Ed

"Good morning passengers, we are waiting for the signal to clear before we can depart again. We thank you for your understanding and patience." The speaker in the train carriage came the announcement. 

The passengers were stirred by the inconvenient announcement on a major line during peak hour. Some stretched themselves, some yawned, some looked up from their phones then returned to the screen again. I kept watching people while Ludovico's Nightbook piano album playing through my Airpods.

"Passengers, we have an update on the signal. Due to an incident we were unable to continue on our trip until further notice. Sydney Rail is committed to have affected routes return to normal schedule as soon as possible. At this stage, there is no estimated timeline. We will continue to update as we receive further instruction." Passengers started to chat to each other. The carriage became alive like a Sunday market. I went on to google news and video to see is there any media cover on what the incident was about. I found nothing. I emailed work to let them know I was stuck and not sure how late I would be.

"Passengers, we apologise for the delay. This is caused by a major medical accident. We will be approaching the next stop at Artarmon. Bus service will be replacing trains all stops from Artarmon to city Central on the Northshore line. We appreciate your understanding and cooperation. We should be leaving in two minutes."

I was over an hour late for work that day. Almost a week later, I heard a local teenage boy jumped off the platform to the train track. He was killed instantly by the coming train. The rail was shut down after the incident. I don’t know the boy except we live in the same community. He is from the same boy’s high school Ed went to. They were the similar age when they took their lives. I wonder about what happened before leading to the day of the event. I remember clearly, or the version I have believed I remember clearly, on the date before Ed drank that rat poison and walked himself to the woods and died there in the luscious ferns.

Ed is my younger brother, also the middle child. We lived with Mum since Dad had walked out on her when I was eleven, Ed was eight and Lucy was six. I was the quiet and pedantic eldest child. Ed was funny, sensitive and sensible. Being the only boy in the household, he was the constant target of our female catty fights, manipulation and everybody’s ally. Lucy was wild, demanding and had Mum and Ed wrapped around her little finger. And Mum, she over worked, an emotional wreck and an unforgiving character. We love Mum and feel sorry for her disregarding her frequent cruel comments and consistently being unreachable emotionally.

I left home after turning eighteen to move in with my then boyfriend. Ed was in Year nine high school. Lucy went to a girl’s boarding school far away from home. We don’t know what drove Ed to take his own life. His death drove our broken family further apart to irreversible ruin.

The day before Ed took his own life, it was a weekend, we celebrated Mum’s 44th Birthday at home with a roast lamb shoulder dinner and a New York cheesecake, Mum’s favourite. I stayed overnight to wear off the alcohol. That Sunday morning was so peaceful, I woke early and laid in bed enjoyed listening to the birds outside. A light knock on the door, then Ed peeped his head in my room and asked, "Fran, come for a ride with me on old Terry, will you?" When he saw the hesitation on my face, he came in and threw my sweater and jeans on my bed. "Old Terry may go anytime now. He is so old. Come on, let’s give his old soul a boost."

Terry was our family horse. We were his second owners. He was oldish when we ‘inherited’ him from one of Mum’s old friends. We grew up with Terry really. Mum loved horse riding and she taught us all to ride adequately. Ed seemed to be in such a bright mood to go horse riding. I didn’t have the heart to refuse.
We rode along Pittwater Road and around Narrabeen lake, where we played to way after sunset in summers when we were kids. We hated all other seasons because we had to go inside after five o’clock and copped Mum’s scorn for no reason. We all knew she took her hatred towards Dad out of us. She cried in her bedroom when she thought we were asleep. Ed was the kindest one, perhaps he was the only man in our family, so he felt extra responsible, in particular for Mum. Mum was spiteful to me. I tolerated her beatings and cussing. Lucy was rebellious and she used to fight back when Mum tried to beat her with wooden spactualor or hairbrush. Mum learned to leave her alone. It seemed that I was the compliant and stupid one.

I had always got on well with Ed. His quiet demeanour gave me a sense of peace when I was around him. He also had a great sense of humour, the type that he told a joke cracked everybody up and he managed to keep a straight face. We rode in silence on good old Terry, I was holding him tightly from behind. He smelled smoky from the fire. He must have had stacked the firewood for Mum before he came to my room.

Terry needed a drink, so we took a rest and sat by Narrabeen lake at the spot we used to fish. I asked Ed how he was since I moved out. He told me everything was fine. He asked me did I remember some of the fun things we did when we were little. We talked about funny old stories and laughed so hard. The sun was heating up so we decided to leave before Terry got too dehydrated...

Siblings from The Same Root

Four trunks from the same root. Photo by Cassa Bassa

This image reminds me of an ancient Chinese poem titled Seven Steps Verse written by Cao Zhi who was one of the sons of Cao Cao, a well known Chinese statesman.

The poet uses osmunda and beans from the same root as a metaphor for brothers who share the same father and mother, and accuses Cao Pi (his brother) of brutal persecution of himself and other brothers. The tone is euphemistic and deep, serves as a reminder and advice in the irony.

Here is my attempt to translate this well known poem.

Seven Steps Verse

The beans are crying
in the heating wok
while the osmunda is burning fiercely
to fuel the cooking
Aren’t they from the same root
Then why the torture
to cut lives short

七步诗

煮豆燃豆萁,
豆在釜中泣。
本是同根生,
相煎何太急?