‘We thought we were in hell,’ said Grandad. ‘Especially when the monsoon storm hit.’
‘A storm?’
‘Yeah. Stroke of luck, that, huh? One hundred and eight very scared soldiers, surrounded by thousands of enemies, and the skies opened. Lightning everywhere, huge claps of thunder and torrential rain that reduced visibility almost to zero.’ Grandad gave a small and rueful smile. ‘Absolutely the worst time to become effectively blind.’
‘What did you do?’
‘What do you think we did? None of us could see very well but we fired at them and they fired at us. Australians, a few Kiwis and thousands of Viet Cong all making the required moves in that stupid dance called war.’ Pop took my knight with his bishop. I’d expected that and took his bishop with my queen.
‘Check,’ I said.
Grandad rubbed at the stubble on his chin as he gazed at the board.
‘The battle lasted three and a half hours, though for us it seemed an eternity. Someone a long time afterwards reckoned about four hundred thousand rounds of ammunition were fired. Four hundred thousand! That’s almost beyond belief.’ Pop moved his king back a space. ‘Nearly two thousand shots a minute. Thirty a second. Some soldiers passed out because of cordite fumes from the guns. Imagine it. A ferocious tropical storm, blinding rain, thunder you couldn’t hear because of the deafening gunfire, brilliant flashes of lightning that sometimes showed you the enemy advancing. Always advancing. I’ve had plenty of nightmares in my time. None compared to that waking one.’
I knew my next move, but didn’t make it. Grandad was wandering through the jungle of his memory and I had to wait until he returned.
‘Here’s something strange,’ he said. ‘The enemy soldiers kept coming towards us. Always advancing. But they didn’t try to hide from our fire. They didn’t take shelter behind trees or bushes, though God knows there were plenty of them. No. Have you ever seen a zombie movie, Rob?’
I hadn’t, but I’d seen a television show about them once when Mum and Dad were out. I nodded.
‘They were like that.’ He gave the smallest of shudders. ‘They came towards us, we shot them and they went down. Then two more would take the place of the fallen. We’d shoot them and more would take their place. It was the most bizarre thing. All that, for hours and hours, in the lightning and the rain and the clouds of gun smoke. Afterwards, we found something like two hundred and fifty Viet Cong bodies, but we killed and wounded many more than that.’
‘How many Australians died, Grandad?’ I asked.
‘Eighteen,’ he said. ‘And twenty-four wounded. I was one of them. Shot in the arm and do you know, I hadn’t realised until the battle was over. For all I know, I was shot in the first minute and then spent hours fighting. I remember looking down, seeing the bullet wound and only then feeling pain.’ He shook his head as if disputing his own story. ‘I spent some time in a field hospital, before being shipped home to Australia. I never went to war again. Unfortunately, it didn’t really matter because it turned out I brought the war back with me. Up here.’ He touched the side of his head with an index finger.
I didn’t say anything. I thought I understood, and anyway I knew it was best to say as little as possible. Grandad glanced at the board.
‘I think it’s your move,’ he said.
I moved my queen to the furthest row.
‘Checkmate,’ I said.
Grandad gave a start and then bent his head over the board. His eyes darted over the remaining pieces.
‘Well, I’ll be blanked,’ he said. ‘It is. Bugger me. Checkmate.’ He held his hand out over the board. ‘Congratulations,’ he said.
‘Did you let me win?’ I asked. I didn’t take his hand.
‘No,’ said Grandad. His voice was sharp. ‘I told you I’d never let you win and I didn’t. You beat me fair and square, Rob.’
‘Do you swear?’
‘I swear.’
‘Cross your heart and hope to die?’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
I shook his hand.
We sat on our usual bench overlooking the lake and the dribbling fountain. Grandad had said he needed fresh air, so we’d put the chessboard away and ambled down the path. A sickly sun made small sparks on the water’s surface.
‘Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,’ I said.
‘Ah,’ said Pop. ‘Yes. A real mouthful, that, but just about the long and short of it. Sometimes, when you go through a deeply distressing, painful experience it can be difficult, maybe impossible, to shake it off. It stays with you, tormenting long after the experience has ended.’
‘That’s what you meant when you said you brought the war back with you?’
‘Yes.’ Grandad leaned forward on the bench and put a hand across his chest. ‘I told you all this to explain about your grandmother, not because I wanted sympathy or to convince you war is awful. So. I’m going to finish this story now, Rob, and we won’t talk about it again, okay?’
‘I mentioned a poem by Wilfred Owen earlier. He fought in the First World War, just over a century ago. Now there was a war that defied belief. Thousands and thousands of men slaughtered, routinely, to win a few metres of mud between the trenches. And the probability was that those few metres would be lost the next day.’ Grandad shook his head. ‘Soldiers suffered PTSD because they viewed horrors beyond imagining, day after day, month after month. But no one knew about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, so when men broke down screaming the officers thought it was cowardice. They lined them up in front of a firing squad and shot them. As an example to others, you see.’
Grandad leaned back on the bench.
‘In that poem, Dulce et Decorum Est, which, incidentally, you must read, Owen talked about watching someone die and he said, “In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.” In all my dreams, before my helpless sight. That’s it. That’s it exactly, Rob. I tried to live a normal life when I got back to Sydney, but I couldn’t. Because every time I slept I saw the same scenes replayed over and over. Before my helpless sight.’
I put my arm across his shoulders but I don’t think he noticed.
‘Bella tried to help, but she couldn’t. I’d wake up screaming, covered in sweat, and she would hold me for hours until I calmed down. Maybe she could have dealt with that, but the ghosts came during waking hours as well.’
‘Ghosts?’ I said.
‘The ghosts of those I’d killed. The ghosts of friends who’d died, not just in Long Tan but in other battles. They moved in with me. I still see them, Rob. God help me, I still see them from time to time.’ He wiped at his forehead and his hand came away covered in a film of sweat. ‘They don’t terrify me anymore. In fact, their company is more comforting than anything else. But your grandmother … well, she endured as long as she could, far longer than I had the right to expect. But the ghosts pushed her out. I pushed her out. It was the only way she could possibly survive.’
A thin breeze cut across the lake and I shivered.
‘Your grandmother didn’t abandon me, Rob. She didn’t abandon your father or you. That’s something you need to know.’
‘So why didn’t you tell me before, Grandad?’
He sighed.
‘Because sometimes stories are just too sad, Rob. And too painful. But, you know something? I feel better for having told you. I really do.’
I hugged him to me and we sat in silence for a few minutes.
‘Oh, God, I’m sorry, Rob,’ said Grandad finally.
‘What for, Pop?’
‘For this. I didn’t want it to happen like this, but I can’t stop it. Forgive me, please.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Pop.’
Grandad gave a long, drawn-out sigh. His head lay on my shoulder. I waited for him to take another breath, but he didn’t.