The Memory Tree

by Tess Evans

  Zav snorted into his beer. ‘What a classic! Do you know what happened to the Snowman?’

  ‘Joined up. He’s regular army now. A warrant officer up north.’

  Zav shook his head and grinned. ‘Can’t see the Snowman as an NCO.’ They both laughed and their reminiscences turned to the many exploits of the fair-haired giant.

  They didn’t mention Monty again.

  Zav returned home happier than Sealie had seen him for months. She was beginning to hope that he would soon be able to manage by himself and she could get on with her life. She encouraged him in his weekly meetings with Scottie, and a few months later, they were joined by Will, who had left the army and was appointed to a nearby parish.

  ‘Couldn’t keep running all over the world,’ he explained. ‘It’s not fair to Brenda and the kids.’ He had two little girls whom he didn’t mention very often in deference to Zav. He usually stayed at the pub for an hour or so and then went home to prepare his sermon, a task that was still agony to him.

  Sealie wanted to meet these men who had so improved her brother’s life and invited them, along with Brenda, to a small dinner party. Scottie came first and when Zav introduced his sister, he was lost for words. He had to make an effort to be ordinarily polite. No one had warned him that Zav’s sister was such a stunner.

  ‘Thanks for the invite,’ he gawped. ‘I hope you like chocolates.’ He thrust a clumsily wrapped box at her, wishing he’d brought flowers and worn a groovier shirt. And groovy wasn’t even a word he used.

  The dinner went well, and Sealie and Brenda left the men to do the dishes while they enjoyed their coffee and chocolates.

  Brenda was short and square with a plump, good-humoured face and shrewd hazel eyes. ‘How’s Zav getting along?’ she asked, unwrapping a soft centre. ‘Does he talk about his nightmares?’

  Sealie was surprised. ‘How do you know about the nightmares?’

  ‘They all have them. Will wakes up in a sweat nearly every night, then he—’

  ‘Prowls around the house? Makes coffee?’

  ‘Tea in Will’s case; but yes, he does. Patrolling the perimeter, he calls it. Tries to make it a joke.’

  ‘I thought it was just Zav. I mean, I thought it was Grace’s death.’

  ‘That can only make it worse.’ Brenda looked over her coffee mug. ‘What about you? It’s none of my business but you’ve taken on a big job. Will says Zav is still very vulnerable.’

  Sealie was dismayed. She had hoped things were getting better and had been planning to go to see Sister Una again. ‘I’ll stick it out a while, yet,’ she said, attempting a smile.

  Brenda leaned over and touched her arm. ‘If you need someone to talk to . . .’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Scottie was sounding out Zav. ‘Selina’s a good cook. You’re a lucky man.’

  ‘She can only cook four different meals, so I’m not that lucky.’

  ‘Good-looking girl, though.’

  Zav looked up sharply and chinked a glass against the tap. ‘You don’t notice those things about your sister.’

  Scottie persevered. ‘You agree, don’t you Will? She is a beautiful girl.’

  ‘You’ll get me into trouble. I’m a married man. But yes. She is attractive.’ Will suddenly noticed the warning in Zav’s eyes. ‘But, more importantly, are the Cats going to win on Saturday?’

  After their guests left, Zav was ashamed. He knew exactly what he had done to Scottie and, more reprehensibly, to his sister. He should have encouraged his mate. Scottie was a good man, and Sealie deserved a life beyond looking after his needs. But he feared the aloneness that Sealie’s departure would bring. He didn’t want to come home to an empty house. When he paced through the night, it comforted him to know that Sealie was there. Sometimes she got up and they had coffee together. She was all the family he had left and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.

  These thoughts were a bit extreme, you must agree. After all, Scottie had only mentioned that Sealie was attractive and my father extrapolated this remark to envisage a full-blown relationship. In this family, extreme reactions are to be looked on with some concern.

  A word from Will, and Scottie got the message. He and Zav had served together and he wasn’t going to be the cause of any additional pain. Nevertheless, Sealie became his yardstick and other women just didn’t measure up. After a few months, Scottie decided upon a softly, softly approach.

  ‘I’ve got a couple of tickets to the new MTC production this Saturday.’ (Scottie edited the Arts section of The Age.) ‘It’s about a woman executive. Supposed to be funny. But we don’t want the feminists down on our heads.’ He turned casually to Sealie. ‘Don’t suppose you’d come along and help me out?’

  ‘You must have plenty of girlfriends to take,’ Sealie responded, glancing at her brother. ‘And I’m not exactly a model feminist.’

  ‘Zav, ask your sister to help out an old mate.’

  ‘Go on. It would be good for you to get out.’ Zav tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

  Detecting the tone, Sealie decided to go. Zav doesn’t own my every waking minute. How long is it since I’ve had a night out?

  By Saturday evening, Sealie was as nervous as a schoolgirl. She changed her clothes three times and then returned to her original outfit. She put her hair up. She tied it back. Finally she let it loose, brushing its thick mass over her shoulders. She was not sure how she felt about this—date? Not date, she told herself—outing. Scottie had been a rock. Will and Brenda, too. Would this change things?

  She had little enough experience with men, but understood that the invitation was not as casual as it appeared. What did she want from Scottie? What did he want from her?

  The image in her mirror reflected a wry smile. Good God! A man asks me to the theatre and I’m making such a drama out of it. The face became stern. Lighten up! Just go out and enjoy the night the way normal girls do.

  As he drove to Sealie’s house, Scottie admitted to himself that he, too, was nervous. He would take Sealie out tonight and then what? Sometimes beautiful women turned out to be poor company, but he already knew Sealie, knew her very well, in fact. Then there was sex. Not tonight, of course, but somewhere down the track . . . Sealie had a touch of aloofness that he found tantalising. He pictured them undressing slowly, their eyes . . . Shit! He swerved, narrowly missing a bike, and was shaken enough to concentrate the rest of the way.

  Zav, ashamed of his niggardly attitude, was determined to be generous. ‘You come up well with a scrub,’ he said as his sister ran lightly down the stairs. He turned to Scottie who was finishing a quick beer. ‘I hope your intentions are honourable.’

  Clichés again. Just like his father. He’d hate to think that, of course, but this is a family history and as narrator, I’m bound to make connections.

  The play was cumbersome, Scottie thought. Sealie wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but admitted that she had enjoyed it immensely. ‘The message was a bit obvious,’ she agreed, ‘but it was funny.’ Poor Aunt Sealie. She needed a good laugh. She needed the admiration she saw in Scottie’s eyes. She needed to feel like a normal girl on a normal date. For that little while she could simply be Selina Rodriguez, a twenty-three year old, arguing about a play and drinking coffee with an attractive man. Who could begrudge her that?

  As they stopped at her door, Scottie held her shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Bonne nuit, ma cherie,’ he said with an execrable French accent.

  It was very well done. No embarrassment at all. I don’t care what my father’s attitude was; I’m on Scottie’s side.

  After a few such outings, Sealie was increasingly aware that this was becoming more than a friendship, so she felt the need to make some rules. ‘I enjoy going out with you,’ she said. ‘But I need to be clear that we’re just friends. Zav needs you more than I do.’

  Scottie winced. ‘You know I’d never do anything to harm Zav. Not af
ter all we went through together—but you can’t spend your whole life worrying about what your brother wants.’

  ‘Needs. What he needs.’

  ‘I’m his mate. How can he object to his sister going out with his mate?’

  Sealie struggled to explain. ‘He doesn’t mind me going out, as you put it. It’s not you. It’s just—for the time being anyway, he can’t function without me to care for him.’ She took both his hands and spoke so softly that he had to stoop to hear her. ‘He’s depressed. My father was depressed before . . . I have to watch him for signs. What if he goes over the edge like Dad? How could I live with myself?’

  Scottie brushed away her tears with a gesture that was both clumsy and tender. ‘We’ll wait, then. Give him time.’

  ‘Thank you. You’re a good man.’

  She was dead right there.

  From then on, they went to various functions where a partner was necessary and at the end of the evening, kissed primly on the cheek. One night, over two years after the annual Council Ball, Scottie’s lips seemed to move of their own accord. He found her mouth and for one moment their obligation to Zav was forgotten.

  ‘Maybe one day?’ he said.

  She pushed him away, but her hands lingered briefly.

  ‘I’ve given up thinking of the future,’ she said, and went inside. Scottie was not to know, but she stood a good while leaning against the door, fighting back tears which she hastily wiped away as Zav came down the stairs to meet her.

  ‘You’re a bit late,’ he said.

  ‘You’re not my father,’ she snapped. Oh God. What have I said? And the sense of responsibility came flooding back. The small group, Zav, Sealie, Scottie, Will and Brenda, had become fast friends and that friendship made life more tolerable. She couldn’t risk all that the group offered. Scottie would wait. Or not. Sometimes she could be quite ruthless.

  Brenda had been observing the relationship develop and it pained her to see her two friends sacrificing a chance at happiness. She usually met Sealie for a drink after work on Thursdays, and used one of these occasions to broach the subject.

  ‘So how’s it all going with Scottie?’ she asked, as they settled down with their Advocaat and lemonade.

  ‘He’s a good friend.’ Sealie’s eyes were evasive. ‘Fun. You know.’

  ‘It’s me you’re talking to.’ Brenda let the awkward silence continue until her friend was forced to reply.

  ‘I like him a lot. But it’s impossible at the moment.’ Sealie shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe one day.’

  ‘Can I help? Talk to Zav, maybe. Or ask Will to talk to him?’

  ‘You know my reasons. Please don’t push me.’

  ‘Have you slept with him?’

  ‘Brenda Norton! You’re a vicar’s wife!’

  ‘Vicars enjoy sex, too, you know.’

  Sealie was chastened. Brenda sounded really annoyed.

  The truth was, she hadn’t slept with Scottie, but felt her willpower increasingly eroded by the time they spent together. Sex would irrevocably change the nature of their relationship and she wasn’t sure she could handle it.

  She tried one more time to return to her nursing, broaching the subject with Zav after a pleasant night out at Brenda and Will’s. The nightmares were less frequent now, and he was taking sleeping pills.

  ‘. . . so I thought I might try for the next nursing intake.’

  She was shocked at Zav’s response. He grabbed her wrist and she recoiled at the force. ‘You can’t leave me, Seal.’ There were tears in his eyes. ‘I can’t cope without you.’

  ‘You seem so much better. You have friends. There’s Scottie—and Will and Brenda. Mrs Mac . . .’

  Zav hung his head. ‘They’re not family. Please. Don’t go just yet.’ He gestured towards a vague future. ‘Just give me a bit more time. That’s all I’m asking. A bit more time.’

  Sealie put her arms around him and held him like a mother. ‘Shh. It’s okay.’ She could feel that he was shaking. ‘There’s another intake in June,’ she said. ‘We’ll see how you are then.’

  After she had settled Zav with warm milk and sleeping pills, Sealie climbed to the room at the top of the stairs and folded away another piece of her life. The last item in the hope chest had been the blue silk nightdress. She took it out and held it against her cheek before laying it back in its tissue paper. On top, she placed her badge, her incomplete procedure book and her silver nurses’ watch with the inscription, Love from Dad, 1968.

  6

  THE ARADALE DIRECTOR OF NURSING looked across the desk at the young woman with the tense mouth and serious eyes. ‘From our observations over the two years he has been here, your father’s condition is affected by changes in the seasons. This is causing us some difficulty in calibrating his medication.’

  Sealie nodded. She and Godown had discussed this and wondered about its significance. From what they had been told, corroborated by their own less extensive observations, her father had indeed become a captive of the seasons.

  Autumn was quiet, soothing; and Hal spent hours in meditation under the tree. At some internal signal, he’d rise and perform his slow, shuffling dance through the fallen leaves and return once more to the contemplative state where angels sang their clear blue songs with poignant sweetness. After a while, other patients joined him. They sat and danced, but no-one spoke. The whole ritual had a calming effect on all the participants and the staff were happy to supervise from a distance.

  When the last leaf fell and winter enveloped the garden in its dank, grey cloak, Hal became increasingly depressed. The old malevolent voices recurred. You can’t escape us, they said. You are an abomination. The Lord has turned his face from you. The leaden winter sky pressed down on him—grave-dirt that sprouted evil thoughts like weeds. He either lay on his bed or stood under the tree. Rain, no matter how heavy and cold, was a solace. It washed him clean. He became violent when the nurses tried to bring him in from the rain. When the winter sky was a deceitful blue, he cowered under the bare boughs of his oak. There was no pure, unadulterated blue until the tree was in leaf once more.

  Winter was the time when a sonnet he had reluctantly learned at school beat an insistent rhythm in his head.

  That time of yeare thou mayst in me behold

  When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang . . .

  The Voice would recite the bleak quatrains, the sad final couplets, over and over again until Hal felt he was rotting from the inside.

  Rescue came only with spring, when small green shoots appeared along the ‘bare ruin’d choirs’ and the angels sang a new sonnet with couplets winter had refused.

  So long as men can breathe or eyes can see

  So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

  And this gives life to thee. Hope. Hal took walks in the grounds and sat and read under his tree. The spring rains were healing, and when he was able, he stood in the rain, cupping his hands and throwing back his head in delight. He talked to the staff and other patients; normal conversations about world events, football, cricket, books he’d read, films he’d enjoyed. These were the times Sealie and Godown enjoyed visiting. In spring, Hal was the best he could be.

  Instability returned in summer and when the days were hot, Hal began to preach. He would stand under his tree and preach salvation and damnation in equal portions. His sermons were rambling and disconnected, disturbing the other patients and earning him the nickname Hellfire Hal. He didn’t mind the name at all. In fact, he was proud of it. He was the last prophet of the Lord; he had sacrificed the unspotted lamb; his righteousness was like unto the sturdy oak.

  ‘Spring does wonders for him. If only he were like this all the time,’ Sealie said to the director.

  ‘That’s our aim. We’re trying to balance his medication according to his proximate needs. We don’t always get it right—finding the correct calibration requires time and patience.’ Sealie nodded as he continued. ‘We are also developing our occupational therapy department.
We hope to divert your father’s energies into something more positive.’

  ‘He used to swim,’ Sealie said. She had seen a pool in the grounds.

  ‘Given the nature of the act that brought him here in the first place, we’d be reluctant to suggest that.’

  Sealie blushed. ‘Of course. How silly of me.’

  The director looked at her from under his shaggy, white eyebrows. ‘Never say that. We appreciate family involvement. You have no idea how many of our patients never have a visitor.’

  Around this time, Sealie finally drifted into a clandestine sexual relationship with Scottie. It happened like this.

  She was checking her handbag while she waited for Scottie to pick her up for a film.

  ‘Shouldn’t be too late,’ she said. ‘I’ve left your supper ready. Don’t forget your pills, will you?’

  Zav looked at his sister and felt an ordinary, old-fashioned jealousy. Why was he stuck here alone on a Saturday night, when Scottie and Sealie were off without a care in the world? His eyes narrowed. Now he came to think of it, they seemed to spend an awful lot of time together. ‘I’ll be just fine. As long as you two enjoy yourselves.’

  Sealie bridled at the nastiness in his tone. ‘On the other hand, I may be very late. I’ll wait for Scottie on the verandah.’

  I’m ashamed that I had to reveal this side of my father, and to his credit, he was ashamed too. But by the time he decided to say something, Sealie was gone.

  She was unusually quiet that night, and when the film was finished, Scottie asked if she wanted to go home, instead of going for their usual drink.

  ‘Why don’t we go back to your place,’ she said. ‘I might just have that coffee you keep offering me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Scottie ushered her into the car, and when they were on the road, ventured a sideways glance. He was about to speak but stopped himself. Sealie’s profile appeared oddly stern in the intermittent light of the passing street lamps. He returned his attention to the road and they completed the journey in silence. A state of suspension, he thought. Once inside, he moved towards the kitchen, but Sealie clung to his hand. ‘I don’t need coffee,’ she said.