Cloudstreet (43 page)

She watched him thinking about this for a good while and she could tell that a thousand cruel comebacks were reeling through his mind. She braced herself for it, but he said nothing and she felt ludicrously grateful. It gave her the feeling that there’d be no more visits to her kitchen and she was surprised to find she regretted it.

Lester went to bed with the curtains drawn and slept till noon but instead of getting up to make tonight’s pasties and do the afternoon grocery deliveries, he stayed where he was, paralysed with wondering how he could have gotten himself into such a spot. All their cash savings in a two-up game depending on a dud gambler landlord whose wife he had been knocking himself only yesterday. And it wasn’t only his own mystification he worried about. He could feel the wonder of the others almost crashing at the door.

He didn’t sleep, though he wished he could because he was still weary from the night. He looked around the room, tried to concentrate on its contents. I miss kids, he thought; I miss having children around. To fool with and muck about with. I was somebody with kids—they believed in me, I made them laugh. And now … what is it? That they see straight through me? The bloke who’s married to the lady in the tent.

He noticed how patched together everything was, everything in the room. What had they been saving for, anyway?

All our clothes are old and mended, he thought; we never buy anything except for the shop, so what are we intending to buy?

He listened to the sounds of lunch being prepared down the hall.

He’s probably picked up a wog, said Elaine.

Do the knife, Quick, said Fish.

Quick spun the knife with a grin.

This is for the biggest bloke in the family, and remember, sport, the knife never lies.

Fish hunched over the spinning blade, giggling. It was a strange sound to hear coming from a fourteen stone man whose hands were as big as T-bones. A pale forelock bobbed on him as his head followed the slowing movement and Quick set his teeth against that old feeling of grief and blame. The blade crept around now, and Beryl and Elaine stopped putting out the ham to watch. Lon looked out of the window. Oriel turned from the stove looking blank. Fish’s giggle thickened and he barely seemed to need a breath to sustain it.

It’s me! Meeeee!

Fish beat his fists on the table and they laughed with him until Oriel put the early potatoes out, steaming in their pale jackets with butter sliding over them and parsley sprinkled on top. There was tea from the urn and fresh bread, a salad with grated carrot and cheese, chutney for the ham.

Before anyone else was finished, Quick excused himself and went down the hall. He knocked at the old man’s door and went in uninvited.

How you feelin?

The old man was lying there with his arms behind his head. He looked pale and worried.

Oh, I’m orright.

You crook?

No, not really.

Quick sat in the old reading chair that used to be in the loungeroom before the loungeroom became the shop. He could smell the lemon scent of the old boy.

Good to have you back, son. You get out of bed and I climb in, eh?

You’re lucky Red’s at school. If you’re not crook she’ll be onto you. She doesn’t believe in sickness. Even if you were crook she’d have you out.

They laughed quietly at this.

She’s like her mother.

Quick shrugged. Well,
she
hasn’t been in to hook you out, so I gathered you must be on yer last legs.

Well, that remains to be seen.

What dyou mean?

Oh, I’m in the poop. I’ve lent money to Pickles.

Quick whistled. A lot, eh?

The old man nodded.

Mum know?

She’s got a nose.

You’re too soft, Dad, Quick murmured without much censure in his voice. Let’s go fishin, take Fish along.

Not tonight.

They sat quiet for a while. It was like a hospital visit, or what Quick imagined a gaol visit to be like.

You ever dream? the old man asked.

Plenty.

You ever have the same dream twice?

Quick nodded.

I keep having this dream, the old man said, almost in a whisper. It’s the first thing I can remember in my life—you know my earliest memory. It’s dark and raining and I’m in a storm and I’m in the middle of a creek—I can hear it roaring and see the white. There’s lightning but it doesn’t show anything up, just blinds me. I’m absolutely packin myself. And I’m on my father’s shoulders and he’s carryin me across. He’s steady and big, and we’re makin it. I’m just hangin on, and he’s takin me across.

Their eyes met. Quick smiled.

That’s a nice one.

I always wake up in tears.

Why don’t you come down and make the pasties? Mum’ll botch em up.

Lester smiled. Don’t ever join the army.

Geez, one army’s enough.

She’s a good woman, Quick. She’s worth two of me.

But she makes a lousy pasty.

Go on, you drongo.

Quick left and saw Beryl coining.

He alright?

Quick nodded.

I’ll see if he wants something.

He doesn’t want you, Quick thought; you’re the last thing a man needs. Regular bedside Betty.

He heard her open the door behind him as he went on up the front to the shop. The bell was ringing.

Promises

Lester was most of the way out of his pyjamas when Beryl broke in, knocking as she came, and he found himself standing like a soldier ready for a short arm inspection. Beryl had a sweat on her upper lip; her eyes were china white taking in his kit. She showed none of the disinterest army matrons had impressed him with, and he felt a fury rising out of his embarrassment.

Would you like to break a piece off as a souvenir, Beryl?

What?

He hauled up his pyjama pants and sat back on the bed.

What do you want, Beryl?

Oh, strewth, I’m sorry, Lester.

She stood with her back to the door, wearing a faded bag of a frock and a pair of chunky heels that must have given her curry all day in the shop. He knew she was a fragile thing, and he’d seen her kindness to his children and the gratitude she offered to Oriel for building her back into someone who could stand in her own shoes again; regardless of the style. She worked hard in this house and he respected her for it, but he’d never been able to cipher out why she’d stayed so long.

As he watched, a composure, a toughness came into her face that he’d never seen before, and he was about to ask her again what the matter was when she started talking.

I know about you and Mrs Pickles, Lester.

You must hang off the banisters like a fruit bat.

I watch you.

You don’t know anythin, Beryl, he said, a quiver coming to his jaw. How on earth could you know that what you think happened actually happened?

Well, you seem to know what I’m talking about without any explanation.

Lester tried to scrape up some form. He looked at his flat pink feet sticking from his barber’s pole jarmies. Well, he thought, catastrophe hasn’t exactly been long in the wings. Least it hasn’t kept me waitin.

She’s a low woman, Lester.

That’s our landlady you’re talkin about, he said with the feeblest of grins.

I’m shocked, surprised even.

Me too.

You’re in trouble.

More than you think, Beryl. You know I’ve never been in trouble in my whole life—I mean seriously nose deep in the nure. I’ve kept laws and rules and contracts—

And now you’re gunna tell me you feel free for the first time in your life, like Bette Davis or somebody! That’s really got to be the living—

Beryl! he hissed. Keep your blessed voice down.

Beryl sagged back against the door.

Are you gunna dob on me, Beryl? Is that why you’re here? I haven’t got a brass razoo if it’s money you’re after.

Oh, you … bugger!

State your business, Beryl. What have you come to do to me?

Beryl came to the edge of his bed and her proximity forced him back onto the pillow.

I came to tell you to leave off with Mrs Pickles.

Or?

Or you’ll ruin your life and break a fine woman’s heart. Mrs Lamb deserves better.

Fair enough, Beryl.

What?

I said you’re right.

Well … well good then.

Go, Beryl.

Lester lay back and felt the cool palms of his hands on his face.

The World Through Beryl

Pausing for barely a second now and then like a motor gently missing, Oriel stopped to watch Beryl, who had grown paler still. That woman will disappear if she keeps fading like this, she thought. What is it with Beryl? Hunger for a man? What man deserves a good honest woman like Beryl? Even as she watched, Oriel saw Beryl fading by the window. She saw the mulberry tree through the tall woman’s translucent, veiny arms. The sky moved behind her. You could see the whole world through Beryl Lee.

Take a break, Beryl.

No, I’m right. Truly.

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