For Tamara Read online

  Also by Sarah Lang

  The Work of Days

  Copyright © 2014 Sarah Lang

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Distribution of this electronic edition via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal. Please do not participate in electronic piracy of copyrighted material; purchase only authorized electronic editions. We appreciate your support of the author’s rights.

  This edition published in 2014 by

  House of Anansi Press Inc.

  110 Spadina Avenue, Suite 801

  Toronto, ON, M5V 2K4

  Tel. 416-363-4343

  Fax 416-363-1017

  www.houseofanansi.com

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Lang, Sarah, 1980–, author For Tamara / Sarah Lang.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-77089-809-7 (bound).—ISBN 978-1-77089-367-2 (pbk.).—

  ISBN 978-1-77089-900-1 (epub)

  I. Title.

  PS8623.A523F67 2014 C811’.6 C2013-906995-X C3013-906996-8

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013918884

  Cover design: Brian Morgan

  We acknowledge for their financial support of our publishing program the Canada Council for the Arts, the Ontario Arts Council, and the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund.

  For M & N, may you never need it.

  Basil is very temperamental. / I’m sorry, I have no idea how to make a tv. / Find a library, sweetheart, please. / Intact.

  If all resources fail: bleach. / Learn to can / fruit, vegetables.

  Flamingos, / to read, / that we love you. / Rhinoceroses. / Poplar trees have sunscreen (spf15) on the south side.

  The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. / The longest day of the year is June 21 / shortest December 21.

  Our city was so glorious, but not so much as this sky.

  You need songs. You can make your own. / I hope there are books. / I hope you find this one.

  Learn to hunt. / Your Mum and Dad have been vegetarians, but never for the sake of your life. / Arrows and spearheads.

  Then there are the stories I can’t tell you. / Lying under a piano listening to Satie. / Yr Father lay under the piano / as a child in the park.

  My Darling Dearest, first-aid kits are frivolous until you need one. / I’m sorry. / Eat strawberries (I dreamt about them last night.)

  She’s my kid: she’s going to start her life by looting a Safeway.

  Tamara, I trust you will be strong enough. / Eat eggplant, it’s good for you.

  If I could be alive for you, I would. The thing that bothers me most is that I’ve let you down. A button on a string is not an ideal gift.

  Don’t get angry with ppl for being human. / Just help; / and I know you can. / No use in screaming.

  I can’t draw you the map you deserve. / Remember pineapples though, ok?

  Sweetheart, your Mum took pretty great photos. Find them.

  I can’t write down all our jokes, but remember to make them.

  I think I’d like to name you Tamara.

  Maybe Mum isn’t going to make it, ok? Baby, I want to tell you what I hear now. Cars: a major road. A man talking. 3 sparrows. A door closing. The leaves. A screen door. A dog. A car going over a pothole. A bird’s wings. A car shifting. The wings of a bird against leaves. A freezer fan. A bird protecting a nest. A horn. Mumbled conversation.

  We made those choices for you. / We are sorry if they were the wrong ones.

  You need to tap into everyone’s skill set and push them further. / You can do this as you are of my blood.

  I am unlikely to survive / much longer than you.

  But it is like waking up in strange house / and all I want to do is go home. / Which means before all this. / Which means you.

  Your Mum is writing with a broken thumb. / This: for you.

  When you plant seeds, leave about a two-finger space between them.

  Remember your Dad. Frankly he is probably a mad-man that dropped out of the sky in a blue box. If you ever get that joke, I’m proud of you.

  T.: Yes, this responsibility sucks. / Feed yourself. / Take care of them (I know you can).

  Humans are gross and annoying. / Take care of them anyway. / Learn about all types of birds and bugs.

  I was just trying to draw you a compass for the world, / for right now. / But I should just make you one. / Iron (Fe) filings and all.

  We’re setting up a hospital here. We can’t take everyone because we just can’t. Our choices aren’t going to get any easier.

  I can tell you about all these plants that grow well, look pretty: totally useless.

  If you think I don’t spend a few seconds every day hoping to wake up / I’m far too good at lying.

  I never wanted to ask you to do this, but I’m trying to keep us all alive, ok? And yes, I get my own room. / Just pretend we are on a ship and the last thing you want is a sleep-deprived captain. / Otherwise, yeah, we’re packed in pretty tight.

  We imagined creatures that swam through space: they didn’t need a ship. (Your Mum is writing you a fairy-tale, she’s sorry she’s so busy.)

  In a tornado: hide under the stairs in the basement. / Your Dad loved you and me so much; he is sorry he can’t be here.

  I know this isn’t by the book. / But Darling, we’ve run out of those. / Trust your Mother. / This works. / I’m teaching you to make painkillers.

  Get Tylenol ones. That means otc Tylenol with codeine.

  Ideally get two Pyrex bowls, one that fits in the other. Otherwise, do your best. Just remember that normal glass will explode from any change in temperature.

  Crush ~10 Tylenol 1 pills.

  Use heated but not boiling water to dissolve the

  powder.

  When it is visibly dissolved, place that bowl into the larger one, with ice if you have it. Regardless, cool it.

  In about 20 minutes the Tylenol will settle to the bottom. If you’re going to be all fancy you can use a coffee filter (or anything else you can think of); but

  in general, just pour off the liquid.

  Remember how many pills you crushed and

  the LD50.

  Fevers run in your maternal line. You’re probably fine up to 104ºF/40ºC. Other ppl, 102. / Yes, you will hallucinate, but you’ll live.

  Love ppl for their for faults, aka humanity. / All their quirks. / Boil water for 3 hours to be safe. Seriously, T., if you sleep when I sleep everyone wins.

  Tamara, I have this vision of you running towards me in the kitchen and it is . . . extraordinary.

  But it is the end of the world and Mum is going to do whatever she wants. She’s going to use that excuse alot.

  I’m sorry I can’t play more, but one day you’ll be doing my job. / Wash your hands. / That is the idea.

  Those tomato seeds will be food, save them. Save all seeds.

  Don’t worry, it didn’t hurt. Now remember that when I’m the one suturing your arm. / I’m sorry I’m not there anymore. / But at least when doing medical stuff, put up your hair, ok?

  Your Mum wishes you could have your own bedroom, but she promised to take care of these ppl.

  You run at me so happy with this red hair / I’ve told you to cut. / That is my last memory.

  I remember expecting someone to be there w
hen I woke up, other than you, of course, My Dearest. / Yes, I miss your Dad every day.

  It has been 18 days.

  Don’t let people see you cry. / Let them see you mourn, but not cry. / Tamara, they need your strength.

  Never think I wanted to ask these things of you. / Make sure there are enough drop-spindles. / cds & dvds make a great end-piece.

  Don’t always try to fix problems. Sometimes just listen and say you understand. / But fix the ones you can.

  Your Dad was, is, awesome.

  Okay, I need you to board up the windows. / You make a latrine.

  I don’t want this to be the world you’re born in. / Please let there be books and pictures.

  We were watching this French film and laughing just a second before the audience—and we weren’t trying to be rude, we just weren’t reading the subtitles. And after reaching for popcorn, and soda, only to lean in closer, I brushed your hand. Our knees touched. I have no idea what that movie was about.

  A few days before this / your Father and I argued about him leaving (again). / Love someone for who they are. / That was part of who he is / to deny him that would be cruel. / And yes, I miss you, Husband of Mine. / Every single fucking day.

  You want to be forgiven, but you did nothing wrong. / Nor did Mum or Dad. / This just happened. / Shortwave radio.

  I’ve never missed you more / the day I met you.

  Your grandparents taught me how to be strong enough to do this. / And meds, electricity, space, and cooking, and. . . . / I wish they were here.

  You work in an underground lab that has a near-100% divorce rate. If you don’t think I knew what I agreed to, you’re just a sillyhead. / And how I miss that head, My Beautiful Idiot.

  How to do cpr. / Cancer runs in my paternal line. / Grow potatoes. / Find a great partner. / How to make a poached egg: get water to a slight boiling temp., add a bit of vinegar, crack the egg into water and coax it together.

  Thyroid meds. / I’m so proud of you.

  Even though I’m the woman who loves you regardless: / call home. / Magic a way. / I don’t care. / T. is only going to get so many more stories.

  I so do not want to tell you about making babies and birth. / But I have to.

  Get the kids Tamiflu (oseltamivir phosphate) and Cipro (ciprofloxacin). And no, thanks to genetics, I don’t hallucinate until at least 104ºF/40ºC. Take care of them before that.

  Part of me doesn’t even want to tell you about what it was like.

  Husband of Mine, you need to figure out how to make a beacon for other survivors. / I’m dealing with these ones, can you do it?

  I never cried until I lost my first love. / There was never a fight, / just an agreement.

  We made up in a movie theatre. / Our hands slowly holding. I’m sorry I won’t always be there to help you.

  Secret: your Mum hates being understanding all the time. / So she knows you do too. / But do it anyway. / Like vegetables.

  I have this dream where you and I are sleeping / and T. jumps into bed / and we can’t even pretend to ignore her. / I think that is the memory I’ll write for her.

  Lick your wrist / then smell it. / Fruity equals infection, / that sort of thing. / Our bodies are better machines than we will ever be. / They will tell you what you have to know.

  Why doesn’t matter anymore. / They’re dead and we’re not. / So do your job.

  Because it starts on a normal day.

  Mum wants you to write books. / She wants you to have the time. / Eat bananas.

  Darling, I hope to do this for you, but if I don’t have a chance / I need you to calculate how much water everyone needs /wk, ok?

  We need to set up a perimeter, fortify it, and set up an alarm system that runs back to the house. / Not just noise, we need advance warning.

  I wish I could come up with something less cheesy / tell your grandparents.

  As a baby you weren’t as quiet as your grandmother said I was. / And you did grow up to be so headstrong. / Whenever I asked my parents about why they let me go out so late / they just said “because you wld have done it anyway.”

  There was never a first time we held hands. / It was you / buttoning a shirt / wrong side up.

  The well-water here should be okay. / I wouldn’t wish your job on my worst enemy.

  And that was me. / But without you I couldn’t have come as far as I did.

  I’m drawing you pictures of how it used to be. / But you save those ’til the end.

  There used to be these cities and they were remarkable. / They had parks and hot-dog vendors. / And buildings so tall. / Much taller than you.

  I was built to care about/for these people. I hope you are too. / Either way you’re strong enough to do it.

  I want to tell you how it was. We’d get cranky about the wrong temperature of water. But still / sit up straight. / You sure are pretty.

  Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes Mum wants to give up too. / Go practice your letters.

  This house isn’t built to deal with the cold without a furnace. / We’ll figure something out. / And wear layers. / Corn stalks.

  Chop down trees to make the barrier. / Yes, so: everything / one, in a sense. How I do not want to give that order.

  No, think like protecting a manageable unit of people: family vs insane commune. Every other group either wants what you have or you have to have a treaty. Going into all that is again a novel. I’m going to hope my audience gets this bit.

  I know you’re busy, but I want you to plant flowers, ok? Try tulips. / They’re easy.

  I saw whole cities being destroyed. / T., I never want you to see that, ever. / Rebuild, always. / At least my thumb is healing.

  Tamara, I never wanted kids and then all this happened and you were here. / Thank-you. / Remember what I look like.

  Mum doesn’t want to have to teach you to fight, but she will. / And you will teach others.

  I realize I haven’t taught you much history. / Part is that I don’t want to remember what it was like even a few years ago. / Part is where to start. / And no idea if that will change a thing.

  Stockpile paper. / I’ll teach you to make more, but it is going to take some time. / And ink, of any kind.

  To triage you have to rule in/out the worst fırst: head wounds,

  fever. . . . / I would love to teach you how to fly a kite instead. / To open a jar that has a seal: rubber gloves and/or turn it upside down and hit it against something hard. / It will pop right off.

  The best thing you can do about the weather is understand it.

  Use that table, I don’t care. / Keep the globe. / It never rains this much.

  Celebrate Earth Day and your birthday. / I’m making time to write you fairy-tales. / Don’t overcook your vegetables.

  I watched the windows blow out. / I used to watch romantic movies on Valentine’s Day. I hope you get to eat watermelon.

  Weaving. / There are paper, and if yr lucky, electronic copies. / How to protect yrself.

  Find yr grandfather’s radio that says “Fisher-Price” on it; those things will outlive most other tech. / Good luck with finding batteries.

  Tamara, ppl are going to have all sorts of mental problems. Just figure out if they are dangerous. / Most of the time they are just hurt ppl.

  This isn’t how I pictured things. / Not for you or me. / This is the last sheet of paper until I teach you to make more.

  Maybe when we write the screenplay. That said, making paper is relatively easy.

  In this house / right now / all I can to not cry: you & your Dad. / This house had a tv. / I wish I could check to see if your Father even tried to contact us.

  In some ways this is the best love letter / I could have ever given you, My Beautiful Idiot / I know it is supposed to be for T. / But you are her / and don’t ever forget it.

  I don
’t have the ability to write you a surgical textbook. / I’m sorry, b/c you’re going to need it. / Sterilize, everything.

  Types of plants. / Some plants that grow here are medicinal. / I’ll make a list.

  How to nurse a baby. / Don’t worry if you can’t, or it is hard. / This is common. / You find someone to do it for you.

  Husband of Mine, when I want to scream about your absence, / I remember that 1) I love you 2) You’re in a bunker somewhere & too busy saving us all to call. 3) btw your legacy is safe here. 4) Carrier pigeons.

  Don’t think yr Mum didn’t cry when she saw all this. / You have the strength she had to help and salvage and make the best of it.

  I need you to loot a hospital. / For any and all supplies: gauze to analgesics to anesthetics to needles to basic surgical equipment. No, I don’t know where Dad is, but I know him. / He is safe and helping. / Maybe not the way we are. / But he is helping. The only person who got my hatred of the sound of a vacuum.

  Earth was green and famously blue; white clouds. / But we have brown and red too. / And neon yellow, don’t go near that.

  Do what you may — no, you have to just destroy the dead. / Too many diseases. / I’m sorry. / Fire.

  Burn them / downwind. / And burn them as hot as you possibly can.

  We’re not sure what happened. / The lack of airborne diseases spread leads us to think probably nuclear attack. / Airborne diseases don’t spread like this. / No idea from whom. / There was a light.

  T., you need to make sure you quarantine parts of the house for the dying.

  Mum wishes she could have a glass of wine. / That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t brush your teeth.

  Dad’s in some gov’t bunker somewhere. / He wishes he could be here. / He has really important things to do. / Just like us, but “classified.” / Trust me as I trust him.

  Tamara, while I want you to be understanding, set boundaries.

  You put your fingers in everything. / You want to be a part of everything. / I think yr grandparents would be proud.