the depths of her whole body, every muscle and organ and bone shivering and violent and the grief of her soul is so terrible and so terrible to witness, her heart calling for someone not of this earth and the force of it breaks the walls of her veins and blood is her breath and blood is her tears. Her head, her hair, her hands, I stroke her lovely, lovely head and her hair and her hands and now I understand that touch is a language and it is equally profound and I kiss her fingers through the woollen gloves and I did not know this.
This.
We sit on the grass under the tree side by side, close, holding hands, the fog like an animal circling, and us still as still and I don’t care if we freeze here.
‘Christ?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why did he write in your notebook?’
‘Some kind of threat. I don’t know. He’d think it was funny.’
‘Did it get better for you?’
‘No.’
Then she says, ‘Someone has found Angus.’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s warm and safe.’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s all that matters.’
‘Yes.’
It’s too cold for sleep. I fold the tarpaulin in half and then in half again to protect us from the freeze creeping up from the earth.
‘Is this all right?’
She nods. So we resettle with the wetcold fog all round. Wherever our bodies are touching we are warm enough.
‘Will you sing something?’ I ask.
‘What?’
‘Anything.’
She tries but the sound that comes out is a little child’s cry, a child with a cracked and bitten mouth and a throat narrowed and lips parched and then the fog ghosting through and a solitary currawong responding, oooowhree oooowhreeeeeee, and tears hot on my cheeks.
She sniffs and wipes her face with her sleeve. ‘I wonder what time it is.’
‘We’ll wait for the sun.’
‘I’ve never seen darkness like this
before. Not that seen is right. We may as well have gone blind.’
‘It’s a kind of singing.’
‘I’ve never been out all night in the wild. I don’t like it.’
I’m scared too
You’re
Not of the night or of the wild or
Mother says pull your teeth out, Angus
One at a time
Father says I’ll be in the shed
Mother says take off your belt and give it to me
Yet
The sky
You have nothing to offer her
You’re broken
And oh how long it is, the night, when you’re awake. This night made pitch-black by fog – unseen and unseeable – the vastness above us, the mystery of it. No stars no moon no colour no nuance no light of any kind, the black a thick tar-black, space and living things all round us yes, but hidden. We are blind, we are at the night’s mercy and badly lost and the flushred comes up fast from my chest with its blotchy heat and bite and itch and reek of failure.
Are you a good person?
No
I drift sleepward, drift with fog in my lungs.
As you go along in life things happen – shocks and falls and losses and damnation – and when they do the faultlines in your little world shift apart and you find out a bit too much about yourself a bit too fast and it involves a lot of wincing and pain
no
worse than pain, your heart hanging, dripping, blood, nasty to face
like a
no
she and I
here we are, we’re out in the city drinking laughing joking around, friends say hi hi kiss oh and colour then serious then more of this and better shall we and yes and yes the night hothot and brighter and burst free and off to somewhere with low light and a grinding beat in the floor and a girl I haven’t met touches me the first time by accident and she says sorry and I do too but-not-really and we laugh we laugh but-not-awkwardly
we we we
no
but it’s fine now
besides
close together so close the beat is her heartbeat the feel of her a colour goldish she is here the hum of her body trembling in the darkness her body violet in the darkness her skin the scent of something fresh and sweet mine of heat and shining yes we find a place in the dark somewhere to lose ourselves O the wild thumping of her heart O
Fusion Page 15
