The Memory Tree (25 page)

And Grace my fears relieved

How precious did that Grace appear

The hour I first believed.

Hal steps into the storm-swollen stream and walks with careful steps. The river flows swiftly at this point and he staggers a little. The cold seeps through his shoes, his socks, his trousers. The water is above his knees and the wet fabric, heavy and cold, clings to his legs. He is chest-high now, and holds me tightly, resting his head lightly on mine. He kisses my cheek and we look deep, deep into each other’s eyes. ‘Don’t be afraid, little princess.’ He takes a final step and lays me—Oh! Gently, lovingly, upon the breast of the wide, brown river.

When Godown returns with my bottle, my exhausted grandfather is pulling himself up onto the bank. His face is composed and his eyes are quiet.

‘I have heard the Word of the Lord,’ Hal says, ‘and I have obeyed.’

Godown looks at my blanket, then in my basket. ‘Hal . . .’

‘She’s gone, Moses.’ He indicates the fast-flowing waters.

Godown backs away, his hands raised to ward off the dawning realisation. His groan is deep, terrible, like a woman in labour. ‘Hal. You must tell me.’ He seizes the wet shirt with both hands and screams into the bewildered face. ‘Hal, tell me! Tell me now!’ He pauses a moment to steel himself. ‘Hal, for God’s sake—what have you done?’

Book II

And all of those people who loved me—what they were doing when I drowned? If we could freeze the moment, we would see Godown testing the temperature of my milk on the inside of his wrist, my mother’s hand raised to her new haircut and Mrs McLennon skimming through her
Women’s Weekly
as she waited to be served at the corner shop. We would see my Aunt Sealie slipping on the rubber gloves to begin her second dressing change for the day. And my father? We would see him sweating, grimy and exhausted, peeling back the paper on his ‘C’ rations chocolate bar while the world disintegrated all around him. Hal, of course, was with me, watching till I was safely on my way. He even waved goodbye, as though he were seeing me off on a train.

Chloe and Ariadne held each other and wept.

1

G
ODOWN WADES MIDSTREAM, FRANTICALLY SEEKING
some sign of me, while Hal sits on the bank, composed and dreamy. Seeing nothing but muddy brown water, Godown splashes ashore and runs up the embankment to the nearest house, before returning to his clumsy, panic-stricken search. Neighbours arrive, and then the police and ambulance as Hal, kneeling now, lifts his arms in a wide, prophetic gesture.

Kindly women attempt to place a blanket around his shoulders (he is shivering violently). He thrusts them off and continues to embrace the sky, as people in the crowd whisper to each other.
Poor soul. It was his granddaughter
.

It isn’t long before those murmurs of pity become a swell of horror and anger.
They say he drowned her. A helpless little baby. Put her in the river. How could he do it? His own granddaughter! He’s a monster. An evil monster
. The crowd moves forward, but is intercepted by the police.

It takes four of the policemen to restrain Hal. ‘I am an instrument of the Lord,’ he shouts, struggling with his captors, ‘and I sit at His right hand. I have surpassed the strength of Abraham. My sacrifice is infinitely pure.’

It is clear that there is no point in questioning him in his current state. Tranquilised, limp, his energy depleted, Hal is taken to a locked ward where he is put on suicide watch.

‘If he becomes violent again, use the restraining jacket,’ the duty psychiatrist orders.

Godown, hands hanging loosely by his side, watches as Hal is taken away. Two police cars have gone to collect Kate and Sealie. Rubber-clad figures are diving from a boat. There is nothing he can do. Looking up at the empty sky, he releases a great roar of pain. Primitive, abandoned, it rides the river current right down to the sea. Onlookers shuffle in embarrassment. They have no reference for such a sound and watch, helpless and voyeur-like, as the big man sinks to his knees, sobbing with unrestrained grief.

‘Godown.’ Sealie leaps out to the police car and runs to his side.

Godown stands up, swaying, as they clutch each other in terror. Neither of them wants to look at the river where I lie on a bed of debris, not far from where they are standing.

Only minutes later, an arm rises from the water, signalling that they have found me. Hearing the commotion, Sealie runs forward and folds me in her arms.

A man in uniform tries to take me from her. ‘Are you its mother?’

‘
Her
mother!
Her
mother! No. I’m her auntie. You can’t have her. I’m keeping her safe for her father. I promised.’ She looks around wildly. ‘Her mother should be here. Where’s Kate? Why hasn’t anyone told Kate?’

At that moment, my ashen-faced mother comes running, sliding down the embankment to snatch me from Aunt Sealie’s arms. She calls my name. Begs me to wake up. And finally whispers terrible, loving words that are mine alone.

The man approaches again. ‘We need to take her,’ he says, but makes no move.

My mother’s face is ravaged. She is an old, old woman. She challenges the man in uniform; defies his outstretched hands. ‘Wherever she goes, I go. She’s too little to go with strangers.’

The man opens a car door and I ride in my mother’s arms towards the awful formalities that await me. Aunt Sealie slips in beside us. Her lips are bloodless and there are deep shadows around her eyes. ‘Kate,’ she says. ‘How can you ever forgive us?’

Hal wakes up in a strange room on a narrow bed. The sun filters through a grille over the window, making little diamond patterns on the slightly grubby wall. He looks at these for a while, then tries to count them. There are twelve across, or maybe fourteen. There are at least as many down, although it isn’t a square. Twelve across, fourteen down? He feels a minor wave of irritation when he attempts to get out of bed to check. The bedclothes are tight and he can’t move his arms. He struggles a bit and then falls back and stares at the heavy door. Ha! He knew it! There
is
someone watching him. Just on the other side of that door. Eyes that penetrate the wood. He realises that his skull is glass and they can see right though to his brain. He tries to call out, but his throat hurts and all he can manage is a croak. God, he’s so thirsty! And so very tired. He struggles, but fails to resist the overwhelming desire for sleep.

A few hours later, when Hal drifts into consciousness, there’s a new voice in his head. A lead-coloured voice, with traces of bright, poisonous green.
They think you are defeated.
The sound oozes slug-like through the soft tissues of his brain.
But you have the power to break free.

‘You bastards.’ Hal screams. ‘I know what you’re up to.’ He spits in the face of his carers, bucking and thrashing against the restraints, until his exhausted body refuses to move another muscle.

There is some difficulty finding the right dosage, but eventually the medication calms Hal to a degree that he is deemed fit to be interrogated. His questioners find that he can remember the events of the day in vivid detail.

‘Why did you go down to the river in the first place?’

‘All rivers flow to the Jordan. There were little yellow daisies in the grass. The ones the girls make into those necklace things.’

‘Anything else?’

‘A boat went past. With a girl and a boy. We waved to them. The boy was rowing. He’d taken off his shirt.’

‘That doesn’t tell us why you went there that particular day.’

‘I was instructed.’

‘Who? Who instructed you?’

‘God. He said. “Take the child to the river.” ’ ‘Did you know what you were going to do then?’

‘No. Not then.’

‘When did you know?’

‘When the Lord spoke again. I took off her singlet. It was very hot. Then the Lord commanded me and I obeyed.’

‘Did you want to do it?’

‘What?’

‘Did you want to drown the baby Grace?’

‘No. I loved—love her. I miss her. We used to sing together.’

Hal began to cry.

‘Enough for today. Take him back.’

‘Why do you think God wanted you to drown the baby Grace?’

‘She was a sacrifice. A pure sacrifice. Paulina told me. Grace was too good for this world.’

‘Who’s Paulina?’

‘My wife. My wife’s name is Paulina.’

‘Your wife was there? Aren’t you a widower, Mr Rodriguez?’

‘My wife is taking care of Grace. God promised me that.’

‘Do you regret what you have done, Mr Rodriguez?’

‘I am the Lord’s faithful servant. An instrument of his power. You are weak and evil men. Followers of the Enemy. God alone guides my hand. You can lock me away and tie me down but you won’t break me. I am the last of His prophets.’

The police need to question Godown. Apart from Hal, he’s the last person to have seen me alive. The torrent of weeping has drained him and he answers the questions in a low, flat voice. The sergeant sounds brisk, but Godown notices that his hand shakes as he writes the brief story of my life.