The Memory Tree (19 page)

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

N
INETEEN 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 lost 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.

But having said that, I firmly believe that my birth was good for him. A good thing that happened to a good but unhappy man. That’s the way I see it. And I don’t care what anyone says.

Zav and Kate kissed goodbye at the gates of the Southern Cross Army Barracks and she watched as he merged with other young men who all exhibited a touching bravado. For Zav, it was his first experience of living away from family and he saw no-one he knew among the others who boarded the bus for the Puckapunyal training camp. For a moment he was overwhelmed with loneliness. Wanted to turn and run back to his real life before it was too late. He didn’t, of course. Like all the other young conscripts, he boarded the bus, eyes downcast. He swung his bag into the overhead locker and thumped down next to a skinny, fair-haired boy who looked no more than fifteen. They shook hands.

‘Zav Rodriguez.’

‘Bernard Montgomery. Blokes call me Monty.’

‘Any relation to . . .?’

‘Nah. Not that I know of . . . He was a bit of a hero of my dad’s.’

At the first rollcall, Warrant Officer Parsons called the blond boy ‘Field Marshal’. It was a baptism born of contempt, but his new mates picked it up and used it as a term of rough affection. So the name stuck until young Bernard Montgomery was sent home from Vietnam with a head wound, and from then on, he was never quite sure who he was.