The Woman at the Wall

by Karen Goldrick

“Smile.”

The small girl standing in front of the wall bared her teeth.

“No Honey. Smile nicely,” said her mother with a lift of her chin. “Say cheese.”

“Coon,” replied the girl.

“Hysterical,” said Tom, struggling to capture the image in a view finder which seemed too small for his eye.

“You’ve got the strap across the lens, Darling,” said his wife with a barely perceptible flattening of her voice he took as a criticism.

‘OK,’ he said, “Now smile,” and he hurriedly took the picture.

He had a brand new Instax 100 Polaroid camera. Remaindered stock from Ted’s Camera shop.

”Nobody uses Polaroid anymore,” the skinny pimply faced salesboy had said. “Digital does so much more.” So Tom had paid for it, using his credit card bonus points, and had brought Sally and Cait down to the Wall for the day. A picnic. Fresh air. And memories to pin on the notice board at home.

He pulled out the film as it slid from the slot, and tucked it down his singlet. 37 degrees. The ideal temperature for the best colour.

“Rightio, who’s for an icecream?” he said, swinging the camera over his shoulder.

“Meee,” cried Cait, placing her two hands on the Wall and jumping up and down. She was almost tall enough see over it.

“I’ll just have a Diet Coke,” said Sally.

“Oh Come on hun. You’d love an icecream. We can share.”

“No thanks. Icecream always makes me feel sick. C’mon Cait. lets get this icecream so we can go home.”

“ But I thought we might stroll along the Wall. Take a few more shots,” said Tom.

“It doesn’t change, darling. I’s the same Wall all the way along.”

They had to walk a while, anyway, before they found the ice-cream shop. Tom lifted Cait up on his shoulders, and eagerly pointed out the loud Americans with their white runners and ten gallon hats, and the twittering Japanese with their pale blue parkers and dark sunglasses. Finally they came to a small shop, with a white painted sign over the door.

‘Smokes. Sweets.’ In large capital red letters. The glass doors were open, so they went in. Inside was dull, with a red grimy linoleum floor, and Tom could feel rather than see the layers of damp dust. The chocolates on the counter were stacked in faded wrappers, and he imagined the stale brittle confection inside. Cait sat down on a bright orange vinyl chair.

“Stand up honey, and don’t touch the table,” said Sally. “Is there a bell we can ring for service?” she added.

“Maybe we can help ourselves,” replied Tom, trying to make light of it. Boxes of coke cans were stacked behind the counter. he imagined their flat metallic taste. He reached into his top pocket to find his wallet, when the photo fell out on the counter.

It had fallen on its face. Tom picked it up and turned it over. The colours were bright and true, the detail of the Wall impeccable. But unfortunately there was a large black smear which obstructed the very centre of the picture. Sally’s blonde smile was visible, but all that remained of Cait was a small hand reaching out to her mother.

‘You must have had your thumb over the lens, Darling.”

He hadn’t sensed Sally standing behind his shoulder.

“No. No I’m sure I didn’t. It just hasn’t worked properly.” But Sally had planted the small uncertain seed, which would slowly grow into yet another weed to add to the jungle of his low self esteem.

Tomorrow he would take the camera back.

“Maybe my body temperature is uneven. Might a button, or a zip in the wrong place make a difference.”

“Perhaps if you would show me the photo,” said the skinny Salesboy. Tom was reluctant to exhibit evidence of his ineptitude, but if there was a tiny chance of redemption… He slid the photo out from his wallet and handed it over.

“I’m sorry sir but I can’t see the problem.”

“There,” Tom pointed to the dark shape, then stopped. Where had that woman cone from? He stared, horrified at vulgar image which stared back at him with impish eyes magnified many times by an enormous pair of glasses. A simple gaze which hid, he was sure, evil malicious intent. This old woman had come out of no-where and vandalised his family photo.

Without a word Tom snatched the photo back, and feeling the flush crawl up his neck he walked outside. Without thinking where or how he made his way along the pavement, glaring at those who would get in his way. Almost forgetting he still held the photo. At last he found an empty bench and sat down.

She was still there. He blurred his gaze, and she melted back into an uneasy smudge, and if he tried hard enough she might disappear altogether. But when his eyes tired she was back. She had spoiled his family outing, the one which had ended in tears when no icecream was forthcoming, and when Sally declared the day to have been an entire waste of time.

He noticed, as he blinked the strain away, that even Sally was fuzzy and unfocused. As if the camera would only see this horrible woman. Something was wrong with the auto focus, and he longed to return to Ted’s and point this out. The depth of field was all wrong, but Tom could only hear the laughter from the staff in back room. A joke amongst colleges over a cup of tea. There could be no going back to Ted’s.

He went home early. The upstairs windows were still locked, so Sally had not returned from work. Cait would be at Esther’s. Maybe he could pick her up early, or, better still, get dinner on and surprise them all. Sausages, mashed potatoes and tomato sauce, with some of those tofu patty things for Sally. He opened the door, his disappointment forgotten in the excitement of this new plan.

Absorbed in food preparation, Tom never noticed the time. He punctured the silken skins of the sausages, which gave with the softest pop. Then he heated butter in the frypan until it burned, and the sausages crackled and hissed until they were seared with a thick black crust. The instructions for the tofu were hard to follow, so he put it in the microwave, in the same dish as the peas to save power. By the time he’d set the places, and turned everything off, the sun was well down. It was 6pm.

Strange. Sally wasn’t home from work yet. He could call Esther’s mum, who was minding Cait, but he didn’t know her number. Didn’t even know her address, he realised. Perhaps there was something on? A school play? He remembered there had been a play sometime last year. Cait had played a witch, with a black conical hat and a piece of pink play-doh for a wart on her nose. She’d wanted to wear glasses. A silly toy plastic pair which were enormous. Which were far too big…

Tom fished his wallet out of his back pocket and looked again at the photo. At the enormous glasses which magnified those evil eyes. Then he noticed that Sally was missing. Where this afternoon he had seen her blurred shadow, now stood another women smiling for somebody else’s camera. There was still a small hand reaching out behind the old woman. Cait’s hand, surely still Cait’s hand. But where was Sally?

The house felt cold and quiet, and he turned on all the lights in each room in turn. Turned on the TV and the radio. Went up the stairs and turned on the bathroom fan. Sally would have rung. She would have left a message at work if she were late. Esther’s mum would have rung. Would have dropped her home before the news.

Tom turned on the light to the main bedroom. It was tidy, as usual, but
something was wrong. He looked around and around trying to work it out. Saw the bed neatly made with the ruby red bedspread pulled up. The mirrored doors of the built in robe all closed. The shoes pushed under the bled so they could only just be seen.

it was a few minutes before he realised there was nothing of Sally in the room. He slid open the cupboard doors. His coats and shirts neatly hung up, his jumpers folded on the shelf. But there was nothing of Sally’s. None of her shoes under the bed. In the bathroom, only one toothbrush. No tubs of moisturiser or hair removing wax.

With growing dread he opened the door into Cait’s bedroom. He waited a minute before turning on the light. Listened for any sound. Any smell. Looked in the shadows to reassure himself the clutter of her toys and dolls was still there. But when he he finally did switch it on the room was empty save for a made bed in the corner. The shelves cleared. The cupboard doors shut.

Tom sat on the neat bottle green bedspread. She would have left a note. If they’d gone away. He tried to cover all possibilities. Sally’s parents suddenly ill. She’d had to leave, but would call as soon a she arrived in Narrabri. He should call. See if everything was OK. He stood to go downstairs and make the call, and his foot kicked a soft toy half hidden under the bed. Micky mouse. Cait would never have left without Micky Mouse- he corrected that. Cait forgot things easily. But Sally wouldn’t have left Micky. She’d know what a fuss Cait could make at night if ever he was missing from her bed.

Tom went downstairs, but couldn’t locate the teledex anywhere. And he couldn’t remember the number. Or the address, so there was no point trying directory assistance. Other people stored numbers on computers, or mobile phones. But Tom and Sally had never thought either necessary.

There was no note, no guidelines telling him what to do, so he sat by the lounge room window, holding Micky mouse, and waited. Every car that rolled by he willed to slow down and stop. One did. he looked out the window. The Fargios from a cross the street alighted from a silver top cab. All night he waited, but no other car stopped. Night became morning, and the sky faded to grey. Tom rose stiffly from his chair. he knew what he had to do.

He had left the photo on the kitchen table, next to the plates bearing their gift of a cold sausage embedded in a narrow strip of fat. On Sally’s plate, what might have been a small pile of melted tofu. He slid the photo in to his wallet, grabbed his keys, his coat, and the polaroid camera. Before he left he called work. The office was closed, of course, but he left a message explaining his impending absence due to family matters.

The drive South seemed longer than usual. Preoccupied with trying to figure out what had happened to Sally and Cait, he kept forgetting where he was. It seemed the signs on the freeway spoke of places he couldn’t remember until he had a few minutes to think about it, and found himself again.

Tom was sure the exit to the Wall was well sign posted, but as he passed each exit…7..8..9..he began to feel he’d been mistaken. Then small panic set in. He couldn’t remember which exit to take. Maybe he’d already passed it? Now he looked desperately at each tree, each cut into the hill, searching around each bend for just one bit of familiarity.

Eventually he came to a Service centre, and pulled into the Caltex truck stop, where the truckies were emerging from their breakfast of steak and eggs to have one last cigarette before the road. He wandered between the isles of chips and confectionery, looking for a street directory. Reluctantly he realised he’d have to ask, and he loitered back and waited until all the other customer’s had left.

“Can you tell me which is the exit to the Wall,’ he asked the lady behind the counter.

“What wall love?” she asked back, without disturbing the rhythm of her gum.

“ Ummm… do you have any coffee?”

The coffee didn’t even taste like coffee. Just warm black water. He opened the dash to replace his wallet, and noticed the photo had fallen out. There wasn’t even a small hand left. No Cait. His little family all gone. There was nobody. Not even the women who’d been looking at the other camera. But she was there. That women in the enormous glasses. Staring at him. Enticing him to enjoy the joke.

From somewhere in his head her heard the high pitched laughter that sounded like a witch. Maybe a laugh he’d once heard in one of Cait’s videos.

Or was it. Maybe it was from a movie he’d seen as a kid.

Then again maybe there’d never been a Cait.

Maybe he’s never ever been a kid.

He slid the polaroid camera out from under the car seat and held it up to his face, making damn sure no thumb covered the lens. “Coon,” he said, and took the picture. He wondered, as he stuffed the film down his shirt, if he would be in focus.

George had a new digital camera. A canon X200. There were only two dials on it, and it was as small as a credit card, but the instruction manual had been longer than his Thesaurus and he’d been too scared to try to read it, in case he didn’t understand. So he was winging it.

“Smile,” he called to his friends, Dick and Dave. He carefully spread his fingers around the outside of the camera, worried they’d get in the way, then pressed the button. There was no resounding click, and he wondered if anything had happened. But there was the Wall, and Dick and Dave grinning foolishly in the picture.

Then he noticed the large black smudge over the front of the photo. And he was so sure his fingers had been out of the way.

Damn. Now he’d have to read the manual. Find out how to airbrush it away…