The Good Parents
Page 30
‘Did I wake you?’
‘No.’
‘What were you doing?’
‘Well …I was praying.’
‘Praying!’ For once he shocked her.
‘I pray every morning.’
‘How long have you been doing this?’
‘It sort of started by itself when Mum got sick.’
‘Fat lot of good it did.’ She didn’t know why this made her so hostile.
‘Maya!’
‘Well she died.’ A screw had dropped out, she was running loose and wild, out of control, faster and faster.
‘That’s not exactly what prayer does.’
‘Pretty funny in a scientist.’
‘They don’t exclude each other. But I’m thinking of giving up science and going into the priesthood.’
‘No! No!’ Her voice went hoarse. ‘That’s asking too much!’
‘Maya, what are you talking about?’
‘It’s her, you’re doing it for her. She wants to keep you for herself.’
‘Who does?’
‘Dory. She’s very powerful.’
He said nothing for a while. ‘Why are you so upset? Is it Dad?’
This time she was silent.
‘He wants you to hate him, Maya. He hates himself so much. You shouldn’t be loyal to him, it will only make it worse.’
After a while he said: ‘Your father came to see me last week. I don’t think he trusted me, but he seemed like a good guy. Pretty worried though. Maya, why don’t you …’
She hung up.
She sat very still, her elbows on the table, her hands over her eyes. She didn’t want to see her father’s face, the way it looked when he was hurt, pale and hollow-cheeked, his lips moving stiffly. An injury to one of them was felt by all of them. In their family they tried not to harm people.
‘Excuse me.’
She parted her hands and saw the big man from the table by the door looking down at her.
‘Mind if I sit here?’ He sat anyway, the light behind him.
She wanted to tell him to go away, she couldn’t stand having any man near her. He started talking.
‘My name’s Cy Fisher. I’m an old friend of your mother’s.’ He put his hands on the table. He wore a thick gold ring. His hands were large and dry and so white it was as if they’d been dusted with flour.
‘Coffee?’ He gestured to Ali, who came over at once. ‘The usual,’ he said, with a little flick of his fingers between them. How did he know she had a usual? How long had he been coming here? They sat in silence.
A cappuccino was put in front of her, a short black for him. ‘Just a mouthful or two,’ he said to her in a low voice, ‘before it goes cold.’
There were teachers like this, that you find yourself obeying. She took a sip.
‘Milky coffee. Best thing for you. Big night?’
She mumbled something about a few drinks.
‘And the rest.’ He was looking in her eyes.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘By the look of your pupils.’
‘No,’ she said, at the same moment as she realised he was right. She gulped some coffee.
‘Your mother asked me to find you.’
‘It’s none of her business.’
‘She gave me two names. One I traced. Tod Carpenter.’
She covered her face again.
‘They aren’t nice people, Maya. Your friends.’
His eyes were black like marbles, shining, smiling. She kept looking down. ‘Are you the crim my mother was married to?’
‘Still is, I think.’ He gave a suave smile. ‘I think of myself as an ex-businessman.’
Ali came to the table, hovered, respectful.
‘Two more of the same,’ Cy said, keeping his eyes on Maya. Ali went away.
‘Time to leave, Maya.’
‘Where would I go?’
‘Back to Melbourne.’
‘I’ve got no money.’
‘I drove up from Melbourne. Come back with me.’
She stared at him coldly. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’ She saw a sort of purity, firm, clean-lined, that reminded her of her mother. Did lovers always leave an imprint on each other?
‘What do you want? Toni’s birthday? Sixth of March. Her mother’s name was Beryl. How’s that? She’s cut all her hair off, by the way.’ He turned around and gestured at some point beyond the terrace. ‘That’s my car, over there.’
The rain had stopped, the sun came out. She saw gold specks of dust floating around him. ‘You’re happy.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I always know if people are happy or unhappy.’
He smiled. ‘You are so like your mother.’
Maya looked away. She knew what he’d be thinking. Everybody always thought it. Kids came out with it. Is that your mother? No kidding! But she’s so pretty …
‘You are more beautiful,’ Cy Fisher said. ‘You have more passion.’
She was startled into looking at him. Could he read thoughts?
‘You can’t help him, Maya.’
She sat very still.
‘Where is he now?’
‘In the room, asleep.’
‘Do you have to go back for anything?’
She thought for a moment. ‘My fur coat.’
‘You don’t need it anymore.’
He went to the counter to pay.
She reached into her bag for the phone and pressed button One.
‘Maya?’
‘I’ve got a chance of a lift to Melbourne.’
‘Who with?’
‘A friend of my mother’s. I don’t know what to do.’
‘You should leave.’
‘Will I still be able to speak to you?’
‘You will.’
‘Promise?’
‘I promise.’
21
Departure
They left at eight the next morning, buttoned up in coats. Carlos offered his Toyota, but Kitty said she felt more confident in the Moke. He waved them off with a smile on his face, that little fleeting disbelieving smile that she knew was for her. They hadn’t made love for two days because Jordan was home with a cold. Winnie howled inside the house. As soon as she dropped Magnus off at the airport, she was turning round and coming straight back.
As they drove down India Street Magnus slipped a disc into the player, an electronic piece, spare and hushed like the trees etched against the horizon and the lean bare hills.
‘What’s this called?’
‘Music for Airports. Brian Eno.’
Last night, after Jacob’s phone call, they had floated round the house, laughing and calling out. Carlos and Jordan came over for a celebratory drink. Magnus stayed up past midnight, his music full on while he packed. Maya was coming back tomorrow night. Their parents wanted them all to be together again. They’d managed to get him on a flight. He was going to miss several weeks of school. Winnie slumped, one eye propped open to watch his every movement.
‘Once you’ve delivered him to the airport your duties are over, Kit,’ Jacob said on the phone. ‘According to Magnus you’ve done a fabulous job. You’ll have to come to Warton often and stay with us.’ He was expansive with relief.
‘I think I’ll stay here with Winnie while I follow up some options,’ she said. ‘If that’s all right with you.’
They entered the last stretch of the highway before the start of the metropolitan area, a dark region shadowed by dense pine plantations and miles of tall unfriendly bush. ‘Dad calls this body-dumping land,’ Magnus said. Kitty put her foot down and let the little rattling Moke tear into the overtaking lane.
A tinny red No Birds hire car flashed past. She glimpsed its driver, a blonde in sunglasses with a tight determined mouth.
‘Chris!’ Magnus said. ‘That was Chris Garcia.’ He leaned out of the Moke and waved, just in case she recognised the Moke and was looking in her rear vision window. Then he remembered Kitty.
Once you were walking through it, the bush was actually quite beautiful. The sun sparkled through the rustling trees and shadows flickered across the gravel. There were ferns and fat grass trees with fresh green spears. Without thinking, he cracked off a fistful and swished them round like a kid. He looked back at Kitty, bent over, all in black, the strings of red hair falling across her face and he felt very sorry for her.
What would happen now? Carlos would have to choose.
She stood up, wiping her mouth and he walked back to her.
‘It’s OK Magnus,’ Kitty said, though a moment ago she’d thought she was dying. Good old Kitty, once again, the sacrifice at the feast. She wanted to scream God! and run into the path of the oncoming traffic. Only the thought of the young male psyche in her care held her back.
She took a swig from her water bottle and sat down on a picnic bench. ‘It must be all the rich food we’ve been eating. I often feel a bit sick when I wake up.’ After all, wasn’t there one rule in her life that she could depend on – she always paid.
‘Morning sickness,’ Magnus said, unexpectedly. He didn’t know what that was, but he’d heard his mother say it. He was trying to be sympathetic.
Kitty turned her head away to hide a sudden stab of tears.
‘Just give me a few moments and then I’ll get you to that plane,’ she said. Already there was colour in her face. Magnus strolled off down the track, head bent in thought, idly swishing his spears. It was this question of luck again, or not, in your life.
No plans, Kitty, she told herself. No plans. All her life she’d planned and she was always disappointed. But she couldn’t stop herself gathering evidence. Three weeks of good, daily, loving sex. Even twice daily. Relaxation, happiness, no stress. Fresh air.
They drove off, her thoughts racing ahead. As soon as she left Magnus she’d find a pharmacy and pick up a test.
She’d keep the Moke for the time being. The family could pack her things when they came back.
First a house. Inner city, near Fitzgerald Street. Go back to what she knew. Near a park and a school. A simple teaching job where she could go part-time. She’d need some help for a while.
One thing was sure, she wouldn’t call on Arlene.
No secrets, no mysteries, no dark rooms with shut doors.
‘Are you all right now?’ Magnus asked. She nodded, her eyes on the road.
By the time they reached the outskirts of the city and took the turnoff for the airport, her beautiful dark-haired child was born, named, educated, lovingly reared.
22
Arrival
Here they were again, passing under the playful red arms of the Melbourne Gateway, but going the other way now, seasoned by the city it promised, a thicket of glitter left behind them. It was rush hour, the taxi edged its way along the last stretch to the airport. The dark gray walls beside the road were dissolving into the dusk. Beyond was a glimpse of suburban roofs. They sat side by side on the back seat, lost in separate dreams.
Last night after Cy Fisher’s phone call, he left a note for Cecile on the kitchen bench. He found it this morning, with a row of exclamation marks scrawled on the bottom of it, surrounded by radiant hearts and clouds with the number 9 inside them. I’ll be home early for the champagne, she wrote.
She was leaving for KL next week. He had an image of her disappearing through a series of arched doorways.
The taxi wasn’t moving. It smelt of their anticipation, their clean, scented bodies, the fresh clothes they’d put on to meet their children.
He glanced at Toni. There was something touching about her ears, like a boy’s after a haircut. She was smaller all over, less ripe and luxuriant. Yet more approachable somehow.
Women survived without him. It was a mistake to think that you were indispensable.
At first Jacob had been furiously disbelieving that she could entrust Maya to Cy Fisher. They slept soundly beside each other from long habit, but did not touch. He’d barely spoken to her.
She wasn’t used to this dailyness now, living your life next to another being. This big tortured man with his heavy tread, forever requiring her attention.
Once when they had just moved into the house in Warton, she came upon him standing in the dark front room, pale and shaking. Something about the shadows reminded him of the death of a girl he knew years ago, he said. As soon as he opened this door he’d felt it again, the black hole yawning before him. She put her arms around him and held him tight. ‘Whatever it is, I won’t let it harm you,’ she said. ‘I won’t let you go down.’
The traffic had started moving.
She looked at her watch. ‘Magnus will land before we get there.’
‘There’s nothing he’d like better.’
From the moment of their birth, her pure, fierce devotion to their children had filled him with wonder and respect.
Yet a short while ago how lightly he’d been prepared, at least in his mind, to put her to one side.
After they left the MCG Cy Fisher drove her across town to an unpretentious little cafe where – of course – they knew him and the coffee was excellent. She sat across the table from him and told him about Maya and their life in Warton. How dull it sounded, even to her. It occurred to her that for all these years what she’d called ‘good’ was no more than fear and guilt and prudence.
This was the effect he’d always had on her. He overturned you. He woke you up.
She still didn’t know what ‘good’ was.
To go further out.
When he drove her home from the cafe, she saw an old terrace cottage with a row of ragged Tibetan flags waving across its porch. Who lived there? she wondered. Was it an ashram or a hippie house? Decoration, or a frail reminder of the spirit?
A rhythm had started up in his head. Da dum da dum … They hand in hand … What was it? Paradise Lost. Adam and Eve banished forever. The last two lines.
They hand in hand with wand’ring steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way.
The airport was lit up like a theatre, a gala occasion. The taxis filed in one after another, they were suddenly in the midst of a panic of people lugging their baggage in and out of cars. A huge plane was lowering overhead, coming in to land.
Jacob paid the driver, they called out their thanks and slammed the taxi door. Now he took her hand and they ran.
23
The Call
He asked her if she minded opera and then played the whole of Don Giovanni, disc after disc. There was no expectation of talk. She slept and woke, slept and woke. He stopped for petrol in a town called Goondiwindi and she walked a little way into the sun and shut her eyes to smell the dust and feel the warmth on her face. Cy Fisher came out of the service station carrying snacks and drinks. She saw how exotic he looked out here, black clothes, black car, white face.
He bought them each a bottle of water and an apple and what he called a passable foccacia. She felt like a kid.
He drove and took fast bites of the foccacia lying unwrapped on his knees. He had sharp teeth for an old person. ‘Usually for lunch I eat Japanese,’ he said. She could tell he liked food.
There was endless scrub, trees with thin black trunks and fresh green leaves and yellow wattles everywhere. Her body had stopped aching. She started to come awake. She opened the window and took a breath.
As the road fell into shadow she put herself on roo watch: she wasn’t sure he’d know about kangaroos. A full white moon was rising.
‘Do you believe in the supernatural?’
‘Someone looks after me, no doubt about it. I’ve got a first-rate guardian angel.’
Then she told him about the flying saucer and Jason Kay and the Brethren,
and all her life right up to the office and the flowers.
The lights of Dubbo appeared on the horizon.
He cruised the streets looking for a motel.
‘Do we have to stop?’
‘I don’t know about you, but I’m not up to another ten hours’ driving. I promised your mother I’d bring you home safely.’
It was early evening when the black car pulled up outside Cecile’s wooden slatted fence. The plane trees across the street had broken out in pale green leaves. The courtyard light was on. Maya sat very still. The car was warm and cosy, littered with pistachio shells, a capsule outside time. It felt like home.
‘Would you like to come in?’
‘Not this time. But you have my number.’
‘What am I going to do?’ she said, almost to herself, as she opened the car door.
‘Something amazing, no doubt.’ He smiled at her.
The car slipped back into the traffic.
The key was in its place under the little Buddha. She stalked from room to room, snapping on lights. Where were they? She saw the discreet flash on Cecile’s closed laptop. In her room the bed was made and the floor was cleared and there were clothes she recognised from long ago hanging in the cupboard, her father’s red cowboy shirt, her mother’s best black pants.
She looked in the bathroom mirror and saw her face was thinner, paler, almost translucent. You have more passion. What did that mean?
She went downstairs and paced around the conversation pit, strangely bereft. Something was missing, she was filled with nostalgia, but for what? They were all here and yet it wasn’t enough.
Deep in her bag, the telephone rang. Her hands shook as she scrabbled for it. She saw the number and pressed the green button.
‘Hello Andy,’ she said.
Acknowledgements
My thanks to Drusilla Modjeska for her generosity and encouragement.
And for their help in various ways with this book, my thanks to Priscilla Alderton, Peter Bahen, Christophe Bourguedieu, Derek and Julia Carruthers, John de Hoog, Bob Hewitt and FotoFreo, Ruth and Kerry Hill, Giles Hohnen, Gail Jones, Eveline Kotai, Robert Riddell, Bob Shields, Clancy White, Terri-Ann White and Morgan Campbell.