by Tess Evans
3
MY FATHER IS PLEASED THAT Hal is such a stickler for routine. It makes it easier to avoid all contact. By the time Hal comes down for breakfast, Zav has eaten and gone out for the morning. Sealie is pleased about this on two counts—it avoids the confrontation she dreads and it forces Zav into activity. He does the shopping now and, in unwitting imitation of his father, swims at the local gym. He drops in on Will and chats amiably to Brenda if Will is busy. He even helps Will paint the parish hall.
‘He’s doing really well,’ Sealie tells Cassie. ‘It’s working out better than I thought.’
‘When your leave runs out—what then?’
‘I’ve still got nearly three months. We’ll see.’
Sealie has a secret hope. Nursing has become a university course and the requirement to ‘live in’ at a hospital has gone. She has sent for brochures and an application form. As a mature age applicant she needs referees and visits Sister Una, who is now a professor of nursing.
‘I’m delighted you’re thinking of returning to the profession.’ Her old tutor welcomes her into a small office overlooking a paved quadrangle. ‘Not much soul in the architecture,’ she smiles, ‘but I still have my Giottos.’
Sealie admires the prints and sits down, remembering how, at St Vincent’s, they all feared entering this woman’s office. ‘My father is home now, and he’s reconciled with our old—’ (what to call Mrs Mac?) ‘our old and dear friend, Mrs Mac. If I could enrol part-time, maybe, Mrs Mac and her husband could keep an eye on Dad.’ Her voice trails off. It’s a big step.
‘We do allow part-time students in special circumstances,’ Sister Una replies, ‘but why now?’
For many years, Will and Brenda have been trying to encourage Sealie to move on with her life. It is Brenda, in fact, who took the trouble to find out about the new course. ‘It’s just the thing,’ she said. ‘You’ve told me how you loved nursing. This is a gift.’
Sealie carries the gift cupped in her hands like a fragile bird’s egg. She mustn’t let it break. She mustn’t let it hatch too soon. But she can’t put it down. If she put it down, its precious contents would simply rot away.
When Scottie added his pleas, she laughed nervously. ‘It’s a conspiracy,’ she said.
Nevertheless, here she is, filling in the forms. How does she answer Sister Una’s question? ‘Because I want to,’ she says. She emphasises the personal pronoun. ‘Because I want to.’
This is true, of course, But she didn’t really answer the question, which was why now? Even to the casual observer (and I’m much more than that) the timing is odd to say the least. What she fails to tell Sister Una, to tell anyone, is that one afternoon, she found her father looking at a photo he took of her in her nurse’s uniform.
‘Are you still enjoying your nursing?’ he said. ‘I always knew you’d make a fine nurse.’ It’s that remark, the words of a normal, proud father, that lead Sealie to take this step. It’s not final, she tells herself. The academic year doesn’t start for several months. Nevertheless, she buys a few textbooks and finds real pleasure in studying them.
Despite appearances to the contrary, Zav is not at all reconciled. The mere knowledge of Hal’s proximity darkens his hours. He knows that if he doesn’t get out of the house during the day, he’ll crack under the strain. When he hears Hal’s nocturnal ramblings he has to clutch at the sides of his bed so that he doesn’t leap to his feet and push Hal back into his room. He wants to lock that door himself—recreate the prison Hal made all those years ago. How can that man walk around, unscathed, unrepentant after all he has done?
Zav tries to find the key. He doesn’t dare ask Sealie; she’s sure to divine his intention. He tries the kitchen drawers and other obvious places. Perhaps it’s in her room, he thinks. One day, when both his father and sister are out, he goes to the door of her room. He’s sure the key will be there. Zav turns the handle, hoping that Sealie doesn’t lock her room during the day. No. The door opens and he steps inside.
He stops in the doorway. He hasn’t been in her room since they were children. Since before she posted the large PRIVATE sign when she was thirteen or fourteen. Like his own, the room is light and spacious, with a large window overlooking the garden. The similarity ends there. Here is his sister’s private world—blue and cream with touches of caramel and toffee. There is a profusion of cushions on her neatly made bed and the shutters are flung open to the sky. There’s an amber-shaded lamp on her bedside table, a Degas print on the wall and a bronze figurine on her dressing table. A bowl of camellias is reflected ad infinitum in the handsome winged mirror.
Zav feels a lump in his throat. Behind that formidable efficiency and control, is another, softer Sealie, the young girl she was before . . . before. There are drawers in her bedside table, her desk and her dressing table. In her wardrobe too, for all he knows. He takes a few steps towards the desk and stops himself in time. How could he possibly rifle through his sister’s belongings? What sort of person would do such a thing. Not me, thinks Zav grimly. He won’t make me sink to that level.
I have to admire my father’s principles. It would have been so easy to go right in and search for the key. He’s a decent person. I’m pleased I can show you that.
Despite what he does later, I still believe that he’s a decent person. Even a decent person can be pushed too far. He’s not mad as Hal was when he took me to the river. He is very, very sane. It is patently clear to him that life will remain intolerable for both him and his sister if Hal remains in the house.
Of course he doesn’t turn to murder as his first solution. As any good citizen might, he writes to the new Minister in the hope that the original decision will be overturned.
Dear Minister, (He writes in longhand, he’s never taken to computers.)
I request a review of the previous Minister’s decision to send my father, Heraldo Rodriguez, to live with my sister and me in the family home. Observing him carefully, I believe that he still represents a danger to society and indeed to himself. (Zav is pleased with this last bit, showing, as it does, concern for his father’s welfare.)
My sister is bearing the full burden of his care and I also fear for her health. (This is sincere enough.)
I cannot stress too greatly the urgency of this matter.
Yours sincerely, Xavier Rodriguez
Zav debates whether he should discuss the letter with Sealie but decides to post it first. When he tells her, she’s secretly relieved. To him, however, she’s noncommittal.
‘If that’s how you feel, Zav. We’ll wait and see.’
The Minister orders a review and Hal is subjected to psychological and psychiatric probing. Zav is asked to describe the symptoms referred to in his letter and makes much of his father’s nocturnal prowling and the strange rituals under the tree. He fails to mention how he is so very personally affected. The Minister, of course, is aware of Hal’s history, but the psychiatric report is focused on the patient and makes no mention of his carers.
Why wouldn’t my father make the most cogent argument of all? That this man, now living under the same roof, killed his baby daughter? The answer is simple. To plead on his own behalf seems unmanly. Zav was bought up to believe that boys don’t complain when things get tough. That boys don’t cry.
The report summary says: ‘Heraldo Rodriguez is still delusional and periodically depressed, but with some adjustment to his medication, presents no immediate danger to himself or to others.’
The Minister, less confident, keeps a copy of all correspondence. He’s been in politics a long time. These things, he knows, have a nasty habit of coming back and biting you on the bum.
Next, Zav tries to drive his father out. He takes to standing in his doorway when he hears Hal coming back from the shower or from meals. He also stands at the window, watching Hal walking in the garden, or sitting under the tree. What is Zav’s purpose, here? He hopes that Hal will wonder about his intentions. That he will fear what might be behind his son’s gri
m face.
The first few times, Hal thinks that Zav finally wishes to engage with him. To listen or to speak. Towel over his shoulder, skinny legs naked below his silk dressing-gown, Hal stops when he sees the tall figure lounging in the doorway.
‘Hello, son,’ he says, taking a step closer. ‘I thought we’d never get to talk.’
Zav stares at him, expressionless.
‘I want to . . . You do want to see me, right?’
Zav’s eyes are unblinking.
Hal is confused. ‘Only I thought . . .’ He steps away. ‘Later, maybe.’
Zav stares him right down the hall. Hal can feel the bleak, unforgiving eyes boring into his skull.
The next day it’s the same. And the next. Finally, Hal learns to shuffle past, eyes averted. But he is very aware of his son’s silent presence.
He’s not free outside, either. Often he sees the watcher at the upstairs window.
The outcome is not as Zav expects. He hopes his father will find his silent presence so unnerving that it will drive him over the edge again. Drive him to some act the authorities can’t ignore. He feels safe in the knowledge that his father is now too frail to do any real harm. He can be overcome in an instant.
What Zav does not understand is that Hal is used to being watched. He’s had half a lifetime of surveillance by nurses and fellow patients. Once he recovers from the disappointment that Zav doesn’t want to speak to him, the watching is comforting—familiar like his well-worn dressing-gown. He wraps it around him and continues as before.
Eventually, Zav tires of the game and sulks for a while in his room.
The thought steals to his brain one night nearly four months after Hal’s return. It’s so obvious! The only way out of this morass is his father’s death.
Despite his frail appearance, Hal’s physical health is remarkably good for his seventy-nine years. The only sure solution, Zav realises, is to take things into his own hands. As Hal himself would say, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth . . . Zav is pleased with the irony. The religious teachings that were forced down his throat, now justify the killing of his fanatically religious father.
Patricide. A terrible word for a terrible deed. The law is harsh with children who murder their fathers. Take Italian noblewoman, Beatrice Cenci, who was beheaded in 1599 for killing her father after he raped and imprisoned her. Hardly fair. But that’s what happened. Then there was Lizzie Borden who was found not guilty of murdering her parents. But we know better, don’t we?
Lizzie Borden took an axe
And gave her mother forty whacks
When she saw what she had done
She gave her father forty-one.
You don’t need much more evidence than that.
It seems that according to law, infanticide is a lesser crime than patricide. So perhaps Zav is not justified by the biblical text. It’s possible that my life is of less worth than my grandfather’s. It’s an interesting conundrum, but far from Zav’s mind as he seeks the means to commit patricide.
Where does an amateur start when he wants to murder someone in cold blood? Being of a studious disposition, Zav starts at the library. He reads Ruth Rendell, John Grisham and P.D. James. He reads Len Deighton and Agatha Christie. Then he reads Silence of the Lambs. He feels such physical revulsion that he can’t finish that one, and decides that Hal should die with as little blood and violence as possible. Zav has looked into his own heart these many years and knows he is not a violent man.
Hal is taking so much medication. An overdose could be a simple mistake. Sealie keeps the medication locked up and administers each dose herself. Zav needs to know what drugs Hal is taking and the effect they have on his body. He waits for the right moment and until then, goes on with life as before. Sealie is pleased that he continues to see Scottie and Will and that he spends a lot of time at the library.
4
SEALIE HAS FELT NIGGLING PAINS for some time now, but tonight she is woken by severe cramps. She draws her knees up and tries to breathe her way through the pain but is overcome by a black nausea.
‘Zav,’ her voice sounds so faint that he can’t possibly hear her. ‘Zav . . .’ She tries to get out of bed but gasps as the pain bites viciously at her lower back and abdomen. All she can do now is groan.
Fortunately, Zav is a light sleeper and he’s already at the door, whispering loudly. ‘What’s up? Can I come in?’ He rattles the door handle and grinds his teeth with frustration as he realises the door is locked from the inside. ‘Sealie. Open up.’ He hears movement from inside as Sealie drags herself towards the door.
‘I’m coming,’ she says, between painful breaths.
‘What’s happening?’ Hearing another voice, Zav swings around to see his father coming down the hall in his pyjamas.
‘It’s Sealie. There’s something wrong.’
‘Open the door then.’
‘It’s locked.’
Hal, the door locker, doesn’t see anything unusual in this. ‘We’ll have to break it down then.’
Zav looks on in astonishment as the skinny old man puts his shoulder to the solid oak door. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘I can’t do this by myself.’
Sealie reaches the door and turns the key in time to save her father a broken collarbone. Zav is appalled to see her white face, drenched with sweat. ‘I might need an aspirin,’ she says, before collapsing at his feet.
‘Call an ambulance.’
Zav does his father’s bidding then returns to his sister’s side. Hal has put a pillow under her head and is stroking her hair with a clumsy tenderness. ‘Come on, little princess. Daddy’s here. It’s alright. Daddy’s here.’ Zav feels his heart lurch and experiences a flash of memory. He struggles with it briefly but its substance eludes him. He needs to deal with the problem at hand.
Sealie is all scrunched up and she’s moaning softly. Zav feels a rising panic. What’s wrong with her? What would he do without her? He runs down the stairs and looks and listens for the ambulance. No siren. No lights. Maybe he should take her to hospital in his car. He rushes to his room and throws on a tracksuit. By that time the paramedics are at the door.
Sealie is put on a stretcher. ‘Is one of you coming with her?’
‘I am,’ say Hal and Zav.
‘My father’s not well,’ says Zav suddenly taking charge. ‘I’ll ring someone to come and take care of him.’
‘Godown,’ Sealie manages to say. ‘Call Godown.’
Hal is stubborn. ‘She’s my daughter. I want to go.’
‘We can’t waste time,’ says one of the paramedics, as they strap her in. ‘Make up your minds.’
‘There’s nothing you can do,’ Zav tells his father. ‘You’ll only be in the way.’
Hal shrinks before Zav’s cruelty and sits at the top of the stairs while they take his daughter to the waiting ambulance. When Godown arrives, Hal is crying quietly. ‘Zav’s right, isn’t he? I’m her father but I’d just be in the way. Useless. Useless.’
Godown makes soothing noises. What can he possibly say? ‘Come on, Hal.’ He helps his old friend down to the kitchen and makes a strong pot of coffee. ‘Zav said he’ll ring soon as he knows anything.’
Sealie is taken straight into emergency and Zav waits outside, pacing the short corridor. He’s in the way of hurrying staff, but doesn’t notice. An exasperated nurse finally ushers him into a small room.
‘Wait here,’ she says. ‘The doctor’s seeing her next.’ Zav sits on the couch, then stands and examines the painting on the wall. It’s an abstract in calming shades of green. He finds it irritating and sits down again only to stand up a few minutes later. Why the hell is it taking so long? He’s heard of people dying on trolleys in emergency rooms. He’d better go and see what’s happening.
The door opens and Scottie rushes in. He grabs Zav’s arm. ‘How is she? Has the doctor seen her?’
The two men sit and pace and talk. Zav wonders how Scottie got to know.
‘Mrs Mac rang me,’ his f
riend explains. Zav wonders briefly why Mrs Mac would have chosen to ring Scottie and then decides just to be grateful. He needs a mate right now.
What in God’s name are the doctors doing? Zav imagines Sealie already in an operating theatre. Peritonitis, he hears the surgeon say. Too late, I’m afraid.
He wills it to be different. We were almost too late, the surgeon says this time. He takes off his mask. That was a close call.
Scottie sits miserably at his friend’s side, wanting to howl out his fears. She can’t die. I’ve waited all this time and she’s going to die. It’s not fair, he screams silently. It’s not fair.
The two men stand as a white-coated doctor appears. She’s young, but her face is tired and strained. She looks from one to the other. It’s obvious who the brother is.
‘Mr Rodriguez. Your sister is alright. She has an ovarian cyst. We’ve made her comfortable for now, but she’ll need surgery. We’ll be admitting her tonight and operating tomorrow afternoon. Keyhole surgery. She’ll be home in a couple of days. Would you like to see her?’
The doctor leads them to a cubicle where Sealie smiles tremulously from her trolley bed. Her face is wan and her eyes large and luminous.
‘Sorry to be such a bother.’
Uttering protestations, the two men take a hand each.
‘I thought I’d lost you.’ Scottie kisses her hand, then her lips.
Zav looks at Scottie in surprise. What did he say? What is he doing?
