Chapter Eight
Deeta
I wake up early, just after dawn, to purple and grey clouds hanging oppressive and low in the sky. Jan is asleep in the far corner, her arms tucked under her pillow, her sheet and covers lying crumpled at her waist.
She looks relaxed and younger than her years, like a contented child. Her hair is a shining tangle across the pillow, and dark lashes fan over smooth cheeks that are a little flushed. She looks as though she could stay quite comfortably asleep forever; a true sleeping beauty.
How differently this has effected her to me. I have no doubt of her grief, she feels all of this just as I do, but I envy her the way she handles it.
Somehow, no matter how brave I try to be, in a moment it is all there. The tears and the sadness, the sense of loss are feelings that never go away. The all consuming realisation that fills every second of every day with the reality of just how much I miss Dec, never seems to ebb.
Dec was always mine, you see. Somehow I’ve always felt as though the children belong to me a little, as well as Uncle Jep and Tom. I suppose that is a bit presumptuous of me, isn’t it? Talking about him hurts, and yet still I have a burning desire to speak of him no matter how difficult it is.
I move restlessly, jarring my bad arm.
I can’t bear the thought that we know where Dec is and we’re not doing anything about it. I know finding Dec rests on Tom and his ability to work this all out, but I also know he will need help, and help is not something that will be forthcoming now. In fact his, Uncle Jep and the children’s whole future with the tribe is uncertain. Even if they are allowed to stay it will be with a cloud hanging over them; the Andak taint.
I think that it is then that I realise, when I really know that the Jepsjons will leave. Tom won’t stay and put the children and Uncle Jep through that, not just for the sake of his pride.
Tears begin to prick my eyes, and I climb stealthily from my bed. I need some fresh air, something to chase away the headache building behind my temples.
I make my way to the roof thinking that, at least there, I might be able to clear the stuffy feeling from my mind. Maybe then I’ll be able to think of something more useful than how trashy I’m feeling.
The whole building is silent as everyone sleeps. There’ll be a guard on the roof however, just as there always is. I don’t know who it will be because I haven’t stirred from the Jepsjon’s apartments since the day the Andak came. The roster will have changed by now.
I open the door on to the roof, and feel an icy cold shiver make its way down my spine. Usually there’s a brisk and cold wind up here, but today it is still and silent. It’s so eerily unfamiliar that I pause for a moment, one foot through the door and the rest of me still inside the stairwell.
I push off the uncomfortably nervous sensation in the pit of my stomach, and step out into the freezing damp air. In the distance I see the guard on patrol and wave to him, a friendly gesture that comes without thought. I’m surprised when the patroller stops in his tracks and starts to make hurried progress toward me. As he gets closer I smile warmly at him and hold out my right arm, hand outstretched.
“How’s the arm, Deet?” asks Ralph, taking hold of my hand and bringing it in a familiar gesture through his crooked arm.
“How very tactful of you not to mention my face,” I respond in a feeble attempt at humour.
“You won’t get away with that answer.”
“It’s alright so long as I don’t move it, then it throbs a bit.”
“And by that you mean that it feels like its being torn from its socket.”
“No need to be dramatic, Ralphie.” We turn to lean against some convenient railing. “So what happens now?”
“I guess it’s up to Tom.” Ralph’s face is averted, his eyes searching some distant spot. “You don’t have to worry about the kids; Nella is staying with Uncle Jep and Tom for a while.”
I don’t think that Ralph realises that this knowledge hurts me. No one likes to think that they can be replaced, but it’s particularly unpleasant to know that you can be replaced. Then the bland way that Ralph has offered this information registers, and I feel a pang of compassion.
That Ralph is hurt and that he’s up here tormenting himself in some foolish, but somehow inevitable way, fills me again with the depression I was hoping to escape.
“That’s good.” I swallow convulsively, trying to make my voice light. “The children will feel more comfortable if she’s there.”
“Will they?”
The suppressed passion and anger in his voice surprise me. I guess I’ve never thought him capable of that sort of thing before, and his fervour elicits an answer that, had I been thinking clearly, I would have tried to soften.
“Probably not.”
He turns again in a strangely tense and controlled way that, for some reason, seems familiar. Odd, because I’ve never seen him look that way before.
“I… she’s only trying to…”
“Spare me, Deeta, I know. Somehow that only makes things worse.”
He turns to me relaxing a little, trying to explain something that I can’t understand. My experience of love is limited to the platonic kind, and my knowledge of love unrequited is nonexistent.
“It’s like being bashed over the head with a mallet every time she does or says something right or kind, showing me the worth of something I can’t have.”
His words are said in that strangely compelling and angry way, and again I’m struck by a sensation of familiarity. He stops and, with an attitude of embarrassment, turns his head away from me.
With great difficulty I force my gaze away from his face, and try to ease the sudden parched feeling in my mouth. Why is it that when things are good they’re very good, but when things are bad everything’s depressing? It’s the old adage: ‘it never rains but it pours’.
“They won’t let him.”
Ralph looks at me startled, not understanding the sudden change of topic.
“How do you mean?”
“The only chance we have of getting Dec and Keya back is if the tribe as a whole will trust Tom, and they won’t, not now.”
“I can’t see that they have much choice in the matter,” replies Ralph shortly.
“Ralphie, you were there last night, you saw what happened. Within five seconds our tribe was split down the middle. It had become them and us; two separate groups of people who had no trust and no liking of each other. They don’t see Tom any more they just see an Andak, and that’s all they’ll ever be able to see from now on in.”
My voice is bitter, causing Ralph to cast me a side long glance. On catching my eye he drops his gaze, flushing a little.
“Don’t be so hard on them, Deet. It was a shock, they need time to adjust and you – you don’t understand.”
He hesitates shuffling a little, as though he’s unsure how to go on.
“What are you trying to tell me, Ralph?”
“That’s the whole problem, Deet: it’s what I’m trying not to tell you.” He raises his hand and rubs his neck. “It’s the stories about the Andak. You don’t know… you’ve been told they’re bad and so that’s what you believe. You’ve never been told why they’re bad and just what they’re capable of.”
“Okay then, tell me.”
“Are you completely off your rocker? I’d be lynched! Deeta, you don’t get it. You’re special; you’ve lived in this compound all your life, you’ve been protected from the hate and horror out there. You know nothing of the evilness that spreads like rot through this city.”
“You’re wrong; Tom has told me about his family…”
“Don’t be foolish, Deeta. Tom is the last person on this earth who would hurt you in that way.” He lowers his voice a little, and leans against the rail again. “There’s more than physical hurt, Deeta. It’s stories like that, and seeing the world outside in all its moral confusion, that will cause you an altogether different hurt. It’s just a
s unpleasant as anything you can feel physically. In fact, it would be worse because it would change you. It would shake your belief in people, and kill all your hope and happiness.”
“Unlike Nella, who can do anything and remain unspoiled.”
“You know it’s different for her! Do you really think that all she’s been through hasn’t changed her, hasn’t scarred her in ways that she only knows herself?”
On the occasions that I have discussed this issue with Tom, I’ve always ended the conversation feeling that although I might not be useful in the same way that Nell is, in different areas I am just as valuable. Ralph doesn’t seem to have the same happy knack of reassurance; I feel not only useless, but rather pathetic as well.
Tears begin to gather in my eyes, and reflect that I must be pathetic to be so self-indulgent.
I had thought the cool air would refresh me, but I find that my headache is worse and my face and arm are becoming steadily more painful. I feel more awful than I can ever remember feeling before, and the sorrow in my heart over Dec is growing as hope begins to fade.
I’ve always been happy, you see, safe in the knowledge that everything would always be fine. Confronted with the reality of my world falling apart seems to be more than I can handle. Without being able to stop myself I begin to cry, choking sobs that I try to suppress as Ralph slides an arm around my shoulder pulling me towards him. Even in my distress I notice how clumsy the movement is, and I can’t help feeling slightly dissatisfied. Ralph’s embrace, while comforting, has not reassured me. I don’t know how to describe it, but know that something is missing.
“Don’t cry, Deet! I know everything’s a bit of a train wreck right now, but it’ll get better.”
He begins to pat my shoulder in what I correctly surmise is a gesture to show that he has suffered my clinging long enough and that now is the time to stiffen my upper lip. I pull away, attempting a smile that I’m not close to feeling, and search for something to say. Somehow there doesn’t seem to be anything.
How could I calmly talk about the weather, or something equally unimportant? Yet talking of the problems that we’re facing seems to make things worse. I realise that the reason that I feel so dissatisfied is because I’m talking to the wrong person. The trouble is the person that I want reassurance from doesn’t want me anywhere near him.
“You should probably go back down and try to sleep.”
“I don’t think I could.” I smile. “Perhaps we could go and sit in the hut?”
This plan of action meets with Ralph’s approval, and we begin to walk slowly in the direction of the shelter, Ralph’s arm across my shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye I think I see a dark figure leaning against the wall and watching our progress with interest. However when I turn my head the phantom-like shadow is gone.
Within a few minutes we are ensconced in the shelter of the lookout hut. I wrap myself in one of the blankets, and lean against the wall as Ralph begins to sing softly to himself. It’s the sound of his warm, rich voice that lulls me to sleep.
-------
Breakfast is nearly over by the time I reach our floor. I told Ralph that he should have woken me up, but he said I’d needed sleep more than food. His parting advice outside my door had been to eat enough for two.
I know the second I walk through the door that something is not right. My father is wearing a thunderous frown, my mother fidgets nervously, Jan is avoiding my eye, and Clare is staring at her plate.
“Deeta, I didn’t think that you were so stupid as to disobey me.”
“D – dad?”
“I was lenient and took into account your feelings, and this is how you repay me? If you’re going to be stubborn about this then I will forbid all association with the Jepsjons.”
“But why?” My voice is roughened by desperation, and my father’s frown lifts a little.
“I made it plain, Deeta. Why did you have to sneak off to see the Jepsjons anyway?”
“But I didn’t! I’ve been up on the roof with Ralph; I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until his shift was at an end. I haven’t seen Tom, Uncle Jep or the children since yesterday.” I hesitate and scuff my shoe against the floor. “Besides even if I wanted to disobey you I couldn’t. Tom told me to back off, Nell's going to help with the children from now on.”
“What did Professor Jepsjon say?”
“I didn’t really have time to talk to him before Tom threw me out.”
I blush faintly as I hear the note of bitterness in my voice. It’s bad enough feeling like this, without everyone else knowing that I feel like it. My father looks at me pensively; I can tell he’s thinking rapidly, but about what I don’t know. Seeing the look of anxiety on my face, he smiles.
“Not to worry, Deeta, after the meeting it will be better.”
“But, Dad, everyone is against the Jepsjons now!”
“People were angry and over excited, so much had happened. The night will have soothed their tempers.”
I shake my head, I have an awful feeling that things will not have changed.
-------
The day passes slowly as we wait for the appointed time for the meeting of the tribe. Nothing seems able to hold our attention, the whole building is silent and in the grip of expectation. I am torn between an urgent desire for time to pass quickly, and a fervent wish to stave off the inevitable unpleasantness that will be part of the proceedings.
Why did Keya have to go out? None of this would have happened if she’d just stayed here.
I wander listlessly around the sitting room a few times, fiddling with the ornaments on the shelves, the biscuit tin lid, even the curtains. It’s a pointless waste of time, but I can’t seem to do anything useful. Jan watches me in a faintly bewildered way the whole time, the book she is reading loose in her hands. With some trepidation I notice that it’s a romance.
“Deeta, stop for goodness sake! Do you have to keep striding about, it isn’t restful, in fact you’re putting me on edge. Can’t you just read a book, or draw a picture?”
Warily I sit on the sofa next to her, and to my alarm her face takes on a softer more understanding look.
“I know you’re worrying about Tom, but getting yourself all wound up like this is not going to make it any better. It will be alright; Tommy’s just a little preoccupied at the moment.”
“Janny!” I roll my eyes, exasperated. “How many times do I have to tell you that Tom and I are not an item? Nothing’s going on.”
Jan regards me through half closed lids.
“I don’t think you can possibly have read enough books.”
“Books are fiction, Janny, their plots are conducted in a place far removed from reality.” I take another look at her novel. “No one reads Lucy Walker for her gritty realism!”
She smiles and shrugs a careless shoulder, settling back into the seat to read her book.
“In ten years, when you and Tom are married with a whole cart load of kids, I’m going to rib you mercilessly for this.”
I think of several things to say to that, but allow her the last word. I escape into the kitchen where mum is kneading dough, and watch as her hands shape it into rounds.
“If you want to be of help to the children, why don’t you cook them something? I’m sure your father won’t mind dropping it off for them.” She takes a quick look at my face. “Nella will be able to keep them occupied, but her culinary abilities leave much to be desired. I always told Leah that she should have taught her; I’d never have let you girls grow up without so basic a skill.”
The clock hands read twelve o’clock, with four hours of interminable waiting until the meeting, I take my mother’s advice and tie an apron around my waist. For a moment we work in silence hearing nothing but the ticking of the grandfather clock.
“I’m sorry about Tom, Deeta.”
My mother’s voice is softly hesitant; as though she is afraid I won’t believe her.
“I know you are.” I begin to measur
e flour into a bowl. “Why weren’t you angry when you found out about Tom? I thought that you would be even more against him than before.”
“It isn’t that I’m against him, Deeta. Tom is a good boy, anyone can see that. It’s just that he has so much relying on him already; Professor Jepsjon and the children, that’s without any children he might have of his own one day, and now this as well. You don’t understand, but Andak is not a last name that anyone wants to be saddled with. It’s like being stained, and no matter how nice he may be, the second that he tells people who he is they will never trust him again.”
“But it doesn’t make any sense for us to behave like that; we’ve known Tom since he was a little boy! We know all about him!”
“But there you have it, Deeta; we didn’t actually know anything about him, did we?” she asks softly.
I realise suddenly why the tribe has reacted in the way they have. My mother understands how I feel about the Jepsjon’s. I know them; I know every facet of their personalities, every mood. They are part of my family and have become dear to me through familiarity.
It’s different for the rest of the tribe; they have a more superficial knowledge of them that hardly scratches the surface. They’ve been rattled by recent revelations, until the only thing that they feel that they can trust in a hundred percent is that Tom and Dec are Andak. All they see is what that name conjures up.
I understand more clearly now how impossible it is to rectify this. Mum is right; whatever is agreed upon by the tribe, the Jepsjon’s will always be outsiders, even among their own people.