The Promise

by Tony Birch

  I’d been back in bed for five minutes when the tap-tapping started up again. The cat was back. By the time I’d grabbed my dressing gown and opened the front door it was sitting on the mat. When I tried nudging it off the mat with my slippered toe it defiantly stared up at me, hissed loudly, then skipped by me. I ran after it, down the hallway and into the kitchen where it had already sniffed out Ella’s bowl and was getting stuck into what was left of her dinner. Ella spied the cat out of one eye but couldn’t be bothered moving from the couch. A few years earlier, when she was young and fit and angry, she would have jumped down from the couch with a vicious bark and driven the cat from the house. These days she was too slow and comfortable to bother. From that night on, Ella and the cat, which I refused to name, hoping to discourage it from feeling at home, negotiated each other from a safe distance before eventually settling for the shared warmth of the couch.

  I heard the sound again, lifted my head from the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. We’d had rats in the roof the year before, although the noise they’d made was a scratching. We’d always had rats in the house and around the garden, sometimes a solitary rogue, and at other times an invasive colony. And they’d been impossible to get rid of. The task was made more difficult because my wife, Lois, was a vegetarian and an animal lover. Tired of listening to the rats scamper around inside the roof of a night, enjoying some sort of rat orgy, I suspected, I came home from the hardware store one afternoon with a set of traps, various poisons and other contraptions that promised extermination. Lois was horrified and screamed that she would have me harassed by the animal liberationists who had moved in up the road if I put as much as a sprinkling of cheese on a single trap. Without protest I threw the traps in the garbage, along with most of the poisons. But not all of them.

  I waited until she was out one night at a dinner party with colleagues from work. I went into the garage, carried the stepladder back to the house, lifted the manhole from the ceiling in the bathroom and hurled a dozen small sacks of rat bait throughout the darkened roof space. Over the following weeks the sound was reduced to an ever-slowing patter of rat feet that sounded like they were wearing knitted socks. Lois woke me early one morning, claiming she’d heard a whimper coming from somewhere in the roof. We sat up in bed, shoulder-to-shoulder, actually touching, and listened closely. I could hear nothing.

  ‘You must have had a bad dream,’ I told her, feigning some care, before turning onto my side and contemplating the suffering I’d caused.

  I listened more closely when I heard the tapping for the third time. It was not coming from outside the front window or in the roof. It was a knock at the front door. I staggered from the bed into the hallway, turned on the porch light and opened the door, shocked to see my elderly next-door neighbour, Jim Egan. He looked in a terrible state, shivering to death and wearing a motley outfit – a woman’s floral dressing gown and a muddied pair of work boots. He had a Carlton football beanie perched on his head and a look of fear in his eyes.

  Jim leaned forward and studied my face.

  ‘Matthew? Is that you, Mattie boy?’

  I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

  ‘Yeah. It’s me, Jim. What are you doing here in the middle of the night? It’s freezing outside.’

  He looked up at the moon disappearing behind heavy clouds.

  ‘It’s not night. It’s near morning.’

  I’d lived next door to Jim and his wife, Nora, for more than twenty years. He’d been a remarkably fit and alert ninety-year-old until two years ago when his memory began to fade. Nora died six months later after an innocuous slip in the back garden. Jim’s own health, both mental and physical, had deteriorated faster since then. He would have been in a geriatric home by now, if it were not for his doctor, a local GP almost as ancient as Jim himself. He was happy to write whatever prescription Jim needed in order to continue battling along on his own.

  A blast of wind lifted Jim’s dressing gown, exposing his bony pale knees. I took him by the arm and helped him into the hallway. He rubbed the palm of his hand against his chest.

  ‘I’ve got this pain here, and I can’t find my heart medicine any place. We need to get going to the all-night chemist and get myself fixed up with some tablets.’

  He placed one hand on the wall for support and looked like he was about to keel over. I didn’t want him dying on me.

  ‘Jim, maybe you need to go to hospital? I can drive you. I’ve still got the VW. Or perhaps we should call an ambulance?’

  He shook his head with as much strength as he could summon.

  ‘We don’t need no hospital. The doctors there are all foreigners. They don’t know how to look after me. I just need my tablets.’

  On several occasions over recent months Jim had called me on the telephone and asked for my help. He would complain that his back had gone and he could not get out of bed and go to the toilet or dress himself. I would have to help him out of bed and walk him around the kitchen until he ‘got up a bit of steam in the boiler’, as Jim liked to put it. Once he got his bones moving he would have me make him a cup of tea and a slice of toast, and sit and talk with him at the kitchen table. He usually knew who I was, although he’d mistaken me both for a nephew of his who’d been dead for years, and for the plumber who’d recently unblocked his kitchen sink.

  I guided Jim along my hallway and sat him on the couch between the animals and began making him a cup of tea. Either he or Ella let out a long deep fart. They looked accusingly at each other. I noticed that Jim had stopped rubbing his chest and wondered if he’d been faking it. He had a habit of feigning injury or illness for company. I put two sugars in his milky tea and handed him the mug.

  ‘How’s the pain in the chest, Jim?’

  ‘Oh, a bit better. Maybe,’ he added a little slyly. ‘Could come back any tick, though.’

  He sipped at the tea and looked around the room.

  ‘Where’s the wife? Got her hidden away?’ He laughed.

  ‘She’s gone, Jim,’ I answered, without embarrassing him by adding that I’d provided him with the same information many times before.

  ‘That’s no good. My missus, she died too.’ He scratched his head, mining for information. ‘Some time back. What took your wife?’

  ‘Her boss from work, Jim. She didn’t die. She left me for another man. Six months ago.’

  ‘Left you?’ He was outraged. ‘The bloody bitch.’

  He shook his head in disbelief and patted the cat.

  ‘What’s her name again?’

  ‘The wife? Lois.’

  ‘No. Not her. The cat?’

  ‘Doesn’t have one. You can name it if you like. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl. I haven’t looked.’

  ‘Oh, she’s a girl, this one,’ he smiled as he patted her gently on the side of her neck. ‘I can tell by her mood. The quiet type. Like my Nora.’

  I sat opposite him in one of the kitchen chairs and watched as he studied the cat’s face and finished his tea. He drained the bottom of the mug, looked across at me, and smiled.

  ‘Lois, you say? Don’t know that it suits a cat.’

  He suddenly got to his feet, frightening the cat. It jumped from the couch.

  ‘What are you doing, Jim? You don’t have to go. It’s wet out there.’

  He walked across the kitchen, with a straighter back than I’d seen on him in months. He stopped at the sink and looked out the window into the darkened garden. He coughed and cleared his throat.

  ‘Ever get lonely, Matthew?’ he asked, with his back to me.

  I stood up from my own chair, put my empty mug on the bench and raised both arms above my head, unsure of why I’d done it, except that Jim’s question made me feel anxious.

  ‘Yeah, I do, Jim. Sometimes. Me and Lo— my wife and I were together for more than twenty years.’

  ‘Nora and me,’ he t
urned around and rubbed an eye with a finger, ‘we both know I forget stuff now and then, but not the stuff that matters. We were married for sixty years. That’s a long time.’

  I buried my hands in my dressing-gown pockets.

  ‘It sure is, Jim. A long time.’

  He smiled and reached for my arm.

  ‘You know I haven’t got long?’

  ‘Long for what?’

  ‘Don’t go doggo on me, Matthew. You’re smarter than that. I’ve been on this Earth twice as long as you have. And I’m about three times as crafty. I’m dying, boy.’

  ‘You don’t know that, Jim,’ I answered, for no good reason.

  ‘I know it, all right. That’s why I’m going near no hospital. One look at me in there and they’ll have the priest and undertaker on standby.’

  He rested his hands on my shoulders.

  ‘Look at me.’

  Although his eyes were clouded in an opaque film, a spark of blue remained.

  ‘I’ve got a list of stuff I want to do before I go.’ He squeezed my shoulder with his right hand. ‘Before I drop down dead. Will you help me with my list?’

  ‘If I can, Jim,’ I answered, with little enthusiasm. ‘Have you written it down, the list?’

  ‘Not yet. But now that you’re in agreement I’m going to get onto it. We best make a start. I could go anytime. Anytime. What will we do first?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jim. It’s your list.’

  Ella rolled onto her back. The cat jumped onto the couch and sniffed at her belly. Jim walked back to the couch, sat down and patted the cat. The three of them looked made for each other. I thought he’d lost track of our conversation until he raised a finger in the air.

  ‘Ice-cream.’

  ‘Ice-cream?’

  ‘Yep. Chocolate ice-cream. I haven’t had it in years. My diabetes. Nora wouldn’t let me touch it. Number one on my list.’

  He slapped his hands together, startling Ella, who sat up and looked at me for reassurance.

  ‘That’s what I want, some chocolate ice-cream.’

  It was a simple request. I felt relieved that I wouldn’t have to escort him on some pilgrimage or take him skydiving, or something worse, like a visit to a massage parlour.

  ‘That’s good, Jim. I’ll nick down the supermarket later this morning and drop a tub into you.’

  ‘Later this morning? That’s no good. We have to go now.’

  ‘Now? What’s the rush?’

  ‘Now. I don’t want to be a bother, Matthew, but geez, I’d love some of that ice-cream right this minute. I can taste it in my mouth. And,’ he shrugged his shoulders and rubbed his chest again, ‘who knows? I could drop off just like that.’

  He tried clicking his fingers together but couldn’t quite manage it.

  I didn’t want to leave him alone, and there were good reasons for not taking off for the supermarket on a cold and dark morning just for ice-cream, but I couldn’t bring myself to refuse him.

  ‘You’d have to come with me, Jim, in the car.’

  He slapped a hand against his thigh.

  ‘I’m ready to go when you are.’

  I looked at his lurid dressing gown and down at my dull and worn brown corduroy number.

  ‘Maybe one of us should get dressed.’

  He was already on his feet.

  ‘No need for that. We should get going. You never know, they might run out!’ He smiled, suddenly full of energy.

  Ella’s ears pricked up as soon as I grabbed the car keys. The only time I drove the car these days was when I took her for a walk along the river. She hobbled to the door and wiggled her arse about. I took Jim by the arm and walked him out to the car, which was sitting in the driveway waiting for us, its roof covered in a blanket of fallen leaves. I opened the passenger door, helped Jim into the seat and buckled him in. Ella had run out of the house and hurled herself in after him before I could stop her. She worked her body between the front bucket seats onto the back seat. Before I could close the door again, the cat had leapt up from the driveway onto Jim’s lap.

  ‘Good girl,’ he whispered. ‘Good girl.’

  I reached into the car and grabbed the cat by the neck, ready to throw it out.

  ‘It will have to stay here, Jim.’

  He pulled the cat protectively to his chest.

  ‘No, she won’t. Come on, Matthew. Jump in. She’ll do just nice with me.’

  ‘Jim …’

  ‘I said, she’ll be right with me,’ he ordered, as forcefully as he could.

  It was raining and I was getting soaked. Jim turned his head away from me and caressed the cat behind its ears. I gave in to his demand, ran around to the other side of the car and jumped in.

  ‘This is getting heavier, Jim. Keep your window wound up or we’ll cop a pelting.’

  I turned on the ignition and the wipers. He knocked at the side door.

  ‘This is a German car.’

  ‘Yep. It is.’

  ‘We’ll be right then. The Germans would have won the war if they’d stuck to engineering instead of trying to knock the whole world off.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  I pulled out of the drive, switched on the headlights and drove up the road.

  ‘Did you fight in the war, Jim? You’ve never mentioned it.’

  ‘Not me. I was too young. Good luck, that. But I made money out of it, when it was over. Importing salvaged army gear, reconditioning it and selling it on. Up the bush, mostly.’

  He stuck his nose against the side window and looked out into the night, to the lights of the city in the distance. He held up the sleeve of his dressing gown and inspected the pattern of lilac hibiscus flowers. This disturbed the cat, and it wasn’t happy. It jumped from his lap into mine – and dug its claws into my crotch.

  I screamed in pain. Jim jumped in his seat.

  ‘Where are we heading, Matthew? Where you bloody taking me?’ He suddenly sounded lost and confused.

  I held one hand on the steering wheel as I tried extracting the cat and calming Jim at the same time. It had got between my legs, wrapped itself around a thigh and stabbed its claws deeper into me.

  I reached down and grabbed it by the neck.

  Jim was almost crying, ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘For ice-cream, Jim,’ I yelled. ‘You wanted chocolate fucking ice-cream.’

  He leaned across the car and stared down at the cat.

  ‘Hey, watch what you’re doing there. You’ll hurt—’ he looked up, ‘watch out, son. Look out!’

  We were hurtling downhill, towards a hairpin turn in the road. The river lay straight ahead.

  I let go of the cat, gripped the steering wheel with both hands and slammed on the brakes.

  ‘Hold on, Jim. Hold on.’

  The car shuddered as the tyres tried gripping the wet road – we smashed through a hedge. It was all that had separated us from the river. The VW left the road and momentarily glided through the night sky. I turned my head away and saw Jim’s eyes light up.

  He pointed to the city skyline. ‘Hey, look at that. It’s real pretty.’

  Then we crashed into the water.

  The car jarred violently from side to side and I felt Ella’s body slam against the back of my seat. She landed on the floor, jammed between the front and back seats.

  I unbuckled my seatbelt, turned and rested a hand on her back.

  ‘It’s all right, old girl. It’s all right.’

  She looked up and licked the back of my hand as I patted her.

  The cat had somehow found its way back onto Jim’s lap. Its fur was standing on end.

  Jim stared out of the front windscreen as he nursed her. He didn’t look hurt and seemed calm. The car bobbed gently up and down in the water.
>
  I switched the wipers to full speed and peered through the windscreen. ‘Can you swim, Jim?’

  He thought about the question for a moment.

  ‘That’s a hard one. I couldn’t really say. But we’ll find out quick if she starts sinking.’

  He looked down at his feet.

  ‘We’re pretty high and dry at the minute. Good car, this one. Does she belong to you?’

  ‘Well, not technically. The car’s still in my wife’s name.’

  ‘She won’t be too happy then?’

  ‘Who knows. It wasn’t worth much.’

  The car began to sink and we were taking on water. It rocked from side to side in the current and then stopped moving. I unwound the window. We were not far off the bank. I opened my door and stuck one leg out of the car. We were resting in around a metre of water.

  ‘Hey, Jim. We’re okay. It’s not too deep.’

  He patted me on the shoulder.

  ‘Well manoeuvred, son. Good work.’

  Ella always loved a swim. I encouraged her into the water. She paddled to the bank and sat watching the car with curiosity. I helped Jim out of the car, nursing the cat in my arms.

  ‘Can you walk to the bank? Maybe I should piggyback you?’

  He was shivering with the cold and was turning blue.

  ‘Good as gold,’ he chattered through his false teeth.

  We began walking up the hill back to our street. The cold wind cut through my dressing gown and my wet feet had turned to ice. A car travelling in the opposite direction flashed its lights, did a U-turn and pulled into the kerb. It was another neighbour, Ethan Morris, the son of a doctor who lived two doors down from me. He wound down the window of an old Toyota he was driving, a vehicle in a worse state than mine.