by Sabina Green
“Now we wait to see if the fish catches the bait. If nothing happens for a while, we cast the rod again,” I whispered back.
Fishing has been my hobby since childhood. I was a morning person and found watching the sun rise over the water to be the best way to relax. I used to go with my Dad, then on my own, and when I came to Australia thirty years ago, I was joined by Wyatt.
I met him one day by the Swan River; our folding chairs were set up close to each other, and we started talking. We got on so well that random mornings by the water became planned meetings, and later on we started catching up outside our fishing activities.
Before I’d met him, I kept introducing myself as František, although foreigners struggled to pronounce it. But Wyatt laughed at it straight away, said it sounded a bit like Frankenstein, and completely naturally started calling me Frank. I discovered that I didn’t mind so much from him, and I could bear it from others. But he couldn’t find any nickname for Fiala, and in the end he learned to pronounce my surname properly, albeit with an accent.
He was essentially the reason for my year-long stay in Perth “to get some experience” becoming “forever”. He introduced me to Penelope, a close friend of his wife, and I fell in love with her immediately. By some stroke of luck, the feelings were mutual. Although I missed my family and friends in Czechia, I’d never regretted my decision to stay down under. I still had great friends, a good job I enjoyed, and a wife I was crazy about. After we got married, she gave me a daughter and I couldn’t imagine that anything could burst this happy bubble of mine. But of course, life had other plans.
Like many times before, I thought to myself that I shouldn’t have sent Penny to that bank, I should have dealt with my account problems by myself. It seemed like her death was my fault… just like many other things.
If it wasn’t for Constance, I would have gone mad after the gunfight. But my daughter, staying true to her name, remained a constant in my life, someone that kept me grounded and present, and gave my life meaning. I tried to get all my grief and anger from losing Penny out at the sawmill, so that at home I could be the loving and attentive parent my wife used to be.
Whenever Wyatt’s wife agreed to babysit Connie, I would go out fishing, either accompanied by a friend or alone. Fishing, just like working with wood, had become my escape from reality… At least until two years ago, when Wyatt suffered a heart attack and, due to other complications, died shortly after. Combined with what’d happened at the sawmill, I started to feel like my life was slowly but steadily going to pieces. How much more can I lose before I go completely mad?
Lucky Wyatt didn’t get to see my breakdown, I’d die of shame. It was difficult enough to pull myself together in front of Connie.
My fishing rod had been gathering dust in the garage since my friend’s funeral. It was only today that I decided to take it out again, and I brought my granddaughter so that I wouldn’t have to stand alone on the shore.
I shook my head, ridding it of these memories. Ruby yawned again. She clearly didn’t consider this to be an interesting, child-friendly activity, so I started explaining when to use natural bait, when to use artificial. I opened my tackle box, full of various equipment I’d collected over the years. The girl immediately perked up and started browsing through colourful jigs, flies, spinnerbaits and plugs.
“Grampa,” she said seriously, “I think that all the fish are still asleep.”
I laughed. “Or they’re not hungry.”
Ruby looked wistfully across the water, as if she was wishing we’d chosen a more appropriate time to go fishing. I would have liked to keep standing there and cast the rod again and again, but I didn’t want her to be bored.
“How about we get ice cream and then go to the playground?”
She was as ecstatic as if I’d suggested we buy the whole ice cream shop. I smiled. At least someone in our family was completely content. I was still knee-deep in guilt at my own incompetence, and Constance was dealing with God knows what. She’d been quiet and distant this last week. She went to bed at dusk and in the morning her eyes were puffy, as if she’d been crying all night. I wondered if there was a man behind this. But my daughter wasn’t the type of girl who would lose their mind over an unsuccessful relationship and suffer more than necessary. Not even when Phil, her great love and Ruby’s father, left her under some very strange circumstances.
Another terrifying similarity occurred to me. Last time she looked like this was three years ago, when she was diagnosed with cancer. But that time she pulled herself together quickly, because the doctors assured her that she’d get healthy again. All other reasons seemed inadequate, so I decided to believe her explanation, which after all was very plausible, that it was about something at work. She’s spent six years at the police force already, which she says she joined because of her Mum. She came home in a strange mood here and there, ranging from outrage at criminals bubbling just under the surface, to lethargy.
Ruby hadn’t noticed her Mum’s strange moods yet, the darkest place must really be under the candle’s flame. I didn’t stop thinking about Connie’s troubles, but decided not to interfere. She wouldn’t hold it in forever, she would talk to me when she was ready.
I wondered that maybe I have been a bad example to her all these years, always trying to deal with my problems alone, without having to bother anyone else. Will she come to me at all?
Connie
I remembered my first day at the station only too well. It opened my eyes to what the world was really like. At first I used to be angry that the police didn’t tell people the truth, or the whole truth, but in the end I decided that it’s better not to know certain things. That was the only way one could feel safe and sleep well at night.
I started at the station almost exactly six years ago. Before that, the idea of working there seemed like a noble, meaningful, fulfilling job, but my ideas turned out to be very naive.
It’s as if some people have just been cloned from earlier samples; they act, think and speak exactly the same. That day I had to tell a tattooed guy with crazy eyes when he’s supposed to attend court. He was shouting about having no intentions to go because he hasn’t done anything wrong, so why don’t I go there myself since I care so much. Never mind the fact that he’d raped a six-month old baby. His words were of course mixed with all kinds of vulgarities. He didn’t even bother with a “bitch” and went straight for the real deal.
“Cunt?” I repeated after him. Even though I knew I had to stay professional, I couldn’t help but give him a piece of my mind. It was like talking to a brick wall though, he didn’t register a single word from my indignant monologue.
That’s when Emma stepped in. “If you get so upset about every single case, you won’t last a month. Get a grip.”
I took a few deep breaths and tried to not think about that baby too much. “How often do you get cases like these here?”
“Daily,” she said and I saw anger flash through her calm expression.
I could feel the bubble I’d been living in until that day bursting. I had the theory of criminality down and knew that these things happen… But to this extent?
“Why did you even want to join the police?” Emma asked a little later, as we were making coffee in the kitchenette.
Suddenly, saying that “to serve and protect” was my favourite motto seemed pathetic and ridiculous. Since then I’d often thought that the innocent and helpless cannot be protected by anybody, least of all me. But I stayed at the station. I toughened up and felt my resentment against people grow stronger and stronger. It was no surprise that I was overprotective with Ruby.
“Alright,” my memories were interrupted by Emma, who was sharing a shift with me again today. “I think I’ve been patient enough.” She didn’t seem annoyed, but definitely not in a joking mood either.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve
been walking around like an empty shell all week. You work harder than ever, don’t talk, don’t even get upset about people spitting on the glass. So what are you trying to avoid thinking about?”
“Miss Perceptive today, aren’t you? I just don’t feel very well, that’s all.”
“And that’s why you’ve been crying?”
“I haven’t been crying.”
“Tell that to the Marines. You’ve got puffy eyes and a red nose every morning.”
I opened my mouth to speak but she interrupted me. “Don’t tell me it’s some mysterious allergy or hay fever which only flares up on the third Wednesday of the month, in the fall, and only at the age of twenty six.”
I opened my mouth again, but nothing came out. On the plus side, this conversation made me stop thinking about the depressing extent of hidden criminality, but the alternative was my no less depressing reality, and anxiety grabbed hold of my heart and held tight. Treacherous tears fought their way into my eyes… again.
“Connie,” Emma encouraged me, this time gently, compassionately. She moved her chair closer to me and took me by the hand. “What’s going on?”
I swallowed and blinked. “I can’t talk about it. Not yet.”
I couldn’t bring myself to tell someone else before I tell Dad. I didn’t know a single woman among my friends who would share significant news with her parents before telling a good friend. But an exception proves the rule; that’s just how it was for me.
Emma turned serious. “You know I’m here for you any time, right?”
I nodded and looked away. I quickly got back to work, just to take my mind off it. I had several similar conversations in the next couple of days. The sergeant took me aside, a few other colleagues found an opportune moment to speak to me, as well as a few policemen–for everyone to see, but at least in whispers. None of the conversations were easy as I was still trying to hide the truth, but gradually I managed to get into this kind of numbness, and it got easier not to notice the looks people were giving me and ignore my own emotions.
I often found that whole hours had gone by without me realising. I did my job on autopilot, politely refused friends’ invitations for coffee or dinner, and at home took every opportunity to hide in my bedroom. Luckily, Ruby and Dad managed without me.
I even survived my next hospital visit, although I didn’t remember much of it. I refused any kind of treatment, as I didn’t want to spend my last moments on a hospital bed, bald and vomiting after chemotherapy. The only thing I accepted were strong painkillers. The kind that only dull the sharp teeth of the monster chewing me up from the inside, but no opiates. I was numb enough as it was.
And I was so numb that I let my attention wander even while driving. Me, the sworn perfect driver, who shouted at any driver even half not paying attention to the road!
I shot right into an intersection without slowing down, only noticing the red light in the last split second. I didn’t even have time to reach for the break before my car hit a turning sedan. Tires screeched and metal scraped against metal. The deafening bang finally pulled me out of my trance.
I’d caused an accident! What if something had happened to the other driver? I should have been protecting people, not endangering them with my own absentmindedness!
My heart raced when I climbed out of the car and hurried over to the other car. A middle-aged lady was clutching the wheel, staring ahead, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She didn’t give any signs that she could see me standing next to her, nor did she react when I tapped her window. I took the initiative and opened her door.
“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” I ranted, my voice shaky and unnaturally high. “I… I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry!”
The statue in front of me finally moved. She put her right hand on her chest and looked at me. She struggled to breathe and shook as she said: “I’m ok… I think. It’s just shock.”
I started to notice the chaos happening outside the perimeter of our two cars. Hazard lights, staring faces, an almost entirely blocked intersection with our demolished cars in the middle. I hid my face in my hands, giving myself a moment to gather my senses. What on earth have I done?
I was dying, but that didn’t mean the planet would stop turning; life would go on without me. I should have been doing the exact opposite of what I was doing now! How could I be so selfish, ignoring my family, and even causing havoc in the lives of others? Wake up, Connie! I told myself sternly, and felt something inside me break.
I had half a year of life and I was wasting it!
“I was driving right behind you,” a male voice said next to me. “I saw it all. Can I help with anything?”
I turned to face the owner of the voice. He was tall with broad shoulders. The sun was shining behind him and for a moment I thought he looked just like Phil. But it was only an illusion. As soon as he moved and his face caught more light, it was clear that the only resemblance with Ruby’s father was his height and blond hair.
All I could say was: “Call the police.”
I cleared my throat and watched the lady from the other car slowly get out. How many times have I answered the phone at work, hearing a shaken report of a car accident followed by the familiar: I don’t know what to do! Now I could appreciate firsthand what shock can do to one’s mind.
I knew our police station phone number by heart, so I gave it to the man who was apparently going to be our witness. I kept apologizing to the other driver, ignoring her magnanimous, “It was just an accident.” When two policemen from my station arrived, I bowed my head humbly and, mortally embarrassed, explained the events of the last thirty minutes, including confessing that it was my fault.
“Connie,” one of the uniformed men took me aside. We didn’t know each other very well and I couldn’t for the life of me remember his name. “You know I have to ask. Have you been drinking?”
After breath tests, negative in both cases, we put together a report. In the meantime, the lady had calmed down enough that she could drive home in her own car. My car was, on my request, parked right around the corner at the nearest shop by one of the policemen. I didn’t feel up to driving and decided I’d rather walk the few kilometres back home.
The only remains of the accident were some broken glass and my resolution that from now on, I wouldn’t be surviving, but living.
I left the incriminating place with a sigh of relief and took the shortest route home. Less than two minutes later, a car screeched to a halt next to me. For a second I was worried that perhaps one of my friends had seen the incident and my lack of judgement and decided to step in. Have an intervention.
I was wrong, though. The person in the driver’s seat was that tall young man unlucky enough to have been driving right behind me.
“You’re still here?” I blurted out and immediately felt heat rising to my cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually this rude.”
He smiled cordially. “I get it. It’s the shock. You don’t have to apologize.”
It would have been better if everyone wasn’t all so gracious about it. I felt like I deserved outrage, or even rage.
I raised my eyebrows and waited to see what the man was going to say. After all it was him who’d stopped the car…
“I was wondering,” he spurted, “if you’d like me to drive you home. I noticed you left your car there.” He gestured behind his back.
“Yeah, actually,” I answered, surprising myself a bit. I didn’t accept this very same offer from the police team because I felt humiliated. But my legs were all weak and shaky, and also… I didn’t know this man and after today I won’t ever have to see him again. Why should I decline? He seemed harmless and willingly stayed behind to help after the accident. Besides, wasn’t it sometimes easier talking to strangers rather than people you know?
His mouth immediately stretched into a pleased
smile. Was he expecting me to say no?
I sat down and although it seemed completely safe, I fished inside my pocket. If there happened to be any attack from him, the jagged edge of my house key would definitely cause some damage to his face and arms. His being surprised would give me a chance to escape.
He started the engine and I quickly explained the route.
“I really appreciate that you stayed with us and talked to the police… I think you’ve definitely fulfilled your duty as a citizen. I’m not entirely sure why you’re offering me a ride right now.”
He looked awkward. “I was testifying against you…”
“But it was my fault. I was the one who caused the accident. All you did was tell the truth and I wouldn’t want you to do anything else.”
“Even so, I feel a bit guilty.”
I blinked. “Definitely not as much as I do… Left here and at the next intersection turn right,” I announced and then continued: “It could have taken a much worse turn.” I shuddered just thinking about it.
“Sometimes accidents just happen.”
“Not to me,” I objected. “I always pay attention when I’m driving and I’m always careful.” I slouched my shoulders and felt a strong urge to tell him about all the hardships of the last few days. But he was a stranger, and I didn’t need his pity… maybe just his understanding. “I’ve had a terrible week. I wasn’t paying attention… I didn’t even see the red light.”
For a while it was quiet apart from my instructions. In the end it was him who broke the silence.
“Have you ever heard about pay it forward?”
I vaguely remembered a movie featuring a small boy, and that he dies. Sad. “Someone does you a favour and to say thanks you have to help someone else. Is that what you mean?”
He nodded and smiled again, revealing two rows of perfect white teeth. “It’s not just favours. You could also apply it to the bad stuff that happens to you… or that you cause.”
