Stronger Than Lions - 17. Lacrimosa

Colours pulsed. My ears rang. I tried to get up but everything went into spasm.

The world willed itself into existence in spite of me.

‘There now, Mr MacLeod, take it easy.' The voice was officious, but friendly. I squinted and made out a nurse standing next to me.

‘What happened?’ I managed, my mouth dry. 'Why am I in hospital?'

‘It's nothing too serious,' she said, silencing an alarm on the monitor. 'You did give your loved ones a big fright, but you're going to be okay.'

'A fright,' I repeated like an idiot.

'You took a little tumble at the Waterfront trying to outrun a bus and slipped and hit your head.’

‘A bus?’

‘It was going dead slow, thank goodness. You’ve got a couple of bad bruises and a concussion, but nothing’s broken. You’re being kept for observation. How are you feeling?’

‘Thirsty. My whole body hurts.’

‘Let’s try a little ice. And I can give you something if you're in pain.’

‘Thanks… uh…you are…’

‘Sister Abrahams. Stop fiddling with your drip, or I'll need to put up a new one.’

I could see her more clearly now: equal parts tired, kind, and jaded, the face of so many who had tended to my mother. ‘I’m going to call the doctor now and bring your father in. He’s been waiting here all night.’

I closed my eyes and the sequence of night's events crystallised.

‘I don’t want to see him.’ But she had already left, and as I spoke my father barged into the room.

‘Cal. Oh, thank God. Thank God.’

He slumped into the chair next to the bed.

‘Dad,’ I managed, still looking away.

‘Son. I’m so sorry. I fucked up.’

I turned to face him. His blue chequered dress shirt was crumpled and his hair was matted.

‘My beautiful boy.’ He gently squeezed my hand, which was probably the only part of my body that wasn’t hurting. ‘Please forgive me,’ he pleaded. ‘I panicked and jumped to stupid conclusions.’

I swallowed. ‘What’s the time?’

I studied him, groaning a little as I found it hurt to breathe deeply.

‘Five? Maybe six?'

'In the morning? Have you been here the whole night?’

‘Of course. Chris is here too. We went down to get some coffee when they called us to say you were awake. Do you want to see him?’

‘Chris?! I thought you told him to—'

‘Caleb. I wasn’t expecting what...has happened between… between you two. But I could have lost you last night because of the way I acted.’

I started rubbing what was evidently a bruise on my temple. ‘I should have looked before I crossed the road.’

Sister Abrahams entered and helped prop me up. She gave me a jab of something in my butt that really stung and let me try a little ice water.

‘Chris is right outside the unit with your sister,’ said my father, stroking my hand. ‘We’ve been taking turns sitting here with you. Rob and Bella wanted to stay the whole night but I sent them home.'

I scanned the room and noticed all the lines and monitors attached to me. 'Have I been unconscious all this time?'

'No,' he said evenly. 'Drifting in and out of sleep and talking a lot of rubbish... entertaining rubbish I might add.'

'Dad,' I groaned. 'I don't want to know.'

I rubbed my eyes. 'Can I see Chris? And Sarah?'

'I want to tell you a few things first.’

'What sort of things?’' I raised myself up on my elbows and managed to sit forward.

He adjusted his collar. ‘I need you to know that I love you more than anything. I just never thought, well, that you might be... are you...'

I blinked. 'Gay?'

He twitched and stared at me. 'Well, are you?'

'Is it a problem if I am?'

I looked at the monitor: my heart rate had spiked by more than twenty beats per minute.

My father took a deep breath. 'No,' he said eventually. 'No, it's not. I don't think there's anything... wrong... with it, I just didn't... um...have you always felt this way?'

‘God, Dad,' I snapped, 'are you seriously asking me to come out to you in a fucking high care unit? I’m still trying to figure all this out myself. And I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be answering questions under the influence of high doses of whatever they're giving me.'

My father gave a little strained laugh and covered his face with his hands. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You're right.'

'For the record I still like girls too,' I said, fuming. 'I always have.... liked both. It’s all so confusing.’

My father stared straight ahead and settled a little in the chair. ‘Being alive is confusing.'

'You scared me, Dad.'

He winced. 'It just came as... a shock.'

‘Ya think?’ I barked. ‘It's all been a bit of a shock to me as well.'

He squeezed my hand again. ‘I know you’ve never dated and that you’re a late bloomer. When I saw you two I thought Chris was seducing you or something.'

I raised my eyebrows. 'Would you have felt the same if you had found me with a girl?'

He looked away. 'I don't know. Maybe? If she was older than you, probably?'

I didn't reply.

'This stupid old man acted out of wanting to protect you. It’s been such a hard year since… since your mother…’

HIs eyes were moist. It was agony, seeing him so helpless, so awkward.

‘It’s all right, Dad,’ I grumbled, sniffing.

‘Part of me thought I’d made some mistake, that I hadn’t been a good father or something.’

‘I don't think it works like that. I’m also not expecting this to be simple for you.’

He looked away. ‘I know how the world treats people who are different.’ His voice softened a bit. ‘But I had a long think last night while I was sitting here, praying for you, waiting for the results of the scans. And I saw how Chris was as worried and frightened as I was. He's a good...a good man.'

'He is,' I said, nodding slowly.

'If he makes you happy, well, then, I guess I can be okay with that.'

The painkiller was starting to kick in and I thought I was hallucinating.

‘Do you really mean that?’

‘I’ve told Chris that much. I know I am a bit of a dinosaur though, and it may take me a bit of time to get used to things.’

‘As long as you're more of a brontosaurus than a T-rex.'

He gave me a slow, big smile. 'Well, I don't have tiny arms and I'm better at fixing teeth than biting with them.'

I smiled back. 'Mom would have approved of this back and forth.'

'She would, wouldn't she.' He paused. 'Do you... do you love him?'

‘Yes.’

My father swallowed and nodded. 'I respect that. I’m also always going to be protective. I never thought the metaphorical shotgun would be for you instead of Sarah.'

‘Stop it,’ I said, chuckling. ‘It hurts when I laugh. But what makes you think Chris’s parents aren't the ones who need the shotgun?'

My father shook his head in defeat, then closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Exaudi orationem meam, Domine, et deprecationem meam.’

‘Latin, Dad?’ I said, frowning. ‘I’m not fucking dead and this isn’t a Requiem!’

He didn’t reply. And now the old words came pouring out of me too, from a place I didn’t know I still had.

‘Oh fucking hell… au...auribus,' I stammered, 'auribus... percipe… lacrimas meas.'

It wasn't from the Requiem at all. It was that Psalm from the frigging Vulgate he loved so much.

‘Ne sileas.’ I added.

He looked up. 'I feel so out of place... you would have felt safe telling your mother. Clearly you didn't feel safe telling me, just look at how I went off like all my eggs are double-yolked. I've been a right eejit. I don't know what to do laddie, I don't know what to do.'

The lilt of his Scottish childhood had surfaced; the tide of his ego had retreated.

‘You do know what to do Dad,’ I said, finally squeezing his hand back. 'I can see you're trying.'

He grabbed the sheets, shaking.

‘I miss her so much,’ he cried. ‘So much! I’ve almost forgotten that you and Sarah are there… and that you miss her too.’.

It felt good, sitting together openly with our tears and confusion, possibly for the first time in our lives.

‘I love you, Caleb,’ he eventually said.

‘I love you too, Dad.’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I’m forgetting. Your… your, um, boyfriend must be aching to see you. Shall I call him?’

'I'd like that.'

* * *

I was discharged the next day, after a follow-up brain scan. I had injured four ribs and the left side of my body was turning into a Picasso of angry blue and yellow blotches. There were several abrasions on my torso and legs, as well a deep cut on my head which had been cleaned and sutured.

Fiona came over for the first two days and pottered around the house while my dad was at work. As an ICU nurse she was skilled in taking neurological observations and did them religiously, reporting to Dr Moosa so frequently that I’m certain he was getting irritated. Rob and Bella took turns visiting and brought me so much junk food I was in danger of becoming nothing more than a set of E numbers.

Chris attached himself to me like a shadow. It was just as well he had seen everything there was to see about me, because I needed help getting washing myself and going to the bathroom while I still was in pain.

‘There you go,’ he said, as he steadied me in the shower on the first day back home. ‘Hold on to me and I’ll wash you.’

He soaped me slowly, feathering his fingers from my neck down to my belly button.

‘That good?’ he said, as he heard me groaning.

‘Mmmmh. Thanks.’

‘I’m going to help you there, if that’s okay.’

‘You’d do so anyway,’ I said, chuckling.

‘Can you blame me? I love you. All of you.’

His hand trailed south and I shivered.

It hurt when I came, but it was worth it.

‘It’s okay,’ I said, realising he was looking a bit startled. ‘It was good. Really good.’

He started washing my hair. It felt like the most intimate thing anyone had ever done to me.

He put me to bed and snuggled up to me, bathed in a pool of the weakening sun. I heard noises downstairs: Fiona was home.

‘Your mom… does she…?’

‘Relax,’ said Chris. ‘She’s totally fine about us. I think she had us figured out from the beginning. Take your tablets and get some sleep.’

‘I will comply, Number One.'

He chuckled and helped himself to one of my comic books as I drifted off.

For a moment the emptiness that had haunted me for two years dissolved in the afternoon light. There was a detached voice chanting as I yielded to the embrace of the drugs. It was that Psalm again. Makes me howl every fucking time.

Exaudi orationem meam, Domine, et deprecationem meam; auribus percipe lacrimas meas.

Ne sileas, oniam advena ego sum apud te et peregrinus, sicut omnes patres mei.

Remitte mihi, ut refrigerer prius quam abeam et amplius non ero.

(Psalmi 39 [38 Vulgate] 12-13)

Hear my prayer, O Lord, and give ear unto my cry; hold not thy peace at my tears:

For I am a stranger with Thee: and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.

O spare me a little that I may recover my strength: before I go hence and be no more.

(Psalm 39: 12-13)