Chewing noisily on a handful of nuts which he flicked into his mouth from his short, hairy fingers, he contemplated the wonderful little world of his rumpus room. The large, well-stocked bar was his special area, shelves laden with spirits, wines and mixers, glasses of all shapes and sizes. Also featured were stubby holders from all around Queensland where he had worked over the past years and ornaments such as a polar bear lying on its back holding a bottle of rum to its mouth, this last tastefully placed on the bar so that no one could miss it. As for his artistic choices, they ran to a couple of nudie cuties with essential areas covered by various lengths of colored cloth and feathered fans.
The solid billiard table was made from the finest timber and slate available. Leather couches and chairs abounded. The table-tennis table was set up at the far end of the room.
A salute to the way a poor boy could rise to the heights of luxury, in a modest way, of course. To admit that there was any money behind the whole shebang could give the game away and cause his family to court him for more than his scintillating personality which could be unfortunate. He wanted to know that they admired him for himself and his success without actually knowing the extent of his bank balance.
All tied up in assets, he reminded himself. Yes, assets. No cash to spare at all. No liquidity, that’s a fact. Man’s got to keep his business to himself to a certain extent. Don’t want them courting a fellow just because they know he’s worth a fortune. Modest one, though. Still, more money than the old man had ever seen in a month of Sundays. He would have been proud of me and justifiably so.
Conrad was prone to sudden variations of mood and while for the moment he was proud as Punch of his success, in a trice he could be angry at the perceived neglect by wife or children, or alternatively, cantankerous because the day was not working out as planned. He wavered amongst these differing emotions as he worked his way through his days of recreation and retirement, never sure from one minute to the other of how his temper would be. Nor was anyone else within his orbit.
He wanted his visiting family to admire him as a successful business man while at the same time not getting any notions in their heads that he may be leaving something to them even though they were aware that their behavior could make or break their approval rating.
He assured them that they would not be in the line of succession if they failed to toe the line and dared to go to Annie on Christmas Day, for instance, rather than stay at his and Girda’s house all day and night.
Still, despite his luxury and satisfaction with his state of being, there was something within him that remained unsatisfied but he couldn’t fathom what it was. It was vague feeling, nebulous, he couldn’t track it down but it was right there at the back of his mind if he could just formulate it. The will-o’-the-wisp that would not let him rest.
There was a distinct possibility that he might decide not to die but to live on forever to enjoy the fruits of his labors. His barrel body shook with joviality as he thought of the consequences of taking it with him. That would discombobulate them if they had any definite plans as to what they would do if they should inherit a heap of money from him eventually.
The television, video recorder and stereo equipment sat in an enormous wall unit to his right hand. To the left, through the large glass doors was the courtyard complete with barbecue, outdoor furniture, fishpond and two Old English sheep dogs lazing in the afternoon sunlight. For days the house and its surrounds had lain shimmering under a heat wave but finally the furnace-breath westerly that had been blowing for days had dropped and the afternoon was quite pleasant.
‘Little slice of Paradise,’ he mused. Then why in the name of God did he still feel so bloody lonely and dissatisfied? What was this curious sense of loss he felt at his core? He sat as still as stuffed man for a while, continuing to dangle one foot, his expressionless gaze drifting from object to object as he recalled what he had paid for each.
‘To everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under Heaven,’ he quoted to himself aloud. ‘This is my season and my time under Heaven, my reward for slogging my guts out as a young man.’ His scraggy eyebrows drew together suddenly in a blend of irritation and annoyance. He had worked for all this and by God he was going to enjoy it, come what may.
Where was Girda and why hadn’t she come home on the dot of three? It seemed to him that an eternity had dragged by since Girda had left the house with the three girls in tow.
Conrad lived most of his life within this room and the courtyard next to it. And why not, he asked himself? I’ve worked hard for all this and a man might as well enjoy it. He sighed with satisfaction and sat for a while, simply enjoying being Conrad, just savoring it. Being Conrad was truly something to be enjoyed and I’m doing it, by Christ.
Time crawled by as he waited out the afternoon, looking reflectively in the mirror behind the bar, in spite of himself feeling listless and unsettled, that ever-present nagging bloody ache never letting go. Was it illness?
He had been sure he would die in his twenties when he used to cough up blood from the dusty, antiquated old machinery he had purchased to use, traveling around Queensland putting poison into grain and fumigating silos. However, die he did not and here he was two decades later, still expecting the Grim Reaper to come to collect him at any unknown juncture. Certain activities going on within him caused him to think his days were numbered but the doctor swore he was as sound as he could be. Huh! Stupid old guy with his tatty old beard and milk-bottle glasses. What would he know?
He turned to inspect the back garden again. From her self-contained granny flat at the side of the house he noticed his mother-in-law walk slowly and stiffly into the yard to collect the family’s washing from the clothes line. And about time, too, old girl, Conrad concluded. Getting lackadaisical in your old age, hey?
At seventy she couldn’t manage to do as much as she used to around the place but she still handled the washing and ironing for the family. This consisted of Conrad, Girda and their two teenaged daughters, Lilli and Wendy as well as Girda’s daughter from her first marriage, Sophia.
Okay, well enough said about her, the old girl, Conrad thought as he returned to contemplating his navel. She had to pay to have her own granny flat put onto the house. Added significantly to the value of my property, he reminded himself. Forces a man to keep a civil tongue in his head in case she should want out and that would be a pretty kettle of fish.
Selling and dividing would be difficult in the extreme. Best mind my manners, I suppose. Bit of a drag. But best be a bit congenial when I run into her in the garden. Avoidance is the answer to that knotty little problem but I’ll have to run her down and put the screws on her for help with the rates, at least.
He was forced to continue musing on his mother-in-law, aware that she had to do something to earn her keep. Can’t afford to have her here for nothing. Don’t have to feed her. Own kitchenette. Own phone and electricity meter. I’ve got to pay the rates for the whole place, though and that’s not on any more. Man’s not a bloody charity! The old girl will have to chip in for those costs. That’s what he’d told Girda and she had agreed. Good like that, was Girda. She knew that he’d slogged his guts out for years and that money doesn’t grow on trees. Fundamental truth, that was, if ever he’d heard one.
His mind ran from subject to subject like a babbling brook, taking him back to the early days of his twenties when Annie and the children had been part of his life. Unfortunate Annie. Pain in the bloody neck, for sure with conflict flaring between them early in the piece when he had tried to show Annie who was boss. Tried to defend herself, defend her children, so she said. Defend herself and the kids against what? Bit of bad temper and a clout or two or three. Against the onslaught by a .303 or a .22? Ha ha. Man can’t have impeccable behavior all the time. Got to lash out here and there, work off a bit of steam.
Then to Girda, who had stepped into the breach left by his first wife. Bane of his existence. Annie. Not Girda. She was aware who
was at the helm of their existence, was Girda. He could give her that withering look he had perfected over the years and she would pull herself into line quick smart. Not like the other one who would tell him after every dust-up that he had reached a new low in her estimation. Who cared about that? What was her estimation worth? Diddly squat.
Never submissive to me no matter what I said or did. Bloody women’s rights, she used to sprout about. Feminist crap. Equality. Huh? Let them get out and sew a couple of hundred wheat bags and we’ll soon see who’s equal. Drive a tractor for fourteen hours straight. Incapable of that, no doubt. Where’s the equality between the sexes then? Nonexistent!
Thinking in a roundabout way of Girda reminded him yet again that she hadn’t come home. When the devil would she be home to start preparing the dinner, he wondered irritably? Why did she insist in running around with the girls on Saturdays to sport and so on? She needed to hurry herself along. She wasn’t giving herself much time. Haven’t the strength to get up and try to find out where she is, he thought to himself wryly.
Suddenly he was full of smothered rage. His eyes snapped as he pondered the possibilities of Girda’s behavior and the memory of Annie’s. Second class citizens, all of them. Hope David realized this by now. Tried to instill the fact into him as a little kid. Hope it stuck.
Hope Girda’s not playing up on me. Any likelihood of that and I’d put a stop to it quick smart. Man like me is a prize. Best husband any woman could hope for and that’s a fact. Steady, reliable, good provider. Back to a self-satisfied smile. That’s better. No need to feel inadequate in any way, a fundamental truth if every there was one.
Conrad felt he had no need to work these days, what with Girda working and his business interests and investments bringing in sufficient income for him to be enabled, at forty-four, to be semi-retired. Well, almost virtually retired. He yawned and stretched comfortably, tiredly. There remained something steely in his face, an element of his determination to hold the whole world in the palms of his hands before he was through.
Wonder how much it would take to put an in-ground pool in out the back there just under that big shady Moreton Bay fig tree? Be nice to have a pool to have a dip in the summer. Have to look into that. Who would look after it when it was installed, though? Chemicals cost a fortune, as well. Lot of work involved with a pool, too. Have to see who can be conned into keeping it clean. Dithering Grandma Goring? Add that to the list? He gave a short, humorless laugh; Ha ha. Can’t expect to just come along for the ride, old girl.
By crikey, Conrad told himself, it’s a hard life, all right, and wandered over to turn the television set on. Biggest set money could buy and the best. He prided himself on buying size and quality. Nothing but the best for the old boy, he told himself warmly. Fifteen minutes until the football game. He settled into the leather chair and put his feet up on the coffee table, soon dozing, glass in hand and alternately staring at the unimaginative children’s programs on the television screen, unseeing then dozing, drifting off for a few minutes.
He jumped to with a start as he automatically changed the channel on the TV set to the right one for the football, barely comprehending that he had done so. Snapping into full consciousness to the loud cheering as the teams ran out onto the football field, he took a swig of his drink and prepared to enjoy the game.
Back’s bad. Chiropractor Monday. Expensive, though but I deserve to be taken care of whatever the cost. Hard life if you don’t weaken. A cushion placed behind his lower back, he took a deep breath and then another, relaxed and dozed again. Back’s bad too often. Too much hard work as a young fellow. Slogged my guts out for years.
Now where’s the remote? Lost it again. And the grog? That’s all the paraphernalia I need to enjoy the afternoon. Guess the world’s pretty much my oyster these days. Got to enjoy life while I can. These are a bloke’s prime years, when he’s made a lot of money and got the whole world at his feet, by crikey. Always knew I’d end up loaded.
Funny, never thought I’d outlive my twenties, coughing up blood from the grain and dust I had to deal with. Thought my days were numbered but I’m still here, large as life. Can’t keep a good man down, as they say. Guess Annie was hoping I’d vanish from the face of the earth when I coughed up blood in my twenties but I wasn’t going to be got rid of that easily. If she wanted rid of me she had to do it the hard way, that was for sure. Had to prove cruelty, which she said wasn’t hard to do.
Conrad contemplated the football game, attention only half on it, the better half of his mind browsing on himself as usual and his success as a family man. He felt like quite the patriarch these days. Maybe even a Godfather, something after the Brando style.
Yes, he could definitely see a physical resemblance between himself and Brando. How tall was the film star, though? Perhaps taller but with the same round face, bloated neck and receding hairline, stocky build. The same tight, stretched skin all shiny and colorful. Nose getting a little red and bulbous. That’s me, alright. Colorful kind of bloke. Oh, well, can’t help good luck.
He saw himself as kind, straightforward and not at all dictatorial, with a happy knack of pouring love onto little children. He could not quite bring himself to lavish endearments on them, though, judging that to be sissy, a kind of poofter way to treat youngsters. Now that was a breed he did not like or approve of—poofters were beyond anything he could tolerate.
Never let one of his kin come to him with the news that they were poofters. Probably shoot them and put them out of their misery. This was reprehensible as far as he was concerned and he would not condescend to mix with these types of people. There had been a whisper in the air that one of Annie’s cousins was of this breed. Conrad had never wanted to meet him in case he might do the cousin harm and this would cause a furore which Conrad did not want to be part of in case there should be any untoward outcomes. Like jail. That would be full of the buggers.
For his own behaviors, Conrad knew no boundaries. He could express himself on any given subject in any company and not care if he trod on the toes of people who had greater sensitivity than he. If indeed such a person existed, Conrad thought, considering himself to be one of Nature’s Gentlemen who would never put a foot wrong.
He smiled quietly to himself as his thoughts continued to drift back to himself over and over, liking the image, impressed with his success as a business tycoon, (in a modest way, of course), and a family man. Wanting his family to see him as interesting-looking as he thought himself to be, he tried different forms of smiling, settling on a rather lopsided grin that he judged to be a little enigmatic but friendly. Coy, almost. He continued to look into the mirror at his murky blue assassin’s eyes, liking what he saw, a man not to be tampered with by the likes of Annie.
The thought of Annie brought a considerable coldness to his gaze. Bloody Annie, yet. Conflict had flared between them early in the piece. Could almost be called mortal combat sometimes between him and Annie, not that he could ever admit that to a soul. Tried to conquer her, conquer her will and never could. Never succeeded in making her beg. Not normal for a woman to be so stubborn in her will never to be emotionally beaten into the ground. What kind of a woman was that?
There were times when he was almost sure he had succeeded but the bitch would rise up and keep going against all odds. Those opinions of Annie’s were one of her less endearing traits. Goodness only knew where she got her ideas from. All those bloody books she had her head in, probably. Swore she had been born knowing women were as good as men, equal in intellect, equal in capabilities. Huh! Such garbage.
He jutted his chin out aggressively, mind ticking over about ways to get back at Annie as thoroughly as possible even at this late stage. Stop her little gallop before I’m done, he promised himself, lip curling. He did not envisage himself as an embittered man, nor as a thwarted victim of his own unfortunate nature. Only as a man who had endured the misfortune of marrying a woman who would not buckle under to him.
She had quietly held to her
own opinions on the rights of women and children to peace in the home, a fair share of the household’s financial income, the right to medical and dental treatment, the right to interact with family and peers and the right to safety.
Plenty of comfort here in this spacious home and having the money to provide it shows. Wealth speaks for itself. Shows class. That’s me, as well. Classy, big time. Got to be careful how you spend the old spondulix, though. I worked for it, so it goes for my benefit and comfort. Bloody good show. Don’t want too much of it lavished around on extracurricular activities for those kids. I never had any so why should they?
Wasn’t going to give any more than necessary to Annie and those kids of hers when they pissed off and left me. They went, so they could fend for themselves. Bloody well hurt to have to give $5 a week for each kid, though. By Christ it hurt when she was the one who shot through on me.
With an overblown sense of his own intelligence and importance, he laughed low in the back of his throat at the thought of how well he had come out of the divorce, really, when it was all boiled down. Annie had never had the ways and means to buy a home after rearing three children and had always had to live with her parents while she raised the children. Yet here he was, virtually in the lap of luxury. Them’s the breaks. Can’t help good luck.
The phone rang, a soft, low burring noise and he reached out to pick up the receiver. This would be one of his pals to make the final arrangements about the fishing trip tomorrow; or one of his kids.
They would all be coming tonight with the exception of his step-daughter, Sophia, who was spending the weekend with her own father. Her absence wouldn’t cause Conrad too much stress. Luckily, she had been able to work part-time to finance her own university education and her biological father had tossed in a few bucks. Money doesn’t grow on trees. Conrad knew that better than anybody. If she wanted to go to University she would have to kick in and so would her old man. Not running a charity here, with the old girl living on the premises and all.
Eloquent Silence Page 27
