The Testimony of Taliesin Jones (27 page)

He wakes and instantly feels the shame of his own water
turning cold and clammy against his skin and spreading in a patch underneath
him
.
He
hopes that he is still dreaming but that acrid ammonia smell doesn't lie, nor
does the yellow stain in the middle of the bed. He pulls the pastel striped
sheet off and kneads it into a ball. The smell creeps and seeps everywhere,
trying to tell the world. He peels off his pyjama bottoms and slips on some
underpants before tip-toeing out of the room with the soiled sheet.

On the landing Taliesin hears a voice; what sounds like a
conversation going on. He moves down a couple of steps and peers through the
banisters
.
His
father is standing in the kitchen looking ahead, as if addressing somebody. He
starts pacing up and down the flagstone floor in the kitchen, his arms
gesticulating, reasoning with an imagined somebody who isn't seeing his side of
the argument.

'You may be right about that
.
. . yes
.
After all, you know
best. You're the practical one and I'm the one who's getting carried away. But
you can see that it's a good idea, that it would work, can't you see that? Let
me show you. It's not like America.' His father continues the charade with utmost
conviction, moving to the table where the map is still spread. He places a
finger at one end of the topography and draws an encompassing circle around the
perimeter of the land
.
He seems to continue his odd soliloquy in his head,
running his finger over the map. Then he looks for an answer in the face of the
imagined person, somewhere in the wall. Taliesin recognizes the person who isn
't
there as his
mother, no doubt shaking her head and raising her eyebrows at this latest
offering. There is something tender in the way his father looks at the wall, as
if he's really seeing her there
.

Taliesin
is caught between not wanting to embarrass his father by interrupting him, and
embarrassing himself by being seen with his liable bundle. He opts to put the
sheet into the basket and leave his father with his wall.

The
next morning Taliesin finds his father hauling a trunk into the hallway. He
looks rough with his stubble becoming beard
.

'What
are you doing, Da?'

'Your
mother wants the rest of her stuff.' In the last few days there has been a
spate of long, argumentative phone calls between his father and mother
.
They have invariably ended with a slammed phone
and a curse
.

In
the trunk there are nightgowns, undergarments
,
brassieres,
shoes, a dressing gown, dresses, skirts, a hat with a maroon bandana, the silk
scarf that hung on the end peg, the silver-back brush and matching mirror, a
wash bag filled with make-up, a velvet bag with a necklace, a mahogany writing
box, a picture of the sea that hung over his parents' bed, records, and books
-all jumbled pell-mell in the trunk like priceless treasures
.

'This
was a wedding present from my mother -your grandmother. If anyone should have
this
,
you should
,'
his father says, holding up the writing box
.
It is a beautiful thing, probably a priceless thing
.
Taliesin once wrote a thank you letter on it to
his aunt thanking her for his
Illustrated Bible
and a bobble hat that he
never wore.

'She's
certainly changed her tune
,'
his father
continues.
'She wants half the furniture too. She's
bloody welcome to it, but she's not having this. I want you to have the box,
here, take it.'

Taliesin
takes the box from him
.
His father is
showing a new anger now that he is waking up to the fact that his wife isn't
coming back. He could be a shepherd or a wise man with that beard but Taliesin
knows that it takes more than
age, a
fl
owing ca
pe
a
nd
a ca
mel t
o
m
ake so
meone wi
se.
It
was
n't
t
hat l
ong ago
th
at
T
aliesin
th
ought
hi
s
f
ather
kn
ew
e
ve
r
yt
h
i
n
g
th
ere was
t
o
kn
ow
in lif
e.
He h
ad a
ll th
e a
nswers
to
th
ings: t
he t
allest
m
ountain i
n W
ales
,
th
e
l
ongest
r
iver,
th
e
p
opulation of
P
eking.
H
e
kn
ew
h
ow
t
o
deli
ver a
l
amb a
nd fi
x a t
ractor
e
ngine. H
e k
new l
ots o
f
t
hings. But hi
s s
tatus
as
th
e
cl
everest, w
isest
a
nd
s
trongest m
an
h
as
tak
en a
d
ent
.
Th
ere a
re th
ings
hi
s fa
ther d
oesn't
kn
ow.
H
e
isn't
a
lways
s
ure. He h
as weak
nesses. And n
ow
h
e
t
alks
to w
alls
.

'
Before I
se
nd thi
s
l
ot o
ff
w
hy d
on't y
ou
s
ee
w
hat
yo
u w
ant
f
or yourself. T
here's b
ooks i
n h
ere.'
T
aliesin
h
as see
n th
em,
th
e go
ld,
bo
ld l
ove
b
ooks wit
h
cu
rling
s
cript
o
n th
e cove
rs.
'
And
t
here'
s
reco
rds. J
on wi
ll
wa
nt
so
me
o
f th
ese t
hings. M
aybe yo
u
s
hould h
ave t
his
too.
'
H
is fa
ther h
and’s
T
aliesin a p
hotograph
a
lbum
wit
h
an ivo
ry
c
ushioned co
ver, a
d
ate a
nd h
is pa
rents
ini
tials
e
ngraved
i
n
eve
rlasting g
old.

'I'm
go
ing
to ge
t
so
me m
ore s
tuff from the loft
;
m
aybe yo
u
co
uld f
etch
th
e res
t
of yo
ur m
other's
clothe
s
"
f
r
o
m th
e c
hest
of
d
rawers.'
H
e r
ises
s
tiffly,
sco
wling, be
grudging
th
e
tim
e
h
e's
u
sing
u
p.
H
e
bru
shes
h
is
h
a
nds a
s
if h
e's
ju
st pe
rformed th
e fi
lthiest t
ask of
h
is
l
ife.

T
alie
s
in
h
as see
n
t
he
we
dding
a
lbum
o
nce b
efore.
T
he p
icture
s
h
ave
l
ost
n
on
e
of t
heir
fasc
ination. E
ach
ph
otograph cove
rs
th
e e
ntire p
age; a
thin
s
heet
of
tr
acing
p
aper
p
rotecting
th
e
ph
otograph fro
m du
st
a
nd tim
e
.
Th
e
fir
st
pi
cture s
hows hi
s
m
other a
rriving
a
t th
e c
hurch w
ith
her
fa
ther.
S
he i
s
s
l
ig
htl
y
plu
mper
th
an s
he
is
n
ow a
nd her smil
e
bel
ongs
to
a fa
r
d
istant t
ime.
T
aliesin
's g
randfather's
s
uit
i
s en
tirely
w
ith
o
ut
c
rease
o
r rum
ple a
nd hi
s
w
hite
co
llar i
s
w
hiter th
an
hi
s
d
aughter's we
dding
gow
n. H
e
l
ooks
as though h
e co
uld
b
e a wise
m
an
,
eve
n
wi
thout
th
e
b
eard.
Th
ere
ar
e
a
se
ries
of
ph
otograp
hs
of f
riends
and
fami
ly
so
me
of
w
hom T
aliesin
r
ecogn
izes.
Everyo
ne
is
s
mi
l
i
n
g, fi
lled
w
ith
a
h
ope a
nd
ge
nuine
ex
pectation th
at see
ms
i
ngenuous n
ow.
Th
ose
s
miles
see
m
say-c
heese
s
miles
,
p
ut
o
n f
or
th
e ca
mera. Th
e
pi
cture
of
hi
s father is s
triking
.
H
e is so yo
ung,
a
lmost t
oo
yo
ung;
a
nd cocky
 
l
ike
J
onathan w
ith
a clean yo
uthful
c
hin th
at doe
sn't
n
eed a dai
ly
s
have. Th
ere are more p
hotographs
taken
in
f
ront
of
th
e c
hapel d
oor,
in diffe
rent combination, his pare
nts
o
n th
eir ow
n, l
ooking a li
ttle l
ost
but
st
ill
smi
ling
;
hi
s paren
ts
w
ith th
eir
p
arents,
brid
esmaids
,
b
estman; everyone wea
ring
a s
tilted h
appiness,
th
e
kin
d of
h
appiness t
hat
co
uldn't l
ast. T
he
a
lbum
e
nds with h
is
p
arents
l
ooking
b
ack o
ver th
eir s
houlders th
rough
th
e
r
ear
w
indow of a se
dan,
se
tting
off o
n th
eir
li
ves
t
ogether.
It
's a
p
icture
b
ook, a fai
ry t
alc
th
at
mu
st
h
ave
b
een
b
elievable o
nce
.
T
aliesin closes t
he b
ook,
put
s i
t b
ack
in th
e
trun
k an
d
goes
up t
o co
llect th
e
res
t
of
hi
s
m
other's
thi
ngs
.