by Tess Evans
He was on edge—fidgety, as Mrs Mac used to say. She looked up and bit her lip. ‘Weddings are like that, Zav. There’s lots to do and most of it is women’s work.’
‘Or father’s.’
Mrs Mac sighed. She had never approved of Hal’s apparent preference for Sealie. While she knew that Hal loved his son dearly, she wished he were able to demonstrate this more openly. There were times when her heart ached for both of them, but now she was impatient with Zav’s surliness.
‘Your father just wants the day to be special,’ she said. ‘You should be grateful. He’s spending a fortune . . .’
‘He’s always found that easier.’
‘Easier than what?’ She knew, of course.
‘Nothing.’ Zav was uncomfortable with her probing. ‘Now—what are you wearing to my wedding? I reckon a miniskirt’s the go.’
She flicked him with a freshly ironed shirt. ‘Cheeky young devil. Let me remind you my legs are pretty good for an old girl.’ Zav kissed the top of her head. She barely came up to his shoulder. ‘I’m decorating the cake tomorrow,’ she said. ‘You can help, if you like.’ Mrs Mac’s gift was a four-tiered, homemade fruitcake. She’d been attending a cake-decorating course and was looking forward to putting her new skills into practice.
‘Can I lick out the icing bowl?’
‘Silly boy. When will you ever grow up?’
‘I’m not sure I want to.’
Sealie had never developed the teenage slouch. At sixteen, she carried her five foot nine lightly. Her back was straight and her head set gracefully above long, deep collarbones. Unfashionably curly hair caused her some grief, but it provided a perfect frame for her serious, oval face. She was already beautiful, but with an unattainable, ‘don’t-touch-me’ air that scared most of her male contemporaries. They hung around behind their Beatle fringes, sniggering and calling out to girls whose prettiness was safe and ordinary. One by one, pairs formed and reformed but none of them included Sealie. From her girlfriends, she had to endure hours of chatter and speculation about their love-lives.
At that age they failed to understand why such an amazingly good-looking girl was not asked out by every boy she met.
The wedding changed her status. She was to be the only bridesmaid and got to go shopping for clothes with the incredibly cool Kate. Better still, the best man was to be James Willis, who looked almost exactly like Paul McCartney. And he was twenty-two, with glossy brown hair and not a pimple in sight.
You’re soooo lucky, Sealie.
He’ll have to hold your hand.
Dance with you.
You look older than sixteen. I wonder if he’ll try anything?
Clare! Not at her brother’s wedding!
Why not? Anyway, what are you wearing?
Sealie was wearing a yellow, silk chiffon dress draped like the statues she’d seen of ancient goddesses. Aphrodite? Diana? She got her mythologies confused but knew what she meant. In the V-neck she was to wear the pearls that the young Hal had given her mother. She was even able to wear heels, as James was over six foot tall.
‘Cream rosebuds,’ said Kate, as she flicked through the florist’s catalogue. ‘We’ll both wear a circlet of cream rosebuds in our hair. Only I’ll have a short veil.’
‘Perfect,’ sighed her young bridesmaid.
Sealie was earning pocket money taking the Saturday beginners’ classes at the studio. As soon as Zav told her about the wedding she began an unaccustomed savings campaign. While Hal gave her a generous allowance, she wanted her gift to be from her, not her father. She prowled through the shops in her spare time, regretfully rejecting many beautiful items as beyond her means.
‘What would you and Kate like?’ she asked her brother. ‘I want to buy you something really nice.’
Zav ruffled her hair. ‘Don’t worry about a gift, Seal. We don’t expect you to spend your hard-earned on us.’
But Sealie did worry and was finally pleased to find a cream leather photograph album with gold embossing on the cover. She had it engraved: Xavier and Kate Rodriguez, 22 February 1967. It came in a handsome cream box which she lined with tissue paper and tied with a pink ribbon.
11
AND AROUND THE TWILIT GARDEN, there are lanterns in the trees—Chinese lanterns, glowing a secret, Oriental orange, and perfume from the trellis-climbing jasmine—white and yellow stars that fill the dusky corners of the garden, heady with scent and promise. And interlaced with the music, the disembodied cicada song, proclaiming the heat-to-come; and the thick summer air, like fog, like will-o’-the-wisp, enveloping the figures on the lawn, drawing beads of sweat on foreheads and breasts, staining cotton shirts and silk dresses, as the dancers sway and drink and sing and sway and drink and sing until, with a soft exhalation, they fall gracefully, one by one, onto the lawn and the scattered wicker chairs.
The day had been perfect. From the moment Sealie awoke (just after six—an hour earlier than usual) the summer sky was awash with blessings. Sealie felt the anticipation she still remembered, of her child-self waking up on Christmas morning. Now, as then, she lay a moment with her eyes closed, savouring the thought of the day to come before bounding out of bed with a kind of energising joy.
‘Happy’s the bride the sun shines on,’ beamed Hal as she joined him for breakfast.
‘Happy’s the bride the sun shines on,’ echoed Mrs Mac as she came in a few minutes later.
‘Happy’s the . . .’
‘Already been said, Godown.’
Godown, who was escorting Mrs Mac to the wedding, winked at Hal in glee. ‘I hope my shirt’s ironed properly.’
‘Of course it is.’ The cheek of him! Mrs Mac had spent a good deal of time pressing its snowy splendour. She hoped he’d like the smart silk suit she’d chosen for herself.
Sealie spent the day in a kind of ecstasy. Hairdresser, florist, hurried snacks, makeup. Perfume dabbed on wrists, behind ears, and covertly, on breasts. She and Kate, sisterly, perched on the bed in their slips, toasting their faith in the future. Passers-by pointing. Neighbours clapping the wedding car with its uniformed chauffeur. The short drive from Aunty Mae’s house to Yarra Falls where Zav waited under the magnolia.
In sickness and in health, my mother and father promised. For richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, they pledged lifelong fidelity.
Godown sang ‘O Perfect Love’ and Mrs Mac felt her throat swell as she touched the corsage Zav had given her. All these people she loved—they’d been given a new start.
Godown wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
Mrs Mac caught him in the act. ‘You’re an old softie, Godown Moses,’ she said.
Sealie sat beside James at the wedding supper.
‘You look fabulous,’ he said. ‘Zav, how come I’ve never met your gorgeous sister before?’
‘Hands off, James. She’s still at school.’
Sealie spluttered in her soup. Zav could be so embarrassing. ‘Shut up, pig,’ she said inelegantly and groaned at her own gaucheness.
James grinned. ‘I can wait,’ he said. He put his hand dramatically over his heart. ‘I could wait forever for someone so beautiful.’
To her dismay, Sealie could think of nothing to say. Later, a number of clever and witty ripostes presented themselves, but here, now, she could only grin feebly. She was grateful to James who continued to chat easily until the dancing started and the need for conversation thankfully diminished.
As Sealie whirled in James’ arms, she saw Zav and Kate, holding each other close as they swayed in the gathering dusk. Her brother’s dark head was bent over his bride’s, which nestled lightly on his chest. They looked more than happy. There was a kind of quiet joy in that moment that brought tears to her eyes. Let them always be as happy as this, she prayed, before the moment passed and the band struck a new tempo. The bridal couple held hands and swung wide, laughing as more of their friends joined them.
The music slowed yet again. ‘Yesterday . . .’ the singer began, and Ha
l, in a kind of trance, moved onto the floor.
‘May I?’ He tapped James on the shoulder and held his daughter in the awkward embrace of a man not used to dancing. Sealie took the lead and guided him as he fumbled the steps. She looked up at him and smiled with affectionate amusement at his clumsiness. Hal looked at the dark hair, the smiling eyes, the pearls at her throat.
‘I’ll learn to dance one day,’ he said. ‘I’ll never forget how beautiful you were the first night I saw you dance . . .’
Before he could finish his sentence, Zav swept Sealie away. ‘My turn,’ he said, uncharacteristically flushed from excitement and champagne. ‘You do look gorgeous, Little Sis.’
As the night drew to a close, Sealie sank into a chair in a haze of happiness. It was all far beyond her expectations. She had danced all night, not only with James, but a multitude of others, all of whom told her she was beautiful. One young man had whirled her behind the shrubbery and kissed her, his mouth tasting, not unpleasantly of whisky. Another had whispered suggestively about what they might do later in the evening, sending small shivers of excitement through her body, even though she had no intention of taking up his offer. For now, it was enough to be admired and desired—she had her whole life ahead of her for the rest. Nevertheless, tonight she felt she had left the last vestiges of her childhood behind. The shadowy path to the future was suddenly drenched in moonlight.
A puff of cold air caused her to pull her shawl around her shoulders. She started from her reverie and found herself looking at the wedding guests as from a great distance. The music stopped suddenly, replaced by an uncanny silence. She saw Kate in a swirl of white. She saw the twins, alert like sentinels, standing alone, their green silk dresses fluttering like flags. She saw herself, dressed in yellow, sitting in the chair as though frozen in a photograph. She saw herself, not in her imagination, but from a vantage point somewhere behind her. Sealie shivered, and turned her head to see a blurred figure looking out from the sitting-room window. In an instant, it was gone, leaving a trail of sadness that gave her pause before she brushed it aside as the crowd assembled to say goodbye to the bride and groom.
For they are jolly good fellows, they sang lustily. And so say all of us.
As the newlyweds drove away, I, but ten days in my mother’s womb, was waiting for the moment of discovery. The moment when my parents became aware of my existence. The moment I could feel loved and safe. When my few cells would have mutiplied many thousands of times and I became that which I was meant to be.
Sealie had caught the carefully aimed bouquet and as the car disappeared down the drive, she looked around the crowd. Where was Hal? She hadn’t seen him since their dance. ‘Where is he?’ she asked Godown.
‘Over there.’ He indicated a lone figure under the magnolia. ‘He’s already said his goodbyes. Guess he’s just goin’ to miss Zav.’
Sealie was less certain, but as she moved towards her father, he returned to the waving crowd and the moment of doubt was gone.
Unusually for him, however, Godown had seriously misread Hal’s mood.
For Hal, the wedding was the turning point. If he’d had a chance to finish his sentence as he danced with Sealie, this is what he would have said. I’ll never forget how beautiful you were when I saw you dance Swan Lake. Bewitched by her shining grey eyes, the dark cloud of her hair, the pearls circling her lightly tanned throat, he believed himself to be dancing with Paulina. Overwhelmed with joy, he marvelled at the gift which, until now, had been beyond his grasp.
The moment was shattered almost as soon as it began. When Zav claimed his partner, Hal realised he was dancing, not with his wife, but with his daughter.
The Voice, silent for so long, returned to sneer at his distress. What sort of husband are you? You shit. She wouldn’t even dance with you. Worthless, stinking shit.
12
NINETEEN SIXTY-SEVEN WAS A PIVOTAL year in many ways. Dr Christiaan Barnard performed the world’s first heart transplant; the Israelis won the Six-Day War and the first episode of Sesame Street was aired. A million or more young people celebrated the Summer of Love in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco. And Penny Lane became as familiar as the local high street.
Here, in Australia, there was a ‘yes’ vote in a referendum to give full citizenship to Indigenous people, and the Prime Minister was drowned while swimming alone off a beach very few of his constituents had ever heard of.
The Rodriguez family also experienced a year of change. Firstly, there was my unplanned residence in my mother’s womb; then the wedding; then, in July, the beginning of my father’s short-lived army career.
By that time, the pregnancy had been confirmed and I was judged to be around four months in utero. Kate’s small breasts had swollen, her slim waist had thickened and there was even a little bump to announce my presence. I was a restless baby and my mother felt movement quite early.
‘It’s kicking. Feel. No. Here.’ Kate guided my father’s hand as he felt with wonder the rippling movement under her smooth skin.
At first, he was horrified. ‘We can’t have a baby now. Not with me in the army for two years. How will you manage?’
‘Other women do,’ she said. ‘Please say you’re happy. It’s a baby. Our baby.’
Zav kissed her upturned face. ‘Of course you’ll manage. I just want to be there for you.’ But he was still concerned, and before leaving for basic training, he spoke to his sister in a voice as casual as he could make it.
‘Hey, Little Sis. Can you keep an eye on Kate for me? She’ll be lonely in that pokey flat.’ Zav had never been responsible for others before. Now there was not only Kate but a baby. The thought of me still frightened him. He didn’t feel ready. ‘I wish I’d taken up Dad’s offer for her to live with you guys.’
Sealie knew better. ‘You did the right thing. I’m not sure Dad is the best . . . You know what he’s like.’
Zav nodded glumly. ‘Yeah. If you could, you know, just drop round once in a while.’
‘Of course I will. Stop worrying. And don’t forget to take care of yourself.’ She punched his arm in a comradely way, unwilling to betray her emotion. ‘Take good care, Big Bro.’
Sealie kept her word. She liked Kate and liked the thought of the baby.
‘I might specialise in midwifery,’ she told her sister-in-law as they flicked though racks of maternity clothes. ‘Yuk! Imagine wearing this!’
They finally found some soft cotton caftans at Indian Bazaar. ‘Much better.’ Sealie herself had taken to the hippy look and was wearing a cheesecloth top and bandana with flared jeans and sandals. With her golden skin and dark curls, she looked quite exotic. Like a gypsy, Mrs Mac mourned more than once. What would her mother think!
Since Hal had danced with his daughter, the Voice was never far away. Days of silence would end with another torrent of abuse so that even on the quiet days, Hal, sensing that it was biding its time, never felt safe.
He said goodbye to his son at home because in this fragile state, he didn’t trust himself in public. He had not seen service in the Second World War, failing the medical when they discovered he had only one functioning kidney. Appearing able-bodied, he went through the war years feeling that he was despised by those he passed in the street. He could feel their thoughts. Look at that fit young man in civvies. When my husband, son, grandson, is away fighting a war.
Now Zav was redeeming the family name. A stint in the army was a good thing for young men. Taught them discipline, a trait Hal felt his son lacked. So, despite the fact that his stomach was churning with fear, Hal sent Zav on his way without visible emotion.
‘The army will make a man out of you,’ he said, shaking Zav’s hand. ‘You always liked adventure. Now you’ve got one ready-made.’ He put the other hand on his son’s shoulder—almost hugged him, then stepped back. ‘Keep your head down.’ He hung his own head so that Zav couldn’t see the tears in his eyes.
‘I’ll miss you, too, Dad,’ Zav said, but the irony was lo
st on his father. The boy must know how much he’d be missed.
Hal waved until the car disappeared down the drive, then turned and went inside. There was a heaviness about the house that seemed to swallow up his footfall. Mrs Mac and Godown had driven with Zav back to his flat, so Hal was alone. He sat down and stared out the window, feeling dull and weary. Soon both his children would be gone, Sealie to such grown-up responsibilities and Zav . . . Panic rose in his throat at the thought of Zav. My beautiful boy fighting a war. I should have been able to talk him into staying on at uni. But Zav never listened to me. We’ve never been close. My fault, Hal thought. My fault.
All your fault, Hal. The Voice was quite soft at first and he had to strain to hear. Children always leave bad fathers. Zav would rather face the Viet Cong than live one more day with you. First your wife, now your son. Hal spun around. Unable to breathe, he ran into the garden, but the bodiless Voice continued, its volume rising to a scream. You’ve let Paulina down. You’re nothing but a dirty piece of shit. Hal pressed his hands over his ears but the Voice went on and on. Filthy. Evil. Scum. Finally, it subsided into mutterings as Hal struggled to control his trembling. The Voice that had spoken to him after Paulina’s death had been firm but polite. Now it shouted abuse. It frightened him. Hal shook his head, desperately trying to dislodge the last of the mutterings. But from then on he sensed it was always there, coiled and venomous, ready to strike.
The episode was short, but left him fearful and depressed. He had tried to appease the Voice, but it wasn’t enough. He didn’t for one moment doubt its authority and dreaded its return. He told no-one. You’ll be punished if you tell, the Voice said. If you love Zav, you won’t tell a soul.
Poor Grandad. It’s not nice, this hearing of voices. To him the Voice was as real as Godown’s or Mrs Mac’s. And it knew things about him. Bad things. Hal was a good man, but the Voice told him he was bad. A good man tries to be good, no matter what. And he did try.
