a short story, a description, a character


horse and cart

“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word,

Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird,

And if that mockingbird don’t sing,

Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring,

And if that diamond ring turns brass,

Papa’s gonna buy you a looking glass,

And if that looking glass gets broke,

Papa’s gonna buy you a Billy goat,

And if that Billy goat won’t pull,

Papa’s gonna buy you a cart and bull,

And if that cart and bull turn over,

Papa’s gonna buy you a dog named Rover

And if that dog named Rover won’t bark,

Papa’s gonna buy you a horse and cart

And if that horse and cart fall down,

You’ll still be the sweetest little baby in town.”

 

 

 

I smiled as the baby on the screen reached out for her daddy. He beamed, and cradled her lovingly in his arms. He rocked her back and forth, his shoes squeaking slightly on the linoleum hospital floor. He started to sing:

“ Hush, little baby, don’t say a word.

Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.

If that mockingbird don’t sing,

Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring,

If that diamond ring turns brass…”

 

I smiled and pressed fast forward. Memories sped past. Long forgotten days at the beach, picnics with my cousins. A baby’s first step, her first tooth. Celebrations and joys. I pressed play as her first birthday came on to the screen. The last notes of ‘happy birthday’ filled the dark room where I sat, immersed in memories. The happy baby tried to blow out the candles. She succeeded in blowing out one, and blowing all the icing sugar off the cake. The gathered crowd laughed, and her mother extinguished the remaining candles. People stood in front of the camera as they walked past, the crowd now dispersing, lining up for cake. The baby and her mother came back into view as the baby sunk her teeth into a huge slice. It crumbled in her hands as she devoured the slice, icing and all. The waiting crowd looked on with admiration. Then, in the back door walked her father, carrying a cage with a cloth draped over it.

“Dada!” the baby cried, stretching out her arms. Gasps from the crowd were followed by exclamations of “Her first word!” “Isn’t that gorgeous?” and “did you hear, did you hear? She said ‘dada’!”

The camera zoomed in on her fathers face. He was radiating with excitement and joy. It was obvious he was proud. He put the cage down on the table, and picked up the icing encrusted baby. She reached for his face, and he let her feel the rough stubble of his chin, trace the shape of his nose and pull his ears. He didn’t flinch once. Not until she lost interest did he look away from her big brown eyes. She reached out towards the cage, apparently curious. He reached down and pulled the cloth off the enclosure with a flourish. As the light flowed through the wire bars, the songbird inside opened its beak and started to sing. It’s chirps filled the room. The baby looked on in wonder, entranced by the bird. Chatter filled the room, and the camera swung away, filming shots of the crowd, the house, the magnificent cake. I reached for the remote and it flashed past, more memories replacing it on the screen.

I watched as the little baby grew up. Her hair fell in golden tumbles around her face. Her smile was perfect, all her little milk teeth showing. I pressed the play button and a summer garden appeared on the screen, burnt and bright, but still pleasant. In the shade of a giant gum tree, the little girl stood with her father. The camera came towards them.

What’s wrong?” I heard my mothers voice ask.

My father replied in a whisper, “The bird’s not singing. I don’t think he has much longer to live.
And I could see the cage in the background. A forlorn bird sat there, once magnificent, his head now drooping sadly. The little girl clutched the wire bars, tears streaming down her face. I felt moisture in my eyes as I recalled the memory of that little bird. I wiped my eyes hastily and reached for the remote. Once more, recollections of my childhood sped past. I glimpsed another birthday, a trip to the countryside, on a plane going overseas.  I saw the small family step out of the airport into the bright sunlight of Malaysia. Stepping onto a shuttle bus, and in a hotel room. I watched as the family left the hotel and wandered down streets, looking at the sights. The little girl clutched her father’s hand. They turned the corner into a bustling marketplace. The little girls father picked her up and set her atop his shoulders. She looked down at the brightly coloured stalls, the glistening plastic merchandise. They wandered over to a stall selling trinkets. The girl’s father picked up a ring with a diamond set in it. He showed it to the little girl, and her eyes lit up. She reached for it and he let her hold it while he bargained with the shopkeeper. Eventually they settled on a price and he withdrew the money from his back pocket. They continued on their way. I pressed fast forward, and caressed the old, faded ring on my finger. I looked down. The fake diamond had long ago fallen out and the silver coating had rubbed off, leaving it a dull brass.

I looked up in time to see a 10 year old girl with her hair cut short, ripping open the first of a pile of presents. She withdrew from the wrapping paper a small beautiful handheld mirror. She looked in it and smiled, then cast it aside before proceeding to discover the remaining gifts. I reached over to pick up my coffee from the side table. My hand brushed against an ornate frame. I knew it had once contained a mirror, which had smashed as the family moved house. Now it held a photograph of the family at a their farm.

The film showed a bare house, a removal van just visible through the window. The young girl, who looked like she was now twelve or thirteen, walked through the rooms, her hand trailing along the wall.

Come on, sweetie, we need to go!” called her mother from the front yard. She turned around and left the house, the camera following behind her.

The next picture to appear on the screen was one of a farmhouse. A face peered out from the uppermost window. It disappeared and a few seconds later she came hurtling out the front door. You could see now that she was about fifteen years old. She was tall, and quite beautiful.

I have a present for you…” her fathers voice said. He was behind the camera. The young girl’s face revealed that she was excited, expectant, impatient. The camera got jostled as he set it down somewhere. Her father came in to view, dragging something along behind him. It was very reluctant whatever it was. I knew what it was, so it was no surprise to me as he pulled into view a small black and white goat. However, her face was surprised. She quickly recovered from the shock, and went to help her father drag the goat into a waiting paddock. She hugged her dad, and then turned her full attention to the goat. I pressed fast forward, already knowing what happened to Billy the goat. It flashed up on the screen anyway. The girl and her friend, running after the goat as it wandered onto the road. They were both yelling but the goat still strolled in front of the speeding car. A squeal of brakes echoed in my mind, and I saw the girl’s mouth form a perfect O from shock. Her expression quickly turned to horror as she ran forward to drag the poor goats body away from the road. The driver of the car got out and came over to help. I turned my face away, not wanting to see anymore. Memories were painful, I realised. I pressed pause, then got up and stretched. I wandered out of the room, leaving the lights off and the curtains drawn. I looked at the large clock in the hallway. Picking up my keys and wallet, I left the house, letting the heavy oak door swing shut behind me.

 

I smelt the sterile air of the hospital as soon as the glass sliding doors opened. I walked across the linoleum floor towards the reception desk.

“Hello, can I help you?” said the receptionist in a friendly voice.

“Hi, I’m looking for room 42, could you tell me what floor that’s on?” I asked.

“Um, sure, just a moment,” she lent over the computer and her fingers flew across the keyboard at a record speed. “Floor 5.” She smiled up at me.

“Right, thanks.” I said, but she had already turned her attention to the next person in line. I sighed and made my way down the corridor to the elevators.

 

I pushed open the door, and quietly slipped into the room. He appeared to be asleep when I sat down, but his eyes flew open the second I took his wrinkly hand in mine. His face broke into a crinkly smile.

“Hey, dad,” I said. “Hows it going?”

“Oh alright. You know, bad food, grumpy doctors, the usual.” He smiled, despite the sarcasm in his voice.

“Oh, that reminds me.” I reached into the plastic shopping bag I had at my side. “I brought you some good food.” I said, handing him the takeaway containers of Vietnamese food.

He beamed. “Thanks so much, honey.” He took the containers. Then he looked up at me. “For everything.”

I was startled by this sudden gratefulness. “Uh, no problem, dad.”

He sighed, and cracked open the first of the containers. Digging into the Mongolian beef, he said “so, what have you been doing since I last saw you?”

“What since yesterday afternoon?” I joked. “Not much, really. Just working my way through our entire home movie collection.”

“Ahhhhhh, aren’t you glad I put them all on DVD’s now?” he said, shaking his finger at me. “You can fit so much more into a DVD!”

“Yes, yes, dad. You’re a genius and we should all appreciate you more and all that.” I laughed.

He smiled and put the container on the bedside table.

“Ahhhhhh…” he sighed as he settled back into the pillows.

“Are you tired?” I asked anxiously, not wanting to disturb him.

“Just a bit. I’ll be fine…” he said. However his voice started to trail off and he closed his eyes. Leaning back into the pillows he murmured, “it’s okay, you don’t have to stay…”

I laid his hand back on the bed and gave it a gentle pat. “It’s okay. I’ll stay.”

But he was already asleep and snoring. I sat back and smiled, closing my eyes too. I started to hum to myself, the same tune my dad had sung to me as a child;

“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word,

Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird,

And if that mockingbird don’t sing,

Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring,

And if that diamond ring turns brass,

Papa’s gonna buy you a looking glass,

And if that looking glass gets broke,

Papa’s gonna buy you a Billy goat,

And if that Billy goat won’t pull,

Papa’s gonna buy you a cart and bull,

And if that cart and bull turn over,

Papa’s gonna buy you a dog named Rover

And if that dog named Rover…”

 

The light outside was fading when the nurse finally shook me awake.

“Visiting hours are over ma’am, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.” She said kindly.

“Uh, sure, no problem…” I said, getting to my feet, a little dazed.

She nodded and left the room. I glanced over at dad. He was still fast asleep.

I picked up my stuff and left the room.

 

The key made a small click in the lock when it turned. The door swung open to a dark, empty house. I strode inside, flipping on the lights as I went past. I was hungry, and tired. I made myself some cheese on toast before stumbling into the lounge room where the TV was still flickering. I pressed play and collapsed on the couch. I watched the screen blearily out of the corner of my eye. The last footage I saw before I drifted into sleep was me as a sixteen year old steering a huge brown bull around a fairground. It was pulling a cart filled with small children, none older than six. I looked happy, and I soon realised why. The sixteen year old me steered the cart and bull back towards a sign that read: ‘cart and bull rides = $6’

I smiled. I seemed to be making a good profit. I dreamt of the day when dad had said I could have the old cart and bull, as the animal was too old for shows, and the cart too old fashioned for practical use on the farm. I had been so happy. In the morning, I promptly forgot all about the happy dream.

 

Sunlight streamed in through the window. I hadn’t bothered to close the curtains the night before. I groaned and rubbed my eyes. Getting up, I switched the TV off on my way to kitchen. After a strong coffee and a bowl of rice bubbles, I felt more awake. I sat at the kitchen table, deciding what to do today. I got up and washed the coffee cup, bowl and spoon. I put the rice bubbles away and tidied up the kitchen. Then I cleaned the lounge room. And the bedroom, and the bathroom. Eventually the whole house was sparkling clean, even the ceiling lights. I checked the time. It was two in the afternoon. I realised I had spent all morning cleaning the house.

“What a waste of time,” I mumbled.

I shoved my keys, wallet, phone and transport card into my bag, slung it over my shoulder and walked out the door.

 

I jumped on a tram heading in to the city. I decided to find a gift for dad, as he was in hospital and all.

I wound my way through the masses, staring in store windows, strolling along or rushing to be places. I headed to a music store on Elizabeth Street. Browsing through the new releases I found a new album by one of his favourite bands. I grabbed that and headed to the cash register. I handed over the amount displayed on the till without speaking.

The employee handed me the bag. “Have a nice day.” He said.

I left the shop, and wandered around the city for a bit, stopping to eat lunch in DeGraves Street.

I jumped on another tram and headed to the hospital. I’d have to be quick if I wanted to get there before visiting hours ended.

“Stupid visiting hours…” I grumbled under my breath.

“I beg your pardon?” a voice said somewhere next to me.

I looked up to see an old lady looking at me as though I was mental.

“Sorry, nothing, just talking to myself.” I said.

She gave me another funny look then moved away to sit at the opposite end of the tram.

I chuckled quietly to myself. I dug out my iPod and listened to Spiderbait for the rest of the tram ride.

The tram squealed to a halt outside the Royal Melbourne Hospital. I jumped out as soon as the doors opened and dashed across the road. There was still fifteen minutes left of visiting time.

“Hey, dad!” I said as I strode into the room.

“Sweetie! How are you?” he asked, instantly cheering up.

“I’m fine. How are feeling?” I took a seat beside him and found the CD in my bag.

“Oh, alright. My heart rate’s up a little, but I feel fine.” He said, shrugging.

“What?” I said, forgetting about the CD. “Are you going to be alright? What did the doctor say?”

Dad sighed. “It’s fine. The doctor said that it was normal, and I feel fine.”

I felt relieved. I looked down and realised that I was gripping the CD case a bit tighter than necessary.

“Oh, and I got you a present.” I handed him the CD.

“Is this the new one?” he asked.

“Yeah. What do you think?”

“Good cover art. Let’s hear it.” He handed me the disc and pointed to a small CD player in the far corner of the room. As soon as I pressed play, music filled the room. I turned the volume down.

“Hows that?” I asked.

“Perfect.” Dad settled back against the pillows. “You have to go soon, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “Visiting hours end at six.”

“Okay.” He sighed.

I stood up and got my bag, placing the CD cover next to dad’s bed.

“Hey, darl?”

“Yeah?” I turned around. He was leaning over to the table, struggling to extract something from a small case.

“Take this. Use it for taxi’s or… or emergency transport if you need to get somewhere quickly.” He held out two notes.

I accepted them. I looked down and realised I was holding two hundred dollars.

“Dad,” I said, shocked. “What’s this for?”

“I just told you.” He replied calmly. “Emergency transport.”

“Okay…” I thought he was going a bit senile.

“And don’t spend that on shoes.” Yep, definitely senile. He frowned. “Or doctor who merchandise.”

I laughed. He wasn’t that senile, I decided.

 

On the tram home, I wondered over what he meant. Did he mean money to get to him if anything happened? If he… no I wasn’t even going to think that. He was going to be okay. I hadn’t even realised it was my stop until the doors banged open. I jumped out and pulled my hood up as I dashed across the road. The spitting rain was getting heavier.

As soon as I got in the house, I jumped online and checked the weather. Thunderstorms expected. Wonderful. Then I checked my email. Junk, junk, junk, newsletter, junk, an email from my friend in New York, and one from another friend whose dog had just had puppies. I looked at the photos. They were adorable. At the bottom of the letter it said they were for sale. I looked closer. The price was $20. I looked down at my pocket, where I could just see the shape of two hundred dollars sitting there. I immediately clicked reply.

 

Later on, I left a message on dad’s answering machine, telling him I’d bought a little companion with some of the money he gave me. I explained that I was feeling lonely up here in the big house he had given me when he moved into the hospital. I told him to call me back in the morning. I would wait for his call, then go and pick up one of Sarah’s puppies. I actually made it to the bedroom instead of the couch for once. I sprawled on the bed, kicking off my shoes and picking up my novel. I turned the bedside lamp on, and read until the clock showed 1:37 am.

 

I woke up early. It was still dark outside. I looked at the clock. I groaned. Did I ever get enough sleep? I quickly did the maths and concluded that I had gotten about

Three and a half hours sleep. However hard I tried to go back to sleep I just couldn’t. Eventually I got up and went to the bathroom. I let the hot water of the shower run over my shoulders, my back, my legs. It felt good. I switched the water off and grabbed the nearest towel. I dried myself thoroughly before returning to my room where I dressed in cargo shorts and a funky t-shirt. I gulped down some juice and caught the toast as it popped into the air. I quickly buttered it and shoved it in my mouth. The phone rang as I swallowed the last bit of toast.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hey honey.” Dad’s voice sounded croakier, but it could just be the phone.

“Hi, dad.” I said fumbling for my keys, as I got ready to leave.

“What’s this about you getting a little friend?”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cos the house feels so empty I’m getting a puppy from Sarah. Her dog has just had a litter and she is selling them for $20 each.”

“You do know that you have to take them to the vet and buy them food and walk them?”

“Dad, please. We lived on a farm for eight years. I know how to look after animals.”

“Alright, alright…” he grumbled.

“Well, I gotta dash. See you later, right?”

“Yeah.” His voice sounded a bit strangled, as though he was on the verge of tears. “Goodbye…” And the phone died. I looked at the phone in puzzlement before shrugging. I left the house at a run, grabbing a taxi. I told the driver the address and watched the city speed past. We entered the suburbs and I watched as kids played in local parks, parents pushed their children on the swings. A couple, arm in arm, wandered down the footpath, staring into each other’s eyes. But they were all gone in an instant. Soon, we pulled up to Sarah’s house. I paid the cabbie and jumped out. I knew I’d end up staying for lunch. I rang the doorbell and watched through the warped glass door as someone approached and pulled the door open.

“Ava! We haven’t talked in, like, forever!” Sarah gushed as soon as I got inside. Come in, come in, do you want tea? Sugar? Oh, you have to see the puppies, they are adorable…” we walked down the hallway, Sarah chattering the whole way.

 

“Thank you again for lunch.” I said at the door as Sarah and her husband waved me goodbye.

“Oh, it was no trouble,” she said. “Take good care of that puppy!” she added, as I placed the cardboard box into the back seat of my taxi.

“Goodbye!” I waved and pulled the door shut. The taxi sped away.

 

Juggling the heavy box under one arm, and struggling with the key in the door I managed to get inside the house. I reached up for the light switch and flipped it on. I set the box on the floor and pulled the key out of the lock, shutting the door behind me. I sat down next to the box, and opened the lid. A small brown puppy jumped out at me, and covered my face with dog slobber.

“Ew…” I said.

He just licked my nose again.

“You, naughty Rover, you.” I tickled his belly, and he immediately rolled over. I scratched his chin, and decided he would need a collar. First I went to the kitchen and found two old breakfast bowls. I filled the first with clean water, and wondered what I should give him to eat.

“Aha…” I mumbled to myself. I pulled open the fridge, and found the remnants of leftover bolognaise. I tipped it into the second bowl and set both on the floor.

“Here, Rover!” I called.

He came whizzing around the corner. I laughed, and he immediately started to eat the bolognaise.

I left him to it, and picked up my keys.

 

Soon as I came in the door, Rover jumped up at me. I grabbed the puppy round his middle, so he didn’t run out the door. I shut the door with my foot, and wrestled the new collar onto Rover. I set him down in the hallway.

“There, now, don’t you look dashing?” I said to him.

We walked back to the kitchen and he gobbled up the last of the bolognaise. I pulled the dog food cans out of the plastic shopping bag and stored them in the pantry. Rover pawed at my leg and whined. He looked sleepy.

“Come on, then.” I said. I picked him up and carried him to the bedroom. I set him down on the end of my bed. He immediately curled into a ball and closed his eyes. I patted the top of his head, then stretched and yawned. After so many late nights I was feeling incredibly tired. I kicked off my shoes and pulled my jeans off. Looking around my room for a pair of pyjama shorts, I pulled off my t-shirt and replaced it with a ratty old singlet. I climbed under the warm doona, Rover a heavy lump at my feet. Before long I was fast asleep.

 

The ringing of the phone woke me late in the morning.

“Hello?” I answered groggily.

“Is this Ava Thompson?” a crisp voice said. I could hear beeping in the background, and hurried voices.

“Yes…” I said, still half asleep. “Who am I speaking to?”

“We are ringing from the Royal Melbourne Hospital where your father, Charles Thompson, is currently under treatment.”

I gasped. “Is he okay? What happened?” I struggled out of bed, Rover grumbling and jumping off the mattress.

“His condition has worsened, and he has asked for his daughter constantly. You are his daughter?” the man asked.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Should I visit him immediately?”

“That would be good, Ms. Thompson. Thank you.” And with that he hung up.

I ran towards the overflowing closet. I grabbed the first things my hands touched. Pulling on a pair of jeans and my new white stripes shirt, I struggled into my shoes as I hurried to the door. I felt Rover scratch my leg, and I went to fill up his food and water bowl.

“I’ll be back later,” I told him as I patted his head. He dug into his food and I grabbed my keys, wallet and phone and rushed out the door.

 

10 minutes later I was still waiting for a cab. I was getting really stressed. I put my hand in my pocket for my phone; I was going to call the hospital to check how he was going. My hand brushed the money dad had given me. I pulled it out and counted out the notes. “Fifty, a hundred, a hundred and twenty, a hundred and seventy…” I murmured. I looked up for a cab. The first thing my eyes rested on was a horse and carriage, the driver leaning against the side of the carriage, eating a sandwich. I sighed and dashed across the road.

“Can I get a ride?” I asked the driver.

“Sure,” he replied. “Just round the city?”

“No. Can you take me to the Royal Melbourne Hospital?” I asked hesitantly.

He looked a bit bewildered. “Um, sure…”

I jumped in the carriage.

“As fast as possible, please.” I told the driver.

“Ma’am, I can’t go over the speed limit. This is a horse and carriage we’re talking about here.” He said, indignant.

I leaned closer to the driver. “My father is dying in hospital. I need to get there as quick as I can.” I said quietly.

He gulped. “Uh… I’ll see… see what I can do.” He looked nervous. I could tell he was starting to sweat under the pressure.

I sat back and concentrated on not panicking. The horse’s hooves sped up, drumming a constant rhythm onto the road.

Cars beeped at us as the carriage raced past. My phone rang again.

“Hello?” I answered. I could hear the anxiety in my voice.

“Ms. Thompson? This is Darren from the Royal Melbourne Hospital.”

“Oh, god. How is he?” I asked straight away.

“Not so good. His heart rate has increased and it looks as though he hasn’t got much longer.”

“’Hasn’t got much longer’?” I repeated, my voice rising into hysteria. The driver looked back and he whipped the horse. It whinnied and went even faster. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he might not live for much longer.”

I screamed quietly and hung up. I put my head in my hands and pressed my mouth to my palms. My hands muffled the noise, but the carriage driver still looked back with concern and sped up. The horse was flat out galloping, cars screeching to a stop as we rushed past. We hurried through an intersection. It was as if everything slowed down. I watched as the old blue commodore rammed into the side of the cart. Wood splintered everywhere and the whinny of the horse pierced my ears. The carriage toppled, pulling the horse over with it. The driver jumped out just in time. He ran to his horse and yelled at me, “Go! Run! The hospital’s only one block east!”

Cars screeched to a stop, people were running everywhere, I could hear ambulances screaming. I climbed out of the mass of broken wood and started towards the hospital. The world around me moved but I wasn’t going anywhere. I couldn’t find any purchase on the ground. I started to run. I panted and my heart beat fast. The hospital was so tantalisingly close, but I couldn’t go fast enough. I felt a hot wetness over my eye. I knew it was blood, without having to putt my hand up and feel it. I closed my eyes and sprinted the last 20 metres. I smacked into pedestrians, but I kept on going. Through the doors and down the hallway. The doors of a packed elevator were just closing as I reached it. I jumped in and stabbed the button for level five. The elevator moved so slowly. I dashed out before the doors had fully opened. Down the corridor I flew. I stopped at room 42. I pushed open the door. The lights were on. I blinked at the sudden brightness.

“Ava…” my dad’s voice whispered. I looked up. A crowd of people were clustered around his bedside.

I pushed through them. He lay there, his face sunken, his eyes closed.

“I’m here, dad, I’m here…” I said earnestly.

“Ava…” he said again. He didn’t open his eyes.

“What’s wrong with him?” I said, turning to the crowd of doctors behind me.

“We don’t know,” one of them said apologetically. I looked at her. She was young, with blond hair and a pretty face.

I turned away. I clutched my dad’s hand.

“Ava…” he whispered again.

“I’m here, dad…” I sobbed. The blood above my eye trickled down my cheek and dripped onto the white sheet on the bed.

He said my name over and over, his voice fading with each repetition.

I grasped his hand tighter as his breathing became erratic. The machines clustered beside his bed started beeping loudly. The nurses and doctors rushed around the room.

“Dad…” I whispered, a tear escaping and rolling down my cheek.

His mouth formed more words, but they were too quiet to hear. I leaned towards him.

“And if that dog named Rover won’t bark…” he whispered, so quietly it was nearly indistinguishable. He was singing.

“No, Dad, no, it’ll be okay…” I sobbed. I squeezed his hand so tight the muscles in my arm hurt.

“Papa’s gonna buy you a horse and cart,” he was still singing. The nurses rushed around us, but the beeping didn’t stop.

“If that horse and cart falls down…” his singing slowed, and he drew in a great breath of air. “You’ll still be the sweetest little baby in town…” he whispered.

He exhaled slowly, and the beeping came to a long, continuous beep…


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