The Elusive Language of Ducks (19 page)

Maggie and Simon had moved on ahead, out of earshot, with Dennis lumbering a short way behind them. He gave the impression of being such a lonely man. Maggie was laughing at something Simon had said, had thumped him on the arm and had her head back, her straight black hair bouncing on her shoulders. Then, abruptly, they both turned and looked directly at Hannah. She waved and moved to catch up, but they turned again and continued to walk, increasing their pace.

Dennis hung back for her, and they all straggled down and over the hills to the road and strolled along the waterfront to a restaurant. They sat at a table under a Norfolk pine and lethargically watched kids dash around slides and swings and up ladders and through tubes. Hannah could never come to terms with the screams and shrieks of children as they played — it always gave her an unnerving sense of underlying panic.

Maggie ordered a bottle of sauvignon blanc. Hannah waved her glass aside. It was too hot to drink wine in the middle of the day.

Of course you can't drink, you're in charge of a duck, said Maggie. I'm surprised you managed to leave it behind for so long. Or resist bringing it with you.

Does your duck have a name? asked Dennis gently.

Oh, let me guess, said Maggie. It would
have
to be Gabriel. No? Oh I know. Duckie-wuckie. Or maybe Quackie-wackie? Or is that
you?

You realise, don't you, said Simon, that for one, Hannah's duck is not a duck, but is probably a drake? And secondly, it's not a true duck, as such, genetically.

Maggie rolled her eyes. What do you mean, not a
true
duck?

Well, it is and it isn't. It doesn't have the same DNA as a common duck, like a mallard. It's a
Cairina moschata momelanotus.
It's not a duck and not a goose. It's a perching duck, one of the greater wood ducks. It seems that they — scientists — had difficulty placing it in the order of things. Dabbling ducks and perching ducks and shelducks. Family Anatidae, genus
Cairina.
There are two species in the
Cairina
genus, but the other, the endangered
Cairina scutulata,
the white-winged wood duck, is not related in external morphology.

There was a silence. Everyone looked at him.

Fuck it's hot, said Maggie. Let's eat and start walking back before we quack up.

Back at the house, Toby was out. There was no sign of food preparation. Maggie grabbed a bucket of ice and beer, a book and a rug and went out to the lawn. Simon sat down at his computer, and Dennis went to his room and shut the door.

Hannah stood in the kitchen. Simon was peering at his screen. She moved over to the table and watched as he worked, but he didn't look up.

She said: I can't stand it.

His eyes flickered and he bit his lip, but still he continued his gaze at the screen.

You'll be right, he said.

I'm going mad.

You'll come right.

She left him and went outside to where the duck was waiting under the deck. She picked him up. Avoiding Maggie — who was involved in her book and didn't stir anyway — she went down to the very back of the garden, perching on the steps of the shed with the duck on her lap. He was so big now that he spilled over her lap from one side to the other.

Are we going foraging? said the duck.

Ssssh, she whispered. We have to be quiet.

What's going on?

Nobody likes me. Everything is closing in and I'm feeling sad.

You know I like you.

Ssssh, I told you. Not so loud. Anyway, you're a duck. And I don't even know your name.

I'm hungry.

What's your name, Ducko? They want to know your name.

By any other name, I'd smell as sweet.

Don't be stupid. Let's just sit here together and be very, very quiet.

OK. Together is fine. And after that? Snails?

Everything is going a bit weird, Ducko, in Peopleland. I'm not sure what it is, but I don't like it.

Snails? Cockroaches? Slugs?

Leaning from the step, she tugged at a few tufts of grass, directing the duck to a scattering of tiny cockroaches. She poked around with a stick looking for more. She hit a stone, and prised it up. Underneath was a small ziplock plastic bag, pressed flat by the stone. She peeled it from the soil. Inside was a key. The key to the shed.

Look at this, Ducko, she said. The key to your future hotel. We won't mention it just yet; we might need to do a bit of subtle negotiation.

She didn't bother to try the key, but eased the bag back into its earthy grave.

When the air temperature dropped, everyone made their way back to the kitchen where Toby, surrounded by a cluster of supermarket bags, chopped and scooped and darted and stirred. Maggie opened a bottle of bubbly and poured a glass for everyone.

Cheers, she said, insisting that everyone catch her eye as they clinked glasses. Come on now, make eye contact. Look at moi. That's the rules. No clinking without linking. In Europe it's considered boorish if you don't. Dennis, Dennis, lift up thine eyes. Looks don't kill.

She brayed like a donkey.

And with each eye connection there was a statement, thought Hannah. Each person revealed something of themselves. Toby was preoccupied, Dennis was depressed for some ungodly reason, as he always had been
forever, Maggie was scathing, and Simon was so far away she almost didn't recognise him. She would need binoculars to cover the distance, to find the craters and seas and mountains of his orbiting thoughts.

They ate olives and delectable canapés that kept appearing, and by the time dinner was ready they'd already drunk two bottles of bubbly. Toby was a whirlwind, his shoulders up around his ears, prancing from the bench to the oven, ignoring them all as he worked. Soon there was a steaming creamy concoction of green-lipped mussels, prawns and schnapper in a bowl, with a salad of greens. And then Hannah realised it was almost dark.

Oooops, the duck, she gasped.

But the food is ready. Leave the duck for once.

She rushed outside, grabbed the duck, his legs air-cycling for the Tour de France. Fortunately she'd already set up his water and pellets. She peeled a couple of snails from behind the agapanthus, threw some bolted lettuce into his cage and tossed him, complaining, inside.

By the time she returned, everyone was eating.

You could've waited for once, said Maggie, her cheeks bulging.

There was a silence for a while as everyone tucked in to the meal. Another bottle of wine was opened and poured.

Toby, you're not eating? This is superb, said Hannah. He was pushing his fork at a mussel with disinterest.

Yeah, I am, I am. I'm never particularly hungry after cooking.

Leave him alone, snapped Maggie, reaching for her wine.

Remember how Mum would always have to have salt on the table, said Hannah. Whether the food needed it or not.

That's right, said Maggie. She used to complain bitterly about how you refused to let her have salt when she stayed with you. Told us how she used to sneak some wrapped in a tissue and surreptitiously sprinkle her food when your eagle eye was turned.

I thought it was bad for her, said Hannah ruefully. We were always told . . . arteriosclerosis . . .

Well yes, so much for a little knowledge being a dangerous thing. With her low blood pressure it turned out she needed it. I have to say that she felt vindicated after that was diagnosed.

Actually, said Hannah, actually, I'd like to propose a toast. She shot a
glance at Maggie. We haven't given her much of a mention over the past few days and, rather than fight about her, I think it's time we acknowledge her. So, here's to dear Mum.

Here's to a gracious lady, said Toby.

To Mum, said Simon.

Dennis raised his glass.

Maggie lifted her glass half-heartedly.

Well, yes, all right then, to Mum. Poor old Mum. But I'd like to add this. She hated it here. Did you know that? She was miserable. Away from everyone she knew, her friends, her life. It was cruel to haul her up here away from her memories . . . of Dad . . . her whole married life down there. I couldn't believe, honestly, couldn't believe that you would do that to her.

Every cell within Hannah's body collapsed.

Her friends and neighbours were ringing me, imploring me to help, she said. There was no other choice. What else could she have done?

Lived at her home. As she wanted to.

But she was always falling over, fainting, hallucinating — as you noticed yourself. Did you see the scars on her hands and arms, and legs and head from her falls? Her skin peeled away like cling-film. Her skin was an old suit perished, left too long in the sun.

So what? What if she'd died on the floor? She wouldn't have had to endure what she did over the next few years. It was cruel. It was a travesty. And she hated it.

I didn't notice you having any say in the matter at the time.

I wasn't asked.

That's not exactly true. I kept you informed. I told you everything. Anyway, you have no hesitation in saying your piece now. It wasn't easy, you know. Looking after her. It wasn't exactly roses. Hannah sighed. But what's the point in bringing it up now?

Maggie dabbed at each corner of her mouth with a manicured finger. She tossed her Japanese-doll hair and blinked slowly. Lifting her cruel eyes to pierce right through Hannah from her heart to her back.

Actually. What I'd really like to know, while we're finally having a real conversation, is this: what is it about the bloody duck? Everyone thinks you're crazy. Everyone. It's just a filthy bird. It's absolutely filthy. And the
way you handle it. And talk to the bloody thing. I don't know how Simon puts up with you. He has the patience of Job.

Hannah glanced at Simon who was zealously managing his knife and fork to extricate flesh from the shell of a prawn. She placed her glass on the table and left the room. Left the house and went into the garden. The night was clicking with insects, and somewhere the snuffling of a hedgehog. Over the road, loud music and mirthless laughter. She walked up the garden path, up the steps and out the gate and down the street. Footsteps hurrying behind her. Who? Maggie to apologise? Simon, to see if she was all right? The local mugger?

No, it was Toby. She was so surprised she forgot to be devastated, forgot to be angry.

He linked his arm through hers and joined her step as she marched. The smell of cigarette smoke leaked from his clothes, his skin. She could feel the hard rib cage of his skinny body against her arm as they strode in unison through the night. She hardly knew Toby, and for this reason she warily pulled herself together. They passed an old man leaning against his letter box under the spotlight of a street lamp while his obese dog trembled a poo into the grass. Further along, a gaggle of kids lounging on steps were snorting and giggling like kookaburras.

Neither Toby nor Hannah said anything until they arrived at the beach. People were sitting in couples or clusters on the stone wall. Behind them, a fountain sprayed rainbows from the mouths of serpents. Toby directed her to a place apart from others and they sat down, the hard cool stone cutting into her legs. Soft swathes of light swept the beach from the lamps above. Toby dived into his jacket and brought out his cigarettes. She watched as he flick-flick-flicked at his lighter, his face aglow as he inhaled deeply, cupping the flame like a secret.

Do you ever think of giving up? she asked him.

Do you ever think of getting rid of the duck? he replied.

Her heart sank.

Oh. You as well. Being mean.

Not at all. We've all got our obsessions and addictions. Our vices and devices. Sometimes we want to let them go and then we realise we can't, or we don't want to just yet, because we're afraid of the hole.

You think the duck's an obsession?

She felt him looking at her, but she took her gaze out over the sand to the small ripples at the ragged frill of shoreline, the black expanse of the sea pitching Rangitoto darkly against the sky.

Not in a bad way, he said carefully. It might be affecting your marriage, but it's probably not affecting your health. Probably a relatively common case of anthropomorphism. It won't give you cancer and it seems to make you happy. Doesn't it?

She nodded. I don't know. I suppose so. Why do you say it's affecting my marriage?

No, I didn't say that. Just that it might be. Might, I said. Marriage is a complex and varied institution that only the members of each branch who are privy to the subset of rules and conditions, determined either consciously or implicitly at some stage by both parties, can answer to.

You sound like a lawyer.

No. Just someone who has moved from one branch to another. Look. This is beside the point. Don't listen to your sister. She's got her own issues. She'll have forgotten everything in the morning. Everyone, including Maggie, knows you did what you could with your mother.

He flung his legs out and leapt onto the sand, then sat beside her again.

And Simon, too. He was right there beside you, the whole way. Your mother appreciated that.

His words hit her in the chest.

Yes, it wasn't always easy for him, she said lamely.

Bubbles of light fizzed along the horizon. Other solitary red, green and yellow sparks stuttered in the darkness, like an electronic display panel on the blink.

Are you aware, Toby said suddenly, that the universe is 13.7 billion years old? In a hundred billion years we will see no stars or galaxies outside the Milky Way, as no light will reach us, as the expansion of the universe, driven by dark matter or energy, will have accelerated away from us, over the cosmic horizon.

She laughed.

It's true, he said, inhaling.

No, she said. Come to think of it, I don't think I did know that.

Then, inexplicably, she felt anxious. She stood up, scraping her fingers through her hair.

It's too much, I'm sorry, it's all too much. I actually don't know anything, Toby.