‘I’m joking, dear.’
She smiles and it wipes her face clean.
‘Adam?’ She rolls the name around her mouth, experimenting with its taste. ‘Adam. I like it. Maybe. Why Adam, Leah? Is that someone you knew?’
I gaze out of the window for a few heartbeats. There are so many responses I could make, but none of them are satisfactory. Each choice burns with inadequacy. And layers and layers of memories … ‘Adam was someone I loved,’ I reply. It’s true, but it does not say enough.
‘That’s so sweet,’ says Jane. She grips my hand tighter. ‘What happened to him?’
‘He left me,’ I reply. ‘I made him leave.’
She doesn’t say anything else, but sits holding my hand as if it’s a lifeline. I watch clouds scud across a powder-blue sky.
‘A deal is a deal,’ I say. ‘A story for a story.’
The girl isn’t wearing make-up. I don’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed. If she can’t stand up to an old woman, albeit a forceful one, what chance does she have with other, more personal pressures? Then again, her eyebrow stud is still there. Conformity and rebellion. An interesting mix. The nakedness of her face is vaguely embarrassing. She seems younger even than her sixteen years. I wonder what I have exposed.
‘I don’t have one. Seriously,’ she says.
‘Then I will start,’ I reply. ‘But you owe me and I will demand payment. Where was I?’
‘The barn.’
‘Ah. The barn. Yes. I have spent too long there. I have always spent too long there. We must move forward in time. Love awaits us. And murder.’
CHAPTER 7
MR CAMERON WAS OUR closest neighbour. He owned a large farm about three miles away. It bordered ours. He was the visitor the day I tried to read my mother’s book. The one who invited me over to play with his son.
About a year after the barn incident, mother and I took him up on that invitation, though mother’s motives had nothing to do with finding me a companion. I wasn’t aware of it at the time, but I think she only went to sign some documents transferring a portion of our land into our neighbour’s possession. We didn’t do social visits. I don’t know why she took me along. Perhaps she didn’t trust me to resist the call of the strong box and the story buried within.
We walked. It must have been an odd procession. I was in my long dress, the one reserved for special occasions, like church. It was shapeless and old-fashioned, even for those times. But I wasn’t aware of such things. I had very little contact with anyone my own age, so I had no standards by which I could judge myself. Actually, I had very little contact with anyone by then. Mother taught me at home. She considered school a threat to our cocooned existence. I had read of such places – playgrounds washed with laughter, orderly desks with heads bent over slates, the smell of chalk and youth. But for me they remained a bright, inaccessible fiction.
Mother’s dress was dark and plain, her hair swept back into a tight bun peppered with grey. The severity with which she kept it brushed back tightened the skin on her face so that she looked faintly yet constantly alarmed. I remember her sharp nose and her firm chin. She was angular and formidable. It was difficult to track changes over time, but I suspect she had become much thinner since my father’s death. What happened to the people we once were? Where did that young woman go, the one who smiled from a church pew when a sad soldier told her she was beautiful and that she would marry him? When I think of mother now, I see only her sharp nose, her firm chin, her eyes gleaming with inner resolve, her long, dark clothes that hung like a statement of gloom.
Mother was consumed by her own notion of love, but nothing in her appearance betrayed it.
Pagan shuffled at my side. The years had taken their toll on him. He must have been about twelve or thirteen and had long since ceased to be a working dog. By this time there was scarcely a farm and therefore no work for him to do. He was a border collie and bred for action. I suspect inaction dried him. Or made him transfer his thwarted needs onto me. Every time I stepped out the front door in the morning, he lurched to his feet, tail wagging. From that moment until I went back into the house he was constantly at my side. Even at night he slept as close to my bedroom window as he could. I fell asleep to the sound of his tail beating gently against the verandah.
Adam was the fourth member of our group. He skipped in front, often walking backwards so he could see my face or I could see his. Since the time in the barn he had been like Pagan, an almost constant companion. I never really knew what he would wear from day to day. Sometimes he would be a character from the book I was reading at Mrs Hilson’s, particularly if it was a book of which he approved. This day he was resplendent in Lincoln green. I was halfway through a book about Robin Hood and he liked it. We spent happy times in Sherwood Forest. I have said my world was small, and though that is physically true, in my imagination I have travelled through this world and countless others. Adam was by my side every step of the way.
That day he was trying to make me laugh. He would sometimes get a step in front of my mother and make faces at her. There was something absurd in the way her gaze remained fixed on the horizon while Adam put his fingers into the corners of his mouth and made gargoyle faces. I tried to keep a neutral expression, but it was difficult. Then he withdrew an arrow from the quiver on his right shoulder, nocked it and aimed the arrowhead straight at mother’s face. I burst out laughing.
Mother stopped and gave me a look one-third curious and two-thirds pained.
‘What in the name of God is the matter with you, Leah?’ she said.
‘Sorry, Mamma,’ I replied. It crossed my mind to find a reason for my outburst; perhaps that I had remembered something funny I’d read in a book. But I resisted. Since we had made our pact not to lie to each other, it had assumed the status of a sacred vow. I couldn’t lie to mother. I believed what she’d told me, that love and lies could not co-exist. I believe that still.
But that didn’t mean I had to give her an explanation for my outburst. If she’d asked me, it would have been a different matter. But she didn’t. I was convinced by the logic that says withholding the truth is not the same as lying.
‘When we arrive at Mr Cameron’s, I want you to be on your best behaviour,’ she said. ‘You cannot go around giggling like some kind of retarded child. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Mamma,’ I said, casting my eyes downward in what I knew was the appropriate expression of contrition. When we started walking again, I gave Adam a vicious stare, but he winked at me. He didn’t try to make me laugh again, though.
It was not difficult to know when the boundary of our farm gave way to the boundary of Mr Cameron’s. Everywhere on our side were signs of neglect. I remembered a time when father had employed a full-time hand. Then there had been a procession of casual workers, not just fruit pickers, but also shearers and stockmen. But all that changed under my mother’s control. The full-time worker was dismissed, the stock sold off, casual workers turned away when they came looking for work. We concentrated on the orchards and the chickens and let the rest revert to nature. We would have starved if mother hadn’t sliced up the farm and sold it, paddock by paddock, acre by acre.
Mr Cameron’s farm was in good shape. The fences were neat and well-maintained, the paddocks ploughed and tended. His was an oasis that nibbled at the edges of our dust bowl and gradually devoured it.
‘Welcome, neighbours,’ he said as we approached his house, which was much grander than our humble shack. A woman stood beside him. She was plump and jolly, a caricature of the earthy farmer’s wife. There was flour on her hands. Or maybe there wasn’t. Sometimes the line between fact and fiction is finely drawn in memory. Or blurred entirely.
The son was also there. I remember him because he appeared exotic. I had seen him before – a number of times in church – but he’d never seemed real. No more than the pews or the lectern or the gold-coloured cross or the cut-out figures mopping perspiration above neckties. They were simply
fixtures, pinned to one particular scene. Now? Now he was solid. He had an existence outside of one circumscribed place. I felt embarrassed by the blonde hair that fell in ragged lines over his eyes. I was intimidated by the glow of his skin, rich with the sun.
‘Leah, meet my son Daniel,’ said Mr Cameron.
I had no idea what I was supposed to do, so I did nothing except feign extraordinary interest in the small patch of earth beneath my feet.
‘He has a present for you. I remembered that you have a birthday around this time of year. Am I right?’
I nodded. Inside, I was stunned that anyone other than mother would remember. I’d always believed I made no mark upon the world. ‘Perhaps you would like to stay out here with Daniel while your mother and I go inside and talk,’ he continued. ‘Would you like that, Leah? Mrs Cameron will bring you both some lemonade.’
I couldn’t recall when so many words had been directed at me by anyone other than Mamma. I tried to find a response, but my brain wouldn’t cooperate. I nodded.
‘Remember your manners, Leah,’ said my mother. ‘What do you say?’
‘Thank you,’ I mumbled.
‘Dan,’ said Mr Cameron, ‘go and get Leah her present. It’s on the sideboard in the front room. Then maybe you could take her for a short tour around the farm buildings. Show her the horses.’
‘I don’t think that will be required,’ said mother. Her pinched face seemed at odds with the openness of those around. I felt vaguely ashamed. Of mother. Of me. It was as though we were refugees from another, darker world. A fleeting blight upon this family. ‘I would much prefer it if Leah remained on the verandah. We will not be staying long.’
There was silence for a few moments.
‘Of course,’ said Mr Cameron finally, and if he felt slighted or confused his tone did not betray it. ‘Dan, jump to it. I’m sure Leah is anxious to get her present.’
I was. Not so much for the present itself, but because of the experience. I had never received a gift from anyone other than mother. In a predictable world, the prospect of the new was heady. My blood tingled with excitement though I kept my eyes upon the ground.
Daniel disappeared inside the house and returned a few moments later with the gift in his outstretched hand. It had been wrapped, but I knew from its shape and size that it was a book. I almost couldn’t bring myself to reach out and take it. All books are cloaked by covers. The story inside this one was doubly concealed, a further layer of bright paper teasing me with possibilities. I felt an almost unbearable sense of anticipation. I didn’t want to tear the wrapping paper and reveal its identity.
Even now, I feel the same, that somehow unwrapping a gift destroys a mystery. It is an irrevocable step that dispels magic in the very act of revealing it.
I did unwrap the gift, of course, taking pains not to rip the paper, but gradually unpeeling it. I had a small box under my bed that contained treasures I had accumulated over the years. A pretty stone, a slice of rock with what might have been a fossil pressed onto its surface, a flower carefully preserved between pages. This paper would join the others. It had yellow roses in a repeating pattern. It was a feast to the eyes. Through long and moon-filled nights I would gorge on it.
‘It’s not new, I’m afraid, dear,’ said Mrs Cameron. Her voice was rosy. It danced. ‘But I understand you enjoy reading and we have had this for a number of years. To be honest, we are not great readers. I’m pleased it will finally go to someone who might appreciate it.’
The final rose layer revealed red leather binding. The title was embossed in gold onto the leather. I smelled the luxury of binding and paper. The book caressed my hands. It was a copy of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. I had never heard of the author, but my hands were heavy with the weight of characters and story. I turned to the title page and it whispered in my hand, the paper creamy, soft and rich. I think I stopped breathing.
‘What do you say, Leah?’ My mother’s voice had sharp edges of disapproval.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I love it.’ For some reason I could meet the eyes of the others now. Words raced through my head. I was thirteen years old. I was excited. And the words spilled over before I knew it. ‘It’s the best present I’ve ever had.’
Mrs Cameron beamed. Mr Cameron smiled. Even Daniel appeared pleased. But mother’s expression … I read betrayal there and it stilled the tempest in my mind. Her look sliced to the bone. Words fled. I turned my eyes again to the small patch of earth beneath my feet.
‘We mustn’t keep you any longer than necessary, Mr Cameron,’ said mother. ‘Perhaps we could deal with business.’
‘Of course, of course.’ He ushered mother inside. I was left alone with Daniel on the verandah. Pagan had curled himself into sleep. Adam sat on the railings, legs swinging. He winked at me.
The return journey was quicker. Mother still kept her gaze fixed on the horizon, but there was increased urgency in her paces. The dust puffed clouds around her boots and I had difficulty keeping up. We walked in a bubble of anger.
I said nothing. I wanted to burst that bubble with an apology, but I was too nervous to speak. Pagan fell behind. Adam didn’t catch my eye. And the further we walked, the greater the tension grew.
‘Did you think I wouldn’t notice, Leah? Did you really think that?’
I was relieved she had spoken. Anything was better than her silence dripping with displeasure. But I was also puzzled. I searched for an explanation of her words because I couldn’t find a response without one. I knew my words of thanks to the Camerons were a betrayal of all my mother’s gifts, that I had diminished her in their utterance. Was that what she meant, that I thought she wouldn’t notice the unintentional barbs in my unthinking words? It was the only meaning that made sense.
‘I’m sorry, Mamma,’ I said, but my apology provoked no response. If anything, her pace picked up, her eyes pinned the horizon with greater determination and the puffs of dust beneath her boots spoke even more eloquently.
‘Why are you apologising?’ said Adam. His tone was bitter, as if I had offended him. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong. Why should you apologise?’ I couldn’t bear the thought I had disappointed him also. I felt overwhelmed with judgement. Its weight crushed me.
‘So you are aware of the sin you committed?’ my mother added. She still didn’t turn her eyes towards me.
There was danger in this. If I was aware of my sins, then it bespoke a deliberate flouting of the moral codes by which we lived. I risked damnation. If I was unaware, then my sin was limited to an inability to think, learn and reflect. This required contrition, but was not damnable in itself. But I knew it was too late for a plea of ignorance. I had already apologised and that confirmed awareness. Anyway, I wouldn’t lie to her. I would never lie to her.
‘Yes, Mamma,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You spit in the face of our Lord. Our dear Jesus, who lay down his life for you. And this is how you repay Him? This is how you repay me, who loves you as Christ does? An apology is not good enough, Leah. You must burn off the impurities in your soul, you must winnow it of sin, if you are to be worthy of Divine forgiveness.’
Tears burned my cheeks. How had I so offended God? Would He really be angry at the unthinking words of a child? That I loved my gift, that it was the best present I had ever had? I thought of the Fifth Commandment and it was a bright and soundless epiphany. That was my sin. I had dishonoured my mother. Shame welled within, a powerful geyser, an enormous pressure. I tapped, almost gratefully, into something that flooded all my being. I drowned beneath the deluge and gloried in it.
I couldn’t speak and that was for the best. Mamma was right. Words were only words. I lifted my eyes to the horizon and saw it swimming through a film of tears. And behind my eyes there materialised an image of Christ’s face on the cross and a pain beyond understanding. Not the pain of nails in flesh or the piercing of a lance. That was nothing in comparison to the agony of my betrayal. He loved me. He died for me. And I repaid Him
thus.
The sky that blanketed the horizon was bruised and heavy with cloud. Light flickered and pulsed within its darkness. A distant rumble swept over us, followed by another. Pagan whimpered and tucked himself close to my heels. In the gathering gloom, we limped towards the cold of home and the approaching storm.
Mother lit lamps against the dark and the thunder. I shooed chickens into their coop.
Adam watched from a distance. He was no longer dressed in his absurd costume, but I paid him little attention. He was a shape moving on the periphery of vision, a concern on the border of consciousness. I shooed chickens and prayed for forgiveness with all the energy I could muster. Lightning flickered and crackled in response.
‘Leah, this is madness,’ he said, once the chickens were in and I was walking back to the house. He kept pace with me and his voice was small. I suddenly understood he was scared. Of what lay within me. ‘I see your pain, but I don’t understand it. Talk to me. Explain.’
‘Leave me alone, Adam.’
‘No. I won’t. Not until you explain.’
But I didn’t. I walked towards the house and my punishment as if to salvation.
Mother met me on the verandah.
‘Kneel and pray,’ she said. A flash of lightning rolled shadows across her face. I knelt and bowed my head. I caught a glimpse of Pagan lying under the rickety chair. He flinched as another peal of thunder split the air, dropped his head onto his paws and whined. Mother knelt beside me. She held a Bible in her hands. I felt the hard boards under my knees and welcomed them.
‘Dear Lord,’ she said. Her voice was elevated, rapturous. ‘Forgive us our sins, though we are unworthy. And in particular, forgive my daughter, Leah, for her many and manifest failings. Forgive her lustful glances, Lord, for she is heir of flesh and prey to its temptations …’ I was transported as I had been before and would be in the future. Nothing could be compared to stripping bare the soul, the prostration to a power that could cleanse or destroy. It was an experience beyond pleasure and beyond fear. I felt my eyes roll back in my head. My muscles twitched. I was filled with light as surely, as fully, as the storm-charged sky. I teetered on the brink of surrender. But mother’s words hooked me from the edge.
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