Still Waving (16 page)

‘That's it. I remember Mum saying it off by heart. I wonder how many times she'd recited it. I know I used to ask for it over and over again.'

‘It was pretty long wasn't it?'

Memories overwhelmed me. I could see my mother sitting on the edge of my bed, reciting a poem. For the first time in a long time, I heard her voice. Tears flooded my eyes.

‘We ought to read this bloody letter,' I said pulling myself together and wiping away the tears. ‘Do you want to read it out loud?'

‘No. How about you?' Toby replied.

‘I'll try.'

Toby handed me the letter.

‘Why did he do it?' I started crying again.

The sea roared. The landscape became blurry through my tear-filled eyes. I held my breath. I couldn't see the crowded beach, just this hazy mixture of sand and sea. I'll never understand my parents. I'll never know them, ever. They've gone from me and I'm not even seventeen. I'll never know why their love turned to hatred for each other.

‘Are you going to read it?' Tears ran down Toby's face.

My voice shook as I began. Dad's handwriting swirled in front of me as if it was moving. I focused
my vision and the words appeared clearly.

Dear Julie and Toby
,

I stopped and swallowed hard. Toby looked at the ground. I noticed a teardrop fall. I forced myself to continue.

What have I done? I don't expect you to understand when I can't explain my actions to myself. I know they're saying I've done the worst thing possible. I don't believe what they say, and I don't know if I did it or not.

‘Here we go.' Toby sounded disgusted.

I looked at Toby and continued to read.

I hope you kids will understand one day, that it wasn't me that destroyed my family.

It was lots of things, although I know, especially you Julie, won't want me to make excuses. I don't want it to sound like I'm saying nothing's my fault but if the truth be known I'm not entirely to blame for things going wrong. I changed after being in the Vietnam War. I know I drank too much, and I should have gone to another doctor who wouldn't just keep giving me more pills.

‘Here he goes again, blaming something else. It's never his fault, always something to blame.' Toby spoke angrily.

I felt the same as Toby. I bravely read on.

That terrible day, I was out moving the sheep. I came back to the house for lunch. It all goes a bit blank from there. I try hard to remember what happened next, but
nothing. It's like amnesia. The cops asked me if I remembered seeing the packed suitcases they'd seen at the burnt house. I told them I only recalled being punched in the face by that mongrel cop, Cooper. I had no idea why he'd hit me. Then I noticed the house was burning. I screamed for your mum, but she didn't answer.

It looked as if there were tear stains on this section of the letter. Were they real?

I called and called. Cooper hit me again a few times and the next thing I'm in the hospital. When I woke up I thought I was there because of Cooper. I nearly went off when he came in to question me. I asked him where your mum was, and he nearly hit me again. I always knew something was going on between those two. That's bloody proof as far as I'm concerned.

I was gutted when he told me about the deaths. I thought I'll get the bastards who did this. I know stuff and I've got enemies. Cooper told me the cops thought it was me. I thought he was mad. The doctor came and gave me something to calm me down.

Next thing I was charged for something I don't remember doing. I'd never hurt your mum badly, you know that you kids.

‘What a liar!' Toby said, looking grim.

I sighed. Toby wasn't wrong. I felt anger rising, but it hadn't got to the quivering stage, so I made myself read on.

I know they'll brainwash me into believing I did it. They've already charged me with all sorts of bloody things. Name, rank, serial number is all they'll get out of me. If I ever get my memory back, I might remember what really happened. Maybe someone hit me over the head. The police weren't interested when I told them this is what must have happened because of shit I knew.

Toby and I looked at each other astonished. I was speechless.

‘I can't believe him,' Toby muttered between clenched teeth. ‘He's totally off the planet.'

I couldn't even contemplate if there was any truth in it. I'd sat through the evidence which all pointed to Dad being totally guilty.

‘What crap's he going to come up with next?'

‘He's unbelievable.' Toby shook his head.

I read on.

I've lost the most precious thing to me, my family. I know because I was sick from the past that sometimes you kids got it a bit rough, but I know you're tough. You've got to be. Don't let anyone walk over you.

‘How dare he try and give us advice!' I was so angry.

‘He's a total loser.'

‘Will I read the rest?'

‘Finish it,' Toby said angrily.

I know when your mum miscarried those times, she blamed me.

I knew before I was born Mum had miscarried twice. Mum had said I was a miracle child.

I knew it was the Agent Orange sprayed all over us in Vietnam. You wouldn't believe how much the Yanks dumped on the forests. Your mum wasn't the only soldier's wife to miscarry. We were lucky in other ways, because some of my mate's kids were born with defects. It happened to heaps of blokes that came back and started families. The bloody government didn't want to hear, told us to piss off and forget it. No one would listen. Some blokes are still trying to fight for some sort of compensation, and good on them.

I don't know if you kids remember how sick I got. Spewed me guts up every morning for years. Nightmares every bloody night. I felt crook all the time. That's why the damn doctor gave me so many bloody pills.

I know I never talked to you about my time in Vietnam. I couldn't because it was the worst hell I'd been in my whole life. I was at Long Har-Phuoc when it was hit hard. Drinking made me forget Vietnam. Unconsciousness stopped the nightmares.

I'm haunted by that war.

‘I don't know if I want to read any more.' I put the letter down.

‘I wish he'd get to the bloody facts,' Toby said grimfaced.

‘I knew it was a bad idea reading it. I wish I'd
chucked it to the never-never, last year.'

‘How much more is there?'

I looked at the unread lines. ‘About a page.'

‘He's gone on, but what's he actually said?' Toby had a pained look on his face.

I knew I'd feel remorse if I threw it away now. It would remain unfinished. I'd forever wonder what the rest had said.

I want to tell you what happened when I got back from Vietnam. I was spat on, in the street of bloody Sydney. I fought the war for this country. I was sent to protect this country from communism. It was a big lie, Vietnam never threatened bloody Australia. Most of them had never heard of the bloody place. They thought we were all Yanks with big pockets of dollars.

‘Why's he going on about this?' I felt exasperated and looked to the sky as if it held an answer. Clouds spread towards Maroubra. ‘I want the rest of my sandwiches, reading this is sapping all my strength.'

‘Listening to his bull is sending me totally ga-ga. I may as well throw myself off the cliff.' Toby stood up.

‘DON'T SAY THAT!'

Toby jumped in fright at my loud voice.

‘I was only joking.'

‘It's no laughing matter.' I unwrapped the rest of my sandwich and bit into it, savagely.

‘I didn't mean it.'

‘Don't joke about it around me.'

‘I won't joke about it anywhere.'

‘I mean it.'

‘Do you think Dad's going to say anything about the farm? Is he only going to go on about the … ff … stupid war?' Toby asked.

I knew Toby deliberately stopped himself swearing. I wouldn't have thought less of him. I felt like saying all the *!#*~! words I knew.

‘How long ago was that bloody war?' Toby spoke with his mouth full.

‘Over thirty years ago.'

‘Why's he telling us about it now?'

‘I don't know.' Memories came flooding back from childhood. Dad screaming and shouting in the night. I remembered getting up and staring, open mouthed. Mum and Dad would be at the kitchen table. Mum would be putting damp cloths on Dad's face. If Mum saw me she would tell me to go back to bed. I'd stand in the doorway watching Dad's chattering teeth. I couldn't understand why he was cold, yet hot. I know when Dad started drinking more and more, the screaming stopped. I wondered if Toby remembered the same things as me.

‘Do you remember Dad going to the doctor heaps?'

Toby nodded.

‘Well when I'd ask Mum what was wrong, she'd
always say it was the tablets not agreeing with him. Mum said it'd get better but it never did.'

I poured us a cup of tea from the thermos.

‘Mum sure got that wrong,' Toby sighed.

‘It's strange. The letter was written before the trial.'

‘They didn't ask him anything, did they? His lawyer was the only one who said anything about why Dad did what he did. Dad never spoke.'

Toby and I looked at each other.

‘They call it post-traumatic stress syndrome,' I said.

Toby had a puzzled expression on his face.

‘It's like he had a double dose of it. His internal trauma about Vietnam and now his trauma about killing most of his family, it's sort of like he's in permanent shock.'

‘So he's crazy.'

‘Mad as a cut snake.'

I looked down at the letter. The writing was all fuzzy. I slowly focused on the words.

Julie when your mum became pregnant with you, I couldn't pray hard enough. When you were born it was like a miracle. I thought my luck had turned. Then when the rest of them came along I thought I was cured. How wrong was I, kids?

Tears came into my eyes. I could hardly read. My voice quaked.

I know I've been a bad father to you. I didn't want to
be. I wanted to give you all the things I didn't have. The both of you. Toby my son, how could I not bring you up right? To be a good man. I'm sorry for the things I did to you. I didn't know any better. It was like my dad raised me. When I went into the army, Dad was so proud. He didn't tell me anything about the horror. Dad made out it was the right thing to do for our country. He'd done it and believed the world was a better place because of it. They were welcomed back as heroes. That was a different kind of war to ours. It was necessary. Ours was politics.

They should have welcomed us back, not spat and thrown oranges. By the time the bloody government or RSL offered any help, a lot of us were too far gone and too full of hatred to take their lousy platitudes. I know you probably think I'm making excuses, but I really didn't know what I was doing on that terrible day. I want you both to believe that there is no way I could have done it, unless I was totally out of my mind on those bloody drugs the doctor kept giving me.

Toby threw some rocks towards the ocean. ‘When is he going to take responsibility? All these reasons don't mean a rat's arse to me. He abused us all the time. Why's he making up this crap?'

‘He believes it,' I said incredulously.

I scanned the ocean for life. A bird. Anything. There was deadness inside me. I expected something different. Not excuses. I thought the letter would tell
me why Dad had done what he'd done. I wondered if he was too drugged up to feel grief.

‘It's like he's blaming everything else as usual,' Toby said angrily. ‘Like when he used to blame me for everything.'

‘I know. He just won't take responsibility. It's so … so … frustrating.' My anger rose to the surface. ‘He's a selfish bastard and he can rot for all I care.'

‘What else does he say?'

I read on.

I know I'd been in the house, because I had burns. I reckon I tried to save them, but the cops would have none of it. They're corrupt too, you know. I ended up in hospital. I'm on all kinds of bloody drugs. I have no memory of your mum and the kids on that day.

What about Jesse, I wondered. Did he have any memory of shooting her?

‘Do you believe him?' Toby interrupted.

‘I don't know.' I put the letter down.

‘It doesn't make sense. It's like he's making it up so we'll feel sorry for him!'

‘Remember what those psychiatrists said in court.'

‘Not really. It was mostly gobblygook. Too many words I'd never heard before.'

‘Did you understand the post-traumatic stuff?'

‘More than the rest of the psycho stuff.'

‘That's why the jury said he was insane, you know
guilty, but not in control at the time. Everyone knew he killed them. They believed he wasn't in a normal head-space when he did it. Dad's experiences in Vietnam resulted in his over-medicating to treat an unrecognised disorder, plus using alcohol as a drug and it was like a chemical explosion waiting to happen. The violence and way he tried to control the family all the time was part of his post-traumatic stress syndrome.'

‘What about all the other times when he nearly killed us? What about when he used to bash Mum? What about when he used to tie me up or beat me with a stick? Was he insane then?'

‘I think so.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘When I think about it now, I think he's been insane all our lives. Maybe this post-traumatic stuff explains some things.'

‘He's not innocent.'

‘I know. Dad was violent in so many ways; you know, not just physical. I hate how he used to put us down all the time. I think he was jealous of Mum and us. How stupid is that? They said he also suffered deep paranoia.'