Miscarriages Chapter 13. The way I treated father

13. The way I treated father 

“James?”

“My name’s Chooka.”

“It says James here on your record. See? James Henderson, Blue Platoon. The jolly fellow, freckled face, carefully combed red­dish fair hair, a small wave coiffed in front. Just like the Beaver’s hair in Leave it to Beaver.

James struggled to open his eyes. Morphine persists long after it has been injected. It’s the eyes that go first and that come back last.

“Open your eyes, you mug!”

“Fuck off!”

“Sounds like you’re coming back to life, the old Chooka I knew!”

Chooka struggled to open his eyes, felt vague aches down below. One leg raised above the other, perched on a large soft pillow.

“Your Dad sent me. He couldn’t get away.”

“Which fuckn one? I’ve got two you know.”

“What kind of bullshit is that? The drugs are talking. Wake up and look at me, you bugger.”

“Two. There’s the dead one and the live one.”

“Stop putting it on, Chooka. Open your eyes.”

Chooka felt around down below. He spread his hand out carefully and took a very large handful of softness, jiggled it around. It all was there. “They took me leg off, didn’t they?”

“Chooka. Open your eyes. It’s me!”

“My fuckn leg! They cut it off! I’ll have a wooden leg, just like the poor bugger at the pub.”

“Chooka! You’re all there, although I’m not sure if you’re all there inside that silly head of yours. Wake up! Bugger you! Your dad sent me. He’s got you a job.”

“I’m in the army. I don’t need a job. Fuck off!”

“Jimmy, mate, it’s Grimesy. Paul Grimes. Come on!”

“Grimesy? Shit! I don’t believe it? Where are we? How’d you get here?”

Chooka opened his eyes, his large lids fluttering over the almond shaped eyes that Kate and Iris so loved. He let go the handful and extended his hand from under the covers. Grimesy took it and squeezed it hard. “You’re in the Royal Melbourne Hospital, the one just down the road from where you and me and Kate used to get it on. That make you feel better?”

“Gees, Grimesy. I’m sorry. I should have known. It’s the mor­phine or whatever it is they give you.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Nah, nothing to speak of.”

“Your Dad asked me to pop in. He’s on his way up here. He thought it would be good if I came in first.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Your auntie Connie. She kicked it.”

“Yair? What happened?”

“They found her in the kitchen. Heart attack, they think. Hap­pened a week ago.”

“Too bad. He sent you here to tell me that? I mean, it’s not like she was my mother, not that it would have made any difference anyway.”

“Jimmy. We don’t want to talk about that. And I don’t think your dad wanted to either.”

“You mean Mr. Counter. I don’t know if he’s my dad or not. He says so. I don’t know.”

“I think he probably is, after all he’s told me. Anyway, you might as well go along with it. He’s a good bloke.”

“Yair, he’s all right I suppose. He’s helped me a lot, but he keeps interfering with my life.”

“That’s what fathers do, isn’t it?”

“You’re beginning to sound like Kate. Has she been talking to you?”

“No. Haven’t seen her in ages.”

“She got married didn’t she?”

“So I heard. And good luck to her. She did it with that silly old bugger Pulcher. What a laugh! Lots of money though, and he has a great house. I saw it when I went to the wedding.”

“You were at the wedding? How come she didn’t invite me?”

“You were in Vietnam.”

‘“But I saw her before I went to Vietnam.”

“Really? Well, that must be because they officially got married a few months before they actually had the wedding. But I don’t know, Jimmy. It doesn’t matter, does it? You wouldn’t have gone to the wedding anyway, would you?”

“S’pose not. I don’t know.”

“You heard anything of Iris?”

“No. You still carrying a torch for her?”

“She’s all I ever had, really. I got nothing else. Except my army mates, and that’s good. I tell you, these Asian women…”

“You better stop there, Jimmy.”

“It’s Chooka.”

“Yes, Jimmy, I know. But I’ve always called you Jimmy, and it’s staying that way.”

“So, what’s Mr. Counter got lined up for me this time?”

“A job.”

“I’m not going back to the old pub. For one. Two, I’m staying in the army.”

“I’m told you’ll be discharged after you get out of here. You’re no good to them any more with one and a half legs.”

“What? They told you that?”

“Not exactly, but it’s what they meant. You’ll get a decent pen­sion and a scholarship to the uni if you want it.”

“Fuck the uni. It’s not the place for me.”

“That’s what we all thought.”

“Who’s that then?”

“Me and your dad, and I talked with Kate too. And there was a Pastor too, some bloke from the Church of Christ on Swanston street. He was really upset. Reckoned you were tricked into signing up by some recruitment officer.”

“So I’m just supposed to do what you all have decided for me?”

“We’re trying to help you. Jimmy. You’ve had a rough trot.”

“Well I don’t want to be helped. I’ll find myself a job.”

“It’s head barman at the Newmarket Hotel.”

Chooka turned away and winced as he pulled on the muscles of his wounded leg, and quickly rolled back again to face Grimesy. “Newmarket? That’s near the stockyards, isn’t it?”

“Yes. A great place. Famous footballers go there and I hear a lot of racing blokes. Bookies too. Near Flemington racecourse. Sounds like just the place for you.”

“So you say. I’m tired. Need to sleep. I don’t know, Grimesy. You’re a good bloke, and Mr. Counter, Dad, he means well.”

Chooka’s voice trailed off.

“I’ll be back,” said Grimesy, “and your Dad will be with me.”

*

The pain of life descended on James when he finally woke up, the morphine no longer an option, an ache pulsing deep inside his thigh, and worse, the revolving thoughts in his head, feeling like a pressure cooker, the pain behind his eyes almost unbearable. It was on this day that Grimesy appeared again, accompanied by Mr. Counter. The nurse had just informed him that he had better pull himself together because he would be going down to rehab this morning for the first of two weeks of physical therapy. James stared at her, a woman in her forties, a thick smoker’s voice reminding him of Flo, the stupid bitch.

“Come on, luv, get yourself sitting up, now. No slouching around in bed,” croaked the nurse with a grin, rearranging the pillow behind his head, pushing him forward. “Come on now, sit up, up we get!”

“Up you, nurse. My head’s exploding. I can’t get up.”

“Come along now. I’ll get you an aspirin. Now help me, get yourself sitting up. Or you won’t get your medal!”

“Medal?”

“Don’t you returned servicemen always get medals for being brave?” she quipped.

“Yair? I suppose so,” mumbled James as he made an effort to pull himself up in bed and sit up against the extra cushion the nurse had placed behind him.

James could not know that outside the hospital there was a noisy group of demonstrators, waving antiwar placards, reciting in unison, “Make love, not war! Make love, not war!” walking round and round in a large circle in front of the Royal Melbourne Hospital entrance. Their numbers had begun with just a few early in the morning, but were rapidly growing. Word had got out that there was a special wing of the hospital that housed wounded vets from Vietnam. He might get a medal or two. But there would be no thanks for having served in a very unpopular war. The huge peace march of many thousands down Swanston street had happened while he was in Vietnam.

“All right, now. There you are. All bright and handsome for your visitors,” announced the nurse.

“Visitors?”

“I’ll get them now. And I’ll bring back an aspirin too.”

*

The nurse, closely followed by Grimesy and Mr. Counter, re­turned with a small glass of water and an aspirin in her hand. “Here you are, take it. Your visitors are allowed fifteen minutes only, then you have to go to rehab.”

“You’re as bad as my army sergeant,” complained James with a grin.

Grimesy stood back, pressing Mr. Counter forward. “Here’s your dad, Jimmy. I told you he’d be with me this time.”

Mr. Counter put out his hand and James feebly raised his. It may have looked feeble, but it wasn’t because he had no strength. It was because he had no will, still unsure whether Eddie Counter was his real father, and even if he were, whether he should treat him as such. Grimesy guessed the problem. “He’s your real dad,” he said, “we had the hospital do a blood test. You have the same blood type, and besides you look like each other, don’t you?”

Eddie. Eyes watering,  grasped James’s limp hand. “Jimmy, you really are mine, you are my son.”

But James responded mechanically, “I might be your son but I’m not yours.” He looked him right in the eye, still belligerent.

“Sorry! Sorry! That’s not what I meant. Call me Eddie if you can’t call me Dad. Come on Jimmy, let’s try to get off to a fresh start.”

“Kind of hard, isn’t it? I mean, I probably killed a prostitute, failed uni, did unspeakable things in Vietnam,” James cried as he let his head fall back on the pillow. He closed his eyes and waited for the aspirin to numb his pain.

Eddie leaned forward. “Grimesy tells me you were injured, got a buggered-up leg?”

“It’s going to be OK, they said.” James opened his eyes and looked once again straight into Eddie’s eyes that squinted back at him from under a furrowed brow.

“You stayed with your old dad, though, didn’t you? You stuck by him. That’s something to be proud of,” Eddie responded.

“Except that the two of you tricked me and he wasn’t really my dad.”

“But what matters is that you did the right thing, Jimmy, isn’t that right? You did the right thing, just as you bravely did the right thing and fought for your country in Vietnam. You’re a straight arrow and good person, in spite of yourself, Jimmy, and I’m proud to have you as my son.”

James squeezed his eyes shut. His leg hurt and the headache pounded away on his left side. He wasn’t ready yet to acknow­ledge Mr. Counter as his real Dad. “Heard of Iris?” he asked, eyes still clamped shut.

Eddie wanted to say, haven’t you got over her yet? It’s time you did. But he folded his tongue against his teeth and said nothing. The silence caused James to open his eyes and asked again. “Iris? What’s she doing?”

“We haven’t seen her for a long time at the pub,” answered Eddie with a sigh.

“You want me to have a look for her?” asked Grimesy trying to be helpful, knowing of course, that looking for Iris was a lost cause. And James, of all people, knew that.

“No. I was just wondering. I missed her in Vietnam.”

“Sure, you did,” said Grimesy with a smirk.

“No, not like that, shit-head,” grumbled James doing his best to hold back a grin.

Eddie grabbed the moment, the first time the small glimmer of a smile appeared.

“I’ve got you a job, if you want it,” he said.

“Job? I’m not going back to that shit-hole you call a pub,” growled  James.

“Jimmy, I told you yesterday,” said Grimesy, it’s not the old pub.”

“Oh? Gees, sorry. I forgot. Must be the drugs. Where was it?”

“I have a mate who’s the licensee at the Newmarket pub. You can start there as soon as you’re able to get about. And what’s more, you can stay in Connie’s old house in Yarraville. You know she died, of course.”

“Yair? About time. She might just as well be dead as sitting there staring at the lace curtains all day.”

“Shit, Jimmy! Haven’t you got a nice thing to say about any­one, even after they’re dead?” said Grimesy impatiently.

James turned his head away. Now even his mate Grimesy with whom he’d shared a lot of good times, was getting at him. He tried to bury his head in the pillow.

“She left you her house,” said Eddie.

“She what?” Jimmy sat up suddenly awake.

“She left you her house in her will. It’s yours, but it will cost money to maintain, and you have to pay the rates and things like that.”

“But I don’t want to live there. I couldn’t live there. Sleeping in mum’s old bed, the lace curtains, those scotch thistles. Anyway, it’s too far from Newmarket.”

“Well, you’ll have to decide what you want to do. I’ll take care of the house until you are well. But then it’s up to you what you do with it.”

The nurse suddenly appeared, banging the door open as she trounced in. “Time, gentlemen, please! We have to go to rehab, don’t we Jimmy boy?”