Authors: Veronique Olmi
Beside the Sea
MEIKE ZIERVOGEL
PEIRENE PRESS
This is the most impressive novel about the mother and child relationship I have read. Véronique Olmi handles an aspect of motherhood that we all too often deny. She depicts a woman’s fear of releasing her children into the world. The simple first person narrative achieves an extraordinary level of poetry and inner truth.
For Douchka
We took the bus, the last bus of the evening, so no one would see us. The boys had their tea before we left, I noticed they didn’t finish the jar of jam and I thought of that jam left there for nothing, it was a shame, but I’d taught them not to waste stuff and to think of the next day.
Leaving on the bus I think they were happy, a bit anxious, too, because I hadn’t explained anything. I’d brought their jackets in case it rained, it often rains by the sea – that I had told them, at least, they were going to see the sea.
It was Kevin, the little one, who seemed happiest, more inquisitive anyway. But Stan kept giving me suspicious looks like when I just sit in the kitchen and he watches me, thinking I don’t know he’s there, barefoot, in his pyjamas, I don’t even have the strength to say Don’t stay there with nothing on your feet, Stan. Yep, sometimes I sit in the kitchen for hours and I couldn’t give a stuff about anything.
Luckily, we didn’t have to wait long for the bus and no one saw us leave. It felt really strange driving away from the city, leaving it for this unknown place, specially as it wasn’t the holidays and that’s what the boys kept thinking, I know they did. We’d never been away for a holiday, never left the city, and suddenly life felt new, my stomach was in knots, I was thirsty the whole time and everything was irritating, but I did my best, yes really my best, so the kids didn’t notice anything. I wanted us to set off totally believing in it.
When the bus turned up we all felt nervous, shy like. We couldn’t have felt more uncomfortable going into a luxury cabin on a first-class cruise ship. It was only a noisy old bus with no heating, mind you. Oh yes, it was certainly cold. You got into the thing and it felt like walking into a draught.
I paid our fares with the last big banknote I had, and we went and sat at the back, the boys and me, with our sports bags at our feet, I’d stuffed them full of warm clothes for the kids, there were too many clothes, I know, but it was quite a panic packing those bags, I can’t explain it. I wanted to put everything into them, I knew it was pointless, I wanted it to come with us, stuff from home, familiar things, things you recognize as yours straight away. Kevin wanted me to take his toys, too, but I didn’t want to, I knew pretty well we wouldn’t be playing.
There were a lot of people around us,
unbelievable
that there are so many people out there, specially so late, where were they all from, were they going to the same place as us, no way of knowing, they looked calm, lost in quiet thoughts. My kids were full of questions, Is it going to take long? Will it be light when we get there? Things like that, I wasn’t sure what to tell them, I felt sick and didn’t really want to talk, I definitely didn’t want to give other people a chance to listen to us.
We were high up in the bus, so cars – which are normally so frightening – were pathetic little contraptions now, we could see the drivers’ hands, their legs, their stuff on the passenger seat, see them almost as clearly as if they’d been sitting in their own homes, it made them seem less dangerous, yep, we felt better protected in that bus, even if we were dying of cold.
It wasn’t long before Kevin needed a wee. It’s just nerves, I told him, but he started to worry, he was afraid he’d do it in his pants, he’s easily worried. And me who didn’t want to attract attention, I had to go down the aisle in front of everyone, to stop the bus and have my boy pee against the wheel, in the dark, by the side of the road, cars whooshing past with a fierce flash of headlights. Stan, now he’s never a problem. Never a pee. Never hungry. Nor thirsty. He never asks for anything, sometimes it bothers me a bit, I’d prefer it if he’d look at me
less and whinge a bit more. Now it doesn’t matter any longer.
Stan was like the older brother even before Kevin was born. It was like that was just what he was waiting for: for the littl’un to come along so that he could take on the role of big brother. It really suits him. In the morning, I don’t have the strength to get up to go to school, it’s Stan who takes Kevin, and I think the littl’un likes it. With Stan I’m never late, he told me once. Schools open too early. Ten o’clock would be good. I can’t do anything before ten o’clock. I don’t sleep well at night. It’s the worrying. I couldn’t tell you what about. It’s like something’s been lowered onto me… like someone sitting on me, that’s it. No one even notices I’m here. They sit down on me like sitting on a bench. I’d like to get up, stand up, thrash and scream. Nothing doing. They keep on sitting there. How can anyone understand that? I’m being smothered at night. That’s why I often have to lie down in the daytime. To sleep a bit. In the daytime I can sleep without worrying. Not always, but it does sometimes work, a transparent sleep, a pause which leaves no memories afterwards, and no pain either. When I wake up it’s hard – I don’t even know where I am. What time it is. What I’m supposed to be doing. I often miss the end of school. I feel ashamed and rush off to the school, and Kevin’s waiting by the gate, crying. He’s
always frightened, not for himself, for me. I’m not that fragile… but I am ashamed.
The bus journey was long, too long, it was dark, we couldn’t see the countryside so we didn’t know where we were or where we were going. There we sat in the darkness, in the noise, driving past lights, overtaking lorries, overtaking but to go where exactly?
The windows were all misted up, Kevin made pictures with his finger, lopsided little houses, people without arms – Kevin always draws people without arms, They’ve got their hands behind their backs, that’s what he says when you ask him where their arms have gone.
It wasn’t long before there was no room left to draw on the window and Kevin got bored, he asked for his noonoo, he wanted to sleep, I’d completely forgotten the noonoo. Stan gave me a dirty look, He’ll just have to suck his thumb, I said, children never used to have noonoos, they sucked their thumbs, it was much simpler. I said that but I knew Kevin couldn’t get to sleep without his big yellow hanky. His lips started to quiver. Don’t cry, Kevin! said Stan, knowing how tears get started. My noonoo! the littl’un said. Suck your thumb, I said. He kicked the seat in front, the man turned round, a great tall man with a moustache, Kevin was terrified when he told him to stop straight away, and he stopped straight away. He didn’t ask
for his noonoo any more, I think he was crying, he kept sniffing, it was irritating.
The people in that bus were really settled and comfortable, and they didn’t want to be disturbed, that was obvious. They didn’t look out at the road but chatted a bit, very quietly. My kids were the only ones who were so wound up, talking loudly, peeing and blubbing. The others, you could tell, all felt safe and sound, you’d have thought they made this trip every evening. There was me losing track of where we were or how long it was since we left, and they just got more and more patient, some of them even slept, hands on their stomachs, mouths open, they knew the journey better than anyone, I was so afraid of missing the stop that I got up again to ask the driver.
I almost fell over in the aisle, the bus was taking a nasty corner and I bumped an old lady’s head, she gave an exasperated little cry like I’d been bugging her right from the start, a little cry without even looking at me, maybe she thought I was disgusting. Still, it was good I asked, it was only another ten minutes or so, and the driver said he’d call out the stop, I think he realized I was worried. I thanked him a lot, I was so relieved! I went back to my seat very quietly, holding the backrests firmly, the old woman didn’t deign to look at me, she was talking to the man next to her, maybe about me.
We’re nearly there, I told the boys and, even though he was crying, Kevin gave me a little smile, one of his little dimple smiles, that’s what I call them, with his three missing teeth – we’re the same at last, the two of us, with the gaps in our gums. Quite often I daren’t smile or laugh without putting my hand over my mouth, I don’t know whether Stan and Kevin have noticed. Later they’d have been ashamed, bound to be. Now that we knew where we were we could pretend we didn’t give a damn about anything, didn’t feel any danger, like the other passengers. It made the time go faster and we were surprised when the driver talked into his mike to say the name of the town. We got up quick, the aisle was full of people.
I was right to bring things for the rain, we took such a dousing when we got off the bus! It’s raining from the lights, Kevin said, Stan made fun of him but I thought it was sweet, It’s raining from the street lights, you’re right, Kevin, I said, roll on morning! I was completely exhausted, plonked I had no idea where in this unknown town, but I acted like I knew my way and followed the people who got off the bus with us, you’d have thought they were all going to the same place, no one hesitating. The boys clung to me, one on each hand, dragging their sports bags with their free hands, they were too heavy for them but ever since I broke my collar bone I’ve had trouble carrying stuff.
It must have been raining for a long time in that town, it felt more like walking across a building site than along a pavement, unless the place just didn’t have pavements. I wondered whether the hotel would let us in with our muddy shoes, and how did people manage here, their houses must be full of water and mud, not to mention sand from the sea. Yes, the sea, obviously we couldn’t see it but we couldn’t hear it either, my head started hurting really badly when I thought I might have made a mistake, and how was I going to cope in this town full of water and mud if there was no sea, because I’d promised myself my boys would get to see the sea for once in their lives. That was just the way it was. It had to be.
We came to a square and people went off in their different directions, we must have been in the middle of the town, was it huge or tiny, I couldn’t make it out, it was so dark, the rain was so cold, we felt like we were in the middle of nowhere, I was almost alone with my kids and the town became a mystery. I didn’t know which road to take, where to cross, what would take us away and what would bring us closer, nothing moved and the quieter it became the more out of place we felt.
I had to talk to someone. I don’t like asking for help, but it would soon be the middle of the night and then the three of us really would be abandoned. I saw a little man on a street corner, he was huddled
into his anorak and walking a dog so flipping small and thin it could have been made of matchsticks – I asked him where the hotel was. My voice was shaky and had trouble getting out, Here come the worries again, I thought and it frightened me. The little man didn’t open his mouth, he pointed: the hotel was right behind us, I hadn’t seen it, right behind us, but there wasn’t a sign lit up, not even a light in the doorway, I thanked him with a quick nod, I was afraid of hearing my own voice and anyway he wasn’t opening his mouth either. When we set off again, dragging our bags in the mud, the little matchstick dog started barking, and it sounded like laughter, spiteful laughter, and that sent shivers down my spine − it’s not like I’m afraid of dogs or anything, and I could have crushed that one with my hand. I suddenly thought it might have been because of the rain: my voice shaking, the dog laughing, maybe everyone was hoarse in this town and that made it terrifying, I couldn’t wait for it to be morning so I could see it all in daylight and check exactly where the horizon took us.
Is this the hotel, Mum? Kevin asked, and
his
voice was packing in, too, but this was his over-tired voice, I knew it so well it was almost reassuring. Go in, I said, and we had to let go of each other, we wouldn’t fit through the door holding on to each other like that, not to mention the sports bags. It was hard letting go, our arms were numb
and all tangled up, and Kevin got his feet caught in the straps of his bag, his head thudded into the door, that’s when I saw how wet his hair was and I remember − it’s stupid − I remember, it was like a reflex, an age-old fear, I was afraid he’d catch cold. Get a fever. Who knows? Perhaps all mothers do it: protecting their children from fevers, maybe it’s an animal thing, it’s stronger than us.
Stan took the two sports bags and he said After you, Mum, he loves it, Stan does, being polite, I’m not used to it myself, I sometimes wonder how come the boy’s got such nice manners, where did he learn that? Not at home, that’s for sure, and even less at school which is such a tough place. He’s polite, yes, but he’s strong. That’s what’s so nice. Having both together. How many times have they tried to bully him into giving up his money at school? Well, he’s never given in, he’s always fought, even if it cost him hours of detention and punishments, he’s always defended himself so fiercely, I don’t know where he gets it from. Yes, with me Stan’s a real gentleman, he’s the only boy who treats me so nicely, it makes me laugh sometimes, of course, I tell him, Stan, stop putting on airs, but I love it and I think he knows it.
In the end we managed to get into the blinking hotel, all numb and wet as we were. It was very dark, there was a tiny night light on the counter and everything was brown: the walls, the lino,
the doors, it was an old-fashioned brown − they can’t have repainted the place for centuries, and it looked like years of dirt had stuck to the walls and floor, it was like being inside a cardboard box, a shoe box actually.
I could see the boys were disappointed, it’s true that on the telly hotels don’t look like that, there are lights, flowers, big mirrors, red carpets and people dressed like they’re going to a wedding. Behind the counter there was a youngish bloke watching a titchy black-and-white TV, it looked like a security monitor but he was watching a football match, he hardly even looked up when I said my name, he just reached his arm behind him and unhooked a big key which he put down on the counter, mumbling Sixth floor third door left. I was quite glad he wasn’t that interested in us, we’d put mud everywhere and you could even see it on the brown lino, it was in little piles, a scatter of poos. I took the key and started looking round, the bloke must have been used to it, The stairs’re behind you, he muttered. Well, I definitely was disorientated in this place, everything was always behind me and I didn’t know it, everything was there, and I just kept turning, turning round and round while everything waited for me.