The disaster arrived unannounced, though who truly waits for catastrophe? It always comes like a sudden snowdrift.
Gregory Hart was a longdistance lorry driver. For five years he turned the wheel on the LondonEdinburgh stretch, the same road in reverse. A photograph of his beloved wife Blythe was glued to the windshield, BBC Radio 1 crackled from the speakers, a strong tea in a metal flask kept his hands warmwhat more could a driver need? Yet something else was missing: the familiar scent of the knitted scarf his caring mother had made, the firm handshake from his father before each departure, and the steady certainty that home loved and awaited him, waiting every day, every hour, every second.
One night he never came back. Days later Blythe learned that Gregory lay in a hospital in York. An oncoming tanker had lost control on a bend; his truck slid, he tried to avoid the collision, but both lorries toppled onto their sides. The other driver escaped with a light fright, while Gregory suffered a severe head injury. The blow struck the parts of his brain that guard memory. It could have been worseloss of limbs, speech, willbut it was as it was. He remembered neither his name nor who he was, nor what had happened. When his relatives entered the ward, they looked like strangers. The doctors could offer no bright prognosis; the brain remains a mysterious, largely uncharted organ, and thus the Almightys will seemed to rule. Whether he recovered or not, nothing could be forced.
When he was discharged, reality proved far more tangled than anyone had imagined. Gregory not only lost his past; his shortterm memory failed him too. He could not recall what had occurred three hours earlier, and everyday skills slipped away. He could not heat a kettle on the stove nor take a walk unaided. There was a constant danger that he would lose his way home. His intellect, will, motor skills and emotions remained intacthe did not become a simpletononly his memory, which might someday return, was gone. Such things happen.
Blythe was pregnant. She went on maternity leave, devoting all her time to her husband. At night she often wept, remembering how Gregory had spoken of the child they were to welcome, how he had brought little toys from each haul for the unborn daughter.
Why, Gregory? Blythe would sigh, its not the time. They say you shouldnt buy the future in advancebad luck, they claim.
Ah, those superstitions, Gregory would laugh, twirling her in his arms, I just want our girl, the first time she sees her room, to be delighted. A sea, a whole sea of toys. He would arrange them on shelves, on windowsills, hanging above the cradle. When he left the hospital, the sisternurse handed Blythe a tiny plush bear.
Strange, a talisman for a grown man on the road? she asked, amused.
Yes, a talisman now, Gregory replied.
Blythe placed the bear not in the daughters chamber but on the nightstand beside Gregorys bed.
They strolled together through the park, laughed, ate icecream. Onlookers surely thought they were a happy couple awaiting a new arrival. In truth they were. Yet after a nap following a walk, Gregory could not remember the stroll at all, nor that Blythe was pregnant. Blythe had to start over each day, explaining that she was his wife and that a longawaited daughter would soon appear. The grandparents pitched in, helping Blythe manage the mounting challenges.
One evening Gregorys father, Edward, called Blythe into the kitchen, shut the door, and said, Blythe, well understand if you ever decide to leave Gregory. Youre young, beautiful, life stretches before you. But will you endure? In a year or two youll resent him. Its a heavy burden, especially if his memory never returns. Progress looks thin. As for the granddaughter, well love her. Shell be our bloodline. Well help if you need us. Well understand, dear, well understand everything.
Blythe felt a storm insidefatigue, anxiety, the sting of his wordsbut she gathered herself, smiled, and bowed her head lightly to her fatherinlaw. Edward, his silver hair brushed by her hand, whispered, Dont give up, love. Well manage. Youre strong, even with a child weighing zero on the scales.
Indeed, Blythe had always been slight, hardly taller than a doorframe, while Gregory towered beside her like a giant. The first time he brought her to his parents home, they were taken aback, though they said nothing. Later they asked their son, Shes a crystal! Where did you find such a one? They fell for Blythe instantlyshe was kind, a touch shy, and above all, she warmed the grooms parents with genuine affection. From then on Gregory often called her my crystal.
Their daughter Milly was born. Gregory, with his parents, greeted Blythe as she emerged from the maternity ward, his face alight with joy. The next morning, however, he asked, Whats this baby? Blythe began again, retelling the story, now with a new detail: Milly. Gregory cradled his daughter, his eyes shining anew each time.
At first Blythe moved Millys cot into her own bedroom so the child would be closeshe woke often at night, the babys restlessness robbed Blythe of sleep, and she watched over Gregory in case he needed a drink of water or anything else. She stopped sleeping altogether. The sleeplessness and exhaustion stole her milk supply.
Sweetheart, let us move you both into our house. Its hard for you alone, urged Gregorys mother, Katherine.
No, Ill manage, Blythe replied, sparing her parents further worrythough they were no longer youngand understanding that she would live with this forever, needing to be strong and composed.
Milly was put on formula. One night Blythe awoke not to her babys cry but to a soft humming of a lullaby:
In the room the toys are strewn,
Children dream sweet moons,
A fox steals biscuits,
An elephant mischiefs at the gate,
Days whirl, snow swirls,
Outside the white snow glitters,
The moon, drawing shadows,
Seeks its silver portrait.
She lifted her head and saw Gregory rocking Milly. One hand clutched a priceless bundle, the other held a bottle of formula that Milly was sipping. Blythe sat quietly on the edge of the bed, silent for fear of startling Gregoryafter all, the child was in his arms. The room glowed unusually bright; the full moon illuminated every corner.
This is happiness, Blythe thought.
Gregory tucked Milly in, took the plush bear from the nightstand, and placed it in the cot. This is for you, my dear, a gift, he said, then, shivering, crawled under the blanket beside his wife.
I love you, my crystal, he whispered.
