Sex in The Desert
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"The Fish in the Desert"
Story by Liam Slade
For more please visit http://liamslade.com
---
When I was a kid, my grandmother lived with us. As far as I knew, she had
always been on her own, but I never knew why. I knew I had a Nanna and
Papa on my Dad's side, but I only saw them once a year because they lived
in Florida. So one day when I was very young I asked her where my other
Grampa was.
"That's a hard story to tell," she only said.
Gram was a fun lady. She was smart, she liked to make jokes and tell me
things about the world. When she was younger she was a teacher, and told
me it was because she loved kids, even though she only had my mom for her
own. She was very open and had never refused to answer a question from me
before, so I was confused not to get a straight answer this time. When
you're five or six years old, you don't really know what's appropriate to
talk about, and you don't take hints well, so I kept asking. When I did,
my mom would take me by the wrist and gently remind me not to do so. "That
isn't something Gram likes to talk about," she would tell me in her
serious voice. "We'll tell you when you're older."
It was what my Mom always said when she wanted to put me off something.
"You can have more cookies when you're older. You can stay up later when
you're older. We'll tell you this and that when you're older." I hated
being told that, but I never had any response but to pout about it.
A year later at school, I heard from one of my friends that his
grandfather had just died. He had something called cancer and died "in his
sleep." I was used to hearing about death in Disney movies, where it
usually happened when someone fell off a cliff or got shot or trampled by
wildebeests. This idea was scary - you could just die in your sleep? I
went to sleep every night!
One night my Mom and Gram were getting ready to put me to bed and I
protested - I had to stay awake because I didn't want to die. Mom's face
was concerned and confused, and Gram, true to her usual self, was just
amused. Mom asked where this was coming from and I explained about my
friend's Grandpa, eventually getting around to the word "cancer."
Mom smiled warmly. "Well, don't worry. Cancer is the reason your friend's
Grandpa died, and we'd know if you had it because we take you to the
Doctor. We'll always take care of you."
That made me feel a little bit better, but now my curiosity was returning.
So the next day at breakfast, I decided I was old enough to ask again -
was my Grampa dead?
Mom shot me that look telling me to clam up again, but Gram just nodded.
"Yes hun," she said with a sigh, sipping her morning tea. "He died a long
time ago, when your mom was just a little baby."
Now I was old enough to read other peoples' emotions better. I could see
sadness in her eyes, and something else in my mom's. I asked what I
thought was a natural question to my mom. "Do you miss him?"
"Honey, I never knew him," she said frankly, "I did miss having him. When
I was around your age I couldn't ignore that I didn't have what other kids
have. But I had something very special." She touched her mom's hand. "A
mother who loved me enough for two."
They smiled at each other, and then my mom's tone changed. "Of course, she
drives me nuts when she leaves the TV on all night or won't take her pills
on time, but I love her just the same."
Gram smiled impishly. That was her way.
I continued my interview. "Was it cancer?"
She nodded. "It was."
That was all I needed to know. Now I had answers.
The next year, I came home from school and found gram sitting in her
favourite cozy chair in the corner of out living room, knitting. I was
excited to tell her about something I learned in school that day.
"We were talking about that movie Finding Nemo, and how he's a clown fish
in it. Do you know about clown fish Gram?"
"Hm," she said studiously, "Do they wear big floppy shoes on their fins?"
"No," I laughed.
"Then no, I can't say I do."
"Well," I said, "Clown fish can be both boys and girls. Every family has a
male and female and if the female dies, the male becomes female and makes
new babies. The movie is about a dad, but my teacher says it should
actually be about a mom."
"That's interesting," Gram said, nodding encouragingly. "I knew that could
happen to people, but I had no idea about fish."
Gram went back to her knitting, but I just stared at her. As I said, she
loved to make jokes and tell stories - and sometimes she playfully lied to
me if she thought it was amusing, so that's what I thought was happening.
"What do you mean it can happen to people?" I felt a little nervous. I
had never heard anything like that.
"I just mean I know that in the whole history of the world, there's at
least one case where it happened to a person. Just like that, almost."
I didn't believe it, but I was worried about what would happen if it were
true. I didn't want to ever be a girl - I was just learning about how
different that was from being a boy, and I didn't like the sound of it at
all!
Gram could sense that I was unnerved, so she put her knitting down and
leaned in toward me.
"Let me tell you something, but it's just between you and me. Can you keep
a secret? Not even your mom knows this story, and I don't want her to."
I nodded. I wasn't sure if I could keep a secret, but I really wanted to
know.
"I'm going to tell you about your Grampa."
Now, I was really interested.
A long, long time ago, she said, there was a war called World War II. A
lot of men from all around the country went away to fight in it. Grampa
was a soldier, a handsome young man. The two of them had met at a party
not long before he was supposed to go away. He saw her from across the
room, dressed in a beautiful gown, with the warmest smile, "And it made
his heart stop. Just for a second." They danced all night and shared a
kiss, and before he left for the war, he gave her a picture to keep with
her. They wrote letters, and fell more and more deeply in love.
When he came back, they were married, and excited to start a new life
together. But the war had made a big difference to Grampa. He wanted to be
alone. Not alone by himself, but alone with Gram. "It was because of all
the noise and explosions and... violence. Violence. Pain. Fear." He
thought he would feel better if they moved far away from everyone, and
Gram, who only wanted to be with Grampa, went along.
So they bought some land out in the desert, in Nevada, where they could
afford it because it wasn't very useful to anybody else. It was a ranch.
They built a small little house and planted a garden and went to a town
nearby to do their shopping, and he worked as a handyman. It wasn't
perfect though - every so often they would hear thunderous roaring in the
distance that reminded Grampa of the bombs from the war.
"We didn't have a word for it back then but they gave him what are called
Panic Attacks. And Post-Traumatic Stress. He had seen things and lived
through things he couldn't even explain to his wife. He tried to hide it
and not show his feelings, partly because he didn't understand them. He
was supposed to be brave and strong, and in that moment he wasn't. He felt
weak, and vulnerable, and he didn't like it. And he couldn't bury it - his
wife knew there was something wrong with the man she married. She sensed
it, because women understand these things on some level. But he didn't. He
didn't understand why he was feeling scared when he was not really in
danger. He didn't understand why he was sad when he was supposed to be
happy. Worst of all, sometimes it came out as angry - seething, fiery
anger for reasons he couldn't really explain. She was very forgiving, but
hurt all the same."
Before long, things started to change. When she was pregnant with my mom,
Gram started to look sick. She stopped gaining weight, her eyes looked
tired all the time. Some days it was a struggle to breathe. She was
wasting away. Grampa felt it too. The strength he had as a soldier was
fading. He couldn't hardly work, and was not much support to his wife.
My eyes went wide. I couldn't imagine my Gram going through this.
What had happened, she explained, was that they had built their house too
close to a testing site where they were setting off atomic bombs. That was
what those booming noises were. But they didn't know that at the time. She
only found out later. But the desert winds blew radiation from the testing
site further than the military thought, onto their ranch, and it affected
both of them, giving them cancer.
It was very hard giving birth, even without being so sick. There was no
doctor around, so when the time came, Grampa had to roll up his sleeves
and deliver the child himself. She pushed and pushed and pushed ("Pushed
what?" I asked, but she said I'd know when I was older) and finally he was
holding in his arms a pink little 8 lb baby girl. My mother.
"The look on his face when he first saw her..." she remembered, her eyes
relaxing into a reflective smile.
But the joy was short-lived. He tried calling for help, but there was
nobody nearby. Giving birth had taken everything out of his wife. Her
heart stopped, and she died.
I bit my lip. Who died?
"So there he was, a man alone with his new baby girl. No mother to feed
her, only a little bit of milk. And he was sick himself. And he was
lonely. And part of him, inside, wanted to just lay down and let the
sickness take him, to die and be with his wife. Life had already been so
long and so hard.
"But then he looked into his newborn baby daughter's eyes and he felt it -
that same heartstopping feeling he got when he first saw his wife. He had
been left with part of her, and he needed to protect it at all costs. He
knew he had to do something, if he didn't, he was going to die, and so was
the baby. He would do anything to keep that from happening. It had to
happen soon though - the baby was crying every night, and the milk was
getting low."
The cancer at affected him differently from his wife, Gram explained. He
wasted away, but not completely. He ached inside. His skin was starting to
peel away in dry flakes. So he let it. He brushed every scrap of that
outer layer of rough, war-tested skin away until it was soft, and supple,
and smooth as a woman's. He coughed and hacked and threw up until he
thought he was completely empty inside. His features changed - his eyes,
his nose. His muscles and tissue softened. Even his bones shifted
slightly. He could feel changes inside himself. He felt softer, and...
better. With the warm glow of life inside of him. He was healing, even
becoming better than before.
"When that happened, he put the baby to his chest, and fed her milk from
his own breast. He was to be her mother now. The mother she needed."
I stared in awe at my Gram. This whole story was impossible to believe,
but the way she said it was so serious, so heavy with honesty, that I had
to. She wiped a slight tear from her eye in remembrance.
Strangely, she said, he felt rejuvenated, healthy again. All the pain and
suffering he had felt melted away, replaced with hope and determination.
He was more alive than ever, and ready to start anew. And when the time
was right, he knew he had to leave that house. It had taken his baby's
first mother, and he needed to be somewhere safe. So they laid his wife to
rest in a small grave behind the house, and gathered up all of their
belongings and left. By now, he had changed so much he didn't look
anything like his old self. He had a thin waist, and bosoms to nurse with.
His hands became delicate and thin, his hips wide. He even learned, in
time, that he had been given all the parts to make a new baby, if he had
wanted to - the part he used to have "dropped right off like an apple from
a tree." (I was only very young but even I cringed at that.)
He - she -moved back to a town with lots more people, in a normal, quiet
neighborhood. She grew her hair long and learned to make herself beautiful
- "well, pretty" Gram said with a chuckle - wearing makeup and dresses and
nylons so that she didn't look any different from any woman you would pass
on the street. She took a new name and pretended she had never been
anybody else. She was a stranger to the world of women, but was accepted,
because she shared a unique pain and also a unique love that only women
know.
But life was not easy. It was hard for a woman to provide for herself
alone at the time. She met a man who wanted a wife, and she agreed to
marry him. She found herself falling into the role of wife easily - she
cared for the child with all her heart of course, and used that as
motivation to learn to cook and clean and sew and be as good a mate as she
could to her new husband, who worked hard at his job and rarely said
anything when he came home at night. He only expected her to be quiet and
agree with everything he said - a role this woman was not accustomed to,
but learned for the sake of her little family.
But while this man served ably as a husband and a provider, he seemed to
regard his new daughter as a nuisance, a placeholder until he could have
children of his own, which he demanded to have before too long. But that
was something she would not do for him. She could not put herself through
the agony of childbirth after what she had seen. She could not forget the
woman she had lost, the love she would never regain. This man was no
replacement for that. And in time, he became cruel and angry, lashing out
at her, and at her daughter - threatening to take the little girl away and
leave the mother destitute if he didn't have his way.
"He was trying to force me to have a baby whether I wanted one or not,"
Gram said solemnly, in the same tone as she had explained the war and the
trauma. Again, I was too young to know what they truly meant.
So one night, she picked her little daughter up in bed asleep, and ran,
with just the clothes on their backs and the meagre amount of money in her
purse. It was safer to have nothing than to live with this man, she
decided. Gram got a job as a teacher, and they lived alone for years and
years, and even when mom had grown up and gotten married and had me, she
was always there for her.
Gram finished her story by reminding me that I was to never speak a word
of it. I must have done a good job because it never came up again and I
even forgot the whole story for years - I must have filed it away in my
brain with all the other fables she told, and my imaginary friends.
Not long ago, she died. When cleaning out her room, we found a dozen or so
photo albums and scrapbooks, of my young life, and my mom's, all the way
back to when Gram was starting as a teacher, but not much before.
But there were a few pictures even older than that that my mom could never
explain. One was a young couple standing in front of a little frontier
house in the desert - people she didn't recognize, but she thought were a
little familiar. "They must be distant relatives," she said, "They kind of
look like me. And that man sort of looks like Gram." And the other was a
wallet-sized photo of the woman in that picture, looking young and pretty
and a lot like my mom - beautiful enough to stop a man's heart, I imagine.
---
The preceding was a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual events
or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintentional
unless noted by the author.
Copyright 2020 Liam Slade, All Rights Reserved, not to be reproduced
without the explicit consent of the author.
For more please visit http://liamslade.com
Bess
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