Lilian's Story Read Free Page B

voice, fading when he spoke, surging up to fill silences. In my bedroom underneath Mother’s I could hear most things. Oh, Albion , Mother complained from her room at night. Oh, Albion , and was stopped in the middle of saying, No.
    Birth, the Slippery Adventure
    My brother was a small triumph. He lay in state, everything around him brand-new and pale blue. Father spent a week in the study before he could decide on a name for his son. I made one or two suggestions, but although Mother arched her eyebrows and nodded, Father seemed not to hear. When I caught him alone, staring at an ant on the verandah, he said with loud bogus enthusiasm. Oh, good idea. I’ll make a note. He went so far as to scribble something in his little notebook, but it did not look like Ivanhoe or Gideon , but more like I will not ape snails. In the end, John Thomas was disappointing.
    On the lawn I was enormous, bending over my brother’s crib, the shadow of my head covering his whole body. One foot had freed itself from its wrapping and waved at the sun, and at the gulls floating overhead, watching. Salt was thick in the air, the tide was coming in strongly against our beach, and every branch tugged up and down, waving back at that pale foot. Above us the palm tree was a dutiful umbrella, but I could imagine how my brother’s tiny face would congest if it was peppered from above by those berries. He would cry and everyone would come running. Veins of his skull were fragile as he blinked and made small frantic movements of his fists like someone inventing boxing, but we both knew he could not get away. When it grasped the finger I poked at him, his hand felt like the tentacles of a sea anemone, but his grip was strong. This pale blue bundle would soon be strong enough to do more than grip fingers. You’re fat , I whispered in despair, and his fist clenched weakly, striking nothing, a thread of blue caught in a nail. Fat. From his open mouth a rapid dribble ran down his chin like an explorer. Fatty fat. When he yawned I could see his tongue as pink as salmon and the strong swallowing muscles of his throat, and knew that nothing could be done. I had to remind myself that I would always be four years older than my brother.
    Mother saw us from the verandah and ran across the lawn towards us crookedly, like someone in an egg-and-spoon race, panting over me while a hand hid the freckled skin at the top of her dress. Your brother, Lilian , she gasped, and we watched the words evaporate between us. I know, Mother. I was all ugly whine. Sisters love their brothers, Lilian , Mother said. A brother is a very precious thing. She brushed away a fly and glanced up into the palm tree. Is he safe here?
    Upstairs a shutter banged once like a command and Father’s head appeared at the window of his study. He gestured and called at us and Mother picked the baby up, put him down, opened his smock, closed it, pulled at his blankets, saying, that’s right, that’s good, that’s better, yes, yes, yes. Father appeared on the verandah and strode towards us until he stood erect beside the crib. His son popped a loud wet bubble and looked startled, gesturing up at Father in an exclaiming way. Father thrust his chest out and clenched his buttocks, setting an example, but the baby scratched peevishly at the sky. Needs changing , Mother apologised, and Father unbent to permit his son to grasp a proffered pinkie. Mother smiled at the baby, at Father, at me. No one smiled back. If he needs changing, Norah, he must be changed , Father said, and stared down a gull trying to strut on the grass. Mother bundled the baby up and was calling for Alma even before she reached the verandah.
    A berry fell into the empty crib, onto the shawl crocheted by Aunt Kitty, and Father was beginning to turn away towards the house. Father , I yelled, running to a patch of sun and attempting to stand on my head. Father, look! I shrieked when he did not, and ran to the low