Elizabeth Dreaming
©
Denis Fitzpatrick, 2018
For Elizabeth Bell, my
One True Love.
Some of the
following stories were published at The Short Stories Club (www.shortstoriesclub.com)
and My God Complex has appeared in Tincture Journal, issue 14, and Great Expectations has appeared in Tincture Journal, issue 17.
Preface
This book is first
and foremost a celebration. It is a celebration of a young woman whom means
everything to me, my One True Love. Her name is Elizabeth Bell and for those of
you familiar with my fiction you will be also familiar with the story of
Elizabeth and I. For those of you not familiar, Elizabeth was my first
girlfriend but with whom I had to part as a result of my experiencing legal
insanity, of which she bore the brunt. Ever since parting from her, twenty-four
years ago, I have been wanting to get back with her, and pined for her every
single day, throughout the entire day, for those twenty-four years. But now,
thanks to Facebook Messenger, Elizabeth and I are in contact again, and I now
have everything that I want. She is not willing to physically meet me yet,
still being wary of me in light of the insanity I experienced, but that is perfectly
fine with me. Just as long as we’re together.
Thus, to celebrate being once more with
the woman I have asked to marry me, the first seven of these tales, with the
exception of Claude’s Mission, and A Small Window, have their characters’
first name of Elizabeth, and some of her traits. This I did so I could play
with Elizabeth in my imagination, and for no other reason. I had initially
decided to give most of the central characters in this book the name of
Elizabeth but quickly chose not to as doing so might interfere with the reader
suspending their disbelief. After all, or so I conjectured the reader thinking,
surely not so many people have the name of Elizabeth.
Lastly, and still keeping with those who
are not familiar with my fiction, most of the stories in this collection are
set in the land of Aus, which is Australia in a parallel Universe. I have
chosen this fictional location for the simple reason that if there are any
errors in the text, be they logical, scientific, historical, or whatever, then
the anomaly can be considered to be simply a property of this parallel land,
and not actually an error.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy the stories, and
when Elizabeth and I are married I will probably write another book for her.
Who am I kidding, everything I write from now on will be for her.
I love you very much too, Elizabeth.
Denis Fitzpatrick
Sydney
November 2018
Contents
Preface
Wandering Discovered Page 8
Never Again Page 15
A Saving Charity Page 23
Claude’s Mission Page 29
Finding Home Again Page 36
Richer Retire Page 44
A Small Window Page 49
My God Complex Page 55
An Unseemly Business Page 60 Unknowns Page 67
Great Expectations Page 73
Distinctly Shiva Page 82
Every Begging Night Page 89
For Old Times Sake Page 95
Seeking Paradise Page 102
Seeking Delusions Page 108
Papa Rainbow Page 116
Believing in Visions Page 123
An Impromptu Feast Page 130
Farewell Page 137
A Steady Interest Page 143
Intelligence Gained Page 149
My Dear Psychiatrist Page 155
A Very Quiet Guest Page 160
Bygones Beth Page 165
So Intimately Entwined Page 170
Help Page 173
In Being Noble Page 177
An Unexpected Sabbath Page 182
Henry Flower’s Page 187
A Perfect Mirror Page 193
Raising Fire Page 199
Discovered Page 203
Narcissus Loved Again Page 208
Thus Encapsulated Page 214
A Momentous Epiphany Page 217
Luna’s Grace Page 220
Mayhap Page 224
Something Terribly Wrong Page 229
Elijah Page 234
An Excellent Daughter Page 239
A Novel Thought Page 245
Beyond Their Will Page 249
Maria d’Israeli Page 254
About the Author Page 258
Wandering Discovered Page 8
Never Again Page 15
A Saving Charity Page 23
Claude’s Mission Page 29
Finding Home Again Page 36
Richer Retire Page 44
A Small Window Page 49
My God Complex Page 55
An Unseemly Business Page 60 Unknowns Page 67
Great Expectations Page 73
Distinctly Shiva Page 82
Every Begging Night Page 89
For Old Times Sake Page 95
Seeking Paradise Page 102
Seeking Delusions Page 108
Papa Rainbow Page 116
Believing in Visions Page 123
An Impromptu Feast Page 130
Farewell Page 137
A Steady Interest Page 143
Intelligence Gained Page 149
My Dear Psychiatrist Page 155
A Very Quiet Guest Page 160
Bygones Beth Page 165
So Intimately Entwined Page 170
Help Page 173
In Being Noble Page 177
An Unexpected Sabbath Page 182
Henry Flower’s Page 187
A Perfect Mirror Page 193
Raising Fire Page 199
Discovered Page 203
Narcissus Loved Again Page 208
Thus Encapsulated Page 214
A Momentous Epiphany Page 217
Luna’s Grace Page 220
Mayhap Page 224
Something Terribly Wrong Page 229
Elijah Page 234
An Excellent Daughter Page 239
A Novel Thought Page 245
Beyond Their Will Page 249
Maria d’Israeli Page 254
About the Author Page 258
Wandering Discovered
Elizabeth was very
pleased with her voices tonight, immensely pleased indeed. Only she was able to
hear this androgynous choir, and, maybe it was because it was the last night of
another hot, Sydney summer, 2016, but tonight they were being extra kind to
her. Never had they been so lavish in their attentions to her, and to only her.
But this boisterousness was also
detrimental. Their chatter was not only very, very loud, but constant, and had
been so for the past five hours, beginning soon after her dinner. Their raucous
chatter also, no doubt, was exacerbated by the constant coffees she’d been
downing for almost five hours straight. She had bought herself a small tin of
instant coffee from a nearby shop, soon after eating dinner, and after being
prompted to do so by the voices. She had found a cup and made the coffee with
cold water, which wasn’t actually too bad.
Elizabeth was now at the stage of her
immense caffeine high that she felt she must now do some drawing. Undoubtedly,
monumental art was imminent. But she had neither paper, pens, nor pencils.
Should she ask a nurse, at their station? Would they think it reasonable that
she remain at one of the kitchen’s tables, drawing, getting high on coffee, and
potentially making a disturbance(s)? Elizabeth had other restless nights during
previous admissions to this psychiatric hospital, Rozella, and the nurses had
never been complaisant with letting her stay up all night. Mind you, Elizabeth
had admitted herself here, so if any of the nurses refused her request she had
the option of checking out.
Elizabeth’s request was granted, but she
was told that she would be allowed to remain awake for only another half hour.
‘Why?’ asked Elizabeth, ‘I’m not
disturbing anyone. I’m just sitting in the dining room having a quiet coffee.
Or three.’
‘You’re indulging the voices, Elizabeth.
We’ve noted it. You’re not here to talk with the voices in your head. You’re
here to learn how to act rationally. You’ve another half hour. Use it well.’
‘What if I refuse? What you gonna do,
fuckhead, tie me down? Inject me with something to knock me out?’
‘Elizabeth, there’s no call for abuse.
We’re all here to help you. If you don’t go to bed in thirty minutes we’ll
transfer you to the locked ward.’
‘Go ahead, fuckwit.’ Elizabeth picked up a
scissors, behind the laptop on the nurse’s desk, and waved them at the nurse
threateningly. The nurse was the only one on duty in the station. The other
nurse who was supposed to be there was expected back in fifteen minutes, from a
‘personal emergency.’ ‘I’ll sign myself out now. Fuckwit.’
‘Fine, Elizabeth,’ replied the nurse. She
was not frightened, having encountered similar behaviour before. Which is sad
to relate, really. ‘But if you leave now you’ll never be able to return. The
other hospitals can take the risk.’
‘Sure thing, fuckwit.’ Elizabeth then left
ward 16, and was off the grounds of the hospital entirely in less than two
minutes. She walked briskly, inconceivably getting even higher on the caffeine
upon which she’d engorged. Which reminded her, have to get more coffee. When
she had indeed bought her coffee she almost instantly was able to catch a bus
back to her squat, in Newtown.
The voices continued loudly entertaining
her on the way home.
*
Elizabeth was not
surprised, at least not very surprised, to return to her squat and find two
young ladies on the couch. One had long red and green striped dreadlocks, piled
atop her head, and tied off with single, dreadlock that reminded one of eagle’s
feathers. Her companion had dreadlocks too, but they were short, and pink. Both
were dressed brightly, enticing Elizabeth’s interest in them.
‘Hi!’ began she of the longer hair, ‘I’m
Starfish, and this is my sister, Sandee. We’re buskers.’
‘Hi, I’m Elizabeth. Sorry, but I don’t
have any money for you.’
Starfish laughed briefly. ‘Well, that may
be better for you, See Sandee and I travel around Aus, busking. I play the
violin and Sandee’s on flute. We left our instruments upstairs, in a room that
seems unoccupied. We’ve always slept together in the same room. And if you let
us do so here we’ll provide all the food for the house while we’re here.
Which’ll be for about a month.’
‘And I’ve been called a great cook,’ piped
in Sandee.
‘So, can we stay, Elizabeth? Sandee’s
cooking has always pleased.’
‘And a lot.’
Elizabeth really didn’t need to think
about it.
‘Sure, you can stay. But how will you be
able to cook the food? There’s no electricity here.’
‘Sandee cooks better on a campfire.’
‘Honestly.’
‘Excellent!’ said Elizabeth. ‘Let’s all
cook up something to celebrate the deal.’
‘Let’s go shopping,’ suggested Starfish.
On the way to the shops Elizabeth’s voices
died out, replaced with a more tangible company.
*
Over the ensuing month
Sandee did in fact prove to be a really excellent cook, nay, a masterly chef.
The buskers were true to their word and kept the house in all manner of fresh
foods. They had a large, portable cooler that ran off a car battery, and Sandee
and Starfish had often mentioned that it made their vagrant, tenuous lifestyle
actually very sophisticated.
On their last night all together, for the
buskers had decided it was time to move on again, they decided to cook up a
whole duck. Sandee had never cooked duck before, but the extra challenge of
effectively doing it over a spit, was an ideal culinary challenge to the gifted
chef. And really, it should be pretty simple.
The resultant roast duck, although it
looked and tasted fine, if smelling a bit gamey, could be the only thing that
gave them severe food poisoning shortly after their banquet. It was so severe
that Sandee, just making it out the front door, passed out after being
violently explosive at both ends. They never did find out who was hale enough
to call the ambulance.
And
just as they had all got sick together, they all recovered at the same pace,
even to the point of each being given the all clear on the same day, nine days
after they’d been admitted to Royal Prince Alfred Hospital nearby to their
squat. But even though all of them were fine, they were not allowed to be
discharged. They were held there involuntarily because the Hospital Registrar
did not want to discharge them back to their unquestionably unsafe housing.
Such practice, of discharging the homeless back to the streets, had been common
at the hospital until only very recently. The change of protocol was brought
about by a former patient who was curious enough to enquire of a ‘no win no
fee’ lawyers whether or not such practice was legal. Upon investigation, this
patient was encouraged to file a Statement of Claim. The lawyers were running
the case ‘no win no fee’, and the hospital had learned to ask itself some
serious questions. Thus, the nursing staff had been informed to not discharge
those of NFA, No Fixed Address, but to transfer them to the Missenden Unit, the
psychiatric wing of the hospital. From there the homeless were farmed out
amongst the scarce hostels, but they always basically remained homeless.
The trio remained on the ward for only a short
time though. Their escape had been simple. They just walked out one day. Entry
and exit from the Unit was never monitored and the three were not noted missing
until an hour after dinner, during the usual patient count. The staff informed
police, and then forget about the matter. Others also desperately needed the
beds of the absconded.
After the three ladies reach Newtown on
the bus, Starfish suggested they plan things out outside the Neighbourhood
Centre. Elizabeth had decided to throw her lot in with theirs because they were
two fundamentally happy people. Elizabeth enjoyed partaking of their joy which
was so very natural, and boundless.
They all averred they did not want to be
locked up for refusing to pay rent to The Man, and none of them could be
induced to resume paying The Man his rent. They would all rather die first. So,
they quickly decided to invest in a group tent, and continue travelling Aus
together. Elizabeth’s contribution to the busking that paid for their food
would be too learn the bongos. Should be fairly simple.
Thus, they all soon learned they each had
enough to chip in for a large tent (they had all learned to keep their
smartphones charged via libraries, and hostels, and so could check their bank
accounts online) but it was well after five pm. They would get one tomorrow,
and tonight hunt out an abandoned house.
But Newtown has become chary even of them
and, after two hours of searching, they become trapped under the shelter of a
shop awning while a downpour suddenly raged, and promised to not let up for a
good long while. The ladies returned to the hospital, repentant, never having
been so destitute, when the shop awning collapsed from the torrents of rain,
narrowly missing striking Sandee on the head.
The bedraggled trio were taken back but
put straight into the locked ward. They were well and truly trapped now.
Accordingly they gave in to The Man and each agreed the next day to co-operate
with the hospital’s efforts to get them into safe housing. They each played
along just fine, never causing suspicion of duplicity. The hospital was
gracious enough to allow them to remain together, and when the trio were able
to present to the hospital a friend of Elizabeth’s whose mother had recently
died, leaving him a large house in fairly close by Ashfield which Elizabeth had
persuaded him to share with them, the hospital felt confident that they could
soon be discharged. When the official lease had been verified by the hospital,
three weeks later, they were released from the locked ward within an hour, and
reminded that their futures could only get brighter.
The trio did not make it to Ashfield
however. Virtually telepathically they had all decided to leave the hospital
and head straight for Central train station. On the way there they debated
which state to visit. They decided on the Northern Territory. Darwin was
supposed to be very relaxed and inviting.
Naturally, they were evicted from the
train north for not having tickets but the trio reached Darwin quickly enough.
They remain successfully busking their way around Aus and have refused The Man
his rent for around fifteen years now. At the time of writing, they are in
Tasmania, preparing for a trip to New Zealand. They fully expect to now
successfully busk their way around the world. Good luck to them.
Never Again
‘To trust people is a
luxury in which only the wealthy can indulge; the poor cannot afford it.’ E. M.
Forster, Howard’s End
When Elizabeth Wythers
completely lost her trust that life was a fundamentally positive and wholesome
experience, it was completely sudden and completely unexpected. In fact the
episode causing the loss is somewhat indelibly stamped upon her memory.
It was three years ago now, back in 2014,
and Elizabeth was nineteen and still living with her parents. On that day when
her life was changed she was in Newtown with her father, of a Saturday, with
her younger sister, Sally, two years younger than Elizabeth, and the opposite
of her in almost every way. They were sitting on a bench, off the main street
of King, having coffees before trying a new curry place for lunch. When they
had all finished them, Terry, their father, collected the cups to dispose of in
a bin a few metres away. The two sisters both saw a nearby wall, part of a
construction site, keel over, and they both saw it in slow motion. They saw
their father crumple under the load of bricks, like a wet, lifeless sack, and
automatically went to rescue him. Both ladies were somewhat in shock while they
scrambled for their father, assisted now by a few passers-by. They were all
able to clear the wreckage from Terry, and they all knew he must be dead from
the volumes of blood seeping from his crushed, exposed skull. His death was
confirmed by the ambulance that had arrived from nearby.
What Elizabeth found the most
incomprehensible about the whole tragedy was the fact that their family were
all good people, good, law abiding people who each contributed much to society.
So why was her father slain? He was the last person who deserved it. The world
must, Elizabeth concluded, simply be with neither sense nor purpose, and
utterly lacking of anything redeeming.
Elizabeth, though, eventually began
looking for an end to this meaninglessness, began to be on the lookout for
something that proved Reality couldn’t be darkened by just one tragedy. Her
natural brightness and her intelligence eventually made her realise that the
Universe probably hadn’t randomly picked her out in order to wreck her life.
Probably, though, was the key word; her roving eyes soon fell on Victor in her
search for a Reality that was not actually targeting her.
Victor visited his mother’s grave every
Sunday, at the same time that Elizabeth saw her father, smoking two joints
while she had a good natter with him. They were separated by a grave between
them. It was only natural then that they should talk to each other.
‘I’m still glad,’ said Victor, on their
second meeting, ‘that I was able to let her go gradually. She said the cancer
was painful but she had always been able to bear a lot. She must have been
right. I have a high pain threshold too.’
‘My father went suddenly. Just like that.
And I watched him die. At least, most of it, technically.’
‘How does that affect you?”
‘It just means life is the most unstable
thing imaginable.’
‘Mum always said we should always relish
our free will. It was proof of a deeper will.’
‘Dad was the president of his chess club.
They’d planned on re-electing him to a final term.’
The warm wind then whistled around their
private musings, and Victor was the first to leave. He returned the following
Sunday, again at noon, and asked her out, to show her that life not only goes
on, but gets better.
‘Sorry, Victor,’ she replied. ‘You’re
really nice, but . . . But . . . Sorry, Victor, I just can’t.’ Victor did not
push it, and they spent their usual time together by the gravesides, talking
mostly of their parents. When he left for the day he gave her his mobile
number, on a sheet torn from a notebook.
‘A notebook!” Elizabeth genuinely
exclaimed when he brought it from his left cargo pants pocket. ‘I didn’t think
people still carried them.’
‘I’m an old school writer.’ They parted
amicably, each sure to see the other at least in a week.
Naturally, Elizabeth would never need this
well-bred young man’s help and even she was surprised when, five weeks later
(each of them still meeting at their parents’ graves each Sunday at noon), she
considered availing of this aid when she learned that Centrelink, the Aus
federal welfare agency, had cut her off from her unemployment welfare for six
weeks, for her non-attendance at a Centrelink meeting. Being already seriously
behind with her landlord, and electricity bill, nothing in the pantry, needing
new boots, and some new clothes, could Elizabeth reasonably survive in the big
city of Sydney with absolutely no money? She could of course give up her
expensive Chardonnays and her ganja, but then life would be even more boring.
Homelessness, begging, and destitution seemed to be the only option.
Maybe Victor could help?
Victor could not help. Victor wanted to
help but he had a new girlfriend now, and his helping Elizabeth might cause
difficulties. Of course, it may not cause difficulties, but Victor’s new
girlfriend was an absolutely wonderful woman and he really did not want to take
any risks with her. At least at this stage.
Elizabeth now was utterly lost. It was
only by seeing a Salvation Army truck, passing her by after return from calling
Victor on a public phone, that she thought of applying to the various charities
for help. But none of them were of any real immediate use, except for free
food. Either way, destitution was approaching even closer.
Sitting on her sofa-bed that night, having
a bowl of noodles, she eventually accepted that she was ruined. After eating
she may as well a pack a bag and look for a park to sleep in. She did not wash
her bowl after dinner that night, and packed a bag for a life on the streets without
any qualms. She left without looking back.
On the way somewhere she passed her
landlord’s place. On the spur of the moment, hoping against hope, and knowing
full well that she had no chance, a very slim one at best, she entered his gate
and knocked on his door. He answered just as she knocked.
‘Ah, hello, Elizabeth!’ he said. He was a
jolly, avuncular type, who arrived here from Norfolk forty years ago with his
parents. ‘I’m just heading out to get some lettuce. Have you my rent, girlie?’
‘No,
Bill, I don’t. I’m sorry. Can I come in for a bit?’
‘Will it get me my rent, girlie?”
‘Maybe.’ He let her in, and sat her at the
kitchen table.
‘Would you like a cordial, Elizabeth? It’s
too hot for coffee.’
‘Yes, please.’
After her first sip of the too sweet
cordial she began the impossible.
‘Bill, Centrelink’s cut me off the dole,
for six weeks, and there’s no way I can pay rent until Centrelink pays me
again. If I pay all my rent owed, by six weeks after I’m paid again, can you
wait for your money until then?’
‘How will you get the cash? Your arrears
are large, girlie. Maybe too large.’
‘I’ll spend all my dole on the rent. The
Salvos can feed me and I’m going to try busking.’
‘What instrument do you play?’
‘None. But I’ve always had good rhythm so
I’m going to borrow a friend’s bongos.’
‘That all sounds a bit up in the sky,
Elizabeth. I know a simpler way.’ Bill then barked a short laugh.
‘What do I have to do?’
‘You like me, don’t you, girlie?’
‘You’ve been fair.’
‘You think I’m handsome?’
‘Fair.’
‘Well, then sleep with me, now and then,
and your rent worries are over. Forever.’ Again he barked a short laugh.
Elizabeth just picked up her bag and left,
first giving him the finger.
On the way to Redferne train station she
counted her money: $4.65. She had nothing in the bank. Well, at least it was
warm. She risked a free train trip to the city, deciding she would begin her
homelessness in Hyde Park. Sleeping, or so she conjectured and the train ride
to St James station, would really be no problem if she remained awake at night
and slept during the daylight hours, when it was warmer. Food likewise should
be no problem as she just had to beg about five dollars a day from whoever,
strangers, passers-by. Maybe ten dollars. Oh, and she would have to beg for her
wine. Had to be the good stuff though. And the pot? Maybe she would have to
quit that. She could get all her meat from the deli at a supermarket, as well
as maybe some tinned fish from the aisles, and her fruit and vegetables she
will get from a green grocer. That really only left somewhere to shower and
clean her teeth. Toilet facilities she would have to take on the go. At least
she had no more toilets to clean.
Her first night under the stars was
wonderful. She read under a nearby park lamp, and the Chardonnay was extra fine
that night. She did not miss the pot. She fell asleep at dawn.
*
‘Excuse me, missy!’
Elizabeth remained asleep.
‘Hey, missy! Get up! I’ve got some good news.’
Elizabeth turned her head to her right,
frowning.
‘Missy! I’ve got a job for you, if you
want.’
Elizabeth, head still turned to her right,
opened her eyes.
‘That’s right, missy. It’s honest work
too.’
Elizabeth looked at the man kneeling on
his haunches beside her. She sat up.
‘Who are you?’
‘Ron. I work for the Vinnies, for the last
thirty years in fact.’
‘What’s this about a job?’
‘It’s a sheltered workshop in Balmain. I saw you lying here and thought
you’d be eligible to apply. Here’s the address.’ Ron handed her a business
card.
‘Since we can’t pay much we put on a good
lunch for the staff every day. It’s a good place to work, community minded.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Of course. Well, hopefully we’ll see you
there soon.’ Ron then headed off into the brightening dawn.
Elizabeth, looked at the business name
again, Perfect Packaging, and snuggled deeper under her blankets. Was it a
worthwhile venture? It probably was. Sleeping rough was so far proving
unproblematic and with the free food she could very well be living like a queen
if she had a wage too. She would be foolish to refuse the offer.
But how to always be clean for work? She
had no idea where she could shower. She could not very well ask her boss to
shower at his place. And she needed somewhere to wash her clothes, keeping them
clean so as not be ostracised as a filthy beggar. She would also need an alarm
clock to get her to work on time.
No, it wasn’t worth it. Sure, the extra
money would be fine, but, really, all she had to do was live by her wits for
six weeks and then things will be more or less back to normal. Then she could
continue taking The Man’s welfare and doing her utmost not to promote his
greediness. Indeed, since she really did not need to pay rent, she would have
even more money to fight back against The Man. She would continue living this
free, unshackled life, and felt as if she had stumbled into a treasure trove.
Settling back to sleep, Elizabeth mentally
reinforced that never again will she be cut off the dole, never again will she
have to rely on others, and this she could only achieve by going into a
Centrelink office every day to see if any appointments had been made for her.
Well, every second day she should check. She was thus soon somewhere where she
always had money, and the rest of her desires were simply and easily fulfilled.
It promised to be a land she would forever wander through, revelling in her own
unique sentience through simple, homely pleasures. It’s a vision she gladly
awakes to each day now.
A Saving Charity
‘“Nobody’s life is
altogether a failure.’” Thomas Hardy, A
Pair of Blue Eyes
Yet again, Elizabeth
Brothers closed her eyes for the night, smiling, and wondering if her old, old
bones would wake her promptly in the morning. After all, she had important work
to do, very important. Indeed, since this important work involved raising
fragile children, Elizabeth had always felt that her charity work was also
societally significant and important. From the children’s point of view, she
was right. From the children’s point of view, old Miss Brothers was the
coolest!
Elizabeth had never had children of her
own, and when her doctor had told her after her second miscarriage, that a
third would be fatal to her, a lot of meaning went out of her life. She
realised then in the doctor’s office that she had always assumed she would have
her own sons and daughters, had always assumed she would mellow into old age
surrounded by a wonderful, well-adjusted family. That certain, basic,
subconscious belief was dashed now, irrevocably, suddenly, and completely.
Elizabeth, on the day she was told the
terrible news, did not continue on the drive home with her husband, Erik, but
went to a local park instead. She told Erik she was looking for Mother Nature.
She remained in the park the rest of the
day, a Saturday, and on Sunday evening she was in another park, in nearby
Surrey Hills. She had not gone home and Erik was already looking for her.
Luckily, it was the middle of summer so Elizabeth hadn’t needed a blanket while
sleeping on a park bench.
By Monday morning she had found Mother
Nature, who told her to enter the wilderness completely, reserving all her
monies for all those damaged children that must go on. Nature would provide,
both for her and for the children.
Elizabeth is old now, 72, and all of her
welfare monies, formerly her unemployment payments, and now her senior’s
pension, have gone to various children’s charities for a little over fifty
years. She also volunteers for Bernado’s, the New South Wales Department of
Community Services, and a few other places where children need a caring, concerned
presence. She always now falls asleep smiling at all those children she’s
rescued, and tonight was no exception.
*
Elizabeth could not get
up from her mattress the next morning for an hour. Her old body just refused to
co-operate, despite Elizabeth’s best efforts. So, lying there virtually
helpless, she wondered if she should sign in to a nursing home if she ever got
up again. After all, things were clearly that serious.
But no, the children needed her. Not only
that, but if she went in to a nursing home doubtlessly most of her pension
would go to the home. And then where would the poor children be? No, the
children are far more important, and if her life must be expended in their
care, then the Lord would be sure to reward and venerate her in the life to
come.
When she did eventually manage to rise
from the mattress in her squat, she looked back down at it again for several
minutes, pondering. Will she be so lucky tomorrow, alive, and able to work?
Quite possibly not.
She now, for one of the relative few times
in fifty years, thought about Erik, the husband she’d walked out on. Maybe he
could help? Maybe Erik could give her a few more years, protecting her while
the children still called? No harm in trying.
Thus, after a breakfast of a banana, a
muffin, and an orange juice, she began her way back to Erik’s, hoping that he
still lived in their old home. The children too must have hoped the same.
*
‘Elizabeth?’
‘Yes, Erik. It’s me.’
‘I’d recognise you anywhere, from any
distance. Come in, come in!’ Erik took his wife by the left elbow, and brought
her in.
‘I always knew we’d meet again,’ said
Erik. ‘Why did you leave? Surely we could have worked things out?’
‘I did work things out, Erik.’ They were
now in the sitting room, Erik having guided her to the sole armchair. ‘I still
think I’ve responded the best I could.’
‘About not being able to have a child?’
‘I only knew what I had when it was gone.
But then, I never really had it.’
‘So where have you been for fifty years?’
Elizabeth then told him of the life he’d
missed sharing, how she put all her energies, resources, time, into looking
after those who needed looking after the most.
‘Which now brings me to you, Erik.’
‘Yes?’
‘May I remain with you, continuing my
work? I know I have not long left alive, and I want to die at my work.
Otherwise it’s a nursing home, or an un-noted death.’
‘Of course, Elizabeth.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But I have a wife now. She must have a
say too.’
‘Any
children?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I am keen to meet her. What is her
name?’
‘Verity.’
‘I hope she likes me.’ They waited for
Verity, who was having her hair done, over a Sauvignon.
*
Verity, naturally, agreed
to let Elizabeth stay. She was familiar with the story of the ex-wife and felt
that, at their ages, blossoming, fervid romance was the last of their worries.
Elizabeth contributed greatly to the matrimonial harmony by being out of the
house most of the day, working with the children. Verity was very impressed
with Elizabeth’s charity work, and after a week of such, began chipping in the
odd toy, teddy bear, or something that she thought Elizabeth could give to her
charges. Verity had even written out a cheque for Bernado’s, not insubstantial,
but was waiting to bequeath it until Elizabeth fully proved she was as harmless
as she seemed.
Verity did soon, though, present this
cheque, but in circumstances she had not anticipated. She gave it to Elizabeth,
who was hospitalised after a fall at work had broken her right hip. She
gratefully accepted the cheque, despite the agonising pain of her hip (she had
refused morphine), but with the warning that she could not present it for a few
weeks, according to the doctor. She had been pronounced otherwise fit and
healthy by this doctor, and he fully expected that she could return home with
Erik and Verity in not too much time. In fact, the doctor foresaw a good few
more years ahead for the sweet Elizabeth yet.
Erik was unexpectedly distraught, feeling
like if he could die now then Elizabeth would be safe again. Instead, he
promised to continue her charity work, for which Elizabeth was so relieved that
she told him that it was actually easing her pain. So, he got the names of the
places where she worked, and, after some wee wrangling, she told him exactly
how much money of hers she gave to children’s charities each fortnight.
Elizabeth’s pain remained in remission while Erik assured her that the little
ones would not suffer because of her, and, after Erik and Verity left, she
easily drifted into a painless sleep, smiling.
*
Elizabeth was still
smiling when, the morning after Elizabeth received Verity’s donation to
Bernardo’s, her doctor pronounced her clinically dead. He was mildly surprised.
Her prognosis was good but obviously Elizabeth had other intentions. He wished
her the best wherever she was now.
Erik, once informed of Elizabeth’s
passing, instantly resolved to continue her work. By doing so he felt that
Elizabeth’s life had not been altogether a failure, that her personal tragedy
had led to an ultimate good. It was the only consolation available to him and
he brought Verity into the work. Who knows, maybe they could bring others into
the work too. It’s possible, thought Erik.
