Authors: Margaret Laurence
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 unacceptable.
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.
Stacey thank you my dear but I can’t impose
No. You mustn’t feel like that. That’s – unrealistic. We want to have you. Naturally. Of course. There’s no question.
— Naturally. Of course. Oh brother. Why did I ever once feel that to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the
truth would be a relief? It would be dynamite, that’s all it would be. It would set the house on fire.
Stacey, I don’t know what to say. I would like to come and live here. I can’t deny that. But – it’s Mac.
How do you mean?
Matthew turns his face away from hers. It is Mac’s gesture and Matthew’s voice could almost be Mac’s voice at the moments of difficult telling.
I didn’t do very well by him when he was a boy.
Dad I don’t think he thinks that
He must. It isn’t easy for a minister’s children. Everyone expects them to be some kind of example. I see now that I expected too much of him. Strange – I could even see the unfairness of it then, from his point of view. But I never told him that. I wanted him to grow up with some strong background of faith. But he didn’t. The reason must be that I had so many doubts myself. I must have passed them on even though I never spoke of them.
I never knew you had any doubts at all. I don’t think Mac ever knew, either. Maybe it would have been better if he had known.
— And Matthew’s despair.
Oh no – that couldn’t have been better for him or his sister or anyone. One should be certain. A minister should be. If he isn’t, he must at least try not to put anyone else’s faith in jeopardy. That always seemed to me to be the least I could do. But with Mac I failed. Perhaps there is something contagious about doubt. He must have known all along about that essential flaw in me.
Dad you’ve got it all wrong
I’m afraid not, my dear.
Mac would have been relieved if he’d known you weren’t always certain. But he didn’t know.
Matthew hears her words but not their meaning. He has to continue in his own groove.
Stacey – I always wanted to talk about it to someone, but I couldn’t. I wish now that I had talked of it. Not to Mac, but perhaps to my wife. But she was – well, I don’t think she ever had any doubts about anything, so how could I? It would have weakened me so much in her eyes.
Maybe she wasn’t all that sure.
Oh yes, she certainly was. I used to admire her for it. She never needed the things that some people need. Her faith was very strong and
— And she didn’t like to be fucked. But not because her faith was very strong. Something else. Poor goddam her. Poor Matthew. Too late now.
Sh. It’s all right, Dad. Everything’s going to be all right. Listen, you rest here for a minute, until dinner’s ready, and I’ll go see Mac. Don’t worry.
She goes outside and calls Mac. When they are in the study, she hands him a gin and tonic.
Mac
Yeh? What’s the matter?
It’s your dad. He fell down on the stairs.
Oh Christ, what next?
He’s got glaucoma. Mac, we’ll have to have him here.
Stacey, we can’t. Where’s the room?
We’ll have to turn the study into a bedroom and build a study for you in the basement.
Great. Wonderful. You got it all figured out, haven’t you?
For God’s sake, then, what’s your suggestion?
Stacey I don’t want him here I can’t
You were the one who always said he had a right to walk in without knocking and that we should send the kids to Sunday school so as not to upset him and all that.
I know I know I know. Lay off, can’t you?
I’m sorry. Mac – what is it?
He looks at her as though they have never before met, as though she is the stranger on shipboard to whom he may possibly be able to relate his edited past.
I never bought what he was preaching about, but still, he was doing something, you have to admit it. He didn’t spend his life doing nothing.
— Like you? Is that what you mean? Mac, you can’t mean that. It isn’t true. What to say that’ll do any good?
Mac – he thinks he didn’t do well by you.
I’ll bet.
He does. He said so.
In the heat of the moment, maybe. Don’t kid yourself. He doesn’t think that. He thinks the other way around.
What do you think, yourself, about the boys, Mac?
What? What’s that got to do with it?
I just wondered. Because they quite often have the notion that they’ll never be as smart as you are. Especially Duncan.
They’ll learn differently.
Yeh? Thanks for reassuring me.
Mac dredges up a kind of laughter and puts an arm around her shoulders. Suddenly Stacey is filled with the knowledge of what it will mean to have Matthew in the house.
Mac – what’ll we do? It’ll be impossible. I just can’t
Well, as you say, there’s nothing else we can do. Hush, honey. It’ll be all right. We’ll manage. But I’ll have to use the
TV room as a study until we can get another room built down there. The kids will squawk like hell, I suppose.
Let them squawk. Mac –
They hold on to one another for an unpredicted moment. Then Stacey goes out to the hall and bellows at Ian and Duncan.
C’mon you guys! Is Katie home?
Katie’s voice floats down.
I’m here. And I’m not deaf – yet.
Stacey picks up Jen and plonks her onto the cushion-heightened chair in the dining room.
— A few more years of this life, God, and if I’m not dead or demented, I’ll have a hide like a rhinoceros. Odd – Mac has to pretend he’s absolutely strong, and now I see he doesn’t believe a word of it and never has. Yet he’s a whole lot stronger than he thinks he is. Maybe they all are. Maybe even Duncan is. Maybe even I am.
S
tacey still cannot decide whether to tell Mac about Thor or not. Mac has said nothing about the job since the evening of Thor’s party. Stacey vacillates inwardly for several days, being careful to keep outwardly busy. She takes the three younger children to the beach, does baking, writes letters, has Bertha in for coffee. She watches Mac covertly but cannot discover anything from his manner. He works just the same, grindingly. But one afternoon he comes home early. Jen and Stacey are in the back yard, Stacey dutifully spread out on the lawn, wearing her bathing suit, trying to gain more tan.
— I must be out of my mind. I don’t give the smallest damn whether I’ve got a tan or not. But every summer I do this, because it’s taken for granted that everybody wants a tan.
She looks up and sees Mac standing in the back doorway. His brush-cut has completely grown out now and his russet hair looks like himself once more.
Mac – what’re you doing home?
— Has he quit or been fired? Lord, please let it be that he’s quit, not the other.
Hi. I came to tell you something. C’mon inside, eh?
Stacey snatches up Jen and carries her, wriggling and protesting, into the house. Jen begins screeching, a piercing enraged voice which proclaims her intention of going on and on until Stacey takes her back to the garden. Stacey shakes her.
— Shut up shut up shut up you goddam little nuisance.
She has not said a word aloud, but she can feel her own anger mounting in direct proportion to her tension, assaulted eardrums and sense of apprehension about Mac. She pats Jen’s shoulders.
Hush, flower. It’s okay. Please, honey, please.
Jen
. Listen, if you don’t shut up, I’ll smack you, see?
— Oh God. Now she’ll roar forever. Why why is Mac home?
In the kitchen, Jen suddenly stops screaming, as unreasonably as she began. Mac is in the process of pouring two gin and tonics. Stacey looks at him in surprise.
Hey – what’s this in aid of?
He hands a glass to her and raises his own.
Guess what’s happened, Stacey.
What?