The River Baptists

by Belinda Castles

  Danny opened his eyes. A stone slab lay a couple of centimetres beneath his face, his skin and hair were wet. He shifted a little, looked around. A low sky hung over his shelf of rock, high above the river. He saw the railway bridge; a train emerged from the tunnel and roared across it. Trucks bumped across the freeway and the rain grew heavier, soft, fat drops of rain, soaking his skin, his shirt. He sat up, though he didn’t mind the rain. It was good and warm and kept everyone else away. Up here in the reserve, above the highest ring of houses on the island, behind his own shed, you never saw anyone. The odd snake. That was it. He felt for his phone. He should check in on Rose. His pocket was empty; he’d left it in his bag in the shed on the way up. He lay back on the rock and let the rain fall on his face. Five more minutes.

  When she came to, another contraction was beginning. She wondered if she’d slept through any. Was that even possible? Now she couldn’t tell how far apart they were. It was almost four. She must have slept through at least one. She would sit this one out and then she had to get outside, flag someone down. Kane could give her a lift if no one else did. The talking could wait now. Rain was lashing against the windows, but she could see a couple of tinnies out there. She’d have to flag someone down. She leaned her head against the cool wall and felt the heat spreading through her. She groaned, but tried to time it—about a minute long. When it finished she headed outside, wondering if her bag, still sitting on Maggie’s little boat, would have kept the stuff inside dry. Some of it would be useful for hospital; there was her toothbrush, her phone, pyjamas. As soon as she was on the verandah, a man’s figure appeared at the corner of her vision. She tried to move a little faster but he was on the steps, in front of her, in a couple of strides, so close she could smell the pot on his clothes, his dirty hair. ‘Where you going, Rosie?’

  ‘Hospital. The baby’s coming.’

  ‘When are you going to talk to me, Rosie? Are you trying to mess with my head?’

  She looked into his face. His eyes were red, unrested, his skin pale and wet. She did not know what to make of the expression he wore. She lifted a hand, forced herself to look him in the eyes. ‘I’m having my baby. I need to get help. This is going to have to wait. I didn’t mean to upset you, Kane. I will talk to you, but I need to get to hospital now.’ When she’d finished speaking she was exhausted.

  For a moment he said nothing, and it seemed he was thinking this over, perhaps contemplating giving her a lift across the river. But then he slapped her, hard across the face. No one had ever hit her in her life. A contraction began, the pain in her abdomen raging against the blow. She grabbed hold of the verandah railing. She could do nothing while this pain gripped her. She couldn’t even feel the stinging in her cheek. He was standing back a little; his hands were in the air. ‘Look what you made me do,’ he said. ‘Fuck.’

  As the contraction subsided, she straightened. There was another figure in front of her, staring at her in silence. It was Tom. He turned to Kane, who was backing away from her. Tom’s dog was growling softly at him. ‘Better help me get her down to the barge, fella,’ Tom said. ‘I’ll bring it over.’

  She sat down on the stairs, in the rain, and put her head in her hands. She would not look at him. ‘Rose,’ he began.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she said through her hands. ‘Don’t speak to me.’

  He whispered, with urgency. ‘You can’t just be with someone and then mess around like this.’

  She heard the barge grumble into life and a few moments later it was pulling in at her jetty. He put his hand on her elbow. ‘Get your hands off me,’ she said.

  ‘You need me to help you onto the boat.’

  ‘If you touch me again I’ll push you in the river.’

  ‘You’re upset,’ he said, retreating, hands shoved in his pockets—wet, dejected. ‘The baby and that. We’ll talk when you get back.’

  She began to walk down the jetty, hoping she could make it onto the boat before the next one hit. The ladder was slippery, but Tom took her arm to steady her, and the tide was high, so there were only a few rungs to negotiate now. She had just managed to ease herself down into a seat when the next one began. The boat roared and they sped towards the point of the island. It was a green blur through the pain, and yet she felt still, and silent. Nothing would happen as long as this journey lasted. While she was crossing the river she was safe from the future. She thought about nothing, let the pain wash over her like the surf, felt the engine reverberate through the metal, through her body, as she gripped the rail.

  But then they were slowing. She looked ahead. It was Danny, rowing towards them from the island’s little beach, bringing himself around. ‘You OK?’ he called up to her.

  ‘Time for her to get to the hospital,’ Tom said.

  ‘How you getting there?’

  ‘I’ll drive her,’ said Tom. ‘Better get moving.’

  Danny nodded, watching her, watching them speed away. Help me, she thought, but couldn’t speak.

  ‘Listen,’ Tom said, as they slowed for the marina. ‘You still getting a decent break between ’em?’ She nodded. ‘OK. Well, I reckon we’ll be there in twenty minutes. You’ll be right. Wait here. I’ll get the ute.’ The dog rested his chin on her thigh. He looked flea-bitten, but he was warm.

  In the cab of the ute, hurtling up the freeway, she felt as though she had come to the end of something, reached a place where there was nothing left to hide behind. In a moment of calm, one of the four- or five-minute intervals between contractions, she said, ‘I know why you hate me.’

  ‘Reckon you do, do you love?’

  ‘I’ve heard the story, anyway. It doesn’t matter. You’re allowed to hate me. It makes no difference. If it helps you.’

  ‘Am I acting like I hate you?’ He turned to face her briefly. ‘Christ al-fucken-mighty!’ She turned to see a truck swerving into their lane and then out of it again, a metre or so from impact on her side. She screamed and the pain began again, no build-up this time, just maximum intensity until suddenly it was gone.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’ve been a bit of a prick, but you don’t understand everything that’s happened.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I’m sorry about your daughter.’

  He nodded. They were exiting the freeway, climbing the hill towards the suburbs and the hospital. They covered the last five minutes in silence. When they reached the maternity building he leaned on his horn and a pissed-off looking midwife emerged. ‘Don’t you worry about that Kane character,’ he said. She climbed down from the cab, he honked the horn a couple of times and was gone.

  ‘Friend of yours?’ asked the midwife.

  Rose shook her head and let herself be walked inside. As she did, she saw her phone in her mind’s eye, in her bag, in the dinghy. She was really going to do this alone. Who would she have called? There was a moat around her, wide and unswimmable. She knew—she’d dug every inch of it with her own hands.

  Chapter 17

  Danny paddled after them in the flat part of the wake. He’d kill a few hours and then go up there himself on the train and wait for her to come out. No rush, though. The first one always took forever, everyone said. First he had to sort things out with Alf, see if he could stash his oars in the chandlery this time, too. Alf was OK about everything. Stubborn bugger, but didn’t take offence. They’d work it out. No fares in this weather, not until the commuters got home at least, so he said he’d wait the shift out at the pub. If no one needed him by seven, he’d go to the hospital then and see how she was doing.

  He sat outside under an umbrella and watched the rain drip from its edges. The trains snaked through the station, steam blurring their wet silver hides. He was on his second beer when there he was, facing him at the edge of the terrace. His father. He’d aged, lost weight dramatically, become haggard with it, but the familiarity of him returned in an instant. The wariness in his stance, the cold focus of his gaze. Danny was the only one out here, and his old man’s milky blue eyes landed on him
straightaway. He paused for a moment before limping over. That was new, the limp. Or it might be years old, now, he’d been away so long. Danny’s heart pounded in his chest. The physical presence of him was strangely disappointing. He’d built him up over all this time, and this was the reality of him? All the violence Danny had been carrying slipped from his body. He felt—filleted. A soft, clear creature stranded on the beach at low tide. This wasn’t even a man you could fight. It wasn’t that he was too mean, too big, too strong. He wasn’t worthy. You’d be scorned for even touching him. Not that Danny would ever have the guts to touch anyone, anyway. This Kane business had made that obvious to him, once and for all.

  He sat down. ‘I didn’t believe it,’ his father said. ‘That young fella told me you were here. I’ve looked a few times. Thought you were dead. Thought your mother did, too, for a long time.’

  She’ll have payed for that, Danny thought, the old guilt twisting his guts. ‘Here I am.’

  ‘So I see. Alive and well.’ He coughed, for longer than you could ignore.

  ‘Want me to get you a glass of water?’

  He shook his head, still coughing, and pointed at Danny’s beer. Danny went into the bar. The landlord gave him a look, with his change, but said nothing. Danny smelled the pub. It always seemed stronger in the day. It was the smell of his father. When he came back with the beer and placed it in front of his dad, he saw he was red-faced, but over his fit, gazing out now at the hills beyond the train tracks. ‘I could kill you, what you put me and your mother through.’

  ‘At least you’d know for sure I was dead then.’

  His father’s face darkened, but he seemed to stop himself saying something, and let out a sigh. ‘It was not knowing. It nearly finished me.’ He coughed again, but recovered more quickly this time and took a gulp of his beer. ‘And the kiddie. Thought I’d brought you up to take your responsibilities seriously. Why’d you do it?’

  Danny looked at the old bloke in front of him, spluttering into his beer. He considered thinking up some lie that took the edge off things. Did you let people off the hook because they were getting on? Wasn’t this the same man who punched the living daylights out of his mum, his brother and himself on a regular basis until he and Trev had taken off, leaving his mum to it? Danny would beg her to leave, to take them away. He would get her so she looked on the brink of something—he always thought he had her if she started crying—but he knew now he’d never got close to persuading her. ‘It’ll just make it worse,’ she’d say. ‘He knows everyone, all over the country. When he finds us it’ll be much worse.’

  He looked at his father, the broken skin, the swollen nose. If he had no clear memory of his own acts, because he drank them out of his heart, did it mean they weren’t his anymore? ‘I didn’t want to risk ever seeing you again, Dad.’ He made himself look into his father’s eyes. ‘Even to see Abby.’ His father’s nostrils flared for a moment, then he blinked and looked away, back at the hills, the rain, a gleaming black four-wheel drive screeching round the corner, windows open, music blaring. He nodded and finished his drink.

  ‘Anything you want me to tell your mother?’

  Danny took a moment before shaking his head. He watched his father drain his glass and creak slowly to his feet. Eventually he said, ‘You might think about helping to support your family.’

  ‘Does Mum need money?’

  ‘Some’d say it’s your duty, after us bringing you up. Then all the worry.’

  ‘If Mum needs something, tell her to ask me.’

  The old man looked as though he wanted to say something more, shout even, but he swallowed it down and limped away. Danny watched him, not knowing what he felt, not recognising who he was seeing. His father climbed into the cab of a small refrigerator truck parked outside the doctor’s surgery opposite, and drove away, exhaust belching. Now the feeling prickled through his chest. It was like having dreamed of an intruder. In the dream, you can do nothing. You watch the dark shape enter your house and you’re unable to shout, or pick up a chair, or call the police. It’s only when you wake that it floods through you, now you have time to feel it, now you know it’s over. He watched the truck labour up the hill towards the bridge across the tracks and sat, immobile, the aftershock of fear flooding his system. After a few minutes he stood, leaving his beer unfinished, and began to walk slowly towards the train station.

  Chapter 18

  ‘You’ve still got a way to go. Is there anyone you want to call?’ The midwife who’d shown Rose to her room seemed kind enough, but very, very busy. Her face was lined and sunken with exhaustion. Rose shook her head. She was kneeling on the floor, face pressed into a hospital bed.

  ‘Maybe that’s for the best,’ she said, regarding Rose’s bruised cheek. ‘Well, I can’t stay with you; you’ve chosen a busy afternoon to have a baby. There’s a buzzer there. Press it if they get any closer together.’

  Oh God, she’s actually going, Rose thought. She’s really going to leave me on my own. Is this why you’re supposed to have a birth partner? Because no one actually helps you until the head’s coming out? A contraction began and she reminded herself to breathe. Panicking seemed to bring them on without any sort of build-up. The midwife had set up a gas inhaler for her. She decided she’d left it too late for this one as she’d have to stand to unhook the mask. Suddenly, a searing pain between her legs cut through the dull ache of her contraction. She wouldn’t have believed there could be more pain. At what point did your body just give up? Her underwear was wet, and then her pants. As the pain died down she pulled herself to her feet, gripping the edge of the bed, and pushed the buzzer at its head. Exhaustion overwhelmed her and she fell onto the bed, curled on her side. The pillow grazed her bruise. Two more contractions came through before the midwife arrived. ‘I think my waters have broken,’ Rose said. ‘Unless I’ve just wet myself.’ She had a strong feeling that she was taking up too much of this woman’s time with ordinary concerns. Perhaps there was an emergency caesarean happening down the hall. Perhaps your waters breaking was not a good enough reason to press the buzzer.

  The midwife helped her take her pants and underwear off. ‘There’s meconium,’ the midwife said. ‘We’d better keep an eye on you.’

  She had no idea what that meant, but was glad of it if it meant this woman would stay. ‘What’s that?’ she whispered as another contraction began.

  ‘It’s waste, from the foetus. It may be distressed. Did you try the gas?’

  Rose shook her head. The midwife handed her the mask. ‘Wait till the next one begins and take a suck from it as it comes. You don’t have to use it. But you do seem a bit edgy.’

  Rose nodded again, though inside she was protesting. I’m being so brave, she thought. You have no idea. ‘I’ll be right back,’ the midwife said, and disappeared again. Rose didn’t know how long she was away. She took the gas; it didn’t stop the pain, just made it seem less important, less connected to her. She lay back on the bed and watched the rain drive against the window in the darkening sky. At the opposite end of the room, beyond her feet, was a Monet print of a field of poppies. There was a light in the air of the painting that seemed inexplicably nostalgic. She had never been to France and yet was filled with the sense of a late afternoon in a stone village, the air beautiful, life precious. Of people buying food, of children playing after school. An image of Kane’s face in the rain, after he’d hit her, broke into her thoughts. She pushed it away. Eventually, the midwife came back with a doctor, an Indian man. ‘I’ll examine her,’ he said to the nurse, and proceeded to her nether regions without ever addressing her face. She took more gas, and opened her legs. ‘Two centimetre dilation,’ the doctor said to the midwife.

  Rose knew enough to know that was nothing. That it had to be ten centimetres before she could think about pushing. How long had she been here already? There was a feeling in her head, a smell, that reminded her of being fifteen, of having drunk too much, of sitting outside a pub in the city while a boy r
ubbed her back and she tried to hold his arm away as she threw up on the ground. ‘Do you want to be on the bed or walk around?’ the doctor asked her.

  ‘Can’t walk,’ she said, removing her mask.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘We’ll monitor you on the bed.’

  Suddenly there were more people in the room. A contraption was wheeled in and the midwife was fixing wide velcro straps around her belly. She heard a fast, regular beat coming from the machine. It began to speed up. Another contraction was coming but this time she didn’t take the gas. ‘Is that the baby?’ she managed to ask before it reached its peak. Then a force hit her, seemed to separate every molecule in her body and leave her entirely rearranged.