Cloudstreet (40 page)

It’s Beryl’s. That flatchested Cathlick sheila you were bein so nice about.

Inside, in the broken beams of light from the Chev, Lester found a lamp, fooled with the wick for a bit, and got it lit. In the sick yellow glow, swimming and bobbing in the uncertain light, the big bed appeared, and the bench, the deal table, the bits and pieces. Sam came in with two boxes.

There’s a fuckin revolver in this crate.

Old army days.

Whatm I sposed to do with that?

You got enough fingers to pull the trigger, haven’t you?

Yeah. But a gun …

I was operatin under the idea that it was a union matter. Keep it here anyway. Shoot rabbits. You’ll need the meat.

You goin?

Lester felt disgust come on him in a rush.

I got a family to get back to. I’ll be back in a week. No one’ll find you out here. Those blokes’ll be back, and I’ll pay em off and come back for you. There wasn’t much camaraderie in his tone, and even he was a little surprised by it. Orright?

Why? Sam said, snaky all of a sudden. What’s in it for you?

What’s in it for me is I don’t have to worry about bruisers hangin round my kids or my house. It buys me some peace of mind.

And a warm feelin, eh, Lester? Sam said bitterly.

Yeah, if you like.

Fair dinkum, said the bird.

Sam swatted it from his shoulder and Lester went out the door to the Chev.

Lester waved and drove off. Sam looked in the boxes. Bread, polony, toilet paper, fruit, vegetables, flour, tea, sugar, a book about John Curtin, a
Reader’s Digest
and a Smith & Wesson, six shells.

There’s always Russian roulette in the evenings, bird.

Yairs!

Wallpaper

Red Lamb liked Beryl Lee. She was a hard worker and kind. She treated Fish as though he was special. She’d just arrived one day with a teachest of clothes and no explanation. Apparently the old girl had invited her in, and in the weeks after Hat got married Red was especially glad someone had come along. Her mother had foresight, she knew. Right back then, before Hat fell in love, her mother was recruiting a reinforcement.

Beryl didn’t say much. She ate with the mob, worked with the mob and on Sundays she went to Mass. Red couldn’t tell if maybe it was the changing seasons, but day by day, Beryl seemed to grow paler. It was like seeing someone fade like wallpaper.

That, thought Red, is what happens when you wait for men. Red knew the story. Beryl’s hubby had gone down in the
Perth
and no men had looked at her since.

Red thought that Beryl Lee didn’t know how lucky she was.

Morning

But no one explained to Quick just who Beryl Lee was. He needed to know because she kept arriving on the end of his bed at dawn to stare at him. One morning she pulled a dandelion to bits and left the petals on his blanket. She was kind of longfaced and horsey, maybe a bit crosseyed even, and when she was around Quick she flounced about a lot, as though she had worms or something. For a couple of days after he came good, he didn’t get out of bed, and the days began with this strange woman turning up. He wondered if perhaps she climbed up the drainpipe or crept up through the house while everyone was asleep. Maybe she was a relative. She never said a word and he pretended to be asleep.

One morning he woke to the familiar pressure on the end of the bed but when he peeped through his eyelashes he saw it was his mother. He opened his eyes.

Gday, he said.

Hello.

Quick doubled his pillow beneath his neck. He looked at her. Her square jaw, the arms muscling out of her cotton dress, the bigdialled watch on her wrist. She had long distance eyes. Now he knew where he got his aim from.

I thought you wouldn’t speak to me.

I’m your mother, you know.

Geez, how can I forget it.

Not by runnin away.

Quick looked at the ceiling. Great shales of paint hung only by spiderwebs. Waterstains spread map-like across the plaster.

How old are you, Mum?

She cracked her knuckles. I’m fifty-four.

I never knew. You don’t look it.

No. But one day I will.

He smiled.

Hat got married last week.

Oh. Good old Hat. Be nice to see her.

She’s in Pemberton. Hubby runnin the mill now.

I feel like Rip Van Winkle. Do we fly to the moon yet?

Only on the wireless.

They looked at one another, and then Quick saw business come into her eye.

What did you see? she asked.

What do you mean?

You saw something.

I don’t know.

I’m your mother.

I don’t know, I said.

You broke Fish’s heart, Quick. People aren’t like furniture.

He closed his eyes.

I’m sorry, she said, I didn’t want to go crook.

He felt her hand on his face. He opened his eyes again.

What did you see, Quick?

Why are you out in that tent?

I asked you first.

What’s for brekky?

Quick.

I saw myself runnin. That’s all.

Well, that’s enough I spose.

You bet.

Fatted Calf

Down in the kitchen the old man is at the stove, ducking and weaving as fat snipes at him from the pan. He looks old and exhausted, damn silly with his hair all on end and his lardspattered specs up on his brow. Fish is at the table where two china bowls roar and roll, teetering and toppling as gravity gets hold over motion. His big, soft hands hover over the bowls.

Keep it down, says Lon in his morning sulks.

They’re up. I keep em up.

Brilliant, just flamin brilliant, Fish.

Rain falls against the window. Outside looks glum and unavoidable.

Cut yer grizzlin, Lon, says Lester. You’ll be late for work.

I’m waitin for me eggs.

You’ll be wearin em if you keep that up.

The bowls slide to a stop like pranged hubcaps.

Jesus, Fish!

In a moment Lester is at the table with the lobe of Lon’s ear between thumb and forefinger and Lon’s squealing like a cut cat. He’s small and hoarse, these days, muscly enough, but still no match for Lester who’s thin and tall and angry. Lon wriggles and lurches, squinting with pain.

If your mother was here she’d wash your mouth out, boy. It’d be Trusol paste at least. Don’t let me hear you talk like that again. Now eat your eggs.

Lester lets go and slides the fried eggs and tomato in front of Lon whose face is lit up red and nasty.

He makes a racket!

It gives him pleasure. Can’t you cope with him havin a bit of fun? In case you hadn’t thought about it, his prospects aren’t as … brilliant as yours, you know. If you can’t show him any respect—

Respect! He’s a Clydesdale. A monster! He should be put away.

Lester expands, you can see his flesh taking on ballast. His arms quiver. He steps out of his crushedheel carpet slippers and puts down the egg slice. Smoke begins to rise from the pan behind him. He’s never seemed bigger or meaner than he does now, not to himself, not to the others, not to the room he’s in. Lon gets up and backs off.

Don’t hit us! calls Fish. Lestah, don’t hit us!

Lester turns, startled, and Fish yelps in fear. Lon bolts for the door but Oriel fills it like a Frigidaire.

What’s this?

Fish sobs in the corner. Lon barely breathes. Lester looks a kick behind the play, dazed again, incompetent to the moment.

I’ve never had cause before to feel ashamed of a child of mine, he almost whispers.

The eggs are burnin, Lester.

Yes, I know woman, I know. Mornin Quick, he says, seeing Quick behind his mother. Welcome home.

Quick smiles.

Fish looks up, blotchyfaced and afraid. He’s gone out. He’s light’s off.

No. It’s brekky now.

I’ve gotta go, says Lon.

Take a wrench to your neck, son, says Lester, and get your head off and see if you can’t give it a good flush out. A plumber should always mind his own blockages.

He’s a plumber? Quick asks, when Lon slams the last door in a long line of them.

Apprentice, says Oriel.

You bin gone a hundred, Quick.

Yeah. You’ve got big, too.

Fish lowers his eyes. He must be six feet tall. He’s soft and oafish, but his eyes are still bright as a child’s.