by Don Zelma
Chapter Three
Dan walked in under his stilted house and passed along the slat wall into the laundry. He stepped into the office and felt the room was a little humid. Suddenly, three abrupt knocks struck his ceiling and grit sprinkled down onto the desk. Ruth had heard the office door open and had stamped her foot on the dining room floor. Dan opened the glass louvers.
‘Yes!’ he shouted.
Her voice came down from the upstairs window. ‘I went ahead and made dinner,’ she said. ‘The fish is wonderful.’
‘I’m sorry I took so long,’ he said. ‘I’ll cook tomorrow.’
Ruth walked away and he sat in his chair, picking up his newspaper. He heard her footsteps moving around far away at the sink. She turned on the tap and the water pipe slapped in the office wall and he was reminded how much he liked her in the house; how he liked being home.
He took the broom from the corner of the room and struck the ceiling three times. He waited, gazing at the innumerable divots he had caused in the boards over the years. Ruth’s feet came overhead.
‘Yes?’ she called, down from the window.
‘Honey, did my suit arrive from the cleaners?’
Her shoes tapped away across the floor and he sat with the paper. The backdoor squeaked open and her heals came down the external staircase. He looked over his shoulder and saw her slim figure emerge from the dark between the posts. Her bright red hair caught his attention – perhaps she had been at the hairdresser – and she approached carrying his beige suit.
‘Here, darling,’ she said, stepping into the lamplight. She turned and hung the suit on the wall hook. ‘It’s cold down here, Daniel.’
He watched her pick up his cardigan from the bookshelf and fling it towards him. He caught it, smiling. He was lucky to have such a vibrant energy in his life.
‘Are you planning a late night?’ she said, glancing at the grandfather clock.
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ he said, searching for the arms of the cardigan. ‘I have a lot to do.’ He slipped the cardigan on and Ruth walked slowly across the room. She paused then started back, stopping beside the typewriter. Her fingers played with the typewriter keys and she began lightly tapping her shoe on the parquet floor, deep in thought. She slowly sat in the room’s second chair and glanced at him. Her eyes flashed with reflected lamplight. Something was up and he reached out and touched her knee.
‘What’s wrong?’
She smiled pensively and reached out and brushed a lock of hair across his forehead. ‘We’ve done very well,’ she said, resting her hand on his face. He guessed what this was about. ‘I’m looking forward to our new home,’ she said, ‘and our long rest beside the sea. But it will be sad to leave the old house.’
He smiled and looked down. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘soon we’ll be able to take a long big break.’
The room fell quiet and ten seconds passed. Ruth slowly stood, leaned in and gently kissed his forehead.
‘I’ll be upstairs,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll leave dinner in the oven.’
He gazed at her. ‘Sure,’ he said.
Ruth turned and slowly stepped out of the door. She walked through the posts and he watched her, step by step, dissolve into the blackness. He slowly turned to the desk, reached out and picked up his glasses.
‘Oh, and honey…’ she suddenly said.
He glanced back and saw her in the dim light at the paling gate.
‘I should say congratulations, shouldn’t I? Congratulations on your retirement?’
Dan smiled and she began mounting the stairs. He turned and put his glasses on and listened to her feet going up towards the backdoor. Seconds later, he heard the fly screen quietly hissing closed. He pondered, staring at the desk. He listened to the crickets outside in the yard. Something profound had just happened – just now – but he couldn’t identify what. It was an uneasy insecurity he had never experienced and there was an element of quiet panic. It wasn’t bad; everything suddenly just felt… uncertain. He waited, analysing this feeling. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the window.
Lord, he thought… It’s all gone so quickly.
He blinked. For a moment the items in the room seemed surreal, almost unfamiliar to him. He glanced at his hospital pass clipped to the lampshade then noted that his desk had worn where he had been placing his elbows all these years. He looked back at the line of photographs above the door then turned a little further and saw the bookcase. He breathed and studied the photograph of his son. His eyes flicked over Jay’s face, scrutinising every feature, seeking… he didn’t know what, but he was transfixed by his radical looks – an appearance adopted the year or two before his death. He gazed at his sleeveless shirt and the tattoo on his right bicep and the motorbike helmet under his arm. He was not supposed to turn out like that.
Dan remembered the policemen arriving on his front porch and the sound of Ruth’s gut-curdling sobs later in the lounge. He gently bit his lip and slowly shook his head. It was the greatest of all losses – something you just wouldn’t attempt explaining to anyone. Their lives, he knew, had never been the same.
He blinked and suddenly smelt the upstairs dinner. It was time to press ahead. He slowly reached out for the lamp, switched it off and headed towards the doorway, feeling his way through the posts and through the dark.
