Jessica (44 page)

‘Yeah, thought so,' Jessica sniffed.

‘What's that supposed to mean?' Moishe asked.

‘Well, this Marx bloke, he ain't never put his theory to country folk, that's for sure.' ‘Why ever not?'

‘Well, mate, you can't get two blokes to agree on bloody nothing in the bush, except maybe that the government don't know its arse from its elbow. They'd think this bloke Marx was talkin' out the back of his head.'

But Moishe, a lad from the city, didn't care to have a country bumpkin like Jessica contradicting him. ‘It is precisely by harnessing the vast discontent felt by the Russian workers towards the Tsar that Communism will succeed,' he protested. ‘It is the same here — a movement that will be led by the masses, by the proletariat, the people on the land and in the factories. We must begin with the overthrow of the landed gentry and the capitalists, and often enough they're the same people,' Moishe explained patiently, though Jessica could sense his frustration with her.

The only landed gentry Jessica could think of was Jack Thomas, the man she loved, and George Thomas, whom everyone agreed to hate. But the idea of overthrowing Riverview Station and turning it into a collective sheep station was just plain silly. ‘Bullshit, Moishe,' Jessica said.

The idea of rising up against George Thomas or any of the other squattocracy simply didn't make sense. George was a liar and a cheat but you already knew that, so you made a deal and you kept to it. It was never totally fair or unfair neither, just George Thomas wanting to show you who was the boss. But once you shook hands, the both of you made it work. It was all part of what happened in the bush, Jessica thought, and by no means the worst part.

On two occasions, however, she and Joe had attended a hastily convened meeting behind the shearing shed at Riverview. The stop-work had been called by Joe Blundell, the shop steward for the Shearers'

Union. The first time had been to have a bit of a whinge about the time allowed for a smoko. Another time he went on about whether, when the wool was damp, they should reduce the number of sheep shorn to qualify for the higher pay rate.

But on the way home after both meetings, Joe said it wasn't to be took too serious. The idea of a strike over working conditions never occurred to them on Riverview Station. There were sheds that were worse and some better but that was life. There was talk that in some stations the Shearers' Union got a bit cranky and threatened the boss. But in Joe's book you worked hard, you got paid and you kept your trap shut. Joe was right, nothing ever came of those Shearers' Union meetings. George Thomas just told Joe Blundell to get stuffed, and that as far as he was concerned they could collect their pay-packet and piss off the lot of them, because there was enough local labour around to fill the shearing shed twice over. As Joe said, a good union man becomes scab labour as soon as the brats start to starve. Everyone knew this was true, so they shut their gobs and took home a wage that was half decent by local standards.

But Moishe would say to her in an exasperated voice, ‘Jessie, don't you see, Australia rides on the sheep's back. If the common people hope to own the wealth of the land, the golden fleece, they must overthrow those who exploit them. Surely you can see that?'

But Jessica never could see it and she considered Moishe's greatest gift to her wasn't his belief in the brotherhood of man, but the fact that he taught her how to
really
read, not only for pleasure, but to search for meaning and to ask questions. It was something she would continue to do for the remainder of her life. Jessica also learned that a mental hospital is an even harder place to survive in than the bush. Avoiding being beaten up or raped by the ward attendants was a constant preoccupation. She would watch as female patients who resisted the advances of the brutes in charge of the wards were given ‘the jacket' or, in the winter, ‘the wetpack'. They were put into strait-jackets and either marched off to solitary or hosed down with cold water and left to freeze in a cell. It was said to be a treatment to calm them down, but she could see the fear in their eyes when they came out of treatment. Most often it was an experience which caused them to sink even deeper into their misery, confusion and despair. Some caught pneumonia and died, others developed bronchitis. So a lot of the female inmates capitulated, allowing themselves to be used by the ward attendants rather than face time in isolation in the jacket or the wetpack.

Survival became Jessica's singular purpose. She soon learned that a broken heart was of little use in a mental institution and that if she hoped to survive she must keep her grieving to herself. Jessica began to ingratiate herself with the female staff and became useful in a hundred ways. This ensured that she would be left alone, yet come under the protection of the matron, who helped to keep her safe against the groping paws and thrusting thighs of the male ward attendants. Pretty soon they gave up thinking of her as a patient and she was allowed to wander freely within the grounds without being watched over.

Jessica seemed to have an uncanny knack for calming the most agitated of inmates. In time her presence in the wards was welcomed and sometimes even regarded as necessary. Silence, or the sounds we make to comfort a small child, she soon discovered, was the best cure. She would sit with a patient for hours, simply holding a trembling hand, sometimes making soothing noises, sometimes singing softly and rocking them, often enough saying nothing but allowing them to feel her warmth. After a lifetime with Joe, Jessica was an expert at silence and at providing company without seeming threatening.

The patients learned to consider Jessie as someone their confused minds could relate to. She didn't shout at or hector them, she didn't beat or threaten them, or try to make them do things they didn't want to, or were afraid of. She'd just sit and hold their hands or read to them, the gentle rhythm of her voice seeming to calm them, even when they were incapable of understanding the meaning of her stories. When an agitation in one of the wards broke out, ‘Call Jessie!' became a common cry among those ward attendants who didn't enjoy the business of beating a patient into submission.

Jessica was by nature a kind person, but she was no angel of mercy. In everything she did, from the moment she was wakened by the ward bell at six o'clock in the morning to the eight p.m. bell which signalled the lockup and silence for the night, she worked to gain her release from the institution. She was using Joe's rules - work hard, keep your trap shut. Do more than the other bloke, don't whinge, keep your head down and it'll turn out all right in the end. If she showed no signs of being a loony, she reckoned, then sooner or later they'd have to let her go.

Jessica's one thought in life was to return to her child. The pain she felt for her lost baby she mostly kept to herself, but she would weep for Joey in the lonely, dark hours after midnight. Her sobbing was drowned in the cacophony of moans and sudden screams and the endless weeping and nightmares of the harmlessly insane.

Slowly, through an ocean of tears, Jessica's hatred for her mother and sister grew and her resolve to avenge herself became a hard, tight wad of bitterness wrapped around her heart. If she gave the impression of being serene and saintly, in truth Jessica was becoming an avenging angel who thought of nothing else but her freedom and the reclaiming of her child.

Jessica had been admitted to the Callan Park lunatic asylum based on the evidence presented in a report by Hester and the Reverend Mathews and prepared in the presence of the police magistrate at Narrandera.

The day after Joe's funeral, Jessica's wrists were tied with tent-rope and she was taken from the manse to the Narrandera police lock-up and kept in a cell for three days while the papers needed to have her committed were sent up from Sydney. Thereafter she was handcuffed and placed on the train and escorted to Sydney by a cheerful young police constable named Tommy Holbrook, a cheeky young lad who had gone to school with Jessica. The moment the train was out of sight of Narrandera station he'd removed her handcuffs. ‘She'll be right, Jessie,' he'd said, comforting her.

Upon arrival at Callan Park, Jessica received a cursory examination by an ageing, overworked, unshaven and exhausted physician in a dirty white coat trying to cope with the shortage of medical staff over the Christmas period. He was doing his best, with the help of generous libations of Tolley's brandy taken from a bottle in the bottom drawer of his desk.

His questions were peremptory and his impatience soon apparent. Jessica, who was still in shock, simply stared at the wall while he interrogated her in a voice devoid of enthusiasm. It was plain enough to see that he had long since lost any sense of compassion for his patients. Unable to get her to respond, the harassed doctor turned to Tommy Holbrook. ‘How did the patient behave coming to Sydney? Was she violent? Hysterical? Constantly weeping? Did she shout out or scream? Curse the other passengers?' he asked, holding the nib end of his fountain pen upwards and repeatedly tapping the cap fixed at the other end of the stem on the surface of his desk. Perhaps this was intended to intimidate Tommy or was merely a sign of the doctor's frustration — whatever, it escaped the young country constable's notice.

Tommy Holbrook shrugged. ‘She didn't say nothing all the way, sir. Nice an' quiet and mostly slept.

Didn't need no handcuffs neither. If you want my opinion, sir, if Jessie Bergman's a loony, then I'm the Police Superintendent.'

The doctor sighed. ‘Medical science is greatly obliged to you for your diagnosis, constable.' Then, turning back to Jessica, he announced, ‘Miss Bergman, if you refuse to talk to me I will be forced to make a decision based only on this.' He picked up the report from Narrandera by its corner, lifted it and then let it fall from his fingers back onto the desk. Then he reached down into the open drawer for the brandy bottle and, leaning back, withdrew the cork. ‘Well, what will it be?'

‘They stole my baby,' Jessica said in a voice barely above a whisper. ‘They stole my little baby.' Then she brought her hands up to cover her face and started to sob uncontrollably.

The doctor watched Jessica for a few moments. He took a generous sip from the bottle, sighed, then corked it and replaced it in the drawer. Looking over at the young constable, he pointed to a chair against the wall. ‘Bring her a chair, constable,' he commanded.

When Tommy had placed a chair in front of the doctor's desk, the physician instructed, ‘Sit down, Miss Bergman.' Then he looked at her, hard-faced. ‘I have no time to waste and you, I assure you, will have lots of time for tears later, so I'd be obliged if you'd spare me from them now.' Then without further ado he began to write.

The Hospital for the Insane Callan Park

* MEDICAL REPORT*

Patient Name:
Jessica Margaret Bergman

Sex:
Female

Age:
19

Examined by:
Dr J. C. Warwick — Admitting Physician Date: I January 1915

Comments:
The patient appears from the report submitted by her mother and the local Anglican minister (report included) to be suffering from an acute delusional psychosis, as well as an advanced state of hysteria. She believes that the child born to her sister is her own.

This delusion may have been triggered by the death of her father on the same day as the birth of her sister's child. It is understood the patient was very close to her father.

The patient has shown a tendency to violence and needed to be physically restrained when she attacked her mother at the funeral of her father, accusing her of stealing her baby. Her sister was known by her church community to be pregnant for the appropriate time leading up to the birth of her child. The patient is said to have suffered a nervous condition for several months prior to the birth of her sister's child, a condition that was diagnosed by a doctor at Narrandera Hospital. The statement submitted by her mother refers to this in her own words as ‘a bit of a nervous breakdown, but we thought she'd got better'.

It would appear that the patient comes from a good, working-class home with a caring mother and sister, both respected members of their local church congregation. They agreed to commit her only after she had made frequent threats to kill the mother and sister and it was feared she might harm the infant.

I have been unable to communicate with the patient to ascertain her point of view (if any), as she is so preoccupied with her delusions. I recommend she be committed for treatment pending a further examination by the Medical Supervisor.

Signed:
J. C.
Warwick, MBS.

At the completion of his report Dr Warwick looked up again. ‘Miss Bergman, my recommendation is subject to verification by the Medical Supervisor, who will not be returning from his Christmas holidays until January 10. Do you have anything to say?'

‘About what, sir?' Tommy Holbrook asked, speaking for Jessica.

The doctor sighed. ‘I am recommending that you be committed to this institution,' he replied, as if the question had come from Jessica and not the young police constable. ‘Do you have anywhere to stay until you return for a second examination?'

Jessica appeared to be very frightened but gave no other indication that she understood the question. The doctor turned to Tommy Holbrook. ‘Constable, does she have anywhere to stay here in Sydney?'