Cloudstreet (10 page)

By May, when a chill had come into the nights and the street was subdued and indoorsy after dark with the Lambs’ chooks racked along their perch like mumbling hats, and the air so still you could hear the sea miles off and the river tide eating at the land, Lester and Oriel went to bed bonesore but grateful. It was a time when they talked like the old comrades they were, the way they’d bedtalked in those early farm years before the Depression when the kids hadn’t yet crowded them back into reputation and role.

You know what I miss? Lester said. The singin, that’s what I miss.

Talkin church again. Lester yull always miss singin, army, church or school.

Worldly songs are pretty, love, but the old church songs, they’re beautiful, you gotta say it.

Yairs, she said, it’s true enough. But we shouldn’t talk about it. It’ll only upset us.

Strike, we hold a grudge, Orry.

My oath, she grinned in the halfdark.

The house shifted on its stumps. Their new rooster crowed itself stupid ten hours short of daybreak.

Quick’s lookin blue, said Lester.

Well, Oriel murmured, that’s natural enough.

Blames himself, thinks we blame him.

Don’t we?

Lester turned onto his back to see the ceiling mottled with streetlight. I don’t know. I know it’s not his fault. Why would it be? It’s just what happened.

But do you blame him?

Lester said nothing.

We blame him, she said. And I blame you. And God.

It scares me, he said, hearin you think like that.

Me too, she said. I can’t help it. I’m a sinner, Lest.

Do you ever wish you were like her next door?

Oriel sniffed. Mrs Pickles? No. I couldn’t take ten minutes of it.

She’s hard as nails.

Hard as lard, you mean. I’m the one hard as nails.

Lester coughed out a laugh.

We can’t help it, Oriel said vaguely, none of us can.

You always said people can help anythin and everythin.

That was once.

What about Fish?

Least of all Fish.

No, no, I meant what are we gunna do with him?

We’ll give him the gentlest life we can, we’ll make it the best for him we know how.

Lester agonized. How do we know what’s best? How do we make him happy? What does he think?

Oriel thought about this. It’s like he’s three years old …

You know, Lester says, almost giggly with relief, we’ve never talked about him like this since it—

Lester be quiet, I’m thinkin.

He waited. Lester thought about poor old Fish, that skylarking ratbag turned brainless overnight. There’d been times he’d thought the kid was better dead than to have to live all his life as a child, but he knew that being alive was being alive and you couldn’t tamper with that, you couldn’t underestimate it. Life was something you didn’t argue with, because when it came down to it, whether you barracked for God or nothing at all, life was all there was. And death. Oriel began to snore. Lester gave up waiting and went off himself.

Having both watched parents hurried to the grave by medicine, Oriel and Lester weren’t chuffed about doctors. Neither had stepped inside hospital or surgery since childhood. The children were born wherever they were. Hat and Elaine in the kitchen at Margaret. Quick in the lockup of the police station, Red in the saddle room, and Lon was born at the side of the road in the shadow of the broken-axled Chev. Hard work and plenty of food, that kept the quacks away. And a bit of care, Oriel would say. She could fix most ills with a bit of this and that. She conceded that doctors were like governments: it was possible that they served some use though it didn’t pay to put them to the test.

But the ache of their doubt about Fish got hold of them and besides, it looked like victory in Europe and they were feeling optimistic, so they found themselves in a surgery across the tracks that week telling a quack their story.

He was a waistcoat and watch chain type and he spoke like the pommy officers Lester remembered from his days in the Light Horse. He put a light down Fish’s throat and then in his ears. It got old Fish giggling. The doc looked puzzled and amused. Oriel munched her lip. Lester kept his hands on the boy. Fish stood there with his shirt open and his eyes flicking all about.

What’s your name, boy? the quack asked.

Fish Lamb, said Oriel. Samson.

Fish, said Fish.

Mrs Lamb. I’ll ask and
he’ll
answer.

Very well.

Why do they call you Fish?

It’s the name, said Fish.

Hm. How old are you, Fish?

Nine.

Ten next month, said Oriel.

Mrs
Lamb
.

Can you count to nine?

Nine, said Fish.

Yes.

I’m big.

Indeed, said the quack. Fish, where do you live?

In the family. With Quick. Lestah.

Who is this? the quack asked, pointing to Lester.

Fish grinned. Lestah! My da.

And who is this, Fish?

The bright look stayed on Fish’s face, but it became a look of suspension.

Who is this lady?

Oriel set her teeth in a smile, her jaw tight enough to break.

Fish?

Lester, he doesn’t see me.

Who is she, Fish?

Please, Doctor, this—

Fish looked past her into the wallpaper, his features bright and distracted.

The water, said Fish.

On the wallpaper there were waves and jumping mullet and sails.

Queer, said the quack.

Oriel got a hanky out for the eyes.

How long was he under the water, you say?

Lester shrugged. A few minutes. He was caught up in the net and my lamp went out—

Yes, yes. And you revived him Mrs Lamb?

Oriel looked at Fish but couldn’t get his gaze. Yes. And I prayed.

The water, said Fish.

And you didn’t take him to a doctor, or a hospital?

We thought he was better, said Lester. A miracle, you know.

Hmm. Like Lazarus, eh, the quack muttered; Jesus wept.

But he’s retarded, said Oriel, it’s like he’s three. We had to potty train him again, start from scratch.

You mean he’s improved?

A bit, yes.

A boy would have more than this regression after an experience like that, said the quack. He shows no spastic tendencies at all.

He blacks out.

No speech impediment. He seems alert, aware, sane. This is not what happens. Now I—

Are you saying we’re liars? Oriel growled. Do you think we’d come here not telling the truth?

Mrs Lamb—

Because I am a woman whose word has been respected as long—

Oriel! Lester’s voice was shaky with momentary authority.

This boy seems traumatized. There’s nothing physically wrong with him. Are you sure he hasn’t been through a great shock of some kind that would explain his obvious … retreat?

He’s been alive and he’s been dead, said Lester. One of those was bound to be a shock.

Perhaps he was under a few seconds, enough to give him—

Minutes, said Oriel. No heartbeat. Another minute, two even, before I got him back.

You could think about a psychiatrist.

Lester swallowed. If his … his brain is damaged, can a shrink fix it?

No. He might help hysteria, trauma and so on. You could think about a specialized home for him …

Oriel picked Fish up in a swoop. There’s no home as specialized as mine, Mister!

Lestah! Lestah!

Mrs Lamb, sit down.

Come on, Lester.

Fish, asked the quack, where do you want to go?

The water, the water!

Oriel crashed through the waiting room like a fullback.

Fast! said Fish. Fast!

VE

While they slept, Sam Pickles nursing his tingling stump, Oriel Lamb snoring beneath her eyepatches, the house stumps grinding beneath them, the wallshadows flitting and dancing and swirling up a musty smell in the darkness, the war ended in Europe.

Before dawn, word was out at the Metro Markets where Lester heard it, dropped what he was doing and drove home, punishing the old Chev across tramlines and through stop signs until he throttled it, smoking and steaming, into Cloud Street. He went through the door like a stormtrooper.

Victory in Europe!

And the wireless was on somewhere.

Unconditional surrender!

VE Day.

Lester barrelled into the kids’ room. No school today! VE Day.

What? said Red, always snaky when woken.

VE Day!

Violet Eggleston? What’s she done, that dag?

Who?

What?

The war. The Krauts are out.

Oh.

What about the Japs? said Quick from the hallway.

The Japs are still in.

We’ll get em, said Quick.

Anyway. Hitler’s dead.

Hitler didn’t bomb Darwin, said Quick.

Tokyo’ll go, said Red.

Gawd, said Lester, what a mob of glumbums.

Wait’ll Violet Eggleston finds out, said Red, she’ll think it’s for her.

The kids climbed back into their beds. Next door the Pickleses were laughing. Well, thought Lester, that’s that then.

A Fish Forgets

Fish hears the winter rain hissing on the tin roof. When lightning flashes he sees the fruit trees without leaves down there in the yard. On still nights, cold nights, clear frosty nights, he hears the river a long way off across the rooftops and treecrowns. That’s something he does remember. But he forgets so much. He doesn’t remember being a real flamin character. He’s forgotten all his old ways, how people loved him, people’s names, his daily jobs. Before, he’d likely as not tie your shoelaces together while you weren’t noticing, but nowadays he can’t even get his own shoes on, let alone lace them. School learning has evaporated in his head, horseriding, stone-skipping, fartlighting, limericks, stars, directions, weather, rabbit trapping, beetle racing. From the outside, those are the things you
can
tell about him. Mostly, he just forgets to grow up. Already Lon is thinking of Fish as the baby of the family.

He knows Quick, Lester, Lon, Hat, Elaine and Red, but he can’t seem to place Oriel. Either that or he sees her and ignores her. He just looks through her like she’s not there, like she’s never been there.