The Sunflower Forest (28 page)

I didn’t know why I was so mad. It was like the earlier conversation with Paul about dogs. I hadn’t meant that to happen either. I didn’t think I really cared so passionately about not having a dog. If I did, most of the time I hadn’t been aware of it. But at just that instant, when talking with Paul, the dog I’d never gotten seemed at the root of all life’s problems. It was the same way now.
The Lark Ascending
wasn’t such an illogical choice. It had been Mama’s favourite music. No denying that.

But I didn’t want it played.

That music made me see Lébény and the gardens of the estate and the mill pond and the gazebo. One section sounded almost like a folk dance, and when I heard it, I always visualized shadowy, faceless men and women wearing white suits and flowered dresses, like the rich people in
The Great Gatsby
. They were beautiful and golden dream people, the way I pictured Mama to be in her childhood, before
Lebensborn
and Ravensbrück and the war. I could not bear the thought of losing those images and remembering
The Lark Ascending
only as music from my mother’s funeral.

But there was another part of the piece also, the first part, which I suspect was what Elek was always playing. The later, folksy interlude was orchestrated, but this first part was for violin only. It was a heartbreakingly beautiful solo, the musical ascent of the lark, haunted and lonely, before the verdant tones of the other instruments joined in. Listening to it as a child, I had always counted the seconds, like sheep, waiting for the desolate courage of the violin to be swallowed up by friendlier sounds. Even more than losing the imagery of the graceful dancers, I could not bear to have Mama leave me in the company of that violin.

But I found no way to explain to my father or my sister what the music did to me. I was without words for it. So, hands in my pockets, I stood alone and stared out the front door.

T
he funeral was on Friday morning. So Megan did not go to the dentist’s after all. As I was sitting on my bed that morning and putting on my panty hose, I wondered if Dad had remembered to phone Dr Thompson and tell him Megan wasn’t coming; then I was horrified to find myself thinking about such a stupid thing on the morning we were burying my mother.

We rode to the funeral home in a black limousine, my first ride in such a car. I touched the supple leather by the door and watched the scenery pass by, reflected in the chrome.

Once there, Auntie Caroline, Dad, Megan and I sat apart from the main room in a small alcove. I had to lean forward to see the other mourners.

There weren’t many people. Mr Hughson and several of the men from the garage were there. Mr Hughson had on a suit and tie, and his dark hair was slicked straight back; I almost didn’t recognize him, he looked so different. I couldn’t remember the names of most of the men with him. I had only met them a few times. But I saw Bobby was there. Bobby was Mr Hughson’s nephew. He was slightly retarded and had a sweet, anxious face, the sort you see so commonly on people who know they are superfluous. He helped Daddy under the cars sometimes, but mostly he ran errands and made coffee for the other men. I saw Mr and Mrs Reilly, our next-door neighbours, in the second row. Farther back was the checkout lady from the supermarket. Sitting alone way in the back was Paul. I thought at first he must have skipped history again but then, noticing that he was wearing a suit, I realized he must have skipped the whole morning. The only other person there was the police sergeant, the one with the terrible compassion. He saw me looking, and he smiled. Not knowing what else to do, I smiled back.

What Mama would have thought of the funeral, I couldn’t imagine. I don’t think she would have wanted a service at all, if she’d been given a say in the matter. Mama wasn’t one for ceremonies.

The funeral director had chosen to use
The Lark Ascending
and, as I feared, he chose the violin solo. The man who played it I had never seen before. He stood at the front of the room and coaxed the music from the violin very slowly, his eyes closed. He was small and thin and looked foreign to me, like someone from southern Europe. Or maybe he was Jewish. I hoped he was; that would have made Mama happy. With a lover’s touch he drew the notes from the instrument and, trapped in that small room, the thin sound grew achingly sad. I expected to cry then. Megan and Caroline and my father were crying. But I sat, separate and dry eyed and desperately lonesome for Mama, who had left me here and gone away.

Although my father had tried to keep religion out of the ceremony, he hadn’t been entirely successful.
The Lark
Ascending
had replaced the hymn. A reading from William Shakespeare’s
The Tempest
had replaced Bible verses. But the man who conducted the service still invoked the name of God. As I listened to him, I wondered what Mama’s real beliefs had been. I didn’t know. It was religion she held in such contempt, but whether or not she thought there was still something or someone responsible for ordering the universe is hard to say. My mother tended to be very vocal about a few things, and it made you believe she was saying a lot, which, I suspect, was what she wanted. But in fact, I think most of her thoughts she kept to herself.

The worst part for me was discovering the casket was open. Dad hadn’t told me it would be, and I was repulsed by the sight of it. Why would people want to look at Mama when she was dead? Besides, it didn’t even look like Mama. It looked like one of those figures in a wax museum, exceptionally lifelike, but sterile and inanimate, nonetheless. Megan kissed her on the lips and placed a branch of lilac beside her. I didn’t touch her.

When we returned home, I got out of the car, went into the house, straight through it and out the back door into the yard. I walked to the other end of the backyard, to the fence beside the lilac bushes that marked the end of our property. I had no reason in mind for going there other than to escape Megan and my father’s inane conversation. I wanted to be alone. There weren’t many places around our house for doing that.

I was still dressed up, teetering uncertainly in a pair of Auntie Caroline’s high heels because I didn’t own a pair myself. Over my dress I had the turquoise shawl Mama had given me, the only time I had ever worn it. It’d been the single bright colour amid blacks and browns and greys. But I reckoned Mama would have wanted me to wear it, so I didn’t care what Auntie Caroline said to Dad about it.

There wasn’t much to look at from where I was standing. Just the chain-link fence, the alley and the back of the Nelsons’ house on the other side. Distantly, between farther houses I could see the plains encroaching, their emptiness never quite arrested, even in the town.

Easing out of the heels, I stood in my stockings and felt the damp coolness of grass on the soles of my feet. The air was heady with the smell of lilac. It made me think of Mama’s stories of Lébény, about her sister, Johanna, who had died of scarlet fever while my mother waited downstairs in the great hall, surrounded by the scent of lilac. I wondered if Mama ever stopped to think that she too might die when the lilac was in bloom. Sad, I thought, that she should have died in springtime when all the flowers she had missed so much in winter were finally alive. But in the end I suppose it was best that way, to die in spring and never know another winter.

Time passed and I remained, fingering the chain-link fence.

‘Lesley, why don’t you come into the house?’ It was Auntie Caroline.

‘I don’t want to,’ I said. ‘I’d rather be alone.’

‘No, come on, honey,’ she replied and put her hand on my shoulder. ‘I know how hard it must be for you.’

‘Please, just leave me alone. I want to stay here.’

‘I’ve made sandwiches,’ she said.

‘I’m not hungry.’

I could hear her standing there, although she was doing no more than standing. I didn’t turn to look at her.

‘It’s no one’s fault, what happened.’

I did not answer.

‘It’s easy to want to blame someone or something or yourself when a truly terrible thing happens. That’s natural. But you mustn’t do it. Don’t do it, Lesley. Don’t be angry now. This is devastating your father. Please don’t make it worse for him.’

Absently, I ran my hand back and forth along the cool metal in the fence.

‘Your mother was a very hard person to live with, Lesley. I know you loved her dearly. I know you all did. Cowan most of all. But she was a difficult person.’

‘Leave me alone, all right?’ I still had my back to her.

‘Maybe she was a difficult person all her life. Maybe even in Hungary when she was a girl. Who knows? But she certainly was after the war. A brilliant, gifted, sensitive woman, yes, but so difficult.’

‘I don’t need you to tell me about my mother, Auntie Caroline. I know all about my mother. I don’t need you to tell me.’

‘Someone needs to, Lesley. You’re no longer a child.’

‘I know all I need to know, thank you.’

‘But this isn’t your father’s fault. I don’t want to see you blame him for it, because he wasn’t responsible. If he’s to blame for anything, it’s simply for having loved someone a little more imperfect than the rest of us.’

I shut myself in my room. After changing my clothes, I took out the book I had been reading, curled up on my bed and opened it. It was a good book. It must have been, because I found it so engrossing.

Megan came to my door to say that supper was on. I told her I didn’t want any, that I wasn’t coming down. When she tried to open my door, I leaped up and slammed it shut on her, hitting her soundly in the head with it. I could hear her in the hallway, gasping from the pain but determined not to give me the satisfaction of hearing her cry. Finally, she went back downstairs to the kitchen.

Sometime mid-evening my father came up. He didn’t bother to knock; he simply let himself in and closed the door firmly behind him. Crossing the room, he grabbed the chair from my desk, put it alongside the bed and sat down.

‘Somehow,’ he said, ‘I get the feeling you’re awfully upset with me.’

‘Not especially.’

I continued to read.

‘This is a difficult time for us, Lessie.’

Not only was I able to continue reading but I was also able to continue concentrating on the gist of the story.

‘This has been nearly unbearable.’

It was as if he were not there.

‘And I must confess, this just isn’t the time I need you to do this to me, Lesley.’

‘I’m not doing anything,’ I said and kept reading.

For several seconds my father watched me. I could feel him watching me. Then he leaned over and put his hand across the page of the book. I looked up. He was only inches from my face.

‘If you really must know,’ I said, ‘I do think if you’d wanted to, you could have saved her.’

He flinched. Not in his body, but in his eyes. His pupils contracted and then dilated again. He shook his head.

‘You could have,’ I said.

‘No.’

‘Yes sir. Yes, you could have. If you’d really wanted to. If you’d ever really tried.’

Again he shook his head.

‘You could have moved us, Dad. Like we were thinking about in the winter anyhow. We could have gone to New Mexico or Florida or somewhere and gotten away from the Watermans.’

He was still shaking his head. ‘No. She wouldn’t have gone.’

‘You could have made her. Or you could have gotten her to go to a psychiatrist earlier. Why didn’t you do that? Remember, back in March I was saying maybe she ought to see a doctor. Remember? You could have made her go.’

He looked down.

‘Geez, Dad, it would have been better if she’d been put in a hospital or something. I know she was scared. But she could have gone in the hospital for a little while and gotten over this, and we could have had her back. If you love somebody, sometimes you got to do things they don’t want you to. Anything would have been better than what happened. You should have done something.’

‘Lesley, I couldn’t ever have made your mother do what she didn’t want to do. Never. No one could.’

‘You could have
tried
! You could have stood up to her. Just for once. You could have made her see the truth about things. She would have believed you. Not me or Megan or some doctor, but she would have believed you. Of course she was scared of psychiatrists and policemen and being locked up. I
know
she was. And I know perfectly well how come. But someone needed to force her to understand that you can’t do what she was doing, that even in America they’d come and get you, if you acted like that. You never explained things clearly enough to her. And she would have listened to you.’

‘And you think I didn’t try? You really believe that?’

Silence fell between us. I’d made him angry. His anger flared up and then died down all within the space of that silence. At last he lowered his head, put the end of one fist to his mouth and blew out a long breath. Wearily, he shook his head.

‘Lesley, you’ve got to understand how much I loved your mother. She was all the world to me. From the moment I met her. I loved her more than I ever thought it was possible to love another person. She was such an incredible individual. So unusual. So vibrant. Lesley, I’m not like that. I’m very ordinary. Loving her was the only exceptional thing I’ve ever accomplished with my life.’

A moment’s stillness followed.

‘But, honey, your mama was very much her own person. She controlled her own life. She always did. I never possessed her and I don’t think anyone could.’

He raised his eyes to me. ‘I took her away from all those things that happened. That was all I could do for her. I took her away and I tried to keep her as safe as I could. I’ve spent all my life keeping her safe. I don’t regret it, but it has been my whole adult life.’ There was another small pause. ‘So, do you think I haven’t asked myself all those questions already? Do you think I don’t feel bad enough about what happened without your help?’

I picked up a bit of lint off the bedspread.

Finally, I shrugged. ‘I’m just saying that I think you should have done more then you did, that’s all. You didn’t face up to things, and they were obvious. I kept saying we needed to do something. I kept trying to make you see that we couldn’t just let her go on doing whatever she wanted.’

‘Hindsight’s 20/20, Les. But what’s in front of us at the time we don’t have a script for. I was doing the best I could.’

‘You were
doing
nothing.’

He sighed very deeply and turned his head away toward the window. I could tell he was being consumed by the same sort of taut, desperate anger as I was. I wished suddenly that he would shout at me, that he would scream at me and I could scream back. But he didn’t and the anger stayed cold and restless between us.

‘You have to understand that your mother did have some serious problems.’

‘I don’t need to hear about Mama’s problems. Auntie Caroline’s already told me all I want to know about Mama’s problems today.’

‘What I’m trying to say, Lesley, is that I’ve lived with your mother for over thirty years, and that’s a long, long time to get to know someone in. And in those years I saw her in so many ups and downs, in so many good moods and bad, in what I thought was every conceivable situation – including all the other traumas over Klaus that we had. But Les, I still was not her. I still was not inside her head, thinking her thoughts, feeling her emotions. She did have some real problems; you cannot deny that. And she had some difficulties that you just couldn’t work your way around. But she was a good woman. For all her troubles, she was a good person. And there was never one thing in her character that had ever made me believe she’d go out and do what she did. Holy God, Lesley, of
course
I would have done more, if I had thought that, if I’d even had the slightest inkling of it. Of course, I would have. But the thing is, I never even dreamed of it.’