Before Tada can even take off his beret, Bethan leaps at him and begins to slam him with her fists.
‘Whoa,’ he says. ‘That hurts, Bethan.’
‘Did you know you’re not my father?’ she shouts at him.
Tada drops his dinner sack on the floor and manages to catch hold of Bethan’s wrists. ‘What are you saying, Bethan?’ he says.
‘You heard me,’ she says. She tries to free her wrists. ‘You’re hurting me. You’ve got no right to do this. You’re not my father.’
Tada lets go of her wrists. ‘Of course I’m your father,’ he says. He looks at the torn photographs strewn across the floor. ‘Where’s your mam?’
‘In the scullery,’ I say, and I can hear her still humming in there as if there is no noise and confusion at all going on in the living room. Tada takes his beret from his head and hands it to me. It’s stiff and grey with all the dust from the stones he works with all day, and moulded into the shape of his head.
‘Magda.’ He calls Mam from where he stands instead of going to find her.
The humming stops and Mam opens the scullery door and walks into the living room. She looks at Bethan and smiles, then drops into her armchair.
‘What have you been saying to Bethan, Magda?’ says Tada. Mam smiles and smiles but doesn’t say anything. He turns to Bethan. ‘You know your mam isn’t well. You mustn’t take any notice of what she says when she’s like this. She’s not herself.’
Bethan begins to labour him with her fists again and this time he doesn’t try to stop her. Dust rises from his old work coat, and he pinches his nose to stop a sneeze. His hand is rough and red. Sometimes, especially in winter, his hands are dry and cracked and bleeding from working the stones, and he softens them with glycerine when he comes home.
‘Mam didn’t tell me. I found out at school.’ Bethan screams the words at him as if he’s not standing right there in front of her.
‘Hush now, Bethan. Hush,’ he says. He looks as if he’s out for a walk and has lost his way. He turns to Mam. ‘Magda, how could that happen? At school?’
Mam smiles at the living room; when she looks at Bethan her smile grows bigger. She doesn’t look at me at all. I’m invisible.
‘Biology,’ I say. ‘The biology homework, Tada. Remember? Miss Edwards gave Bethan’s class homework to do about their eye colour. You can’t have brown eyes unless one of your parents has.’
‘You keep out of it,’ says Bethan. Her brown eyes are shiny.
‘Is that right?’ says Tada. ‘About the eyes. Is that right?’
‘I don’t care you’re not my father,’ Bethan says to him. He staggers back against the door post as if she’s hit him harder than she did with her fists. ‘I always knew I didn’t belong to you. Gwenni’s your favourite. Well, she’s not anybody else’s favourite. She’s too peculiar. So, you can have her. I’ve got a proper father now. And I want you to tell me who it is. Tell me. Tell me.’ She beats him again.
Tada’s face is as white as his teeth and his freckles look as if they’re about to jump off his face. ‘I don’t know, Bethan,’ he says. ‘Your mam never told me and I never asked. I’ve always – always – thought of you as my own.’
‘Well, I’m bloody not,’ says Bethan.
Tada’s green eyes widen but Mam’s smile is now so big the rest of her could disappear behind it like the Cheshire Cat.
‘Elfyn Jones from Llanbedr said lots of women round here had chance babies in the war,’ says Bethan. ‘He said the camp in Llanbedr was full of American airmen and when they got sent back to America after the war they had to leave their girlfriends behind even if they were expecting.’ She twirls away from Tada towards Mam. ‘My father’s an American, isn’t he, Mam? Did he have to leave you to go back to America? Maybe he’s a film star like . . . like Dean Martin . . . or Marlon Brando. Or a rock and roll singer. I’d like to have a famous father. Not some bloody old stone mason.’
But she wasn’t born at the end of the war, she was born during it. I don’t say this out loud.
And now Bethan has started to cry. Mam jumps up out of her chair and puts her arms around her. ‘You’re mine. Mine. Mine,’ she says. ‘All mine. Nobody else’s.’
Bethan pushes Mam away from her. ‘But I’m my father’s, too,’ she says. She wipes her brown eyes with the palms of her hands.
‘Your father’s dead,’ says Mam. ‘It’s just you and me. You and me.’
Bethan opens her mouth wide and screams. John Morris races out from under Tada’s chair towards the scullery and I put my hand into Tada’s rough fist and he holds it tight.
In the silence that follows the scream, the mantelpiece clock’s tick-tock is loud. I look up at the clock and see the Toby jugs almost falling off their shelf as they strain to watch and listen. They’re straining so hard their faces are crimson.
Bethan steps back towards Mam and takes hold of her shoulders and begins to shake her. ‘How do you know?’ she says. ‘Did someone write from America to tell you?’
Mam gives a moan and covers her mouth with her hands. Bethan lets go of her and she falls back into her chair and begins to rock backwards and forwards in it.
‘Who was he?’ Bethan shouts.
Mam shakes her head and rocks and rocks.
Tada squeezes my hand. ‘Go and get your nain,’ he says. ‘Ask her to come to help.’
‘I’m not letting her help me,’ says Bethan. ‘She’s not my grandmother because you’re not my father. My grandmother’s American.’
As I run to find Nain the clock ticks louder and louder into the disturbed air as if it’s a bomb that’s about to explode. Like the bomb left over from the war that washed up on the beach and left a big, empty crater in the sand.
41
‘So, Bethan didn’t come to school today,’ says Richard. ‘Mind you, she’s not the only one. Miss Edwards isn’t here either. She looked as if she was going to collapse yesterday when she realised what she’d done setting that homework. You know those bulgy eyes she’s got? And her mouth was hanging open. Just like a fish gasping for air. We never had things like this happen in my old school.’
I walk behind him because he’s walking so fast I can’t quite catch up and he talks to me over his shoulder. He makes it sound exciting. But it wasn’t exciting for Bethan or the Llanbedr boys, was it? Or Miss Edwards. Richard reaches a patch of the school field that suits him and sits down. I drop to the grass next to him. He watches me like Kitty Hawk. ‘Well?’ he says.
‘Tada thought it would be better if she stayed home,’ I say. ‘She’s upset, and tired.’
She wore herself out shouting and screaming at Tada last night. And shouting in her sleep and pummelling me half the night. Every time I tried to rise from the bed and fly into the sky, she shouted at me or hit me and I fell right back again. Tada said I could stay home, too, if I was tired. But I made up my mind to come to school.
‘Caroline said Bethan went straight home yesterday,’ Richard says. ‘She wondered what happened. Did your mother say . . . you know . . . who Bethan’s father is?’
‘No,’ I say.
‘It’s a predicament,’ says Richard. I’ll have to look that up in the dictionary. ‘The worst thing is that Caroline upset Mum. She said she wished she had a different mother. Poor Mum couldn’t stop crying.’
The worst thing? I don’t think so.
There’s a roar behind us and the scent of new cut grass as the school groundsman swerves his tractor towards us on his way around the field. He must be making the ground ready for sports day. Blades of cut grass and clover spatter us as he passes and we watch as he spatters several other groups sitting on the grass.
Richard stands up and brushes the bits from his blazer. ‘He’s doing that on purpose,’ he says. ‘It’s typical of that sort of person.’
‘That’s Mr Jones, Aneurin’s father,’ I say. ‘He comes to our Chapel.’
Richard watches the tractor, then shrugs and sits down again. ‘So, what happ
ened with Bethan?’ he says.
I cross my fingers. ‘Nothing,’ I say.
‘Oh, well,’ says Richard. He stretches out on the grass and leans back on his elbows. ‘It’s getting darker. Look at Snowdon, it’s disappeared. You don’t have to have lived here for ever to guess what that means.’
‘Rain, rain, rain,’ says Alwenna’s voice behind us. She sits next to me on the grass and picks at the clover heads.
Richard scowls at her. ‘What’s that in English?’ he says.
I tell him. Alwenna ignores him. ‘I heard, then,’ she says. ‘Does she know, your Bethan? Did your mam say who it was?’
‘No,’ I say. And because it’s Alwenna, who is still my Kindred Spirit, I say, ‘Bethan thinks it’s an American. You know, off the camp during the war. She thinks all Americans are film stars or rock and roll singers, so she’s pleased with that idea.’
‘Mam says she must have had a heck of a shock,’ says Alwenna. ‘I know I would if I suddenly found out Tada wasn’t my father.’
‘She screamed and shouted at Tada a lot,’ I say. ‘I don’t know why. It’s not his fault he’s not her father. And she screamed and shouted a lot in her sleep.’ I don’t mention trying to fly.
‘But what happened in the end?’ says Alwenna.
‘Tada sent me to fetch Nain,’ I say. ‘And she tried to calm Bethan down, but all Bethan would say was that she wasn’t her real grandmother so she didn’t have to listen to her.’
‘Then what?’ says Alwenna.
‘Then Bethan and I got sent to bed,’ I say. ‘And she hit me all night instead of Tada.’
‘Will you two speak English so I know what you’re on about?’ says Richard.
‘Time you knew some Welsh, Richard,’ says Alwenna in English. ‘You’ve lived here long enough.’ Then she leaps to her feet and waves both her arms. ‘Aneurin. Aneurin,’ she calls.
Since Sunday Aneurin winks at me every time he sees me. I don’t know why, but I do know that I don’t want him to do that. I pull at Alwenna’s skirt. ‘Tell him to stop winking at me,’ I say.
‘Tell him yourself,’ says Alwenna. ‘He’s only being friendly.’
‘But why is he being friendly?’ I say.
‘Because he’s grown up a bit? Because you both agreed about Saint Deilwen? Because he’s not afraid of you any more?’ says Alwenna. ‘I don’t know. Ask him.’
Afraid of me? I think about this, and when Aneurin comes closer and bobs his quiff at us, I say, ‘Why are you being so friendly all of a sudden, Aneurin?’
He stands back for a moment, and then he grins. ‘Why not?’ he says. ‘No special reason.’ And he winks at me.
‘Don’t wink at me,’ I say. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘Fine,’ says Aneurin, and bobs his quiff sideways at me instead. He looks so comic it makes me laugh.
‘Don’t wink at her,’ says Richard. ‘She’s my girlfriend.’
What? ‘I’m your friend, not your girlfriend,’ I say.
Richard stands up. ‘It’s nearly time for the bell,’ he says. ‘I’ve got double chemistry next. I may as well go and prepare for that as sit here with you lot jabbering in Welsh. It’s as bad as being in class. What’s the point of having a lesson in English when everyone speaks to the teacher in Welsh?’
‘Hang on, Richard,’ says Aneurin. ‘I wanted to ask you about Astronomy Club. How to go about joining and that . . . do I just turn up?’
‘What sort of telescope have you got?’ says Richard.
‘Telescope? I haven’t got one . . . I just thought I’d see what it was all about . . . you know . . .’ Aneurin kicks at a mound of cut grass.
‘It’s about astronomy. Not much point in joining if you haven’t got a telescope to look at the sky, is there?’ Richard looks towards Mr Jones on his tractor. ‘You probably can’t afford one,’ he says and strides away. Over his shoulder he calls, ‘And it’s all in English.’
‘Idiot,’ says Alwenna. ‘Who does he think he is?’
Aneurin turns to me, scuffling his feet in the grass. ‘I just wanted to say sorry about your Bethan and that.’ He kicks some of the cut grass about and does his sideways nod. Behind him Edwin bobs his head in agreement, then gives Alwenna a fluttery wave of his hand. And they both wander away.
‘But what’s Bethan going to do?’ says Alwenna, as if our conversation had never been interrupted.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. I watch Richard disappear into the school building.
‘She’s got a right to know who her father is, hasn’t she? Don’t you think?’ says Alwenna. ‘You know who I was talking about that time, don’t you?’
I nod. ‘How do you know it’s true?’ I say. ‘It’s only what your mam thinks. Perhaps her father is an American. Mam will never tell her, so she may as well believe what she wants.’
‘Paleface didn’t fight in the war like your tada and mine, remember?’ says Alwenna. ‘He was an essential something or other. And your mother lived right nearby him with your nain. I told you all this.’
‘But that doesn’t prove anything,’ I say. ‘There were hundreds of women nearby. Why pick my mam?’
‘I don’t know, do I?’ says Alwenna. ‘But she’s the only one who’s gone doolally because he died, isn’t she? Even his own wife didn’t . . . well, she killed him, I know . . . but d’you see what I mean?’
She didn’t kill him but I won’t think about that. I shake my head. ‘It still doesn’t prove it.’
‘And he had dark brown eyes exactly like Bethan’s,’ says Alwenna.
I shake my head again. I don’t want to tell anyone about Mam swimming with Ifan Evans, not even Alwenna. I won’t tell Alwenna maybe she’s right. I won’t tell Bethan.
And Mam isn’t so doolally; she’s much better after the new tablets Dr Edwards gave her instead of the old ones. She smiles all the time.
‘What’s going to happen to you all?’ says Alwenna.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I don’t know.’ I look at the storm clouds massed over the Wyddfa advancing like an army upon us. Low, dark clouds carrying rain that begins to fall in drops large as shillings, shiny and silver and hard. Alwenna and I jump up and run for the shelter of the school just as the bell jangles to tell us our time is up anyway.
42
I don’t know why my feet are taking me along this road. There are plenty of other roads to walk. Maybe I need to take notice of my feet as well as listen to my own head. Maybe my feet are telling me something my head doesn’t know.
The rain at dinnertime didn’t clear the air much. It’s almost difficult to breathe. Look, the clouds have a tinge of green, which means more rain is coming. It’s dark enough to be twilight although it’s only teatime.
My stomach rumbles. It feels empty. School dinner was my favourite, macaroni cheese, but although my stomach wanted it, my mouth couldn’t eat any of it.
There was no one home after school except Mam. She was in her chair, with John Morris on her lap, listening to Mrs Dale’s Diary as if none of the terrible things had happened. She said Bethan was out with Caroline and not to be late for tea. She wasn’t even cross that I’d interrupted Mrs Dale. Was it Dr Edwards’s strong tablets that made her so happy and stopped the shake in her hands?
Or have I dreamt everything? Maybe I’m still dreaming. Have I gone to sleep and not woken up? People do that, it’s called being in a coma. But if I’m in a coma, how did it happen? And how would I know if I’m awake or asleep? Alice in Wonderland thought she was awake when she was, in fact, asleep and dreaming. Like Catrin in her story. How will Catrin in the Clouds end?
See, whether I’m dreaming or not, my feet are determined to take me this way. But they’re not taking me to look into the Baptism Pool today. I can smell the Pool from the road. Maybe the stench is from all the sins that have been washed away in the water. I hadn’t thought of that. It must be nice to have all the bad things you’ve ever done simply washed away. But where does all the water go that’s full
of sins?
Did the water in the Reservoir wash away all Ifan Evans’s sins? Have we been drinking them? My stomach lurches as well as rumbling. The big wall between the road and the Reservoir hides the water from sight and I can pretend it’s not there. But my feet hurry me past all the same.
Mrs Williams is standing outside Penrhiw, leaning on her gate and looking up the road. Her head has sunk down into her shoulders since I saw her at Ifan Evans’s funeral. She looks like a little gnome in a fairy story. I scuffle my feet to make a noise and she turns towards me.
‘What a lonely old road this is now, Gwenni,’ she says. ‘A lonely old road. Where are you off to? Are you going to Brwyn Coch?’
Is that where my feet are taking me? I make an I-don’t-know shrug at Mrs Williams.
‘It’s like the grave, that house, Gwenni. Like the grave. I don’t know who Twm Edwards will ever get to live there again. I don’t know what’s happening to this town. We’ll never be the same again, any of us, that’s for sure. Your nain was saying the exact same thing to me the other day. She said: It’s as if something’s come along and turned us all upside down and given us a good shake before setting us on our feet again, Bessie. But you’re young, Gwenni. You’ll get over it.’ Mrs Williams snuffles and puts her arms around me and clutches me to her large bosom. Her bosom is soft as a cloud with a powdery smell that makes me sneeze. ‘Listen to me being an old misery.’ She pushes me away. ‘Off you go,’ she says. ‘Do what you have to do, Gwenni. But don’t dwell on things. It’s not good for you. Now, don’t stay up there too long. There’s more rain coming from the looks of that sky, if not something worse.’ She gives me another little push to send me on my way.
My feet have brought me to the field gate for Brwyn Coch. In my head I’m not sure that this is where I want to be. Will Brwyn Coch be like the grave? I pick some of the spiky cornflowers growing in the grass at the foot of each gatepost, though I don’t know who the flowers are for.
The Earth Hums in B Flat Page 23
