The Broken Ankle

“Stan, the man who drove you this morning, he’s known Norma from the time she was born. He and Mavis haven’t got any children, and they really loved Norma, and she even turned on them. She called him a ‘white woman fucking nigger’, and Mavis a ‘nigger’s slut’. We nearly lost them over that…I mean…they’re not just employees, they’re very dear friends.”

“It was as if Norma had undergone a total personality change. When she went back to school we thought she might settle down again, but within six week we were asked to take her away from the school because of her violent and disruptive behaviour. We tried two other private schools, but she never lasted longer than two months in either of them.”

“Oh, they were very sympathetic and suggested that Norma should see a psychiatrist, but wrongly, we baulked at this.”

“In the end we sent her to the high school at The Hill, and I went to live there during school terms, so she could come home to me every night. All that did was to put me closer to her behaviour, and I witnessed some of her violence. The physical violence was always against girls. She never physically attacked boys because by then she couldn’t bear any male to touch her, even her father.”

“She lasted six months in that school, and they really did try to help her, but it was no good. We ended up taking her out of the school and bringing her home here.”

“By that time things had really got to be terrible. We had nearly lost the friendship of Stan and Mavis; none of the men would come anywhere near Norma, and Gordon and I were always fighting, accusing each other, saying it was the other’s fault this had happened. In fact, our marriage was on the verge of breaking up.”

“It was then we swallowed our pride and took Norma to see a psychiatrist. Of course, we had to go to the city, and the treatment called for regular sessions over a long period of time. So again Gordon and I were separated. I had to go and live in the city to take care of Norma and get her to the treatment sessions.”

“This seemed to go on and on for ages, but then came the time when I was told that from then on Norma would only need to attend a session every couple of months. So we came home.”

“She was calmer, more her old self, except the vitality seemed to have gone out of her. From a loving happy girl, she had become grim and cynical, and still couldn’t bear any male to touch her.”

“And that, Brent, is where we had got to when this trip to the hills was brought up. Norma had read something about returning to the place or thing where a traumatic event had taken place in your life. She called it, ‘Facing your dragons’. Like flying again immediately after you’ve been in a plane crash. She said she wanted to go back to the hills and face her dragons, and she insisted she would go alone.”

“We didn’t want her to go, but really we couldn’t stop her, except to refuse her a vehicle…well, as usual, Gordon gave in…I know he looks a great tough guy, but really he’s as soft as warm butter underneath, so we let her go. You know the rest.”

She paused for a moment, the sighed and said, “I know it’s very sentimental. But you know Brent; I’ve always looked forward to there being grandchildren. But now…”

We sat in silence for a long time, I trying to digest what I had been told, and Marge perhaps wondering if she had done the right thing telling me.

“You know, of course,” I said, “she lay all night in my arms while I tried to keep her warm. Then I carried her for I don’t know how long.”

“Yes, but it was different. She was injured and frightened.”

I agreed, but added, “She’s been injured and frightened for a long time…I mean, before this last business…injured in her mind.”

“Yes. I suppose I’d better tell you that she hasn’t gone to the Royal City Hospital just to get her ankle treated. She’s gone there to receive more psychiatric treatment. The doctor thinks that what happened to her this time might add just another trauma to the original one. Well, I’ve burdened you enough with our troubles, Brent. Thanks for being so sweet and listening.”

She rose to leave me, but I took hold of her hand and asked, “Will it be all right if I visit her when I go back home? I mean, would seeing me just make it worse by reminding her of what happened?”

“I don’t know, Brent. Can we leave that to the psychiatrist to decide? We can contact you and let you know.”

“Right.”

“I’m going to make some coffee. If you’d like some come to the kitchen in ten minutes.”

I said a distracted, “Thanks,” and she left.

I am not one of those people who in the face of a person’s pain suggest to them that there are other’s worse off than they. I understand the uselessness of such counsel. But after what Marge had just said, I did see that my crisis over Jackie had been a mere pinprick compared to theirs.

As I had already realised, if the face of what I had been through with Smithy, the Jackie affair had almost faded completely from my mind. As I thought of her now, I saw her for the self-indulgent person she was when seen alongside these people.

Apart from the initial male survey of Smithy as a desirable or otherwise, female, I had only viewed her as a person of that strange mixture of generosity and rejection. That saying that we should not judge another until we know the full story rang true for me now. But then, when do we ever know another’s full story?

Here was a young woman, her life perhaps marred for ever. Unable to relate to men and thereby cut off from marriage and children, so who was I to complain if she could be a bit sharp and cynical?

I mentally shrugged and retired to the kitchen for coffee.

I thought I had wanted to stay around the Smith place for two or three days, yet found, despite my liking for Marge and Gordon, and a budding friendship with Stan and Mavis, I wanted to leave.

I had achieved nothing towards my thesis at the hills, and knew I would have to return there some time in the future. Now I felt as if I had nothing to gain by staying and more importantly, nothing to contribute. The events at the hills, the aftermath, mainly Marge’s revelations concerning Smithy and her family, had left me feeling flat - drained.

I told those white lies we are prone to use in such circumstances: “Very busy. “Must get back to work.” “Parents expecting me home.”

I left amid a flurry of more thanks, hand shaking and kisses, leaving behind my promise to return some time when Norma was better. I left with all the relief and feelings of guilt such situations engender.

I had left my address and telephone number so that, if it was appropriate, and her psychiatrist agreed, I might visit Smithy in hospital. In the following weeks and months no call or message came.

I buried myself in my thesis work, seeking to distance myself from the emotional content of all that had happened, just as I had with Jackie. Incongruously, I realised I had fled to the hills to escape my emotions concerning Jackie. Now I had fled from the hills, or at least the Smith household, to escape any emotional tangle I might get into with them.

About six months after leaving the Smith’s place, the memory began to not so much fade, but soften. I’d had a bit of drama in my life. For a moment I had been a hero, at least in the Smith’s eyes. Perhaps it is true that we are all destined for five minutes of glory in our lives.

I had generally cut myself off from social contact, especially with women, and buried myself in my thesis, so it was a surprise to me when, coming home from university late one afternoon, my mother greeted me with a knowing look saying, “There’s a young lady waiting to see you. She’s in the lounge.”

“Who is she?” I asked.

“Says her name is Smith. Seems a nice girl. She’s the one you got out of that hole, isn’t she.” It was a statement not a question.

I had told my parents only the bare details of what had happened at the hills, and nothing of what Marge had revealed to me, but I felt I could safely assume that mother and Smithy had been having a significant chat.

Wondering what had brought Smithy to our house, and recalling the unpredictable moods Smithy could exhibit, I put on a neutral face and went into the lounge anticipating the worst.

I almost didn’t recognise her. No longer clad in jeans and a top, her hair now worn longer, the girl I confronted wore a dark green dress that displayed the legs I had not been able to see before, and they looked good, very good. The veil of suspicion and apprehension she once displayed had given place to a very pretty open countenance. However, one feature remained.

As I walked in Smithy rose like an avenging angel from the armchair where she was sitting, and with eyes blazing said, “You bastard. You lousy bloody man. Not once…not once did you come to see me. No note, no telephone call. I waited day after day, but nothing…”

“But…”

“Don’t you ‘but’ me, Brent Wilde. How a nice woman like your mother could produce someone like you I’ll never know.”

She had come close to me and stretching up kissed me on the lips.

I was astonished on two counts. First, what had happened to her revulsion over physical contact with men? Second, how did an outburst like the one just delivered warrant a kiss?

“Oh, do sit down Brent, you make everything look so cluttered standing there.”

To my amazement I obeyed.

“I said once before, you’re a walking disaster area. If the prime minister ever sees you he’ll declared a state of national emergency. Why didn’t you come to see me?”

My brain cells were working overtime trying to keep track of the flow, or rather, torrent that had poured out of her, so I stammered out, “Your mother said…”

Oh, did she? And you took notice of her?”

“Well, she said the psychiatrist would…”

“Would he? Did anyone bother to ask me what I wanted? A pause, then, “Well, did they? No, they bloody well didn’t.”

“I’m sorry, but they said you didn’t like men and…”

“Ah, they did, did they? And you of course just accepted that, eh?”

“Er, yes. After all I had noticed…”

“Oh, you do notice some things then? I’ve told your mother I’m taking you out for dinner, so where would you like to go?”

“Smithy, are you feeling okay, I mean, aren’t I supposed to ask you out to dinner?”

“If I waited for you to ask I’d be an old woman before it happened.”

“Please, Smithy, can we slow down a bit. I don’t know what all this is about, but can I just clear up a few things with you?”

She gave that lovely smile I’d seen before, only this time it was truly radiant. “It’s all right Brent. I’m only playing with you…not about the dinner though. You say what you want to say or ask?”

“Truly, Smithy, I didn’t come to see you because I was waiting for your mother to tell me it was all right to visit. I heard nothing, so assumed either you didn’t want to see me or the psychiatrist thought it not a good idea.”

“Yes, I know Brent. In fact the psychiatrist was a bit ambivalent about your visiting, and my parents, knowing how I’d been behaving towards men, decided not to contact you. You see, it wasn’t that they didn’t want us to see each other. What they were doing was leaving it up to me to make contact if I wanted to.”

“But you don’t really like men, do you Smithy.”

“I’ve got a couple of things to say about that, my boy. First, I’ve had my head turned inside out for the last few months and have got a bit better perspective on men. I mean, they can’t all be rapists, can they? The other thing is, I spent a whole night cuddled up to a man, who after that proceeded to carry me on his back for I don’t know how far, so that has to say something in his favour, even if he is a muddle headed idiot.”

She had been sitting in an armchair, but now she rose, came over to me and said very quietly, “Thank you, you wonderful man. I shall love you for ever for that.”

She kissed me again.

“And, you lousy male, you haven’t even asked me how I am. And don’t bother to say I haven’t given you the chance because it’s true, I haven’t.”

I held her hand. “How are you, Smithy?”

“I feel wonderful. I’ve got a bit of a limp, though. The doctor says with some therapy it might go away eventually. Now, about dinner, where do you want to go?”

“Could we go somewhere quiet,” I asked, “Somewhere where you’re not allowed to bully me?”

She suddenly became very serious. “Brent, do you think you could ever come to like me?”

“Well, it’s rather difficult to dislike a woman you’ve spent the night with, then carried thousands of kilometres…at least, it felt like thousands. Of course I like you Smithy, you’re such a complicated woman, so how could I help but like you?”

“That’s good, Brent. You see I’ve thought about you a lot in all these months, and although I shouldn’t say it to you, I think I love you.”

“It’s just gratitude, Smithy.”

“Perhaps, but I’m staying in town for some time. I’m still getting treatment for my ankle as well as my head, so I shall be pestering the life out of you until you tell me to clear off or until I find it is just gratitude. In the mean time, I’ll settle for loving you because it feels so nice. Is that okay with you?”

“Suppose I say it isn’t okay?”

“Can you tell me where the soap is kept?”

We both broke up laughing.

That night’s dinner was followed in the weeks and months after by many outings. At one time I would have been bedding the girl as soon as I could, not so with Smithy. I never sought to touch her, but always let her make the physical contact. She held my hand and leaned against me in theatres. Sometimes she would drape my arm round her shoulders. I wanted to do nothing that would make her recoil.

One evening sitting in the car outside the house where she was staying, she snuggled up to me and said, “I’ve found out, Brent.”

“Found out what?”

“It is love, not gratitude. Is that all right?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so.”

“I finished all my therapy. The last session was this morning, and as you see, I hardly limp at all now. I’m okay, I mean, I’m in my right mind if that’s what your wondering.”

“No, that’s not what I’m wondering.”

“Brent, I would let you…I mean I want to but…but I’m still frightened…it hurt so badly.”

“I know. Let’s not worry about that yet.”

“Could you ever love me, Brent? Please tell me the truth. Don’t just say something to please me or keep me quiet. It’s too important to me for that.”

She was leaning against me and I experienced that same fragility, the vulnerability, as the time I held her in the hills. If I had to hurt her, now and not later was the time.

“I don’t know, Smithy. I don’t know if I ever want to love again.”

“Ever love again? You’ve been hurt too, haven’t you?”

“Not as badly as you, Smithy, but yes, I’ve been hurt.”

“Could you tell me?”

“I had never mentioned Jackie to her, but rather than make her feel rejected for no reason other than the thought that I found her unlovable, I told my story.

When I finished she still leaned against me, and she said, “I understand, but there is just one thing I want you to know. If ever you loved me, I would never reject you, ever. There, I have no pride, have I?”

“Love doesn’t need to bother with pride, Smithy, it’s sufficient to itself.”

“Yes, I suppose so. My parents want me to go home.”

“Are you going?”

“I don’t know it depends on you. If you want me to go, I’ll go, or stay if you want me to stay.”

“If you go, how soon will it be?”

“Early next week, probably.”

I felt the same sort of lurch in my stomach I had experienced with Jackie. I had come to cherish her companionship, the talk, the warmth of her presence. I had loved one who had used me, why could I not let go and love one who had declared her love for me?

I was at war with myself again, and I think Smithy sensed this.

“Look, Brent, don’t say any more now. Just let me love you without any strings. I know I haven’t given you what most other girls would have given long ago. I’ve still got that barrier of fear to overcome and I truly believe you’re the only man I could overcome it with, but you’d be taking a big chance with me, I know that…”

“No, Smithy, it’s not like that, I promise you. I’m glad in a way that there’s been no sex. I’ve got to know you in so many other ways, and I’m grateful l have. But you’re right, let’s not say any more tonight.”

She kissed me very tenderly and said, “Good night, love of my life.” Then she was gone.

I saw a yawning void opening up before me, far more threatening that that declivity Smithy had fallen into. That was a situation that called for practical responses, however demanding physically. Now the call was for emotional responses, and they were to be responses to that most delicate of all our emotions, that of love.

Love can be wonderful and uplifting. It can also be near annihilating when it goes wrong, as it did with Jackie. The yawning void was one which was before me. I was standing on its edge. Somewhere on the other side but for now invisible there might be a place to come to rest on. There was no guarantee. Should I leap out into the void trusting that all would be well?

These were my thoughts and feelings and, as sometimes happens, something or someone steps across your path, and you find yourself moving in a new direction, either in retreat or advance.

In my current dilemma it was at first my mother who focused me.

It was the day after Smithy had told me she might go back to her parents. I was being miserable over a cup of coffee in the kitchen, while mother was preparing something. She made the chance comment, “Lovely girl, Norma.”

I made some non-committal sound. She went on, “Have you ever thought you might like to marry her?”

“She’s going back to her parents.”

“That doesn’t stop you thinking about marrying her, does it?”

“I suppose not.”

I had never told my parents about Smithy’s rape and the devastating sexual after effects. Perhaps they thought Smithy and I were having a sexual relationship since we had seen so much of each other, and they could see there was no other girl in my life.

My father had been sitting opposite me buried in a newspaper, but as always alert enough to pick up the trend of the conversation.

“Bloody mug if you don’t snap her up. That’s if she’d have you. Bloody sight more human than that other one you wanted to marry.”

“Still, if she’s going back home, you won’t be seeing much of her, if at all,” mother went on.

I got that lurch in my stomach again.

Mother managed to add a pain to the lurch. “Pity, she’s such an attractive girl.”

“He’ll just have to look for another one to take out,” my father said.

That did it. Without really considering what I said I burst out, “I don’t bloody well want to take anyone else out.”

“No need to get upset son, it was only a passing comment.”

I said nothing further but thought a lot. “No Smithy, no one to be with, no one to…” I stopped myself forming the word in my head, but it was there none the less.

My father got up and muttered something about going down to the shed to do some work.

Silence reigned for a while then mother asked, “Something wrong, love?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Smithy.”

“What about her?”

Not only had I not told my parents about the rape, I had not said anything about Smithy having psychiatric treatment. As far as they knew she was just getting her ankle treated. Now I needed to talk to someone, preferably female. Who better than mother?”

So I told her the story, including Smithy’s fear of sexual contact.

Mother was quiet for a while, then stopping her work she came and sat down at the table.

“I understand, Brent. She’s said she loves you, and you’re the only one she wants to have physical contact with, but she’s also said it’s a risk?”

“Yes.”

“If you don’t love her, Brent, then let her go, because it is going to take a lot of love to help her overcome her feelings. If you do love her, then she will need all your patience and tenderness to overcome the problem.”