Water For My Thirst
by Barbara Humphrey
Jean Barrington woke with a start, her heart pounding. Her limbs felt heavy, her head too. The early morning sun struggled in through the window shades. She lay still, remembering her nightmare. She was standing on the back of a truck while her husband swerved fast and dangerously around the curves of the road. Her screams only seemed to spur him to drive faster, more recklessly. Finally, he stopped outside their Kellyville home, where they had lived for the twenty-three years of their married life.
She was just being silly she told herself. It was just a nightmare.
She turned in the bed and felt sore, all over. Where am I? she wondered. She could hear the clink of china and there was the smell of coffee in the air. This and the unmistakable aroma of slightly burned toast brought back memories of her days as an army nurse in Darwin after the war. She would prepare breakfast for the returned prisoners of war from the Burma railway, then carry it to them, joke and laugh with them, sometimes even discreetly flirting, all in an effort trying to build up a semblance of normality for the traumatised men.
After the war, marriage to Arthur, then the long journey to Sydney, the buying of land at Kellyville for a song, building their modest home whilst they lived in basically a shed, the birth of her only child, Helen. She hadn’t really wanted to marry Arthur, but at twenty-eight the clock was ticking and she had to marry someone. The birth of Helen was the only bright spark even worth celebrating in a colourless marriage.
A nurse now appeared in the doorway of her room, a breakfast tray in her hands.
“Good morning Mrs. Barrington. Are you hungry? It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it? Doctor will see you soon, and your daughter will be in later. Won’t that be lovely?”
Jean hoped she hadn’t sounded so patronising when she was a nurse.
She spoke in bewilderment.
“Who are you? Where am I? What…”
“Now let’s not ask so many questions. Try to eat some breakfast.”
Jean poured herself a cup of tea, and struggled to down a slice of toast. Her head still ached and she now noticed bruises on the backs of her hands. What on earth had happened to her?
The doctor soon appeared, a freckle-faced resident with a cheery voice. In fact, all the hospital staff had cheery voices. It was a bit wearing.
“Hello, Mrs. Barrington. How’s the head? You had a little accident in your car.”
In fact, the little accident turned out to be a big accident, as Helen confirmed when she arrived an hour later. A tall, athletic girl, her optimistic and blunt manner contrasted strongly with her mother’s introverted nature. Greeting her, Jean noticed that her daughter looked relieved, her fresh face breaking into a smile at their kiss.
“Good to see you Mum. You gave us quite a scare for a while.”
“What on earth happened, Helen?”
“You don’t remember anything? Dad called me after the ambulance left. He said he had finally asked you for a divorce and you just took off, drove off and crashed into a tree at the corner of your street. You knocked yourself out and the car apparently, is a write-off. It was only an old bomb anyway.”
My dream, Jean thought.
“Why don’t you divorce him Mum? Now I’ve left home there’s no reason for you to stay. Did you really think I didn’t know about his affairs even though you wouldn’t admit anything was wrong?”
Just like that, Jean thought, after twenty-three years, just like that. No, it isn’t just like that. I’ve known for years he wanted to be rid of me but I wouldn’t admit it. Not to myself, nor to anyone else. Of course I knew. There was the girl at the check-out. He openly flirted with her while I watched. Then there was Winnie, the friend of the family. I wasn’t supposed to notice their exchange of glances, his long absences when he drove her home, their lingering embraces. But I lacked courage. I lacked the courage to confront them. After that finished there were other affairs but none quite so openly. Jean’s cheeks burned and she shook as long-suppressed anger burned through her. What a fool I’ve been, she thought, what a silly, cowardly fool I’ve been.
When Helen left Jean felt strangely rested. More rested than she had felt for years.
At noon there was a sudden commotion. Jean looked up from the book Helen had brought her. Two orderlies were helping a young woman into the second bed in the room. She looked tense and pale and her voice broke as she said good-bye to her husband and three young children.
After a decent interval, Jean spoke.
“Hello, I’m Jean.”
The girl responded with a tremor in her voice, tears in her eyes.
“I’m Joy.”
“Can I help you at all, Joy?”
“My left leg has to come off after I get my blood count up.”
“How about a transfusion?”
“No, it’s against my religion.”
Jean said no more and over the next few days she watched as people brought in carrot juice, and Joy’s blood count rose. Jean mothered her, offering a sympathetic ear as Joy spoke of her fears for the future. Her heart went out to this girl as she noticed how her youngest child, a toddler, seemed to have forgotten her. Joy herself clung to the piece of tapestry she worked on before and after the amputation.
When she relayed the whole saga to her daughter on the telephone, Helen reprimanded her:
“You’re a rescuer, Mum,” Helen said. “You always have been.”
Yes, Jean thought, I am a rescuer, always have been. She resolved that as soon as she was well enough she would go back to being a nurse. Arthur didn’t want her or need her anymore, but others did. There was still the long haul out of her grief for the wasted years of a failed marriage. These years could never be reclaimed, but Jean acknowledged that outside her window there was still some light in the sky.