Always Jack

by Susanne Gervay

  I copy from the book: The Vietnam War lasted from 1959 to 30 April 1975 when the democratic South Vietnam, supported by the United States, Australia and New Zealand, was defeated by the communist North Vietnam.

  The lunchtime handball game is fast and Christopher thrashes me. That’s OK. The photo of the girl keeps flashing into my mind. His family must have been through a lot. We’re doing Maths this afternoon. Mr Angelou gives us heaps of Maths homework. I’m fast at Maths, but Anna isn’t. I’ll help her this afternoon when she comes over.

  ‘Nanna, we’re home.’ I open the front door. Nanna’s waiting for us with cookies and apple juice. Mum’s home early today too. I drop my bag and head for the kitchen. Everything’s looking good — food set out, bananas cut up from Napolis’ Super Delicioso Fruitologist Market and cookies. Anna and Samantha go off to check the mice, but I’m starving. My mouth is stuffed when I nearly choke, because of the great scream. I’m spluttering out banana and cookie-bits when Samantha runs into the kitchen crying. She’s pointing to the hallway. ‘It’s in there. In there.’ She’s sobbing. ‘Patch.’

  I lead the charge into the hallway. The mouse-house looks all right. Anna’s mouse Frank is running around the wheel like an athlete. Spot is crouching in a corner, but when I open the cage he slides into my hand. Then I see Patch. He isn’t moving. His small paws are not moving.

  Anna and Samantha are holding onto each other. Mum’s patting down her hair nervously. It’s awful but I decide to take charge. Everyone is quiet as I carry the mouse-house into the garden. Anna lies Patch in a small box that she has lined with tissue paper. Nanna watches us from the back porch with Puss. I get my spade and dig near the sunflowers. I don’t feel like joking. Anna gently puts Patch in the hole and says a few words over his grave. Samantha snuggles in Mum’s arms. She hides her face in Mum’s shoulder as I bury Patch.

  Afterward, we sit on the back porch looking over the garden. Samantha whispers, ‘Mum, why did Patch die?’

  Mum takes a while to answer. ‘Maybe Patch was sick. Maybe he was already old. Maybe it was just his time.’

  Suddenly my head hurts. Nanna is sick and old.

  ‘I want Patch here.’

  ‘He is here, Samantha.’ Mum puts her hands across her chest. Samantha lies against her.

  ‘It’s not fair. Why do things die?’

  Mum strokes Samantha’s cheek. ‘We’re born, grow up, are part of the world. It’s a gift to be here.’ Mum’s eyes are teary.

  ‘I don’t want Patch or anyone to die, Mum.’

  ‘Patch has the snug warm earth around him and we love him. And where he’s gone is a safe place.’

  I sit next to Nanna and hold her hand. It’s soft and wrinkly and warm. I couldn’t stand anything happening to Nanna. ‘Can we visit Grandad soon?’

  Mum nods. Nanna smiles. ‘I’d like that, Jack.’

  Chapter 6

  Grandad is a Hero

  Samantha puts flowers on Patch’s grave and he becomes part of our sunflower garden. ‘Patch would like that.’ She sniffs back a sob.

  There are heaps of phone calls from Leo. He doesn’t want to know about Patch, even though Samantha is really sad. All he wants to talk about is Rob going north, even though the wedding is soon and Rob doesn’t have any time. So what’s Rob doing? He’s taking a day off work on Friday and will be away all weekend. To make up for Friday, Rob has to work overtime. So he’ll miss dinner with us and be home late every night. Rob can’t work with me on the portable mouse-house for Samantha’s school show-and-tell. He promised he would.

  ‘I need some time with Leo,’ Rob says. ‘You understand, Jack and Samantha.’

  Understand? Rob wouldn’t take a day off work for me. He just wouldn’t. I’m not his real son, so it doesn’t matter. But I’m just saying what’s happening. Rob made Leo a special workshop bench, and now he’s driving north for the weekend to be with him. I don’t care. I don’t need his help making the portable mouse-house. The only thing Rob did was give me two heavy-duty cardboard boxes from work.

  Every night I’ve been working on the mouse-house with Samantha as my assistant. Samantha needs to take Spot and Frank to school for her class project on Pets. Other kids have brought in lizards, a rabbit, two guinea pigs, frogs and goldfish. Samantha has made a poster of Patch to stick on the side of the mouse-house. ‘Just because someone dies, doesn’t mean they’re not here,’ Mum says and it’s true.

  Samantha brings me a roll of toilet paper. I unwind it to get the cardboard cylinder in the middle. (Mum wasn’t happy about this.) Then I cut a hole in the small box and slide the toilet-roll cylinder in as a passageway before putting the other end in the side of the big box. Spot and Frank can run from the small box to the big one. It’s really comfortable. I glue Samantha’s poster onto one side of the mouse-house. It folds in half. You just flick it open to see Patch. On the other side of the box, I’ve stuck a sign. It’s looking good. I carry it into the lounge room to show everyone.

  Nanna puffs up like Wally my stuffed cane toad. ‘You’re just like your grandad. He could make anything.’

  ‘You’re the best brother, Jack.’ Mum puts her arm around Samantha.

  ‘Not bad.’ Rob checks out how I put it together. ‘You built it better than I could.’ He reads my sign aloud.

  ‘DON’T TOUCH.

  (WELL, HOLD AT YOUR OWN RISK.

  YOU’LL FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS.)’

  Samantha picks up Spot by the tail and then it happens. POO. POO. POO. She giggles.

  Mum grins at me and says, ‘Mice really are POO machines.’ Everyone laughs because we all know what happens now. POO.

  It’s Friday morning and we wave Rob goodbye. He beeps the horn, sticks his head out of the window and yells, ‘Be back soon.’

  Mum reads my mind. ‘Leo needs to see his dad.’ I say nothing.

  After Rob disappears, Mum talks to us about her plans for today and the weekend. There are so many: organising Nanna’s doctor’s appointment in the hospital (scientific); visiting Grandad (I’ll show him my ponto); another fitting in my penguin wedding suit (bad, but at least Leo won’t be there); and gardening to get the backyard ready for the huge wedding (luckily I’ve got homework). Christopher and I are working on the Vietnam project this weekend. Mum says schoolwork comes first. School. Have to rush. ‘Come on, Samantha.’

  ‘I want to carry the mice by myself.’ Samantha struggles down the stairs. I take her backpack.

  ‘Let’s go!’ Anna and Christopher’ll be waiting for us at the bus stop. ‘Come on. No, you can’t show Nanna. No time.’ I look at my watch. Got to move. We’re puffing as we round the corner. I call out. Anna and Christopher turn around and wave to us. Luckily, the bus hasn’t come yet. They’re impressed with the mouse-house. Anna gives Frank a special pat.

  She smiles and I catch a flash of her dimples. ‘Jack, that was really nice of you to make the mouse-house for Samantha.’

  ‘It was nothing.’ But I point out the special designs in the mouse-house. As Anna boards the bus and heads down the aisle, she says, ‘You’re smart as well as nice.’

  ‘You’re so smaaart and niiice, Jack.’ Samantha wrinkles her nose. I grab her arm and squeeze hard. ‘Ouch, that hurts! Stop it, Jack. You nearly made me drop the mouse-house.’

  ‘Next time I won’t make you anything.’

  ‘Well, don’t. We made it together,’ Samantha huffs as she follows Anna, then plonks herself next to her on the bus. She’s so irritating.

  Christopher sits next to me behind the girls. Kids are leaning over the bus seats to look at the mice. Frank is the speediest mouse in the house. He makes the wheels turn. Spot’s eating, pooing, gnawing on a piece of hanging string. Samantha’s drawing of Patch is a hit. Samantha’s sign under Patch reads, THREE AMIGOS — FRIENDS ALWAYS. As long as we remember, Patch’s still here.

  Samantha and the mice have a great day. When the last school bell rings, I wave goodbye to Anna. Mum’s outside tooting the car horn. Samantha pu
ts the mice on the back seat next to Nanna. She’s in the car ready to go to the hospital for her doctor’s appointment. She chuckles. ‘Guess what I’m wearing?’ I don’t ask, but I can take a guess. I think they’re purple.

  Nanna’s brought her cards to play UNO. ‘Sometimes you have to wait a long time in the waiting room.’ She pauses for effect. ‘That’s why it’s called a waiting room.’

  Jack joke coming. Joke coming. ‘Doctor, doctor, I feel like a pack of cards.’ Pause. ‘Sit down, Nanna, and I’ll deal with you later.’

  Nanna laughs so much her teeth pop out, but she sucks in her breath and they slip straight back in. We play four games of UNO waiting in the hospital. Nanna’s name is called at last. Mum goes in with her and as Nanna turns to give us a little wave she flips her skirt and guess what? A flash of fluorescent purple hits us as she waddles inside. Samantha giggles. I guessed right.

  While Mum and Nanna are inside and we’re outside, we play another game of UNO and Samantha wins, but I don’t mind. We have to bring Nanna back next week for blood test results. Mum’s coming in too, to the hospital breast cancer screening clinic for her mammogram check-up. She booked it after she saw the van at the shopping centre and because she has to bring back Nanna anyway.

  Saturday, first stop, Grandad. Nanna’s brought a teatowel to dust Grandad’s gravestone. Samantha arranges the bright yellow sunflowers in a jar. Mum brings out the blue-checked tablecloth and lays out bread rolls and lemonade. I set up the fold-up chair for Nanna. It’s a bit windy, so I race into the car to get her favourite bargain cardigan.

  When we’re all comfortable and organised, we tell Grandad about Nanna’s bone density scan, the mouse-house and Patch, Rob going north, the wedding. When I bring out my ponto, Mum gasps because it’s huge now. She hasn’t seen it for a while. The morning is warm in the sun with gold blinking from the sunhats. Grandad’s grave looks out over the blue sea with boats bobbing up and down. I snap photos of yellow and blue and sunhats and Nanna’s knobbly hands resting on Grandad’s grave. She whispers to him, ‘We’ll be together again one day.’ Then Nanna strokes the headstone as if he was here. I know she wants to see him, but I don’t want Nanna to leave me.

  Going home I sit in the back seat holding my ponto. Mum’s fuzzy blonde hair and Nanna’s hard head bob in front of me. They’re talking and laughing, but I just feel sad.

  Vietnam project. I’ve set up Rob’s video camera; he said I could use it because he trusts me. I have interview questions written down, the computer screen ready for Nanna to see photos, the books on the Vietnam War opened at special pages. Nanna’s brought out her photo album and Grandad’s special box to help give the answers.

  There’s a glass of water on the side table in case Nanna gets thirsty. Christopher arrives with three doughnuts and four chocolate-chip cookies for the interview. There’s one for each of us and an extra cookie for Nanna in case she gets hungry or needs an urgent Nanna ‘treat’. The main thing is that Nanna doesn’t fall asleep. Christopher brought a bag of goodies for Mum and Samantha from his parents too.

  Nanna’s room is set up with her armchair facing the camera. We’ve pulled down the blinds. ‘Ready, Nanna?’

  ‘Ready, Jack.’

  Christopher videos me opening the books and showing photos. It’s the introduction. Then he pans to my face. I explain that Grandad fought in Vietnam and that I am interviewing Nanna about what she remembers. ‘Here’s Nanna.’ She gives a toothy grin and waves to the camera.

  I ask the prepared questions. ‘What was the Vietnam War about?’

  ‘The Vietnam War,’ Nanna repeats. ‘Well, Jack, it was like yesterday.’ Nanna remembers the past better than today. ‘Well, Jack, everyone was scared of communism.’

  ‘What’s communism, Nanna?’

  ‘Communism is supposed to be where everyone is equal and the government looks after everyone equally. So there’s no need to vote for a new government.’ Nanna sips some water. ‘That sounds good, doesn’t it, Jack?’

  I guess it does.

  ‘But it doesn’t work. People are individual and communism tries to make everyone think the same way. People were put in prison, tortured, even killed if they didn’t support the government.

  ‘Vietnam was a long and terrible war, Jack. A lot of soldiers died and a lot of Vietnamese people died too. The countryside and villages were bombed and destroyed.’ Nanna takes another sip of water. Christopher keeps filming. ‘America and Australia and some other countries went in to fight against North Vietnam. Lots of people didn’t want our soldiers there because there were too many people killed. Because it was not in our country. It was hard on our soldiers. The North communists won in the end.’

  My head pounds. I knew that North Vietnam won. Christopher’s family escaped here to get away from the communists. I look at Christopher. He’s staring at the pictures. ‘Nanna. Did Grandad want to fight in Vietnam?’

  ‘He was older and in the Army Reserves. He wanted to fight for freedom and against communism. He was excited about the adventure as well. I told him that he was too old to go. That I didn’t want him to go.’ Nanna waits. ‘I was scared when he went to Vietnam, that he wouldn’t come back.’

  ‘But Grandad did come home, Nanna.’

  ‘Others didn’t. Grandad was lucky, but afterwards —’ She stops. ‘Sometimes, he was very sad. It was memories of the war.’ Nanna shakes her head and puts her hand in front of her face. She doesn’t want to talk about it.

  I touch Nanna’s hand before asking her, ‘What’s in the box?’

  She puts down the glass. ‘Grandad didn’t like to talk about what was inside the box.’ She stammers. ‘Maybe it’s time to show you.’ She holds it tightly. ‘Grandad’s war is in here.’ She carefully lifts the lid.

  I peer over Nanna’s shoulder. In the box there are letters, a diary, black-and-white photos of mates in uniform and medals. Nanna touches the medals. ‘Your grandad dragged another soldier out of the line of fire after he’d been shot. He saved his life.’ She takes out his medals and puts them in my hands. Tears dot the corner of her eyes.

  ‘Grandad is a hero, Nanna.’

  She nods, then holds up a photo of soldiers standing in front of a Hercules plane. ‘There is your grandad.’ Nanna points to one of the soldiers. ‘He’s wearing a slouch hat.’ Nanna rubs her sore fingers. ‘He talked to his mates who came back about what happened there. His mates were really important to him.’

  ‘What did Grandad say it was like?’

  ‘He only told me bits and pieces.’ She slowly opens Grandad’s diary and starts reading aloud. I think she’s read this page before.

  ‘Hard to see in the jungle. There’s mud. The swamp smells. We’re looking for enemy patrols. There’s thirty of us. No one speaks. Want to be back at base camp. There are tents and food there. We’ve been eating leaves and rice gruel. My stomach’s empty. There’s a helicopter drop soon. Food, water. Miss home. We’re on a patrol and ambush mission. Six weeks this time. Those booby-traps, mines. Tom’s my mate. Left his legs in the jungle. Blown off …’ Nanna closes the diary. ‘I don’t want to read any more, Jack.’

  I start to hand Nanna back the medals. She shakes her head. ‘He’d want you to have them. They’re yours now.’

  Goose bumps quiver down my arms and back. ‘I can’t.’

  Christopher turns off the video. Nanna gets up from her armchair. ‘I’m tired. I’m going to rest for a little while. Your grandad wants you to have them.’ I follow Nanna and help her lie on her bed. Puss jumps up next to her. She turns the photo of Grandad on her side table toward her. I hold Grandad’s medals tightly.

  Chapter 7

  What’s Small, Red and Brown?

  Rob’s back from visiting Leo at Port. He’s going to see more of him. Drive up once a month for a Rob—Leo weekend. I don’t want to think about that. I show Rob Grandad’s medals. Rob stands there looking at them for a long time. ‘They’re something special, Jack.’

  Rob brings hom
e a display case to put in my bedroom. ‘For the medals.’ We hang the case on my wall next to my ponto. When Mum comes in to see it, she starts crying. Then Nanna starts crying. Then Samantha cries. Rob and I just shake our heads. It’s a girl disease. I feel my throat choke a little.

  * * *

  It’s Wednesday morning and we’re not going to school today. Mum’s got special leave from work to take Nanna to her hospital appointment. Mum’s going for her own check-up at the breast cancer screening clinic first. It’s right next door. She tells Samantha, ‘Girls can get lumps at times. I’ve always had lumpy breasts.’

  Since I’m standing right next to Samantha, I get this exciting ‘lumpy breasts’ news as well.

  ‘Too much information, Mum.’ I scrunch my face up.

  Samantha copies my scrunched-up face. ‘Who asked you to listen, Jack?’

  Mum thinks I’m funny. I’m not being funny.

  ‘Just don’t talk about it in front of me.’

  Mum takes Samantha’s hands and they swing their hands like a dance. ‘Call me Lumpy. Call me Mumpy, Lumpy-Mumpy, Lumpy-Mummy. Call me Lumpy. Call me Mumpy. That’s what I am today-O.’ Mum’s singing out of tune and Samantha is too.

  ‘Stop,’ I shout.

  Nanna waddles up. ‘Did you say “shop,” Jack? I need some things.’ Then Nanna sees the dancing and begins tapping her feet. I can’t help laughing. My family’s crazy.

  It takes a while to get everyone organised. Nanna has her handbag ready. Treats and her UNO cards. Mum’s finished making sandwiches for lunch. Samantha’s put in four bottles of water and some pears. We’re going to have a picnic at the beach. Afterward Mum says we have to buy the wedding invitations. The wedding is only five weeks away and Mum’s left the invitations really late, except the world already knows.

  The waiting room at the breast screening clinic is full. I already checked out mammograms on the internet. It’s nearly as interesting as my ponto. This special X-ray is used to take pictures of lumps and bumps inside breasts. Even men’s breasts. I never knew men could have lumps there. ‘Hey, Samantha. Knock, knock.’