The Paler Shade of Autumn (26 page)

“I was ordered by a doctor to undergo some brain scans because of headaches I’ve been having. I received the results today.”

“And?” asks Jet, his neck straining.

“I—I have a terminal brain tumour,” he says. “It can’t be operated on. I have three months, tops.”

Jet can’t speak for too long and the silence becomes awkward. “I’m so very sorry, Andrew, Larissa. This is heartbreaking news. I’m so sorry,” he finally says.

Andrew shakes his head. “It still hasn’t quite—I’m still coming to terms with it all. But I need to start advertising for a replacement. I want to head back to Sweden as soon as possible to spend my last months with family and friends.”

“I totally understand your decision. Let me handle it. I may even know someone who is willing to head over here.”

Silence invades the air surrounding them until Jet says, “What if we go see another surgeon, perhaps there is a possibility you can beat this?”

Andrew shakes his head. “There’s none. There’s no hope.”

Jet and Autumn head back to the hotel after a sombre dinner. With the door barely closed behind him, Jet calls Scott. He tells him of the situation and instructs him to contact a man named Derrick who is currently working in South Africa at the new school. He orders that Derrick ring him as soon as possible.

Autumn leaves him to it and heads to the bathroom. She undresses slowly, happy to be inside the warmth of her heated hotel room, and takes a long shower. She feels sluggish and heavy, her mind saturated with sorrow for the unexpected circumstances that have arisen, but she is also curious if the headache she received yesterday after touching Andrew’s hand was coincidence or insight. She has felt emotions, seen thoughts and concepts of pain, but has never before experienced physical pain as a result of linking hands with someone. She shudders and wraps her arms around her body; is her insight evolving?

When Jet joins her in bed at midnight, Autumn having dozed on and off since closing her eyes hours earlier, he wraps his arms tightly around her. “Are you awake?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

“How are you doing?”

“I’m ok. Sad, I guess.”

“Yeah. Me too. Andrew’s a good bloke. It’s devastating that this has happened.”

“When we were leaving, Larissa took my hand.”

“I saw that.”

“Her grief is beyond words. I saw nothing else in her mind but Andrew’s face and crashing, tumbling waves of grief. She will struggle with his death.”

“It’s such a miserable turn of events. The sooner they can head back to Sweden the better. They’ll need to say their goodbyes here and tie up any loose ends, but after that they will head home.”

“You’d think after twenty years the orphanage would be their home.”

“Andrew pulled me aside there tonight and said it’s Larissa that wants to go home. He’s happy to go along with it because he doesn’t think it’s right to stay around the children, forcing them to witness his demise.”

“Even at the end he is thinking of everyone else but himself.”

“That’s Andrew.”

“I’m starting to see that.”

“It never ceases to make me wonder how someone who has devoted their entire life to helping others ends up with a terminal brain tumour at the age of forty-nine. You’d think life could be more considerate.”

“Death doesn’t discriminate. It comes to us all.” Jet sighs heavily.

“Did you hear from Derrick?” she asks.

“He’ll be here in two days with his girlfriend, who is a qualified teacher. He’s pumped to be able to help out and experience a new country. They have consented to do a six month stint in Mongolia and will stay on permanently after that if they like it, otherwise we’ll organise someone else to take on the co-ordinator’s role.”

“That’s one good piece of news amidst all this.”

“Yeah. It will ease a little of the burden Andrew is feeling.”

“I never realised how much you have to deal with. I’ve only seen the consulting business, never all these other projects, which require so much energy. How do you cope? It’s endless.”

“I have a lot of help from many intelligent, skilled, compassionate people all over the world and,” he softly laughs, “I run Scott off his feet.”

“It’s a hell of a lot of responsibility,” she says.

“It is. That’s why I share it.”

Autumn’s eyes glisten with tears so she closes them. She feels Jet’s lips press gently against her cheek where a single tear has landed.

“It will all be fine, Autumn. I promise.”

She nods. “I know.”

“I love you so much. I want you to know that.”

“I do know it and I love you too.”

He kisses her then, gently, expressively. Autumn relishes his very being as he makes love to her as though it is quite possible that the sun will not rise tomorrow.

The next two days find Autumn deeply involved with the children from all houses. Every morning she enjoys the bathing and feeding of the littlies, but loves to walk up to the older children later and help them with their English studies, joining in on sporting activities, music lessons or assisting with the cooking.

On the third and final day at Hope House, Autumn heads to the nursery, her shoulders rolling forward, heart heavy; she will miss the children she has bonded with over the brief five days here. Autumn takes the time to admire each baby’s supple skin and tiny features as she bathes them, adoring their dark chocolate eyes and silken hair. In her mind, she impresses the images of their smiling mouths, tiny feet and curious little fingers.

Holding nine-month-old Narantsetseg on her lap, she pulls her snug against her chest, letting the smell of her imprint on her memory and, more importantly, she lets Narantsetseg know that someone has felt beautiful affinity for her, enjoyed her company and has thought she is special. Narantsetseg smiles and gurgles wonderful sounds and curls her hand around two of Autumn’s fingers. Autumn gasps: it has been so long since she has seen the mind of a child, not since she was one herself.

Narantsetseg’s mind is beautiful, simple, and imaginative, without the untruths or guilt that accompanies adults’ thoughts. Her memories are what they are. She is happy. The baby girl falls over, hurts herself, she feels hungry, anger, but only when the situation calls for it. Autumn can see faces of volunteers and staff, smiles and cuddles. She can see the other children, bath-time, play-time, dinner-time. The world is a tool of play and offers so much fascination. Autumn grins and kisses Narantsetseg on the cheek as she disentangles her fingers from her hand. She lifts her onto the mat near some toys and says, “Goodbye, Narantsetseg. I hope you find a loving family.”

She picks up another child into her arms, a seven-month-old girl, Oyunbileg. Autumn tries her hardest not have favourites when dealing with children, but Oyunbileg is irresistible.

“Sain uu, Oyunbileg.” The little girl looks at her with her big brown eyes. “Sain uu.”

Feeling uplifted from her interaction with Narantsetseg, she takes Oyunbileg’s hand in hers but immediately snaps her hand away, scaring the little girl. Oyunbileg’s mouth drops into a frown and her little lips begin to tremble, but before she can cry, Autumn hugs her tight to her chest for a long while, rocking her gently.

What she saw in this child’s short life was startling, unbearable. Autumn finds it difficult to release her from her arms knowing she is, in a couple of hours’ time, going to walk out of the door to go on a self-indulgent holiday to Japan, while this child lives here in an orphanage, forever with her heart-breaking experiences.

This child is the daughter of a prostitute who, night in night out, witnessed her mother providing base level pleasure to man, after man, after man, while she lay in her cot, so hungry and so thirsty her entire body throbbed. She watched her mother push drugs into her veins with filthy needles, not understanding what any of it means. One extremely cold night, recently, her mother overdosed, bile, froth and vomit dribbling from her mouth, eyes rolling back into her head. All the while this baby girl watched, scared and frightened and confused, hungry and freezing cold.

The police found her and brought her to the orphanage and she felt warmth for the first time and what it is like have a full belly and to laugh and to be held in loving arms.

Autumn doesn’t leave the nursery. She takes a seat with the little girl in her arms and holds her all morning, stroking her hair, feeling the soft flesh of her rounded, rosy cheeks. Autumn kisses her forehead, her little hands and never stops cuddling her.

Jet walks in and sees her sitting at the back of the nursery, cradling Oyunbileg. He smiles. “We need to take off.”

Autumn feels the tears begin to wet her eyes. She shakes her head. “I can’t leave her.”

Jet walks to Autumn and kneels down beside her. “I understand, Autumn. Believe me I do. But she has a great home here.”

Autumn nods. “I could give her a better home. I could love her until the end of my life.”

Jet smiles affectionately and kisses Autumn on her forehead. “I know you could.”

The tears flood her eyes now. “Her mum was a whore,” she whispers. “She starved her so she could pump drugs into her fucking arm.”

“Autumn. Many of the kids here have a history like hers. Some a lot worse. Some don’t even make it. But we can’t take them all home with us, that’s why the orphanage is here.” He kisses Autumn again on the cheek. “I’ll let you say goodbye and I’ll meet you in the van.”

Autumn nods and watches Jet walk back out through the front door. Autumn bends her head to the baby and kisses her cheek. “Sayn uu, Oyunbileg.” She stands and lays the little girl into a cot and makes her a warm, fresh bottle of milk. Oyunbileg sucks on the teat, eyes heavy with weariness. Autumn leans in one more time and kisses her on the forehead. She then turns, not looking back and joins Jet in the van out the front.

Autumn wipes away the tears long enough to drive to the teen house to say goodbye to the other children and to Andrew and Larissa. Having already checked out of the hotel, they collect Derrick from the kindergarten house and he drives them to the airport.

When it is only Autumn and Jet waiting in the airport lounge, she allows herself to cry again; a continual stream of tears, and she wonders, even as she boards the twelve hour trip to first Beijing, then Japan, if she will ever be able to make them stop. The flight attendants offer tissues and hot tea, but still the tears don’t cease. Eventually, sometime after leaving Beijing, she falls asleep against Jet’s shoulder, cuddling him tight to her body and feels relief, albeit temporary.

The plane lands in Tokyo and they are greeted by a more pleasant temperature—ten degrees Celsius. Jet snuggles Autumn as they wait for a taxi and all the way on the drive to the hotel. She barely sees the swanky lobby, ornate features, or the sheer size and beauty of their suite.

Instead, with apathetic movements, she crawls onto the bed, pulls the covers over her shoulders, rolls onto her side and falls asleep. She sleeps for hours, and hours, a full day, a night, another day, uncomfortable sleep burdened by dreams: shadowed images of strangers’ lives, friends’ regrets, shame, guilt, lies. She sees Andrew’s body lying on a bed; it’s cold, white and lifeless, Larissa crying tears on his chest, drenching him with her pain. Autumn’s mum appears and her dad, their eyes a picture of disapproval and anguish. Her mum is holding a baby but it has no face.

“I want you to know what it is to love a child, Autumn,” she says. The baby transforms into Oyunbileg, her mother into the old Indian woman. She runs her gnarled nails down the delicate skin of the baby’s cheek while the whore of a mother, vomit and bile frothing over her lips, moans with artificial pleasure just so the greasy, grunting man on top of her will finish. She sees people’s thoughts and ambitions and failures, intermingling and whirling, like whispered words in the wind that form no structure and make no sense. “Cursed. Cursed. Cursed.”

Autumn sits bolt upright in bed, chest rising and falling, gasping for air. Beads of sweat have formed on her chest and forehead. Jet, who is on the phone, ends the call and jogs to her side.

He wraps his arms around her and flinches away. “You’re burning,” he says.

“I don’t feel good.”

“I’ll organise some Panadol. Tomorrow we’ll go see a doctor.”

She throws the covers aside and rolls out of bed, darts directly for the bathroom and as soon as her head is near the toilet bowl she throws up repetitively.

When all is quiet, Jet dares to enter. “Can I get you anything?” he asks, eyes filled with sympathy.

Autumn lifts her head out of the sink where she has been rinsing her mouth. “A drink of water, please. Clean, bottled water.”

“Sure.”

Back on the bed, she sits next to Jet who hands her a bottle of water. She drinks it down. “Thanks.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“I think I just needed to vomit. I feel a little better.”

“Good.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s nine o’clock.”

“I’ve been asleep for…”

“Nearly two days,” he says.

“I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.

She takes another swig of her water. “Andrew will die on Friday. He won’t make it home to Sweden.”

Jet narrows his eyes. “How would you know a thing like that?”

She shrugs. “I’m not sure I want to acknowledge why. I’d much rather ignore it and go back to sleep.” Autumn crawls up towards her pillows and lies down, pulling the cover over her body. She closes her eyes, only to hide the tears, and silently cries until she falls asleep again.

Autumn wakes to find Jet watching her. He smiles as though caught doing something he should not have been doing.

“Good morning,” he whispers.

“Hi.”

“You were talking in your sleep.”

“I was?”

He smiles; it’s strained.

“Are you going to tell me what I was saying?” she asks.

Sadness fills his eyes. “You were singing a lullaby.”

Autumn inhales and slowly lets the air out of her lungs. “That doesn’t mean a thing,” she says. “I was obviously dreaming.”

“I know,” he says, shrugging. “You were singing to Oyunbileg.”