What am I to say now? Was I to imagine that Wendy manipulated the whole project, the accidents on the set and the shootings and the sabotage of the UN platform, simply to humiliate me for deserting her grandmother? That is precisely what I imagined. Was I to believe, despite her remonstrances to the contrary, that Wendy had been trying to kill me in revenge for such a trivial matter? That is what I believed. Was I to expect that she would apologise for unnecessary zeal in the accomplishment of the extraordinary and unnecessary goal of demolishing my life, all that I have lived for and all that I believed in? That is the last thing I expected, but after sitting with them in silence for just a few minutes and seeing her eyes and the ill use to which they had recently been subjected, I began to see that an apology would soon be forthcoming.
Do you see that I am hedging now, dodging as I hesitate to tell you how I was feeling? The object of my neglect had been revealed to me with such attendant emotional strife that I was speechless. Mary broke the silence by offering tea, and I think that although she herself regarded me coolly as simply another human being, having had no contact with me for fifty years, I know she sensed that a bond had grown between Wendy and me, and that its final expression would be necessary.
I sat with Wendy on the lounge, feeling the setting sun that streamed in through the west-facing window. We sat for some minutes in silence. Eventually she said "You know, Victor - it's absolutely amazing that you weren't killed."
"No thanks to you."
"What do you mean?"
"Mean? You're the one that tried to murder me."
"I had nothing to do with any murder attempt."
"Ah, so you admit they were murder attempts now! Not just accidents."
"No I do not," she said firmly, then hesitated, doubting perhaps that there really was no one trying to kill me. "Is someone trying to kill you?"
"If you're not I can't imagine who it is, unless it's a worldwide conspiracy of my past acquaintances, but not even that lot could get it wrong so many times."
"You're making up stories, Victor." She paused, took out a ragged tissue and blew her nose. She asked, "Why did you come here?" I said nothing, for I had no answer to give. I had come because I had grown to love her, I suppose, but being late by fifty years comes as a shock to the equally finite and only slightly less limited lifetime of one man.
"Did you come because you love me?" she asked. She took my hand and held it to her forehead. "Here. Touch the brow of your daughter's daughter." I expected to see accusation in her eyes, but they were unreadable and crowded with tears.
"I am not unique,..." I started to say, but she interrupted.
"You don't have to make excuses. Look," and here she paused groping for easy words, "I don't believe anyone was really trying to kill you. But I used the footage we had of the accidents to get at you in that last scene. I haven't been kind. I knew you were suffering. It was unforgivable to do that when I knew you were suffering. You believe me don't you?"
There was silence for a while, because I had no answer. Instead I took her hand and held it as gently as I had learned how, and presently I said with all the sentiment I could muster, "You make me sorry I ever left Australia."
"You mean that?"
"Yes."
"Good. Then I'll turn off the camera before you get too drippy."
There had been a movie camera hidden in a cluttered corner of the room, and I could see how she had cleverly manipulated me into its focus. I saw her turn it off. She said, "I'll destroy the memory store if you want. Even the permanent one. Otherwise it can be part of the movie. It's part of your life after all."
I must have looked crestfallen and dazed, for she looked neither triumphant or mocking as I would expect after such a calculation.
"I'll destroy it now, Victor. You just tell me."
I saw in my mind an image of the completed film, and a dark cinema full of paying customers, watching me degrade myself time after time as I step into pratfalls across the planet, then laugh at my final humiliation - the confrontation of that which I had abandoned. I saw with my real eyes, though, the real image of Wendy, sobbing as she stood prepared to destroy the evidence of that final humiliation, and I knew what I deserved.
"No. Leave it in," I said.
"Good. I'm glad," she said, coming over to me. Just then Mary came back in with the tea.
Mary said, "Oh I see you've turned off the first camera."
"Yes," said Wendy, "and I'm up to the part where I forgive him, and I hope to try to know and love him."
I scratched my head in confusion and asked Mary if Wendy was sincere. Mary just laughed, and putting the tea things down she said, "Do you know Victor, after fifty years I don't remember how you have your tea."
I turned to the second camera then, and said, "well that's my life so far. Through all this I have been shot at, drugged, "Well that's my life so far. Through all this I have been shot at, drugged, punched, and taken numerous falls from heights that should kill a man. Yet even though I am a seventy-year-old with a pacemaker and a plastic liver I've survived without a scratch. Incredible isn't it?"
I continued looking at the camera until I heard Wendy say, "Cut! OK, that's a wrap, Grandpa."
