Grace McCleen - The Land of Decoration

I got up and turned the tap off and took the flannel downstairs. Father was sitting at the table and the washing-up bowl was beside him. Mike was touching his eye with some cotton and Father’s head was going back whenever Mike touched him. I put the flannel on the table and Mike said: “Good kid. Your dad’s going to be as right as rain. Go and make us a cuppa, will you do that?”

I went to the sink and heard Mike say in a low voice: “You should have let me take you to the hospital.” Father said something back and spat into the bowl.

I brought two cups of tea in and put them on the table, but Mike seemed to have forgotten he wanted them. He finished bandaging Father’s eye and said: “Lift your shirt,” and when Father did, I saw blood on his stomach and a red mark that looked like the sole of a shoe.

Father put his hand to his eye and touched it. He took it away then touched it again, as if he had forgotten he had done it the moment before. When Mike had finished bandaging him, Father lay on the sofa. His face was white and his arms and legs lay any old how like a rag doll. Mike said: “I’ll call on you tomorrow after work with some groceries.” Father raised his hand but Mike said: “John, I’m telling you, not asking,” and Father let his arm fall again. Mike said: “For once you’ve got to give in and let someone else take over.” Then he put his arm round my shoulder and squeezed. Then he said: “See that he doesn’t get into any more trouble, will you, Fred?”

Then he said in a different voice: “He’s going to be all right, Judith; your dad’s a toughie.” But Father didn’t look tough. He looked dead.

THERE WAS NO sound in the room. Beyond the window, street light spilled over the black garden and the broken cherry tree. My jaw was too tight to speak. I said in my head: “It’s because of Neil, isn’t it? It’s because of what I made happen to him.”

“An eye for an eye,” the voice said. “A tooth for a tooth. A life for a life.”

I began to cry. “But Father isn’t dead,” I said. I began to shake, my whole body. “ Why didn’t You protect him?”

God said: “My ways are unsearchable.”

I said: “It’s convenient being unsearchable, isn’t it?”

WHEN I CAME downstairs the next morning Father was in front of the Rayburn. That day he got up to get dinner and that was all. I asked: “Shall I call May or Elsie to help?” but he shook his head.

The next day he sat in front of the Rayburn again. He hadn’t shaved and he hadn’t changed his clothes and he didn’t seem to have slept much, because his eye—the one I could see—was bloodshot.

I couldn’t ask him if he was going to phone Uncle Stan without letting him know I had heard the conversation, but when he unplugged the phone I felt shaky and said: “What if we need to call anyone?”

“We plug it back in.”

I was pleased because now Mrs. Pierce wouldn’t be able to get through, but I was worried that Father wasn’t going to phone Uncle Stan. “But he will,” I said to myself. “Now that Neil isn’t knocking anymore, he’ll calm down. He’ll make the phone call to Uncle Stan anytime now,” and all that day I didn’t go far from Father in case he made the call when I wasn’t there.

Over the next few days, the rest of Father’s body turned all shades of blue and yellow, and green. A doctor came and looked at his eye and said Father was lucky, that he wasn’t going to lose it but that he should have gone to the hospital. Mike came by every day after work and sat with Father. On Thursday he left an envelope on the table, and Father saw it as Mike was going out the door and told me to run and give it back to him, but Mike wouldn’t take it.

The days were long without school. I wrote in my journal. I fed my mustard seeds some Baby Bio that Mrs. Pew gave me. I didn’t dare touch the Land of Decoration. One morning I was so tired of nothing happening with the mustard seeds that I dug them up and spread the soil out on a plate and tried to find them. The ones I did find looked exactly the same as when Brother Michaels gave them to me.

I went round to see Mrs. Pew a bit. She showed me photographs of her and Mr. Pew on a tandem and taught me how to play “Chopsticks” on the piano and I held Oscar in a blanket while she gave him his worming tablets, but all the time I had a pain in my stomach thinking about Father, and though I was glad to get out of our house, I was more glad to get back.

He slept or sat with his eyes closed—in front of the grill, I wasn’t sure which. He didn’t say: “Don’t slam the door,” and didn’t say: “Are you playing with that food or eating it?” and didn’t notice when I was loud, which I was on purpose, just to test him. His eyes passed over things as if he didn’t recognize them. He went to bed at eight o’clock. When I came down in the mornings, he was still sleeping. All he did was get up to make tea or stare at the open mouth of the grill, with its black tongue and the black space crusted with char and the black elements, as if there was some great secret in there.

We ate potatoes and bacon or sausages every night. I cooked them, because Father said I could, and didn’t get them right once, but he didn’t notice. There was no more praying and no more reading the Bible and no more pondering, though I did enough pondering for both of us. On Sunday, Father took his eye patch off and began reading the newspaper, so after dinner I took away the plates, then fetched the Bibles. I said: “We’ve been forgetting.”

Father looked at the Bible for a few minutes, then sucked in breath through his nose, as if he was waking. He said quietly: “I can’t do this right now, Judith.”

I felt a flash of heat as though I was falling. “But it’s important!” I said. “It’s Sunday and we didn’t even go to the meeting! We haven’t done the study for ages!”

Father raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “I can’t get my head round it at the moment, Judith.”

It made me feel terrified when he said that. I said: “What do you mean ?”

“I just need … a bit of space.”

“ Space? ”

He sighed. “Sometimes things are too complicated for children to understand.”

“I can understand,” I said. “Tell me!”

But he got up and sat with his back to me.

“Well, I’m going to read,” I said. “I’ll read for both of us.”

Father said loudly: “I don’t need anyone to read to me!” I thought for a minute he was going to get angry, but the look left his face as quickly as it had come and he said: “I just need some peace.”

I did read, and it was all about the Nephilim and the flood and how God destroyed everything. Because it was such a long time since we’d done the reading I’d forgotten where we were and began reading wherever I opened the Bible, which happened to be Genesis, though the flood wasn’t a very good subject at all, and I wished I’d never started halfway through. I was glad—though astonished—when Father interrupted and said: “Do you fancy fish and chips?”

“What?” I said.

“I said, would you like some fish and chips?”

I wondered if this was some sort of test, but he kept looking at me, and he didn’t look like he was trying to trick me, he only looked incredibly tired.

“Yes,” I said at last.

We put on coats and walked through the rain down the hill to Corrini’s. It was the first time Father had been out of the house, and he kept pulling his coat collar higher and shivering.

He blinked beneath the lights in Corrini’s and people stared at him. He said: “Cod and chips please” and the woman dug into the metal tray, filled the cone, wrapped it, and said: “Three pounds.” She had to wait to use the till and while she was waiting, the man using it looked up at Father, then back down again.