Misfortune arrived without warning, as if a sudden snowdrift had collapsed onto the roof of a dream. Who could ever expect it? It always falls, white and deafening, from the unseen sky.
George, longhaul trucker, had spent five years turning the steering wheel along the route LondonEdinburgh, EdinburghLondon. A photograph of his beloved wife pinned to the windshield, the soft murmur of BBC Radio from the speakers, a thermos of strong teawhat more could a driver need? Yet there was something else: the familiar, warm scent of the knitted scarf his caring mother had made, his fathers firm handshake before every departure, and the deeprooted certainty that a hearth at home waited for him, loved him, counted the minutes, the hours, the breaths he would return to.
One night he never came back. Days later Eleanor learned that George lay in a hospital in York. The driver of an oncoming lorry had lost control, skidding on a bend. George tried to swerve, but the two rigs tipped sidewise, crashing like two wooden toys thrown into a pond. The other driver walked away with only a startled heart; George suffered a serious head injury, the very parts of his brain that hold memory bruised. It could have been worselost limbs, speech, willbut fate chose this thin thread. He could not recall his name, who he was, what had happened. When relatives entered his ward, their faces seemed as strangers, as distant as strangers on a foggy morning. The doctors offered no hopeful forecasts; the human brain is a tangled, stillunmapped maze, left to whatever hand guides it. If recovery came, it would be a blessing; if not, he would have to learn to live with the emptiness.
When he left the ward, the world proved far more complicated than anyone had imagined. George not only lost his past; his shortterm memory failed him at every turn. He could not remember what had occurred three hours earlier, forgotten simple domestic tasks. He could not heat a kettle, could not walk unaided, and might never find his way back home. His intellect, will, motor skills, and emotions remained intacthe was not diminishedonly the memory that might, with time, stitch itself back together. Such things happen.
Eleanor was pregnant, on maternity leave, and devoted every waking hour to her husband. At night she wept, remembering how George had once cradled the future child, how each trip had brought a new toy for the unborn daughter. Why, George? she would sigh, Its not the time. They say you shouldnt buy what you cannot use yetbad luck, they whisper. He would laugh, twirl her in his arms, and answer, What superstitions, my love? I just want our little girl, the moment she sees her room, to be surrounded by a sea of toys, a whole ocean of joy. He would line up the toys on shelves, perch them on the windowsill, hang them above the cradle. When he was discharged, the nightshift nurse handed Eleanor a tiny plush bear. Strange to carry a talisman, she asked, bemused at the sight of a grown man clutching a toy. Its a talisman now, she replied, and placed the bear not in the childs room but on Georges bedside table.
They often strolled through the park together, laughing, sharing ice cream, while onlookers assumed they were a happy pair awaiting a new addition. In truth they were. Yet after a nap following a walk, George would forget the walk entirely, even forget that his wife was pregnant. Eleanor was forced again and again to start from the beginning, to explain that she was his wife, that a daughter would soon bloom. Georges parents stepped in, helping Eleanor shoulder the mounting pressures.
One afternoon his fatherinlaw, Arthur, called Eleanor into the kitchen, closed the door, and said, Eleanor, well understand if you ever think of leaving George. Youre young, beautiful, with a long life ahead. But how long will you stand by a man youll grow to hate after a year or two? Its a heavy burden, especially if his memory never returns. Progress is invisible now. As for the granddaughter, well love herour little bloodline. Well help if we must. Well understand, dear, well understand everything. Inside Eleanor a storm brewedexhaustion, anxiety, wounded pridebut she steadied herself, smiled, and bowed her head slightly onto the old mans arm. Arthur, his white hair brushed by her fingers, whispered, Dont give up, love. Well manage. Youre strong, even with a child weighing almost nothing at all.
Eleanor had always been slight, a wisp of a woman; George towered over her like a gentle giant. When he first brought her into his parents home, they were taken aback, then asked their son, Shes like crystal! Where did you find such a one? They fell in love with her at oncekind, a touch shy, and instantly warm toward her future inlaws. From then on George affectionately called Eleanor my crystal.
Their daughter, Lily, was born. George met his wife at the maternity ward, his face lit with pure joy. The next morning he asked, What is this child? and Eleanor began again, retelling the story of the first time they met, now with the added chapter of Lily. George would hold his daughter, his eyes shining each time.
For a while Eleanor moved Lilys cot from the nursery into her own bedroom, keeping the baby closeshe woke often at night, the infant restless, her own sleep eroded, milk dwindling. Child, let us move you to your grandparents house. Its hard for you alone, urged Lilys grandmother, Margaret. No, Ill manage, Eleanor replied, sparing her parents further worry, knowing they were not as spry as they once were, and accepting that this would be her lifelong path, demanding strength and composure.
Lily was put on formula. One night Eleanor awoke not to the babys cries but to a soft humming lullaby drifting through the room:
Scattered toys lie everywhere,
Children dream sweetly in the air,
A fox steals socks from hidden shelves,
An elephant prowls the gate itself,
Days whirl like snow in a storm,
Outside the white snow glitters bright,
The moon sketches shadows fine,
Searching for its silver light.
She turned and saw George rocking Lily, one hand clutching a priceless bundle, the other holding a bottle of formula that Lily sipped. Eleanor slipped onto the bed, silent, fearing to disturb the scene. The room glowed with an ethereal lunar light, the full moon pouring silver onto every corner.
This is happiness, she thought.
George tucked Lily in, lifted the plush bear from the bedside table, and placed it gently in the cot, whispering, For you, my dear, a gift. Shivering, he crawled under the blanket beside his wife.
I love you, my crystal, he murmured, the words echoing like a mantra in the dreamfilled night.
