The Memory Tree (24 page)

Scottie came over and sheltered the light of the torch while Zav chopped at the deadly visitors with his machete.

‘No peace for the fuckin’ wicked,’ Scottie said amiably as he returned to his own tent. ‘Mine’s clear.’

‘See you in four hours.’

‘We should be so lucky.’

Zav returned to the tent and lowered himself into the foxhole. Once inside, he lay on his back, fully clothed, smelling his own stale sweat. It was surprising what you got used to. He said a silent goodnight to Kate and then, as usual, strove to recall my face. As my baby features swam uncertainly towards him through the moisture-laden air, he fell, all at once, into a profound sleep.

In the men’s surgical ward, Sealie was attempting her first unassisted dressing. The wound was abdominal, from a simple hernia repair. She had washed her hands and unwrapped the dressing tray, careful not to contaminate it. She unpacked the sterile gloves and poured disinfectant into the bowl. So far, so good. She double-checked. Everything was in place. She never thought she’d miss Sister looking over her shoulder and glanced automatically to where she usually stood.

‘What are you waiting for, girlie?’ Mr Stanley was not her favourite patient. Rude one minute, sleazy the next, he wore an aggrieved air as though the staff were personally responsible for his plight.

‘Won’t be long, Mr Stanley,’ Sealie chirruped though gritted teeth. ‘Hold still while I remove your bandage.’ She was gratified to note that she did this with considerable skill and smiled to herself before putting the soiled dressing into the rubbish bag.

She turned on the tap and washed her hands again. The gloves slid over her fingers like a second skin. Now. Her brows drew together as she picked up the swab, using the forceps as she’d been taught.

Hal and Godown were minding me while my mother went to the hairdresser’s. She planned to have her hair cut short and feathery, like the model, Twiggy. She found long hair a nuisance with me to care for.

‘Zav likes your hair the way it is,’ complained Hal. ‘So do I.’

‘Takes too long to dry,’ she replied. ‘I shouldn’t be more than two hours.’ She gave him the nappy bag and the bottle, while Godown got me out of the car in my basket. He was tickled when he found out that it was called a Moses basket and always sang a little tune when he carried me in it.
Here comes old man Moses, carryin’ the Moses basket.
He managed to fit the words, more or less, to the tune of ‘Go Tell It on the Mountain’. He held back on the power of his voice when he sang to me and it had a sweetness then, that fell softly on my ears.

Hal came back from seeing Kate off. ‘How about we have a bite to eat and then take the little one for a walk by the river?’

In 1968, Tet, the lunar New Year, fell on 31 January, and Zav and his mates looked forward to the traditional ceasefire. Not for long. Under the cover of Tet the enemy began a major offensive. In the early hours of 1 February, the Australian troops came under sustained attack. Zav and Scottie had barely slept three hours.

When stand-to was called they ran to the perimeter, throwing themselves into their bunkers, eyes straining to pierce the darkness beyond. Rubber trees? Viet Cong? Shadows? How can you tell?

‘Do you hear something?’ Zav whispered. He was painfully aware of the fear that had begun to crawl from that visceral place where it always lay in wait. Now it settled on his skin; cold and clammy, despite the humidity of the tropical night. His thoughts returned briefly to Satan’s Slide. The cold. The fear that trembled on the brink of ecstasy. That experience had been silent and solitary. But this . . .

‘Choppers . . . what the . . .!’

Zav looked at Scottie in horror as the night splintered into a thousand shards. Flares lit the base, creating a lurid, deceitful daylight in which, unaccountably, they could see tracer bullets carving a path through the sky. Staccato volleys of gunfire, helicopters and mortars assailed their ears in a terrifying cacophony. It was as though the air itself was exploding and the earth a manifestation of pure sound. The noise swelled like some monstrous, dissonant orchestra and assaulted not only their ears but their bodies and minds.

‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ Zav wasn’t sure if it were his voice or Scottie’s. Or maybe it was all of them.

It seemed as though they were suspended in time and space, but in fact the call to fire came within less than a minute. Suddenly, they were soldiers. Grim-faced and efficient, the young men did as they were trained to do.

Chloe and Ariadne cried out in their sleep.

While Zav fought through that terrible day, his sister went efficiently about her duties.

Mr Stanley flinched as Sealie began to clean his wound, moving the swab across the line of the incision as she had been taught. She looked up annoyed, as he made a hissing sound through his teeth.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Stanley,’ she lied. ‘This shouldn’t take long.’ She picked up a fresh swab, repeating the procedure several times until she was sure the wound was completely clean. Choosing to ignore the hissing that continued unabated, she applied a clean dressing and taped it down firmly, eliciting a triumphant yelp from the patient.

‘Finished now, Mr Stanley,’ she announced and returned to the wet room where she disposed of the waste, washed her hands and cleaned the dressing tray and instruments ready for sterilisation. Rhonda, a second-year nurse, grinned as Sealie scrubbed viciously over the surface of the tray.

‘Male surgicals. All sooks. Old Stanley’s one of the worst.’

‘You know what gets me?’ Sealie responded. ‘He spent half an hour last night telling everyone what a good idea conscription is.’ She affected Stanley’s self-righteous tone. ‘
The army turns boys into men.
That’s what he said. And then he bleats when I change his dressing!’

Rhonda put a sympathetic arm around Sealie’s shoulder. ‘Don’t let that old fart get to you.’

‘My brother’s over there. His wife’s just had a baby . . .’ Sealie turned away but not before the other girl saw the tears in her eyes.

‘This little piggie went to market . . .’ My grandfather and I are playing our favourite game as he changes my nappy on the picnic rug they brought down to the river. I’ve been crying and Godown has returned to the house for my bottle. It’s a hot day and my grandfather decides to take my singlet off. He hesitates before replacing my little blue-and-white sun-dress. He does this carefully, knowing how I hate having things pulled over my head.

‘There, little princess,’ he says, smiling. He picks me up and holds me close, as he sings.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me

I once was lost, but now I’m found

Was blind but now I see.

The air is hot and humid as the sun sucks up the moisture left by last night’s summer storm. I can hear a bee droning, and a truck on the road above. Later, we are going to feed the ducks, but it’s a lazy, blue day and just now I’m content to drift off to sleep in my grandfather’s arms. He sits on the riverbank holding me, humming to himself. It’s the last really happy moment of his life.

The day has deceived us. A putrid yellow seeps into Hal’s drowsing head and insinuates itself like smoke along the synapses into the temporal cortex, the frontal lobe.
Behold, here I am.
Hal holds me tighter, cradling my head with his large hand. The soft down tickles his lips as he kisses my sleeping face.

Behold, here I am. Take the child
. . .

Hal shields me with his own body. ‘I can’t. I won’t.’

This is no test, Hal. Grace is needed.

It’s Paulina’s voice now, soft and pleading.
Send her to me, Hal. My beautiful granddaughter . . . Send her to me.

‘Paulina. Please. Don’t ask me to do this.’ Hal’s tears fall like rain on my sleeping face.

I’m so lonely here, Hal. I’ll love her. Care for her . . . She’s a pure soul, a soul without sin, too good for the evil world.

‘You don’t know what you’re asking.’ Hal’s face, looking down at me, is a thousand years old. ‘I’ll do anything for you. Not this. Not this.’

The voice of God is mighty and terrible.
Will you deny your wife this one thing? If you ever loved her, if you love this child, if you love Me, your Lord and Creator, bring them together as I have ordained. This is your one chance, Heraldo. Your one chance at salvation.

‘I promised Zav I’d care for her.’

You failed to care for your wife
.

Paulina’s voice holds infinite hope and sweetness.
She’ll be an angel of God. In my care . . . In my care . . .

Hal smoothes my little sun-dress with shaking hands. He runs clumsy fingers over the delicate lace edging at the neck and hem and marvels at the angel-song blueness of the flowers. He takes my hands, kisses each finger, then sings some more of my song. His voice is quavering. An old man’s voice.

’Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear