My Place (20 page)

Now Cyril was a stickler for convention and he couldn't understand why anyone would let their dog have his afternoon sleep in the middle of the road. So, consequently, he replied, ‘You know, Nan, it's not right that he should be out at all. He's not licensed.'

Nan was getting pretty fed up by this stage, so she said gruffly, ‘Never mind about his licence, what about his ears?'

‘Well, why don't I take him up the vet for you?' Poor Cyril, he was trying, but he'd missed the point again.

‘A vet,' Nan exploded almost immediately. ‘Curly doesn't need a vet! I know what's wrong with him, it's your music. Rom, pom, pom, pom every morning. Curly can't take it, he's only little. He's not even drinking his milk.'

As Nan's tirade continued, Cyril's ruddy face grew ruddier and ruddier. To top it all off, Curly, sensing that he was being discussed, came and stood next to Nan's bare legs, peering up at Cyril through the mound of black hair that hung over his eyes. That was enough for Cyril. He retreated slowly backwards, up two steps and inside his van. Nan smiled, thanked him and shuffled back down the drive with Curly at her heels. ‘Aah, you're a good dog, you can have your milk now.'

That evening, as soon as Nan retired to bed, Cyril began recounting the story of their conversation to Mum. He'd nearly finished, when it suddenly dawned on him that Mum was not responding in her usual gregarious manner. Normally, she laughed at anything, even at things other people didn't consider funny. Mum possessed the kind of laugh that began as an infectious giggle but, in moments, was a full-blown roar. Minutes of silent chewing passed.

Finally, Mum placed her knife and fork in the centre of her plate and said seriously, ‘How kind of you, Cyril, to play that
beautiful music of yours softly from now on. I've been worried about Curly's ears for a while now myself, perhaps they'll improve with time.'

It took six months before Cyril's van was almost completely restored. One very warm morning he was busy working on the engine in the front of our yard. Nan had been in and out, taking him glasses of cold water to keep him going. ‘I don't want to have a mad Englishman on my hands,' she confided. Cyril had a bald patch on the top of his head and Nan was worried about the sun affecting his brain.

At lunchtime, Nan stormed into my room and interrupted my day-dreaming by saying crossly, ‘Will you look what he's done? You go out and tell him off, Sally. You tell him we don't want any of that business around this house!'

‘What are you talking about, Nan?'

‘It's still there,' she muttered, peering through my bedroom curtains.

‘What's still there?' I said as I moved up behind her. All I could see was the van and Cyril's hot, sweaty, half-naked body.

‘Will you just look where he's put his shirt, look!' Cyril's shirt was spread out neatly across the rosebush in the front of our yard. ‘It's disgusting,' Nan said as she continued to eye him through the curtains. ‘Does he think that's a clothes line? Puttin' his dirty old shirt where everyone can see. You mark my words, Sally, the neighbours'll think there's blackfellas living here!'

Nan turned and stormed out the front. I heard a ripping noise as she tore Cyril's shirt from the rosebush. Then, she stormed back inside, leaving Cyril gazing after her, his mouth wide open.

He left the following week.

Mum was both surprised and pleased when I began university in February. But while I phrased my new academic ambition in terms of I never want to work again, Mum took it to mean I was, at last, getting somewhere in the world.

I found university to my liking. I was amazed that none of the lecturers checked to see whether you turned up or not. Even missing tutorials wasn't a deadly sin. I spent many long afternoons in the library, reading books totally unrelated to my course. Then there were hours in the coffee shop discussing the meaning of life, and days stretched out in the sun under the giant palms that dotted the campus thinking about what a wonderful climate we had.

Jill was more conscientious than me. It was probably just as well we weren't both doing Arts, because I would have led her astray. She was enjoying studying Law and she'd made some new friends.

I was studying on a Repatriation scholarship and while there was never any money left over, my needs were small. I'd never been one to indulge in following all the fashion trends, and apart from my bus fares and lunches, I had few expenses.

I found travelling to university in winter terrible. I hated the cold. I had to catch two buses and they rarely connected in time for me to transfer immediately from one to the other. On really wet, stormy days, I stayed at home. I would sit in front of the fire all day, watch television, and read my latest book from the library. Nan always brought me in a huge lunch.

It amazed me that, after all those years, she was still trying to fatten me up. I and my brother David were her only failures.

The only day she didn't make my lunch was rent day. She was always too busy bustling around preparing the rent man's morning tea to bother with me then. One morning, she was being particularly fussy. It was a new rent man's first visit and I knew Nan wanted to impress him.

Soon, she was sitting on the front porch having a cup of tea with him. They took extra long that morning. I assumed it was because Nan was spending time buttering him up. When she returned inside, the large plate of biscuits she'd laid out was completely empty.

‘Goodness me, he must have liked that lot.'

Nan smiled. It was a triumph. ‘He loved them. That poor man was so hungry, he ate the lot! He asked me what brand they were, said he wanted to buy some for his own place, but I didn't know.' Nan shoved a paper and pencil into my hands. ‘Write down the name for me. The empty packet's over there on the bench.'

I walked over to the cluttered benchtop and began rummaging through the various items jumbled on top. ‘There's nothing here, Nan.'

‘Hmph! Your eyesight's worse than mine. Look, just near the teapot.'

‘What? This one?' I leant weakly against the side of the bench.

‘What are you laughing for?'

With an unsteady hand, I held the empty packet as close as I could to her face. Her mouth dropped open in shock as her gaze took in the half-torn picture of a fox terrier.

‘No supper for Curly tonight, Nan,' I choked.

Over the next few months, the fact that Nan's eyesight was failing became obvious. Sometimes, she mistook the salt for the sugar or the deodorant for the fly spray. While we complained, Mum was prepared to tolerate all these little mistakes, until, one evening, Nan made a fatal error.

It was Friday night and, as usual, Mum had collapsed on the
lounge in front of the TV. She preferred sleeping on the lounge to her own bed, maintaining that television was both relaxing and good company. She was completely covered in several layers of a tartan rug, only her frizzy mop of black, curly hair protruded.

It was way past teatime when Nan entered, carrying a quivering mass of dog food. It was a brown jellied concoction made up of bits of liver and other less recognisable chunks of dubious origin. I watched curiously as Nan paused in the doorway and peered intently into the semi-darkness. Her squinting eyes paused for a moment on me. I don't know whether she actually registered my presence, or saw me merely when she turned and, halting abruptly, stared hard at the lounge. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing in concentration, and then, following two quick strides towards the lounge, she croaked in exasperation, ‘There you are, Curly, you stupid dog, didn't you hear me calling you?'

I suppose I should have said something, however, my sense of humour got the better of me.

‘Now come on, Curly,' Nan growled, ‘it's no use pretending you're not there.' She moved closer and held out the bowl. ‘Come on, eat up. I'm not standing here all night!' Nan shoved the food deeper into what she was convinced was Curly's black, furry face.

I watched, entranced, as, prodded into consciousness, the tartan mass that was Mum slowly began to move. Nan, sensing that Curly was at last responding, said, ‘Good boy. Good dog. Come and eat it up!'

With one wild fling, Mum emerged. Her frizzy, black hair was covered with small chunks of jellied meat.

‘Glad?' croaked Nan in disbelief.

‘You stupid bloody woman,' Mum spluttered, ‘what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!'

I burst into laughter and Nan, realising she'd made a terrible mistake, made a hurried exit.

It was only after Mum had shampooed her hair and settled back on the lounge with a hot cup of tea that she was able to laugh.

Three sharp barks at the front door then let us all know that the recalcitrant Curly was outside and eager to come in. I opened the door and he pattered in, whining, a sure sign that he was hungry. Nan poked her head around the kitchen doorway and whispered, ‘Is that Curly, Sally?'

‘I think so,' I laughed, ‘unless Mum barks, too.'

Nan chuckled, then said, ‘Come on, Curly, you naughty boy. Where have you been? Glad nearly got your tea!'

‘She did it deliberately, you know, Sally,' Mum said as soon as I re-entered the lounge room. ‘She's an old devil. Her eyesight's not that bad. You leave a five cent coin on the floor and I bet you she's the first one to pick it up!'

However, the following week, Mum bought Nan a pair of old binoculars. Nan was really excited. All of a sudden, she could see things that, apparently, had been blurred for years.

By the time I'd been at university a term, I was finding it very difficult to study at home. Apart from the high noise level and general chaos, I had no desk to work at, and, being disorganised myself, I was always losing important notes and papers, which I had to replace by photocopying someone else's.

Then, when the August holidays came around, it suddenly dawned on me that if I was to pass anything, I would have to actually do some work. The trouble was I'd missed out on so much I didn't know where to begin.

My first attempts at a concentrated effort were rather futile because I had to keep interrupting my study to call out, ‘Turn down that radio!' or, ‘The TV's too loud!' or, ‘Will you all shut up, I'm trying to study!'

After a week or so of constant yelling and arguing, I came to the realisation that it was impossible to change my environment. I decided to try and change myself instead. I found that if I tried really hard, I could work amidst the greatest mess and loudest noise level with no bother whatsoever. I just switched off and pretended I was the only one in the house.

This was no mean feat, because our house was always full of people. Many of my brother David's friends would just doss down on the lounge room floor, they loved staying overnight. David had just begun high school that year. It never occurred to any of us to tell Mum there'd be someone extra for tea. We just assumed that she'd make what she had go a little bit further. I have to admit I was one of the worst offenders, but Mum never complained. She always told us, ‘Your friends are welcome in this house.'

My technique for passing my exams that first year was simple, I crammed. The knowledge I gained was of little use to me afterwards, because as soon as my exams were over, I deleted it from my memory. Why clog up my brain with unnecessary facts and figures? I passed that year with a B and three C's. Mum was pleased, but urged me to spend more time studying so I could score A's, like Jill.

My brother Bill also had important exams that year, his Leaving. Unfortunately, he was not successful. However, he was able to find employment fairly quickly as a clerk with the Public Service.

I decided that I would like to spend my second year at university living away from home. Mum was mortified by the idea. I would be the first to leave the family nest. She urged me to reconsider.

After weeks of tearful arguments, she relented and said that if the Repatriation Department agreed to pay my fees, I could go. Fortunately, they did agree, and I was soon ensconced in my own little room in Currie Hall, a co-educational boarding house just opposite the university.

Now for most of my teenage years, Mum had been concerned over my lack of interest in boys. I had had plenty of good friendships with the opposite sex, but never a real romance. She was worried I would end up an old maid, and she, an old lady with no grandchildren. But now that I was living in a co-ed college, she suddenly started worrying that I would develop an interest I couldn't control and join the permissive society.

It was difficult for Mum to let me grow up. She often visited me at Currie Hall, but she always left in tears. One night, we had a huge argument because I wouldn't kiss her goodbye. I thought she was expecting a bit much, wanting me to kiss her in front of ten male students gathered around the exit to my building. I had an image to maintain. Eventually, I asked Mum not to come and see me at all if she was going to break down. It was too exhausting.

I had great difficulty seeing through my second year. I had developed an intense dislike of the subject I was majoring in. I was dismayed when, at our first tutorial, I discovered that a good deal of our laboratory work involved training white rats. Rats were one of the few animals I disliked.

I managed to avoid handling Fred, as we dubbed him, by agreeing to do all the recording for the group instead. However, after a few sessions, my tutor noticed my aversion and insisted that I, also, handle Fred. He maintained there was nothing to it. There was a mutual antagonism between Fred and me of which my tutor was totally unaware.

Patiently, he demonstrated once again how to handle him. Then, placing Fred back in his maze, he insisted that I copy his actions. I looked down at Fred and he looked up at me. We both knew what was coming.

I attempted to pick him up, just as I'd been shown, but, in seconds, Fred had turned and sunk his teeth into my wrist.