Midway by Tony Ballantyne

Author:Tony Ballantyne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: infinity plus
Published: 2020-09-10T00:00:00+00:00

Granma 6

“That was about me, wasn’t it,” said Granma.

“No. It was about Henry.”

“Rubbish. It was about me. I used to dance the Saunter Together and the Square Tango.”

“I know. But the rest of it didn’t happen to you.”

“I spent my last years in a home!”

“Yes. But you were conscious for all of it. You were alert to the end. You didn’t have dementia.”

The thing was, we were all finally beginning to understand something we’d known for some time. My father wasn’t going home. He was dying.

We were all of us slowly facing up to this fact, but forgotten amongst all of this was Henry himself. Because he was delirious, because he drifted in and out of awareness, it was easy to dismiss his experience. It was a blessing, we’d convince ourselves, he doesn’t really know what’s going on.

But what if he did?

“That was about Henry, Granma,” I said. “Not you.”

“So why was it a woman in the story? I’m not daft, you know.”

“I often change the genders.”

“The what?”

“The sexes.”

“Why?”

“I just do. I was aiming for an effect. It’s called defamiliarisation.”

“What’s that when it’s at home?”

“Defamiliarisation or ostranenie is the artistic technique of presenting to audiences common things in an unfamiliar or strange way in order to enhance perception of the familiar.”

“You looked that up, didn’t you?”

She was sulking. Again.

“That story wasn’t about you, Granma. Honest. I wasn’t aware you went through that. I thought your passing was peaceful. You went into the home. That was it.”

“You just heard the pleasant version. The one that people want to hear. She passed away peacefully. Death isn’t like that. It’s long and slow and painful.”

“I’m sorry. Mum didn’t let me know.”

“She wouldn’t, would she? Why spoil it for the young? People never let on how bad it is. Not until it’s their turn.”

“Yes,” I said. “I realise that now.”

She folded her arms.

“I want you to change that story. I don’t want people knowing I was in a wheelchair.”

“It never mentions a wheelchair.”

“That was what you meant when you said she was floating. She couldn’t walk, could she? You were talking about me.”

I was impressed. I shouldn’t have been. My grandparents may have been uneducated but they weren’t stupid.

“It wasn’t you, Granma. Anyway, what does it matter if you were in a wheelchair. Why not? You were in your nineties”

“I don’t want people knowing my age!”

“What age? You’re dead! You were born in 1910. You’d be 108 by now.”

“Don’t you dare put that in your book!”

She was shouting now.

“You know,” I said. “You always see the worst side. You always did. Ninety-six years of life and all we ever talk about is your death.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes we do. Mum showed me a letter you wrote to her. It was when you moved to Wales. You said it was the end of your life, it was so awful. You said they might as well bury you alive right there and then.”

“Why not? I was getting on then.”

“You were fifty-three. That’s only a year older than I am now.

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