Robert hart

A Time of Weeping – Excerpt from Twice Born

“Sapphire, I have gone over this every night before sleep and again in my dreams. I told Naomi, ‘I thought it was for the best! I am so sorry!’

“Naomi said, ‘You’re sorry? Well, I can’t live with a wicked man like you. You’re sorry? Sorry? I will pray to the Devil that he takes you back – to hell!’”

“She grabbed her handbag, and ran from the house, slamming the door behind her. She scooped up Roland who was playing in the yard and dragged him to the ferry, which was about to leave. I looked to the ferry and saw her clutching Roland tightly to her chest, staring at me with hatred in her eyes.”

“I didn’t see her for a week. She must have stayed with friends across the river. When she came home, she walked in, didn’t look at me, settled Roland down and went to the kitchen. She said, with her back to me, ‘I expect you’re hungry.’”

“It was a terrible time for both of us. In the months that followed I pleaded with her, many times, ‘Nay, we could try again.’ But each time I mentioned it, she sank into a deep silent depression that could last for weeks.”

“That was your time of much weeping,” Sapphire said.

“Yes, and it didn’t stop there. Every day, for years, she’s had to say Daisy’s name out loud. Each morning she counts the sugar lumps into the tea she says, ‘One for you. One for me. One for little Daisy Lee.’ Sometimes she stares at me, as if to say, ‘I remember what you did.’”

Saphire asked, “How did you survive your sadness?”

“We got on with our lives. Roland was just a toddler, very active and demanding. Naomi poured her love into him. Her mother, Eleanor, got sick and slowly began to forget the world. Naomi cared for her until the world let her go. Naomi became the hub of her family and held her brothers and sisters together. The nephews and nieces all loved their Auntie Nay.”

“She had her local arty friends. She loved her cooking, painting, and music. She’d often close herself away in the greenhouse and play Irish tunes on her fiddle for hours.”

“I threw myself into work, making fine furniture for wealthy people.”

“Despite everything, we were still friends. I still loved her. I cared for her and I know despite she still cared for me. We had a good enough life. We treated each other gently, most of the time, but we didn’t touch. She seldom took my hand, never accepted a hug. We slept apart, of course.”

“Her blame and my guilt were still bubbling below and would sometimes erupt. Naomi once asked if I would come to church for an Easter service. I said, ‘I’d rather not, I’m not feeling so good.’ She snapped back, ‘No! You’re not feeling good about going to church, are you! That’s because, you can’t forgive God for what he did! And you can’t forgive yourself for begging him to do it three times! And nor can I! And if you did come to the church, I’d have to warn all the mothers there not to let you near their children!’”