The Memory Tree (29 page)

I will
. My grandfather was pathetically grateful to find that he was not abandoned.

After the presentation of his medical history, Hal was processed and his escort left him with the charge nurse to begin his new life in J-Ward, the secure accommodation for the criminally insane.

Hal was cold. The small room was unheated, the stone walls obdurate. There were blankets, but he wasn’t allowed pyjamas, so his back and legs felt the chill. In an effort to warm himself, he curled into a foetal position and lay very still. Whenever he disturbed the bedclothes, a wave of cold rippled down his back. There were heaters in the corridor. He’d seen them the night before, but the heat failed to seep through the thick walls. Later, he learned the trick of cocooning himself in his blanket, but for now he longed for his freshly ironed, flannelette pyjamas and his own bed with its soft, warm eiderdown. He missed the morning sun as it filtered through the curtains, spreading a benign light over the ascetic angles of his room. In his mind’s eye he saw it, liquid, like warm golden syrup on dumplings. Mrs Mac made such light dumplings . . . He frowned. Mrs Mac was no longer with him. She had joined the others. Mouth watering, he turned again to the thought of the dumplings and was startled by a loud click. The door opened to reveal a nurse, rubbing his hands against the cold.

‘Seven o’clock. Time to get up, Mr Rodriguez.’ The newcomer was a burly man in his mid-forties, with a drooping Zapata moustache and eyebrows that met in the middle.
He looks like a South American bandido
, Hal thought, dragging his aching body out of bed.

‘What do I do now?’ He had to chew each word as he battled to control his thick, spongy tongue.

‘You get dressed.’

Taking the proffered pile of neatly folded clothes, Hal dressed under the watchful eye of the bandido, who seemed to be in a hurry, glancing two or three times at the watch pinned to his uniform. Hal found himself fascinated by the black chest hairs, which emerged like a daddy-long-legs from the neck of the starched, blue shirt. He paused, wondering what he would do if it really were a spider.

‘Get a move on.’

Hal got a move on.

‘Out to the exercise yard,’ the nurse said, not unkindly. ‘You’ll get used to the routine.’

Hal shambled out to a walled courtyard, where men, similarly dressed, were walking alone or in pairs, watched by uniformed nurses. He looked around. There was nothing much to see—surrounding walls, one of which had a wicket painted on it, a basketball ring, and a caged corridor, leading to another building.

‘That is the ablutions block,’ volunteered the bandido. ‘You’ll be taken for a shower and shave before breakfast.’

There was a tree just visible over the wall, and Hal squinted his eyes to see the pattern the leaves made against the milky blue sky. He would have liked to hear them rustle, but couldn’t get close enough. Maybe if he took a running jump . . .
No. He had to bide his time. Sort out friend from foe. Meanwhile, he wouldn’t do anything to make them suspicious.

He stood in the middle of the yard, not sure what to do. It was like his first day at school. He felt as he had then, apprehensive and alone, but when he observed his surroundings closely, they were quite different. For a start there were no females. His little country school yard was populated with both boys and girls, and several mothers, including his own, watched their children with solicitous smiles. The infants’ teacher was a woman, too. Miss Manning, with her fresh, round face and pretty lips, had been Hal’s first love. Later that year, he had fought Billy Tyler over who would marry her but he couldn’t remember who won.

It was more than the lack of females, Hal thought, leaning against the wall. The schoolyard had been full of noise; the excited chattering of children returning from holidays, the squeaking of the swings, the muted sounds of mothers’ conversations and a magpie song, rising above them all. The exercise yard was so quiet that he could hear his own footfall.

There was something else. The schoolyard had been full of activity: children running, chasing, showing off new schoolbags, pushing and shoving when the bell rang to call them into line. Here it was curiously still. Inmates walked aimlessly in slow motion or stood sunning themselves against the wall. A few were smoking, the hands holding the cigarettes seeming one with the smoke that drifted desultorily into the air. Sluggish. Everything and everyone was sluggish.

Only the nurses were alert. The bandido exchanged a few words with his colleagues and hurried away, probably to drag some other poor sod out of bed. One nurse, a tall, lugubrious man with red hair and beard, Hal dubbed Rufus the Red; the other, younger, blond and built like an athlete, Hal decided to call Emil, after Emil Zatopek whom he saw run in the Melbourne Olympics. For the eighteen months Hal was in J-Ward, he never used the nurses’ real names.

Emil, clipboard in hand, gathered the next group for a shower. There were three of them. The others knew what to do and started to undress in the slow, deliberate way of the medicated. Hal felt his spirit shrink as he took in the bleak, grey concrete walls and floor. It was like a bomb shelter, he thought, but who would want to shelter in such a place?

‘You too.’ Emil indicated the other patients, then nodded at Hal.

Hal took off his shirt. ‘Is there a hanger?’

‘Put them on the bench.’

The bench was damp and didn’t look too clean, but Hal did as he was told and the nurse turned on the water, pointing to where he should stand. Hal moved reluctantly. He’d never seen such a dreary place. He’d shared the mateship of the shower in his sports playing days but here he felt raw and exposed. The other two were washing themselves mechanically. At least the water pressure seemed strong. He stepped in gingerly and found himself almost luxuriating in the unexpected warmth of the water. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine he was in his own nicely tiled shower back in Yarra Falls.

Emil handed him a bar of yellow soap.

‘I have sensitive skin,’ Hal told him politely. ‘I’d like my own soap. And shampoo, if you don’t mind.’

Emil looked at him with something like pity. ‘You should be so lucky. Hurry up now and I’ll give you a shave before breakfast.’

His beard had been itching and he was grateful for the offer. The young nurse was gentle and Hal’s eyes filled with tears. It seemed so long since he’d experienced the touch of kind hands.

On his first day, my grandfather had already learned to be grateful for small comforts.

Breakfast included porridge, eggs, toast and tea. As soon as it was finished and the cutlery counted, the men were returned to the exercise yard, where a few patients began to throw around a basketball. Lunch, more exercise yard, dinner, medication and bed at seven—that completed the monotonous routine.

Hal couldn’t sleep. He had done nothing all day and it was only seven o’clock. He began to hope that his medication included sleeping pills. The voices were quiet at the moment, but he feared their return in the emptiness of night. He had two souls to watch over now. Two precious souls—my grandmother and me. It made him quite ill to think of the responsibility. Two dear, precious souls. And unseen powers trying to thwart him. How could he apply himself to the task while he was locked up in this place? To do the job properly, he needed photographs. He missed his poster. It was almost completely faded with age, but he knew every inch, every nuance of that poster. To him, the images remained as bright and sharp as the day he had bought it. He needed to make a home for my grandmother and me. But how to get the photographs?

Sealie’s response to his request was the cause of Hal’s first outbreak in J-Ward. He was sitting in the dayroom when she came in, holding her handbag in front of her like a shield.

‘Dad?’ She couldn’t bring herself to kiss him and touched her cheek to his so lightly that neither of them felt it. ‘How are you?’ she asked, her eyes not quite meeting his.

‘I’m alright,’ Hal replied ungraciously. ‘Apart from freezing every night.’

Sealie was shocked. How could her father be so—
ordinary
? ‘I’ll speak to someone. Another blanket . . .?’

She looked at her father from under her fringe. He stared doggedly at his hands. The unspeakable lay between them and she sought refuge in the banal. ‘Is there anything else you need?’

‘A photo of your mum. Or maybe the poster in my room if you can get it off the wall without tearing it.’

Sealie took out a scrap of paper and made a note. Any activity was welcome.

Hal snorted impatiently. ‘Surely you can remember that without writing it down?’

‘Anything else? I got some cigarettes and a Cherry Ripe but the nurse took them.’

‘A photo of Grace. I need a photo of Grace.’

‘A photo of Grace? Dad! I can’t give you . . . Zav won’t . . .’

Hal’s mood changed in an instant and his face crumpled with grief. ‘Sealie. Have they got to you too?’ He began to wring his hands. People actually do wring their hands, Sealie thought, shocked at the extremity of his distress. He clutched at her arm. ‘You’re the one person I can trust. You’re my daughter.’ He was shouting now. ‘You must help me, Sealie. I have to have photographs.’

Bells rang, and within an instant two nurses were restraining Hal who was pawing at his horrified daughter. ‘You’d better leave now, Miss,’ they told her, as Hal’s pleas turned to curses.

Sealie ran from the room, her father’s voice pounding in her head. Stopping in the corridor she leaned against the wall. She was trembling and aware of a sobbing noise. It must be her sobbing. There was no-one else there. She fished in her handbag for a tissue and blew her nose.

‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’ A hand was under her elbow, guiding her to the dining room. It was the bandido, whose dark eyes peered sympathetically into hers. As they drank the sweet, instant coffee, Sealie tried to smile her thanks.

‘You’re very kind,’ she said.

‘You’ve had a bit of a shock,’ said the bandido, whose name turned out to be Steve Farrugia. ‘They do that sometimes. Go right off without warning. What was the problem? Do you know?’

‘You know his history, of course.’

Steve nodded.

‘He wants a photograph of Grace.’

‘Grace?’

‘The child he drowned.’

Steve frowned. ‘Don’t know about that. It could cause further relapse.’

‘It’s not even that. I feel it’s a betrayal of my brother—he’s the baby’s father,’ she explained. ‘But look at what I’ve done in refusing to bring him the photo. I’ve made things worse.’ She began to cry again.

Poor little bugger
. Steve patted her arm. ‘Leave it with me, love. I’ll have a chat to Matron. He can talk to the doctor.’

Sealie was relieved to pass on the responsibility. ‘Thank you so much.’ She paused. ‘I feel embarrassed to mention it now—you’ve already been so kind—but he says he’s cold at night. He usually wears pyjamas.’

‘Sorry, love. Can’t help with pyjamas. We can’t risk . . .’ He ducked his head, embarrassed. ‘It’s a suicide precaution. That’s why we took the sweets and cigarettes. You’d be surprised at what they use to self-harm.’ Sealie winced at his use of
they
. ‘He can have the lollies and smokes under supervision, though.’ Her rescuer drained his coffee. ‘My break’s over. I’m sorry you had to witness that.’

When Sealie returned home, she went to Hal’s room. It had not been unlocked since what everyone referred to obliquely as ‘the tragedy.’ The bed was made with military neatness and Hal’s book,
I, Robot
, lay on the bedside table, bookmarked at page fifty-six. The poster was a blur of greys, and when Sealie tentatively pulled at a corner, the area crumbled, taking with it what might have been the toe of the last swan. She jumped guiltily, as though she had deliberately defaced it.
I’ll have to find something else.
She went down to Hal’s study where she took a small portrait of Paulina from a silver frame.
This will have to do.
Now, should she find a photo of Grace, just in case? There was a family photo of Zav, Kate and me in another frame, but she rejected that. Not fair to include my parents, who had every reason to hate Hal. She went to his desk drawer. Pens, stapler, loose change, rubber bands and a small photo album. ‘Grandpa’s Brag Book’ it said on the cover. She slipped it into her pocket. She couldn’t look at it just now. It required courage to delve into those memories, and she had used all her reserves at the hospital.