Through Splintered Walls, page 9
The men called me Casanova, and jokingly asked me for tips. They sometimes made kissing noises when I entered the bar, and Golly always asked me if I was feeling lucky.
‘Not so’s you’d notice,’ was my response, and it was a well-appreciated joke.
Barry left the factory without me again and I had to walk into town. No one offered me a lift. I had done something wrong—tried a kiss? It was like the town had seen into my dreams. My intentions.
I stopped off at Mandy’s for a toasted sandwich. My feet stank, as did I.
Mandy was on. I couldn’t figure out the shifts in the café.
‘We don’t serve until you’ve had a shower,’ she said. Every day one of them said it. Every day I hoped they’d let me get away with it. There was something about filth which kept me safe.
‘Go on, fuck off,’ she said.
‘Mandy!’ I said. ‘Is everything okay?’ She glared at me.
‘If you wanted a home cooked feed you didn’t have to go begging to Madam.’
‘I didn’t. She asked me.’
‘And if I’d asked, would you have come?’
‘Sure. You never asked, though. Try me now. I’ll even go and have a shower.’
She looked me up and down.
‘Too late, now, isn’t it?’
‘Nothing happened over there. I swear.’
‘You ate her food. That’ll do me.’
‘You’re a hard woman, Mandy,’ I said. I tried to get the flirt back. It wouldn’t help to have the only cook in town as an enemy.
‘I’ll have your sandwich ready for you when you get back,’ she said, but I couldn’t tell if I’d been forgiven.
People nodded and winked at me in the pub.
They were all in black.
‘Came in in a blind fug last night,’ Tool said. ‘Didn’t know if you were coming or going. Leaving or staying.’
I shrugged. ‘You know how it is,’ I said.
‘Oh, yeah, man of the world like me,’ he said. I laughed, went upstairs to clean myself. ‘We’ll call you half an hour before the little girl’s funeral. Right?’ he called after me.
My room had been done. I searched for a message from Angela, hoping I hadn’t blown my chances.
She had kissed lipstick onto my mirror.
I emptied my pockets, laid the photo on my bed and threw my jeans in the corner. Had another look at the tiny face of Ms Barnes.
I felt like she was looking directly at me.
‘Zed, come and find me. You can Show and Tell me. Rescue me.’ I was too tired. Seeing things. Like little girls.
The funeral was in an hour and a half. My internal clock just did as it was told, because it really didn’t know what time it was. I had a good hot shower, ignored the pubic hair in the soap, scrubbed and scrubbed. I could smell Angela’s perfume in my hair, but that was just fancy.
Then I realised it was the soap. Pale purple, it smelled of lilac, my mother’s favourite perfume, and they all smelled like that.
They all used the same soap.
It struck me as funny, and I sat on the edge of the bath and laughed until the water ran cold.
Most of my clothes were black so I didn’t have to put on anything special, borrow anything. I walked over and picked up my sandwich from a silent Mandy, who closed the shop behind me. The whole town would stop for the funeral, as it had for old Geoff’s.
This time I was invited.
We all lined the street, waiting for my car with the kid’s body in it to cruise past. I hadn’t seen the whole town out before, and I thought how lucky they were a drifter with mean intentions didn’t pass through while they were all otherwise occupied.
Most of them kept their savings at home in openly revealed places. The local artist spent most of his time making clay money boxes, with ‘money’ in ceramic on the front and no place for a lock.
These people trusted each other.
I couldn’t imagine they had much savings, though. Same as in the real world, what you earn is what it cost to live. What you make is what you spend.
I tried to see Angela but the women all had scarves over their heads. No one carried a camera.
Barry elbowed me. ‘Shut up,’ he said. I had no idea what I had been saying. There was silence, then the rumble-roar, so familiar, of my car.
There was a low sigh as my car appeared. I’m sure they thought it was very right, very mournful, but they should have asked me first.
They’d painted my car black.
There was a low mumble as my car drove slowly past and we fell into place for the long walk to the cemetery.
‘Sally, Sally, Sally,’ they all said, like they were reciting the rosary.
The mumble stopped. We walked in silence. The smell of lilac was all around me and I thought of my mother.
Ms Barnes thought my father had killed Mum, all those years ago. I was never told this, I just picked it up. She thought Dad had killed Mum and chopped her up.
Sometimes I thought it was possible.
‘Dad’s a pacifist,’ I’ve been telling people all my life. But only because it was what he said, and Mum said. When I was old enough to think about these things—fifteen or so, I was a late rebeller after my childhood misbehaviour—I realised that saying it didn’t make it so. He did hit Mum, make her cry. He could say one word, make her drop a glass or a plate. He used the word love a lot but never showed it.
Mum wouldn’t leave him, though. She liked the life, being looked after. She liked not having to think.
When I got back to Canberra I’d tell her to Number One, get a new perfume, Number Two, ditch the old bastard.
We walked, we didn’t speak. No one banged into each other. The rhythm of the march hypnotised me, I thought we were a giant black insect with hundreds of legs. I have an adaptable imagination. The few times I’ve tried drugs have been a disaster, total paranoia and my friends freaking out. So I gave it up.
We reached the cemetery. My car was waiting, its doors open.
I hadn’t visited the cemetery before, although it had topped my list on arrival. So vast, so white.
There was an open grave and we surrounded it, so many of us we had to stand amongst the other graves to fit. No one stood on a grave proper. My heel rested over an imaginary line and someone gently tugged me back into position.
‘Sorry,’ I said, and looked at the person. ‘Angela! I was looking for you!’
‘Shh,’ she said, but she held my arm tightly enough that I knew she meant it.
The service was long and my eyes drifted. I wondered if anyone would notice me strolling about. There were a lot of graves here, and I wanted to make sure one of them didn’t belong to Ms Barnes.
I loosened Angela’s grip, gave her arm a quick squeeze. Everyone stared ahead, eyes blank. The priest spoke in Latin and I wished I could remember what I’d learned at my ridiculous school, because it sounded like gibberish to me. I could hear words like mozzarella and pizziola.
No one knew I was alive.
I read the gravestone nearest me.
Sally. That’s all it said. The next one. Billy. Nothing more. I walked back towards the road, panic rising in me. I knew it was strange and that I had lost my grip on reality, but I didn’t realise they were insane.
Every one said either Sally or Billy.
I reached my car. The keys weren’t there. I raged against an education which taught me eight words of an ancient language but not how to steal my own car.
I sat in the front seat. It even smelled different; lilac, now I knew the smell, and of the little body which had lain across the back seat. I contemplated walking but the nearest neighbour was over a hundred kilometres away.
I couldn’t make it.
Sally and Billy. If I died here I would become Billy. And Ms Barnes had become Sally.
The path was clear ahead. And impossible.
If I managed to get back to Canberra. If I could convince some kind of authority (beginning with my father, the greatest test) that a teacher, whose first name I didn’t even know, was dead. If they believed me and came out here … where would they begin?
There were dozens of Sally graves.
‘First funeral?’ It was the priest I’d met at Mandy’s when I first arrived. ‘It’s always a disturbing experience. I’m afraid I still haven’t become hardened. Each one moves me as the first did.’
I said, ‘But they’re all called Sally or Billy.’ He smiled at me. Touched my arm.
‘We’re all one under the eyes of God. If we go to the grave carrying our identity with us, we carry ego, too, I want this and I want that. Here, we go as a son of God or a daughter of God. He will know where to put us.’
It sounded so very reasonable.
‘Father giving you the word, is he, Zed? Trying to save that black soul of yours? Come on, you can drive into town with us. Hop into the back.’ Tool wanted to drive. And he wanted me in the back of my own car. Where a dead girl had been.
‘It is my car,’ I said, so weakly my voice cracked. I needed to gargle. ‘It’s my car. I’ll drive it back.’
The priest said, ‘I do apologise. I understood the car had been donated for the good of the church.’
‘I can’t imagine Zed would argue with that. A car’s only worth the people it services, isn’t that right, Father? And this car can service the needy of Sky.’ Tool tapped his foot, wanting me out of the driver’s seat.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’ I was thinking of my spare keys, in the room, in the toe of my boot. If they were still there it was a sign I was meant to leave.
‘Room for one more?’ Angela was panting lightly, her chest heaving, her cheeks red, her eyes bright. All other thoughts left my head. I wanted to make her look like that again.
‘Hop in,’ I said. She flopped herself in, landing half on me, and not pulling away. ‘First time I’ve been in the back seat of my own car,’ I said.
‘Oh, sure, big city boy like you? Bet you had the girls back here every night of the week.’
She pinched my thigh and I yelped. The priest turned. ‘Please, young people. We are still contemplating the passing of that dear child.’
Without being asked, Tool dropped me off with Angela at her place.
‘I’m afraid town gossip has us as an item,’ she said.
‘Yuck,’ I said.
‘If that’s the way you feel you can turn around and disappear.’
‘I was joking. Teasing. I should have said, “I’m flattered to be mentioned in the same breath as you.”’
‘You’re joking again.’
‘No, I’m serious this time. If they want to think the worst, let them. All I know is, when I saw you there today, I thought, “This woman’s worth staying put for.”’
‘I must admit I was pleased to see you too. I wanted to apologise for yesterday. I was just a little scared of how fast things were going.’
Fast girls in the city, you meet them at a band and take them home that night. Or they take you home and eat you alive.
‘I’m sorry. We’ll just go at your pace,’ I said. I estimated her pace to be a couple of weeks. I couldn’t last here that long. I was going to have to cut my losses.
Then she lunged at me, kissed me, sucked my tongue in a way that made it feel like my dick. I groaned.
‘Do you like that?’ she said. Her voice was low, her eyes lidded.
‘Yeah,’ I said. I grabbed her shoulders, drew her in, kissed her. She writhed, then wriggled away from me.
‘You’ve done this before,’ she said.
‘So have you.’
‘Maybe.’ She unbuttoned her black funeral shirt and let it drop. She had a lacy black bra on, and I wondered briefly where she’d got it. It wasn’t on sale at the general store. Mail order? Did they get all their clothes through mail order?
I reached for her. She let me touch her, raise goosebumps on her beautiful flesh. I kissed her belly.
‘I don’t think I’ve got anything,’ I said. Her mouth turned.
‘I hope not,’ she said. ‘I certainly haven’t. Why, have you been with someone who had something?’
‘No, no, I don’t mean disease. I mean protection. You know. A condom.’
‘Yuck,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t matter. I’ve got one of those things.’
‘What things?’
‘A lady doesn’t talk about it.’ She began to dance for me, her breasts swaying, her hips, and I struggled out of my clothes while I watched, kicked off shoes, rolled off socks.
‘You’re lovely,’ she said.
‘So are you,’ I said. She came and kissed me again. She grabbed me, rubbed, juiced me up.
‘I love you,’ she said.
‘I love you too. God I love you,’ I said. Mad words.
‘So let’s get married, then,’ she said.
‘Yeah, yeah, fine,’ I said. I was prepared to say anything.
‘Good. We should probably wait, then. I think so.’
She peeled herself off me. My eyes spun. ‘What is it?’ I said. ‘What’s wrong?’ I was urgent.
‘If we’re going to get married, we should wait for our wedding night. If we’re not going to get married, it’s lucky we stopped.’
‘But if we’re going to get married, what’s wrong with now? It’s an act of love, it’s not just physical.’ My voice sounded weak and childish, like it had throughout my teenage years. Wheedling.
It had never worked then, either.
‘We’ll start making plans tomorrow,’ she said. ‘We’re a little too overheated at the moment to think properly.’
She watched while I dressed, then I was out on my ear. Frustrated. Pissed off. I kicked at a bush and got prickles in my ankles. I’d forgotten my socks.
‘Fuck fuck fuck,’ I shouted. A door opened. ‘Fuck fuck fuck.’ I punched a letterbox.
They were all pissed up the pub.
‘Give us a brandy,’ I said.
‘You’re working tonight, aren’t you?’ said Tool. They changed the rules when they felt like it.
‘I thought everyone had the day off.’
‘Do I look like I’m lazing? It’s all on again at midnight, anyway. You’ll just have to hold off until your shift’s over.’
‘Fuck you,’ I said. I threw a punch over the bar at him, caught him by surprise and knocked him sideways.
‘After my job, are you?’ he said.
‘Gotta be fuckin’ joking. Just give me a drink.’
He filled a glass and placed it before me.
‘That’ll be it, though, mate. You go upstairs and sleep off whatever it is, then Barry here’ll drive you to work.’
‘Maybe I’ll be too sick to go to work,’ I said.
‘There’s no sickies here,’ Tool said. ‘You go to work, or someone takes your job. It’s as simple as that. You don’t wanna be a silly Billy, do you, Zed? You’re not a bad kid. Go sleep it off.’
I stumbled up the stairs. Keys, I thought. I’ll grab my keys, say I’m walking to work to clear my head, I’ll walk to the church and pinch my own car back.
My shoes were neatly lined up. Someone had sprayed air freshener, one of those cheap sharp ones which smell worse than body odour.
There were no keys in my shoes. I tried in my runners, and my boots. I tipped them upside down, whacked them.
There were no keys there.
I needed to sleep, go to work, gain myself an extra day.
So I slept.
My wake up call came as it always did. Barry was waiting, ready. I asked him to get me a toasted sandwich while I washed the sleep out, and he ran to it.
‘Congratulations, Zed,’ Golly said. ‘Got yourself a good ’un there.’
‘What?’
‘Blushing bride, handsome groom, all that. Taking the plunge.’
I groaned. She was telling people. She was serious.
‘It’s not definite yet,’ I said. It was 11.30 at night—how much could she have done?
‘She got the priest all excited. Hasn’t been a wedding here for a while.’
I shook my head. ‘Whatever,’ I said. I was almost looking forward to looking into a pit of guts and blood for eight hours. It would give me time to think.
‘Did you ever find your Ms Barnes?’ Golly asked. He was being an arsehole. He knew she was dead.
I had to drive. Barry was shaking. He’d forgotten about being pissed off with me … for talking to Mandy about his past? I couldn’t figure it.
‘What’s up with you?’ I said.
‘Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘Tell me anyway. Then I’ll tell you my troubles.’
I’d never tell him, though. The township wouldn’t admire my true intentions for their precious photographer.
‘You know Parisha? She’s the one who always wears purple, works at the factory.’
‘Yep.’
‘It’s her sister. She wants to move here. They haven’t got any kids, at least. But she’s going to go for a job in the Women’s Pub, and her husband wants my job.’
‘Why your job?’
‘Dunno. Maybe he’s been told he can beat me.’
‘But you’re in the job. They can’t just kick you out.’
We had arrived at the factory. It was familiar, now, on my fourth night. It was pay day, I’d been told. I’d feel safer with a bit of Sky money in my pocket.
‘You don’t understand,’ Barry whispered. There was a queue to get in the door. They were passing out the money.
‘Don’t worry about it. Why would they dump you for an outsider?’
I received my pay packet. ‘I’ll just take a quick Polaroid,’ said the woman doing the pay. Flash. ‘For the wall.’ I counted my money.
‘Hang on, this isn’t mine,’ I said. The woman said, ‘Why?’
‘There’s hardly anything in it.’
‘You’ve had deductions.’
That was true. Half of it for tax, though it seemed unlikely any of it would reach the Federal coffers.
And money for this and that, a drink, a sandwich, my lifts to work, everything I’d taken as country hospitality.
‘Who’d live here?’ I said, but I walked ahead because Barry poked me.
‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘I’m not much of a fighter.’
