Dream Small

"I'm old. I don't sleep well." She told me. "Get up. Do you smoke still?"

I laughed and told her how much my daughter Renee hated my pipe and cigarettes.

"Renee?" She smiled and held my cheek. "Like Clarice and Jean? Clarice for you and Jean Paul for the plane that dropped you in my walnut tree. The Jeanie-Belle. The bitch I hated in my heart and sent you home to in my head? Shh..." She winked and picked up the bible on the bedside table. "An old war ladies' trick."

The bible opened and she pulled out first a packet of cigarettes and then a lighter. Then she handed me a crumpled photograph. Lines wove their way through what was left of the picture.

"Do you remember?" She asked. It was a picture taken by a travelling photographer who claimed to be documenting things for the German press. We stood beside a wood pile. I was in a singlet. It was summer and she wore a little floral dress. I had a moustache in the French fashion, and she had laughed and said, 'what harm? Come on.' A week later he turned up unannounced and handed us a copy. "It is too perfect." He told us. "I had to share."

She coughed while smoking. "This reminds me." She smiled. "We always smoked after you gave me good sex like that. You were so energetic. So..."

"Inexperienced? And wondering why a really hot French lady was looking after me and wanting to..."

"Hmmph... You were old enough to die in the sky. You were man enough and more for me."

"I am old enough now to know that I can't do that again tonight."

"You have finally learned well enough not to need to. I wish I'd... It's silly. I'd love to have known your lovers. To know all of your story."

"We have time."

"A little."

~*~

Time passed quickly as it happens to do when you are aware you have little of it. There is an irony that we are both aware of when comparing our short five months together many years ago and the distinct possibility that we could have only that short time again.

When she is well, we travel. We have visited many places from our stories. She has shown me where her first husband and her son rest in a small cemetery and told me the story of how they were executed for breaking curfew. They had been assisting a cow which was calving and a passing German patrol simply open fired on them. They were only a hundred metres from the farmhouse, in the home paddock.

We returned to the walnut tree that started my French adventure. I learned she buried Henry beneath it. The soldiers that used her farmhouse for a radio post had used her body just as licentiously. She was forced to cook and clean for them and there was the constant unspoken threat that they would harm Jean and Clarice if she was not compliant.

Henry was born as a result and had been a sickly child from the start. He succumbed to Polio as an infant and after burying the child she fled to her sister's farm just outside Duclair. The same farm Jean works now.

All these stories are documented on Wednesday or Thursday afternoons when Jean and sometimes Elise or one of the girls visit with a tape recorder. Jean particularly enjoyed the tapes that Clarice had sent him recounting my adventures and he thought something similar would be a marvellous legacy that Renee could leave for her young grandchildren.

Every Sunday his family arrive for 'Le Goûter', a tradition much like the afternoon tea that Lorna insisted upon, except that it was much heartier. They were happy occasions and I recall one particularly early on.

On Renee's poorly days, when the pain or lethargy kept us at home, we flipped through photo albums of the children's lives, did jigsaw puzzles, sometimes she simply lay in bed and smiled sadly at me where I sat reading beside her. Some days, she simply slept the day away. I'd check on her often, but it became clear I needed a way to pass the time.

As I hadn't much touched the money I had for my travel and accommodation, I purchased an old clinker style fishing boat with a small single cylinder diesel motor. It was in poor shape and Renee laughed at me when it was delivered to the garage. "Mon épervier believes himself a sea eagle now?" Her last husband kept a well-stocked tool cabinet and I set about restoring the boat over time.

One Sunday afternoon she was in particularly high spirits, her health having been quite good all week. I'd finished the boat and playfully, she suggested a proper champagne launch of the small vessel which we'd named after her mother, Aubrey Abadi. Her mother's marriage to a Jewish man meant she shared his fate. He'd been a keen angler from Renee's recount. Renee's own marriage to a Frenchman, meant her surname kept her safe.

It was a wonderful afternoon. I took my family for little rides on the river, while Elise and Renee drank champagne and laughed at our fun. Lucas took a turn at the tiller and drove the girls and I in gleeful circles. I was having so much fun I almost didn't notice the commotion on the bank.

Jean was waving his arms and gesturing quite savagely at his mother and Elise was trying obviously to placate him. I saw Renee stand and take a look I well remember from any time I'd snuck out in the night on one of my raids. Her finger poked sharply at his chest and then pointed out across the water at us. Eventually, Jean stormed off inside and Elise pulled Renee into a hug.

When Lucas eventually did his four-year-old self proud and guided us safely, if not a little abruptly back to the small jetty, Elise hurried the children inside and kissed my cheek goodbye. It was late November and very cold. But not as cold as the look on Renee's face. Her expression told me she knew my intrigue and her nod told me we would speak.

In the warmth of the house, near the well stoked fireplace, she kissed me and handed me an envelope. Withdrawing three sheets of typed paper, I shook my head at them. If my French is les miserable, my German is sheisse.

"My doctor has agreed to another round of chemo and radiotherapy. He is impressed with my general health and fitness since I have been getting the good sex." She laughs. "Before, I was too weak, and it was very dangerous. Our lovemaking and long walks have been paying off."

"Why were you arguing?"

"There are still risks that are quite frightening for my children. Jean is very protective of me."

"How great are these risks?"

She simply smiled and palmed my cheek. "Let's just say my chances are a lot better than yours were when you left me forty something years ago."

"But still..." It felt like there was much she wasn't telling me.

"Yes, but still... If I die, I will die happy with my lover by my bedside." Her eyes hold mine, seeking approval, I think. "And if I live, I will perhaps have a few more years with him in my bed."

"When?"

"Early January. I need to put some weight on and to start a course of medicines, then I spend two weeks in Belgium."

"I've always wanted to see Flanders field. I had a mate shot down over there. Two school friends died there as well."

"That's the spirit, lover. It will be a grand drive for you though, I will be in Brussells. It is quite expensive this treatment and I am more nervous than I want Jean to believe."

"I have money, if it helps."

"Mon Cherie, Samuel left me plenty of money. More than an old lady can spend decently. You just hold my hand."

Jean was back with an apology that evening. He cried as he delivered it. Renee scolded him for fussing and gave him food to take home for dinner. The French eat dinner so late...

By Christmas, I was missing home. The French countryside is lovely. Especially forty-five years later when the mud has dried up and the corpses are gone. The weather though, is miserable and the wet and cold remind me of summer and my pool at home. I'm missing my family as well.

We talk when we can, although the cost and the time difference are prohibitive. Once Lorna would have been fussing already. Two days before Christmas she would have been madly baking, cleaning house, fussing about the lawn and telling me off for the hedges and pool. She would have had a plum pudding hanging in the laundry fermenting for months by now and she would have reminded the children eighteen times at least about things to bring and sleeping arrangements.

Just as Renee is now. Clarice and Louis returned home a few weeks earlier, the Expo thing having finished, and their tourist interests having been satisfied. Gabriel stayed on apparently to look for local universities. There was perhaps a local girl who had caught his attention as well, Clarice explained. We did laugh a little about the relationship status and back and forth a bit about whether it was half cousins, third cousins or something completely different but apparently the naming convention was beside the point. Sasha and Gabriel seem quite smitten.

The phone rang and as much as my French is poor, Renee insists I practice.

"Bonjour." That was simple enough.

"Hello Papa. We are arriving early. I have an early Christmas present for you."

"Clarice."

"Yes Papa. Put Maman on."

I do and they chatter for a moment.

"Here. Be useful." Renee tells me when she hangs up. She hands me some linen. "Go make the guest rooms. They are staying."

"It will be a full house for Le Goûter this afternoon." I laugh and take the stairs. We have been preparing for our usual Sunday with Jean and his family.

"Clarence! Come downstairs. They are here." Renee yells. Her voice has been growing quite stronger with the walking and other activities.

"Papa." I step off the steps and into Clarice's arms. "You look... fit... healthy." She looks sideways at her mum, "You both look quite... naughty, actually." She grins at us and looks her mother up and down.

"We've been... exercising a bit." Her mother tells her with a lopsided grin.

"I see." She smirks. "Happy Christmas."

She gestures 'come here' behind her and I am embarrassed by sudden tears as I see Renee and Sasha.

Behind them Jean is laughing with Elise, "Another very good joke, no Papa?"

Later that afternoon he draws me aside and asks, "Can we talk in private, Papa?"

"Sure."

He leads me inside to what used to be his father's study and invites me to sit in the reading chairs.

"I have been speaking with my sisters." He smiles.

"Oh?"

"Yes, I have two now. Thank you very much. I feel very lucky. We spent all day yesterday talking. You know we are very worried about the treatment?"

"Yes. I understand."

"Perhaps... When she went through this treatment after her breast surgery many years ago it was terrible to watch. She was so sick. She was younger though and very strong. It was still a big battle for her."

He stops to pour us both a cognac from bottle on the mantel.

"Then when they took her left lung some years later, it was even worse. She fought so hard though. Sophie had just been born and she said it was easier to fight now she had a little dream of watching her granddaughter grow up. It was after Lucas was born that the cancer started again in her other lung. They offered more surgery and treatment, but she said she had filled all of her dreams and hoped only for a graceful parting and as much time with family as she could manage."

"It must be very hard for your family."

"For our family, Papa. It is your family now too. Clarry and I are so thankful Papa. Thankful for this new life in Mama. I think she has some new small dreams. I think they are of you. So, we are afraid, but we are thankful for what you are doing for her."

I shrug. "I simply give her my time and-"

"You love her Papa. It is what she needs. A man. You. Family is enough but a lover is important for a woman. We think it would be good if she had another slightly bigger dream this time around. She will need to hold on very tight this time. She is older and it will be worse."

"I've promised her I'll-"

"Shh Papa. We know. We love you and we trust you with her heart. We think..." He swirls his cognac then sips it. "We think you should ask her to marry."

"Huh? We are both old, Jean."

"So?" He dismisses me, "For her health that is important, for her heart it is just numbers."

"How would it work?"

"Oh... It would work however you both want it to. Louis says that if you are married, he can accélérer your citizenship through. That would let you travel between home and here to have contact with all your family. We are not asking you to leave your home."

"We? You all agree? I'll have to speak with-"

"Renny thinks it's terribly romantic. I was worried how she would feel about her mother's memory. If it would feel disrespectful. She told me to, how is it say? Oui. 'Fuck off, drongo'. She is teaching me very many good swearing words for using on the farm."

I laugh at that; it sounds exactly like my daughter.

"Besides, it would be a very good joke for Christmas, no Papa?"

"I'd need a ring..." I'm catching up with his reasoning, "What if? What if she doesn't want to?"

"Pff... Her and Clarice talk very much. She wants to. You just have to want to. She won't bring it up. She is a proud Frenchwoman. Oh..."

He stands and opens a drawer on the desk. There is a cigar box in his hands. Clarice and I want you to have this. It is our grandmother's, and it is our blessing for you."

He stands beside me smiling as I stare into the little box. His arm is around my shoulders as I pick up the little ring and examine it. I could not have afforded a diamond this size. It's set in white gold and there is engraving on the inside. It's very worn and hard to read on the thin band.

"LA AG 1910. Levi Abadi, Aubrey Guillaume. They were married in nineteen ten. Come on. They will think we have snuck away to go fishing again. Lucas is very keen to catch another catfish. Come on."

On Christmas day I watch from the head of the long table as Jean and Clarice's families fuss at a rich but simple fare and include my daughter and her daughter as though they are long lost family. Beside me, Renee leans into my side and smiles up.

"We did this. Imagine how much more we could have achieved with two testicles and a petit," she pinches her thumb and index finger together and smiles deeply into my eyes, "more time."

"Speaking of time." I stand and my extended family quieten, except for Lucas who is playing loudly with his presents away from the table. "I have one last gift. It is only small but means everything to me."

Renee watches me as if I've lost my marbles. I reach into my coat and take the little ring from a pocket. Kneeling, I offer it to a wide-eyed Renee. Those blue eyes quickly fill with tears as I ask, "Renee, my love. Would you make an old man incredibly happy and spend the rest of your life with him?"

"Yes, mon épervier. I do not know how much time I have, but it is all for you."

Our kiss draws giggles from the youngsters and sighs from the older family. We are worlds away in the place that all our kisses take us when Sasha interrupts with, "Holy shit! Look at this. Get fucked."

She is standing at the glass bay window watching as snow drifts gently on the winter breeze.

"That is snow." Lucas frowns at Sasha. "Not holy shit. What is holy shit? What is this get fuck, mama?"

"It's Australian for 'merde', Lucas." Smiles the older Sophia. "Don't let Mama catch you saying it."

The light fall of snow lays a thin veil of white over the countryside and makes a perfect Christmas backdrop as we celebrate into the evening.

~*~

Time.

You don't know what time is worth until you don't have it. Or unless you have it, and things aren't happening as quickly around you as they should. Renny and Sasha left for home after ten lovely days getting to know their new family. They weren't here long enough in their opinions and have vowed to return as soon as finances allow them. And here in Brussels, nothing is happening as quickly as I could want.

Renee assures me that this is normal and that it will all be over soon enough. On the little cabinet beside her bed is a long blonde braid. She asked me days ago to cut her hair short. It will likely all fall out and she wanted to keep her braid, perhaps to have a wig made. Her spirits are high, but it is early days, and the treatment has only just started.

She sits long hours in a chair, and we read while chemicals fill her body. She complains of itchy skin and nausea, of the cold and of being forgetful. She complains that we can't be intimate due to the chemicals leeching from her skin.

There are some days when she is simply in pain and tired of fighting the overload of drugs in her body that is killing the cancer cells and her immune system equally effectively. There is a rash of shingles on her back and shoulder that itches and drives her crazy. Initially, they were only going to give her a two-week cycle, but her body is coping better than her doctor expected and they have extended it to a four-week cycle.

Her beautiful hair thinned terribly, and she cried often when I brushed it to remove the loose locks. Mostly she resented that the cancer and the treatment became her whole world again. I think sometimes, she regretted agreeing to the treatment. But a fire burned in her frail body.

"I have a little dream of walking down between the pews in the Paroisse de Duclair, my fiancé. I will celebrate that small victory with you and then hope that all this has been worth it."

When she started the radiotherapy, it was worse. The last of her hair fell out. A kind nurse gave her a crocheted beanie to wear against the cold. She hated it, of course. Her throat was giving her trouble with swallowing, but she would not allow them to intubate. The skin on her chest looked sunburned and was dry and itchy. At least, we were allowed touch again and I could rub lotion on for her.

And still we did not know if this treatment was even helping. The hospital had ultrasound machines but there was not expected to be visible results yet. She was focusing mostly on my education.

You see for her to walk down the aisle in her chosen church, I'd have to become a Catholic. Not at all a simple process by her account. If she could suffer all of this for the promise of some time together then I could pull my weight, she insisted.

I think that was the only time I left her side. I had to attend a nearby Catholic school and do my confirmation with the young teenagers. There were many lessons and I studied hard. Oh, and she insisted I was out of the room while she attended to her will. Doctors advise that all patients undergoing treatment make sure they are prepared for all eventualities. Even the unpleasant.

Two months later a very frail Renee allowed me to wheel her from the car into our bedroom and dress her in 'proper' clothes. For the first time in nine long weeks, I held her in my arms and pulled her wraithlike body against my skin. She slept ten hours that night. I did not. There were no nurses to call. No doctors to ask questions of. I felt inadequate and listened to every breath she took that night.

Her dream of walking down the aisle started with walking to and from the toilet alone. Her legs shook and she cursed in French in ways I never had imagined you could put French words together. She was impossible. And it was important. That determination and frustration was what drove her to many small victories.

"Remember that boy you taught to swim?" I asked her one day, "Do you remember what you told him?"

"Stop patronising me. I will wake up in the middle of the night and tie your penis in a knot."

She was constantly tired because she was constantly doing more than she should. Clarice visited often to help with housework and distraction. Likewise, Jean visited with Elise to get me out of the house and doing 'healthy men things' as he called them. Mostly he took me to his farm and had me work some ground with the tractor or we went fishing in the Aubrey Abadi.