‘I think I’ll stay. I think Maman needs someone.’
‘How long?’
‘I’ve subcontracted my last week of teaching for the term and then it’s vacation. I’m thinking I will fly Callum over and spend the summer here. I can carry on with my writing and Maman would enjoy getting to know him better.’
‘Really, I am the one who should be staying – after all, he’s my father.’
‘Oh, so you think he’s not my father too? For Christ’s sake…’
‘You know what I mean…’
‘I do know what you mean, but it doesn’t make the slightest difference…’
‘Hey, chill. I didn’t mean to upset you. I think it would be good if you stayed. I would like to but it’s just not possible…’
Exactly why it was not possible, Marianne was unsure, given all the resources at her sister’s disposal, but she said nothing more on the subject. She knew it wouldn’t work for them both to stay and she had already decided she would be the one to see her father through to the end.
They had been warned that the operation would be lengthy so they didn’t arrive at the hospital till midday but it was a shock to find that the surgery was still on-going. Two hours later the surgeon came out to announce that the operation had been a success – though his ashen face didn’t reflect the optimism of his words. He explained that the severity of the operation meant that the patient would be kept sedated and breathing through a ventilator until the following morning. Since it was only possible for one person to stay Marianne and Claire prepared to leave their mother and return the next day.
It was something about the expression on her mother’s face which alerted Marianne.
‘Are you sure you’re OK to stay, Maman?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
Marianne looked at her sister. ‘One of us could stay if you prefer?’
‘Sure,’ said Claire, looking far from enthusiastic.
Marianne turned back to her mother who looked away, muttering, ‘I think it really should be me.’
A polite argument ensued, broken finally by Marianne’s insistence that she would stay and the others could return early the next day to be there by the time he woke.
In retrospect Marianne rather wished she had not been the one to stay. She would never forget the moment her father began to regain consciousness. It was earlier than she had been led to expect – before six o’clock – and the duty nurse had just left the room, when her father started to cough. His face – pale but calm under sedation – began to turn crimson and as he opened his eyes his face took on a look of such terror that for a moment Marianne was unable to act. It was the heart monitor – now beeping at an alarming rate – that finally sent her screaming for the nurses. It seemed to take forever, while her father coughed and writhed in obvious agony, but eventually they removed the ventilator. For Marianne, it was incredibly distressing even to witness the scene; she could only imagine what it must have been like for her father.
15
It was over an hour’s drive from her parents’ village to the hospital in Burlington and Marianne and her mother took it in turns to visit. Sometimes Callum, taken out of school early and now in Vermont with Marianne, would come too. The visits were not getting any easier. The more Marianne tried to comfort her father the more it felt as if he was trying to push her away. His physical pain seemed to be getting worse and this in turn was setting up an emotional barrier she couldn’t penetrate.
‘You don’t have to come every day,’ he would say.
‘I don’t. I take it in turns with Maman.’
‘Either of you.’
‘We want to see you.’
‘I can’t imagine why…’
‘Papa…’
‘…such a disgusting wreck. It might be better if you came less…’
‘I love you, Papa.’ She reached out for his hand. ‘I know I haven’t been around enough since I left home but I want to be with you now. Just let me sit here – you don’t have to talk.’ She watched as her father turned away from her and screwed up his eyes, his pale thin lips clenched together. It’s his pain, she thought, he wants to be alone to cope with his agony, but when she queried his obvious pain with the hospital she was told – not for the first time – that he was not yet ‘due’ his next medication.
Marianne also saw it as her role to keep up her mother’s spirits. Often she would try to steer the conversation away from her father’s illness and reminisce about some happier times in the past, but this was not proving easy as her mother gradually retreated into herself and became increasingly unwilling to engage in anything beyond the most mundane conversation. Marianne had imagined long intimate evenings with her mother during which she might be able to piece together some of the missing episodes in her early life. She might even – she imagined – persuade her mother to open up about her wartime experiences and Marianne’s biological father. He must have been a German or else surely Maman would have been more open about it; but who cares now – who would blame her, here in America, fifty years after the end of the war? I will have another go at her tonight, she resolved.
Back in her parents’ house Marianne watched as her mother prepared a dish of duck with a sweet cherry sauce for their dinner. Callum had been tired so she had fed him early and let him go to his room. She poured a glass of wine for them both and said, ‘Maman, will you tell me something about my biological father? I mean, you’ve never even…’
Her mother’s reaction had been sharper even than she had expected. ‘Your father is the man lying in hospital in Burlington.’
‘Of course, but…’
‘You don’t need to think about any other father.’
‘I don’t understand why you can’t even tell me…’
‘You were conceived during the war; that much you already know. You never knew the man and he never knew you. You don’t need to concern yourself about it. Please don’t ask me again.’
Marianne put down her glass and left the room in frustration. She went to Callum’s bedroom, sat down on the bed and gave him a big hug. Honestly, she thought, my mother treats me like a child. So ridiculous.
‘Mum, I’m trying to watch this,’ said Callum, wriggling from his mother’s embrace. Marianne got up. She didn’t approve of television in the bedroom – still, this was only a temporary treat for him. Right, she thought, if Maman won’t talk to me about my father, there is another subject on which I need an answer and I won’t let her off the hook on this.
Back in the kitchen Marianne helped her mother peel and slice vegetables, then she said, ‘Maman, you know all my life I’ve had this vision, this apparition – I wouldn’t really call it a dream – it’s a child’s face, and it seems to be accusing me and then it fades away. It doesn’t sound like much but it’s not just the face which I see, but the nausea – terror, even – which invariably come with it.’
‘I remember you had bad dreams, but I thought you had got over them.’
‘Well, I haven’t. Do you know why I see this face?’
‘I always assumed it was the boy next door – you used to play with him. I think you were missing him.’
‘Missing him?’
‘After they moved.’
‘Are you keeping something back about this, Maman?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why did they move away?’
‘I don’t know – perhaps after the boy drowned…’
‘He drowned? Christ, you never told me that.’
‘Didn’t I? Well, it happened when you were quite little and then they moved to another village.’
‘What was the boy’s name?’