by Alex Shearer
“Still seeing her?”
“Oh yes. I go around once a week and help out at the bungalow and do a little decorating or whatever, and then stay for dinner and, you know—do the business.”
“Do the business?”
“You know, do the business.”
“You’ve got such a poetic way with you, Louis.”
“Well, you know, whatever you want to call it.”
“So it’s all going fine.”
“Seems to be.”
“Good.”
And I was pleased and to quite an extent relieved that Louis had someone else to unload his woes on, someone with a warm and sympathetic and absorbent shoulder on which to cry. I wondered if they’d move in together, he and Terri. But next time he called, things were under stress.
“Hi, Louis, how’s it going?”
“Ah—not too bad.”
“How’s Terri?”
“Aw, okay. I don’t see so much of her.”
“Why’s that? I thought you were getting along.”
“Well, I got a bit pissed off, to be honest.”
To cut a long one short, whenever Louis went to see Terri she had some little chore waiting for him—a dripping tap to be fixed, a washer to be put on, a sash cord to be replaced. And then, one afternoon, it was a favor for a neighbor, and then another neighbor, for the street seemed to be full of women on their own, ex-wives and widows, who all had small jobs around the house needing to be done by somebody both handy and reliable.
According to Louis—by implication, if not outright expression—the price of sex was some initial house maintenance, and he was starting to feel resentful; he was starting to feel used.
“She always needs something done,” he complained. “Or, if not her, one of her friends. And I’ve already done a day’s work. Then I’m going around there and spending another couple of hours unblocking drains or whatever. I’m just getting a bit pissed off.”
Next time we spoke, he hadn’t seen Terri since the last time we’d talked. Intimacy was over. But they remained friendly. She even offered to have Louis come and live with her for his last few months. But he wouldn’t go. He wanted to stay independent, and maybe he was worried about the DIY.
So that was his version. But there is another.
3
Plumbing
We were sitting in Louis’s living room, which was all red, dust-matted carpet and Salvation Army furniture with the price stickers still on, and cheap plastic curtains that didn’t quite fit the windows, and which were coming off the end of the tracking for lack of stops.
The hand-basin in the bathroom took an hour to drain, so each time you used it, it filled up. You’d brush your teeth and spit out the toothpaste into the sink and the stuff would stay there and you couldn’t wash it away. The kitchen sink was the same. In the shower you had exactly one minute before the tray filled up and began to overflow.
I said we should get a plumber in but Louis was against it.
“It’s screwed,” he said. “It’s no use. We’re screwed. The whole thing’s screwed.”
I’d been trying to encourage him with tales I’d read on the Internet of long-term survivors, people who’d had the surgery and the radio and the chemo and had lived on for five, six, seven years and were still going. He appeared to make an effort to believe me, and I thought I saw a flash of optimism in the milky eyes, but then he got upset about the drugs he had to take and whether he’d taken some out of sequence.
“We’re screwed,” he said. “It’s no good. We’re screwed.”
I tried to convince Louis that we weren’t screwed.
“They’ve got us by the balls and curlies,” he said.
“We’re not screwed, Louis,” I said. “They don’t have us by the balls and curlies. We’re not without resources, are we? We’ve come this far and look what we’ve survived. We’ve got through all that and we’re still going.”
“Maybe,” Louis said. “But now we’re screwed.”
“We’re not, Louis,” I said. “We’re not screwed at all. We could have years yet. All right, I’m not saying it’s not serious, but there’s people who’ve got through it and survived. There can be good times ahead. And we can get a plumber in.”
“No point. It’s screwed,” Louis said.
“Louis, there’s a blockage in a pipe somewhere, that’s all it is. A plumber can fix it. It’s a half-hour job. I’ll ask Don, your neighbor, if he can recommend a plumber and get him in.”
“No use,” Louis said. “We’re screwed.”
I went to see Don anyway and got a number for Barry the plumber and I called him up.
“Sure, I’ll be there Thursday, mate. No worries.”
No worries, I thought. That’ll be the day.
But it didn’t cheer Louis up much. He still said we were screwed, and by then I was starting to agree with him, though I never said as much.
He was right, of course. We are screwed. Every single one of us. People go on so much about winning and being winners and coming in first and all the rest of it. But we all have to lose in the end and the best we can hope for is to go gracefully. Everyone dies. Death comes for us all. We’re all screwed. We’ll all stop functioning properly sooner or later. So Louis was right.
On the other side of the coin, though, when I suggested getting a fan heater to warm the chilly Australian winter evenings—not exactly cold by northern European standards, but cool enough—Louis was against that too. He said, “We don’t need any heaters, we’re tough.”
“You’re tough, Louis,” I told him. “I’m getting a heater.”
And he’d asked the Malaysian girl to put the burner on at the café, hadn’t he?
I went to a shop the next morning and bought a heater—a convection unit. I brought it back and plugged it in. Louis sat in his Salvation Army armchair and toasted himself. They got to be inseparable, Louis and that heater. Toward the end of his life, that was one of his firmer friends. He wouldn’t have it in the bedroom though. He drew the line at that level of comfort and self-indulgence.
“I’ll be all right when I’m under the blankets,” he said. “You don’t have heaters in the bedroom.”
I guess you didn’t when you were tough.
I recognized the blankets. I’d seen them before. They’d belonged to our mother. They had to be thirty years old and they were disintegrating. When I tried to wash them, the fibers came apart and clogged the washing machine. I went out and bought some doonas—Australian for duvets. While stripping the bed I got a look at the mattress, and went on the Internet to order a new one. It was falling apart. Underneath the mattress was a thick crop of dust growing out of what was left of the carpet.
“Have you got a vacuum cleaner, Louis?” I asked.
“Of course I have,” he said indignantly. “Of course I have a vacuum cleaner.”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t remember,” he said.
We had a look and found it in a cupboard. It was out of a museum.
“Who was the last to use it?” I asked.
“Kirstin,” he said.
“And when did you and she split up?”
“I don’t know. Ten years ago?”
“Have you got an iron, Louis?”
“Of course I have an iron!”
“So where is it?”
“I’m going to bed.”
I found the iron in a drawer. I don’t know who had been the last to use it. Or if anyone ever had.
* * *
Barry the plumber came on Thursday and fixed the plumbing. He said the pipework was so old that it was blocked up with internal corrosion. He turned off the water, cut out the bad pipe, and replaced it.
Louis said he could easily have done that himself at half the cost. I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t done it then. But I never
did ask him things like that, as I knew he’d just get angry.
I paid Barry cash, which I got out of the ATM with Louis’s card. We met up outside the pharmacy where we were going to get Louis’s drugs. It was dusk and the sun was dipping and the street and vehicle lights were coming on. I handed Barry a wad of folded dollars.
“It’s like doing a drug deal or something, Barry,” I said.
“No worries,” he said.
“Thanks for fixing things.”
“No dramas, mate,” he said. “See you, Louis.”
“See you, Barry,” Louis said.
And Barry drove off in his own ute. Every self-respecting tradesman had one.
“That’s good, then, Louis,” I said. “We can have showers and brush our teeth now and do the washing-up in the sink.”
But he just shook his head and peered out at me from under the perpetual beanie hat that always seemed about to slide down over his eyes and blot him out. The world wouldn’t see him then and he wouldn’t see it.
“Shall we go in and get your prescription?” I said. “Have you got it there in the bag?”
He turned and pushed the door open. The Asian woman who was the pharmacist there recognized him and said hello. She had infinite patience with Louis, even when the words wouldn’t come to him or he was having trouble sorting out all the drugs he had to take. It seemed to me that the place was full of people who were infinitely kind, and most of them not white.
We got back out to the street with the drugs ordered and on the way—to be delivered tomorrow by three o’clock. In those few brief minutes the sun had set completely and the world was in Southern Hemisphere winter darkness now, which came suddenly and early.
I saw a curry house with its sign lit up.
“Shall we go and get a curry for dinner, Louis?” I said. “Is that place any good?”
“It’s okay,” he said.
“Shall we go there?”
He didn’t answer me, which was a habit of his since childhood. He’d often simply stare at you and not answer your question. Not as if he hadn’t heard it, but as though the question could not be answered, or deserved no answer. I could never tell. Maybe he hadn’t heard me after all.
“Louis,” I said. “Shall we have a curry?”
“We’re screwed,” he said. “Completely screwed.”
He turned his back on me and walked toward the neon goddess. I followed and we went into the restaurant. Once again, when we ordered our food, the waitress taking our order said, “No worries.”
There you have it, I thought. Some say no worries and some say we’re screwed. I guessed there had to be a middle ground somewhere. But I didn’t know what you’d call it. Or maybe it was just a swinging pendulum, which veered between the two conditions until it finally ran down and came to a halt and you couldn’t wind it up again. And when it stopped moving, that was when they buried you, and you were neither one thing nor the other then, just finished, but free from pain.
4
Terri Two
At the funeral Terri got up and said some well-meant words. I liked her. She seemed like a nice, genuine person who had felt real affection for Louis and had liked him for himself. We got to talking and she said I should come around for a meal before I went home. I said I would take her up on that, and besides Louis had borrowed some bedding from her that I needed to return. So she gave me her number and she told me to call, which I did after a week or so, and I arranged to go around.
I thought we’d maybe go to a restaurant, but she said there was a communal lounge and dining area on-site, where the bungalow dwellers could get together once a week if they so desired and eat dinner at trestle tables—all provided at minimal cost.
It was a barn of a place, full of noisy conversations. There were married and elderly couples there, along with divorcées, singles, and allegedly amorous widows on the lookout for spare men. I found Terri at a table with her friends. She’d saved a space for me, so I sat down and she introduced me, and we all exchanged small talk about the UK and what have you. After the first course, a woman Terri knew wandered over to say hello. Terri introduced us, and as they chatted, the woman remained standing next to where I sat. Next thing I knew she had her hand on my shoulder, then her fingers were in my hair, then she was playing with the lobe of my ear, which sent tingles along my arm. Then she asked me where I lived and when I said the UK, she gave up on me and walked off.
There was no coffee to be had so Terri invited me back to her bungalow. She had a small dog, but it was friendly and nice, and not much of a barker. We drank instant coffee and talked about Louis. We talked about his boiler, which had conked out a decade ago. It had taken him a full ten years to get around to fixing it, and he had lived without hot water all that time, taking invigorating cold showers, even in winter. His washing machine ran off cold water too.
“And yet he was so good at fixing other people’s things,” she said.
“Isn’t there something about the shoemaker’s kids always being badly shod?”
“I suppose,” she said.
We talked some more about Louis and she said how good he had looked after the famous haircut, but that generally speaking he had allowed himself to turn into a wild man.
“I’d look at those eyebrows,” she said, “and think, Louis, if you’d just shave that beard off, you’d be quite a handsome man. He could scrub up really nice. But, well, you know Louis. . . .”
Louis was always covered in paint. If not him personally, then his clothes. Some people have good, going-out clothes and work clothes. All of Louis’s clothes were work clothes, because if a job needed doing, he’d do it, irrespective of what he had on. As a result almost everything he owned had paint or oil daubed on it, and he lived in shorts, even in winter, and his elbows poked out of his unraveled sweaters. He was a take-me-as-I-am kind of man. He was a love-me-or-leave-me guy.
Terri went on to say that he had asked her out to dinner once at Fried Fish, which was an upmarket kind of fish-and-chips place down near the harbor.
“I thought he’d have got dressed up,” she lamented, “and I went to a lot of trouble. But he turned up in his ute in his work clothes. I felt I was going out for a meal with the workman. I was so embarrassed.” Then she sighed and said, “Though I did like your brother. And underneath that beard he could have been quite a handsome man.”
I sneaked a look at my watch and thought that maybe I ought to go. I didn’t want to outstay my welcome. They seemed to keep early hours in the bungalow city.
But then, as I was about to make my excuses, Terri said, “You know, I maybe shouldn’t tell you this, but Louis came to see me once, oh, a year or two ago, and he was sitting right where you are now, in that very chair . . .”
We both looked at that very chair I was sitting in, as if it might speak, or somehow bear witness, or disclose its mysteries. But it stayed mum.
“Yes, he was sitting in that very chair—and I don’t know if I should tell you this, but quite out of the blue, I mean, I was so surprised—you know what Louis said to me?”
I did, but felt that I couldn’t admit to it.
“He said, ‘Terri, would you like to go to bed with me?’ ”
“Wow,” I said, feeling I had to say something. “Well, that was Louis for you, always subtle.”
“I was so surprised. So surprised.”
“I bet.”
“Because I’d never, ever thought of Louis in that way. I’d always just thought of him as a friend of Frank’s. Not to say, though, that if he’d trimmed that beard and moustache off he wouldn’t have been quite a good-looking man.”
“Well, Louis always had a beard,” I said. “Since his twenties. He’d had that beard a long time.”
“So anyway, I was that taken aback.”
“Absolutely.”
“I didn’t know where to loo
k.”
“A very difficult situation,” I agreed. “To have come out with it like that. I mean, no preamble or anything.”
“Not a word. No preliminaries. No what you’d call . . .”
“Courtship rituals?” I suggested.
“No warning at all.”
“Well, Louis always preferred the direct approach.”
But I was just stalling. I was just trying to keep things on a neutral footing so as not to put her off from telling me what had happened next.
“Well, I did not know what to say,” Terri said.
“Quite an embarrassing situation”—I nodded—“to be put on the spot like that.”
“And he was looking at me with such sad eyes. He had such sad eyes sometimes, your brother.”
“He had to put drops in them for his glaucoma,” I said. “In fact, I sometimes wondered if it wasn’t the roofing that caused it. You know Louis, he’d never wear sunglasses, and up there on those roofs in the Australian sunshine, and it reflecting off the surface. Surely that could damage your eyes.”
“No,” she said. “They were more like a Labrador’s eyes. They’d look at you sort of sadly, but affectionately too. And Frank never got glaucoma, but then he drank a lot.”
“I’m not so much of a dog person,” I said. “Though I had a cat once when my girlfriend left. She went off with my best friend but she left the cat behind. Interestingly, Louis introduced that friend to us, and then he went off to Australia. He ruined half the furniture—scratched it to pieces. Cats and sofas are a lethal combination. I think the cat resented me and he’d rather have gone with my ex, only she didn’t want him.”
“But what a thing to come out with, I thought,” Terri said. “ ‘Terri, would you like to go to bed with me?’ Just like that.”
I felt there was nothing I could say now that would have been appropriate. So I just waited.
“Well, once I was over the surprise, I said, ‘Louis—Louis, for us to do a thing like that would spoil a beautiful friendship.’ ”
“So you—”
