The Fire-Dwellers

  I found her this morning, Stacey. Here. Right here, where I’m sitting now. She’d swallowed Christ knows how many sleeping pills and nearly a whole bottle of rye.

  Stacey’s hands around the brandy glass begin to shake.

  Jake that’s is she

  No. She’s not dead.

  Thank God

  I took her to hospital Stacey it was terrible I got her into the car all by myself I should’ve phoned for you or Mac or phoned the ambulance but I wasn’t thinking straight at all I just thought I had to get her there right away and she was limp and I couldn’t tell whether she was breathing or not her breathing was so shallow and faint

  Jake I’m sorry

  They pumped her out and it was touch-and-go for most of the day and then they said they thought she’d be okay Stacey she has to go to to you know the mental hospital

  Listen, Jake, don’t feel badly about that. They’ll be able to help her.

  Now he is not dramatizing. His voice is only pain and bewilderment.

  Yes but why? Why would she? What’s the matter with her? What did I do wrong? Was it me? What was it?

  I don’t know

  — I don’t know and I do know. Dog eat dog and fish eat fish. How many things added up? But I didn’t get the message either. Why didn’t I? I always envied her for being so glamorous. I couldn’t see anything else.

  Jake I’m so damn sorry I did know she was upset sometimes and I might have tried but I didn’t

  You shouldn’t think that way, Stacey. It was me. I guess. But what did I do or not do?

  Maybe it wasn’t you Jake. Everything starts a long time ago.

  Do you think so? Do you really think so?

  Sure. Of course. It’s well known.

  — He was the one who used to tell me slickly that I had a death wish because I would have liked from time to time to be on a snow mountain by myself, no voices. Now he clutches at any naive theory that might totally exonerate him. Never mind. Who could blame him for wanting that? It wasn’t me, the kids say. It is always the other guy who starts the trouble. And I say furiously, How am I supposed to find out? How can I sift it all?

  Jake pours another brandy for them both.

  Maybe I should’ve agreed years ago for her to have kids, Stacey. But whenever we talked of it, she seemed so damn scared. I thought that was what she wanted me to say – that she was enough and that I didn’t feel the need of any

  Maybe that’s what she did want you to say. Or maybe she did and didn’t.

  Jake puts his head in his hands and once again there is the faintly shrill teetering quality in his voice.

  I don’t know what the hell she ever wanted, to tell you the truth. She was so goddam beautiful it seemed incredible that she would marry me at all

  I think she thought she was stupid

  Christ, Stacey, surely you realize that if I kidded her sometimes it was only because she was so goddam beautiful and I look like some kind of chimpanzee and I thought she could take the odd crack how did I know

  Jake – stop it. This could go on and on. Come to our place for dinner tonight. And for as long as you want or until

  Thanks, Stacey. But I couldn’t do that. It may be months. I’ll come tonight if I can

  — He won’t, though. He couldn’t sit there and talk. He couldn’t bear the glances of my kids. He’ll have a light delicious dinner of brandy.

  He sees her to the door and she walks home slowly, wondering how to tell Katie. The boys don’t need to know, but Katie has to be told.

  Katie?

  What happened to her, Mum? Is she dead?

  No she’s not

  Did she try to kill herself?

  Yes. How did you know?

  Katie shrugs, throwing back her half-damp hair. Under the flippancy of her voice there seems to be an undertone of something else, perhaps fear.

  Oh well, that’s the usual gimmick, isn’t it?

  Not that usual, I’d say.

  You never read the papers? Mum – will she be all right?

  I hope so. She needs

  Yeh, I know. Treatment. Mother

  Yes?

  You couldn’t have done anything. It must’ve been past that point. So let’s not get all worked up, eh?

  Oh Katie

  Hey don’t worry please please just don’t cry Mum please you’re okay there there you’re okay now

  Yes. Thanks, Katie.

  — One day she will have to take over as the mother, and she’s beginning to sense it. No wonder it frightens her. It damn near terrifies me, the whole business, even after all these years. And then I give in like now, and lean on her. I mustn’t.

  Mum?

  What?

  Don’t ever pull that stunt like she did will you?

  No. I won’t.

  — I promise you, Katie. I give you my word. But what if the day ever comes a long time from now when Katie is worn out and would half or even three quarters wish to release me from that kind of promise? Shut up, you. We’ll have to deal with that one when the time comes.

  Stacey goes next door to tell Bertha Garvey. From the front porch she can hear Julian’s voice ranting in his accustomed manner at Bertha over some offense real or imagined. Then when he comes to the door he is calm, smiling, almost courtly.

  Stacey. How nice to see you. Do come in. Bertha’s in the kitchen.

  — Where else, you old fraud? She spends her entire life there.

  Bertha is making applesauce. She listens silently and then she turns and faces Stacey. She does not gasp or make horrified noises. Her voice is as ordinary as always.

  She never ate enough, Tess didn’t. She starved herself. No wonder she got so rundown and keyed up. When she gets home, I’m going to make good and sure she eats.

  Stacey cannot help smiling.

  Bertha, you’re great. You know that?

  Bertha motions with the wooden spoon towards Julian.

  Try telling him.

  — What does Bertha concoct for her personal theater? The lumberjack she never married, the one who would have loved her with perfect admiration just as she is?

  As she is going out, Stacey can hear their voices, Julian’s crotchety and yet frightened.

  Don’t you go letting that Tess give you any fancy notions, Bertha.

  And Bertha’s voice, plain and solid as a pine board.

  Don’t you ever worry. I’m too stubborn to die yet for a while.

  The march winds its way across the bridge, and Stacey, glancing backward, can see the banners, each carried by two people, the words curving and only partially visible as the marchers pace.

  WE REMEMBER HIROSHIMA

  STOP THE WAR IN

  PEACE IN

  STOP THE

  WE REMEMBER

  PEACE

  Beside Stacey, a girl in a green corduroy slacks suit takes long slow measured steps. She has informed Stacey that this style of walking is less tiring. Stacey, however, is not able to take the advice because her own legs are not long enough. Also, she has not had the foresight to wear slacks. She is wearing a blue-and-white-striped cotton dress and sandals, and apart from one or two elderly tweed-clad ladies near the rear of the column, she is the only woman wearing a skirt. She looks around, flinching, trying not to notice, trying not to let it make any difference.

  — Something like this is supposed to be serious, and here you are, Stacey, worrying about how you look. I know, I know. But I’d feel easier and less conspicuous if I’d worn my slacks. What if Mac should drive past and see me? He’d have a fit. Why can’t I tell him? There’s nothing furtive about it, for heaven’s sake. In fact, it was with the opposite in mind that I came. I don’t kid myself that it’s going to change the world, but I plod along – it makes as much sense as anything else. That’s what Luke said. Why did I think of that? I wish I hadn’t. Because now I don’t know if I am really plodding along out of conviction or only because it was in the back of my mind that he might be here and I might see him again. I
must not want to see him again. I mustn’t. But I do. I can help what I do but not what I feel.

  Someone starts singing “We Shall Overcome.” Most of the marchers are young. Their voices are strong and certain. High on the bridge, with the gulls’ mocking bird-voices around them, the marchers sing. Stacey tries to sing, but she cannot. The green corduroy girl gives her a wry look, so she tries again, but no music emerges from her open mouth.

  — I see myself tromping along here, this slightly too short woman, slightly too heavy in the hips, no longer young. And all I can feel is embarrassment. I might at least have the decency not to feel embarrassed. Maybe I’d feel differently if I had faith. But I can’t seem to manage it.

  They have crossed the bridge, and at a street corner a small group is waiting to join the march. One of them is Luke. The same clothes, the same Indian sweater. He still wears his beard, except that now it is thicker and looks as though it belongs. Standing beside him is a girl about twenty, with long fine brown hair, wearing white jeans and sweater, and carrying a sign. PEACE. Luke has his arm around her.

  Stacey turns to the green-corduroy girl.

  Gosh I’m sorry but I just have to go to the bathroom. I’m going to have to drop out at this corner and find a john somewhere.

  Gee, bad luck. Never mind. If you hurry, you can catch us up.

  I’ll try

  Stacey, conscious of disapproving looks which she feels convinced must be aimed at her retreat, darts out of the line of marchers. Quickly, then, into the anonymity and shelter of the nearest doorway, which happens to be a hamburger place. A boy is mopping the counter with a wet and greyish rag.

  Yes ma’am?

  Oh – coffee please.

  She drinks it slowly, to make it last as long as possible, and watches through the window the remainder of the marchers going past. They are singing “Where Have All the Flowers Gone.” Their voices reach back to the bridge where the gulls eternally whirl. Perhaps they reach to the city as well, or perhaps not.

  When the last marcher is out of sight, Stacey goes out and gets a bus back home.

  — I might at least have seen it through. For what, though? It’s like church – you think maybe if you go, the faith will be given, but it isn’t. It has to be there already in you, I guess. Or maybe you have to persevere. I wish I’d stayed. Despite Luke. Despite embarrassment. Despite no faith. But bravery has never been my specialty. All I know how to do is get by somehow. I’d like to talk to somebody. Somebody who wouldn’t refuse really to look at me, whatever I was like. I’d like to talk to my sister. I’d like to write to her. I’d like to tell her how I feel about everything. No. She’d think I was crazy, probably. She’s too sensible ever to do this sort of thing, like today, or like with Luke and all that. She’d think I must be mad, not to be perfectly happy, with four healthy kids and a good man. I couldn’t write to her. She’d never see. She’d think even worse of me than she already does. Luke? I couldn’t let you see me. All right – you showed me where I belonged, when you said What can’t you leave? I guess I should be grateful. I am grateful. Maybe not for that, so much. I guess I knew it anyway. For the way you talked to me and held me for a while – that’s why I’m grateful. I said unspokenly Help and you didn’t turn away. You faced me and touched me. You were gentle. You needn’t have been, but you were, and that I won’t forget or cease being glad for. Even if you’d been older, or I’d been younger and free, it wouldn’t have turned out any simpler with you than it is with Mac. I didn’t see that at one time, but I see it now.

  The bus pulls to a halt. Stacey gets out and walks down Bluejay Crescent. Katie is in the back yard with Jen. Stacey stands on the back porch.

  Hi. Where are the boys?

  Over at Weller’s. Jim’s got a new bike. Are you going to pay me for minding Jen?

  I said I would, so I will.

  How did it go?

  Oh – all right, I guess. I quit before the end.

  Never mind. It’s quite a walk. Why don’t you want Dad to know you went?

  I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t matter one way or another if he knows. Maybe it should’ve been you who went.

  Katie looks up, smiling but not in a way which Stacey finds possible to decipher with any certainty.

  You mean – athletic me?

  Stacey wants to touch her, to hold fast to her and at the same time to support her. But she expresses none of these, having to be careful, unable to gauge accurately, having to guess only.

  Yeh. Athletic you.

  Stacey goes back into the kitchen, finds the notebook she uses for shopping lists, tears out a page, writes on it and sticks it up above the sink with Scotch tape.

  No Pre-Mourning.

  She stands for a while and looks at it.

  Newspaper photograph – slash-eyed woman crouched on some temporarily unviolated steps in the far city, skull and bones outstanding under shriveled skin, holding the dead child, she not able to realize it is actually and unhelpably finished and yet knowing this is so. The woman’s mouth open wide – a sound of unbearability but rendered in silence by the camera clicking. Only the zero mouth to be seen, noiselessly proclaiming the gone-early child.

  Now Stacey cannot recall what it was that might have been meant by Pre. Also, she cannot figure out a way of explaining the sign to Ian and Duncan. So she takes it down and puts it into the garbage.

  Sunday. They have taken the kids to the beach in the morning. In the afternoon Matthew has arrived and has been pacing the kitchen floor while Stacey prepares dinner. Turning from sink to stove, Stacey nearly bumps into him. They both step aside and once again nearly collide. But Matthew is not aware of Stacey’s teeth-grinding fury, so the small gauche ballet continues. Mac is out cleaning the car, assisted by Ian. Jen is playing under the kitchen table. Duncan stands in the doorway. Stacey, angry at Matthew, flies at Duncan.

  For heaven’s sake, honey, can’t you find something to do? Why don’t you go and help Dad and Ian with the car?

  Duncan mumbles indistinguishable words.

  Speak properly, Duncan. What did you say?

  His voice is now abnormally loud and high.

  I said they don’t want me

  Stacey stops and looks at him.

  Did you ask?

  Yeh. He said to buzz off – he was busy.

  Duncan he didn’t mean

  It’s okay. I don’t care.

  — Not much you don’t.

  Duncan goes upstairs. A moment later, Matthew also walks up the stairs to the bathroom, and Stacey with relief pours herself a gin and tonic. She has gulped only half of it when she hears a thudding sound, followed by Duncan’s frightened voice.

  Mum! C’mere – quick!

  What is it, Duncan? What’s happened?

  It’s Granddad – he’s fallen.

  Stacey runs through into the front hall. Matthew is lying at the foot of the stairs, having evidently missed his footing on the bottom steps. He does not seem able to rise, but Stacey can detect no broken bones. More than anything, he is humiliated and apologetic.

  Stacey I’m so sorry it was so stupid of me

  No no you mustn’t say that. Here, Duncan, give me a hand, will you?

  Between them, they manage to get Matthew into an armchair in the living room.

  Okay, Duncan. Granddad’s okay now.

  You sure? Should I call Dad, maybe?

  No. It’s all right. Would you just go and make sure Jen’s all right, though?

  Duncan looks once again at Matthew, who is moving one hand across his forehead. Then he looks away, as though he has witnessed something not intended for his eyes. He walks into the kitchen and stays there. Matthew is breathing heavily but making a strained effort to breathe normally.

  What happened?

  As soon as she has spoken, Stacey realizes that her voice has been more incisive than she meant it to be, more piercing and demanding. Matthew leans his head back against the chair, as though at last having to accept the unacce
ptable.

  Stacey I’m sorry

  You’re sorry? What for?

  Well, I guess I’ve got glaucoma. The eyes aren’t much good any more. That’s why I fell. The doctor told me sometime ago but I didn’t want to let you know. I have drops for them but

  Stacey looks at him, appalled.

  You should have said. You should have told us.

  I suppose so. But I didn’t want well I didn’t want you to feel you had to

  Dad?

  — Dad. I’ve never called him that before. I might as well begin. I’m going to be seeing a lot of him from now on. Strange – it’s only a name now, that, only a way of identifying Matthew. Niall Cameron has been dead a long time. If someone else needs the name, no point in not using it. It doesn’t mean anything to me any more. I never knew until now.

  Yes? What is it, Stacey?

  Wait. I’ll be back in a sec.

  Stacey flashes into the kitchen and snatches her drink from its cave concealment in the blue Mixmaster bowl.

  — Well, Dad, old buddy, you may as well get used to it, because I am certainly not taking to tomato juice with invisible vodka, for you or anyone else. For what I am about to say, I need this.

  She returns to the living room and sits on the chesterfield. Matthew eyes the glass but says nothing.

  Listen, Dad. You can’t live there any more. Not now. Not with this. You’ll live here. With us.

  — Oh Christ, will I ever regret it. I’ll regret it every day of my life. It’ll be pure bloody murder. We’ve got enough to deal with, without him. He’ll follow me around all day long. Move over, Tess – I’ll soon be out to join you. No, I damn well won’t. I will not let this get me down. I just damn well will not. Oh heavens – I’ll have to take him up and down the stairs to the bathroom. I can’t. I can’t. Yes, you can. If you think it’ll be awful for you, doll, how do you think he’ll feel about it? Matthew, who doesn’t even like to admit he has any natural functions. Matthew, always so neat and so proud.