Limestone Man

by Robert Minhinnick

  Just pop in, said Toon. If only for a look. It’s a funny little place. They kept the keys, you see. It had been untenanted for twelve months, I think.

  Strange curved shop window, the glass with a green, rainwater tinge. And double frontage, so it looked bigger. On one side was a glass dome in the roof. Bottle glass with bubbles like a spirit-level. Yes, blisters of glass.

  The front room was the biggest. Behind that were three smaller, one of which became my bedroom. The others used for storage. Our bathroom was tiny, with the toilet outside.

  No, not your traditional dunny. There was water piped over. A proper system. But I grew used to swilling in the sink, or going over to the motel for a soak.

  One thing led to another. The wine and the Dutchies’ weed, and the hospitality of that town by the Murray made its mark.

  So I never forgot Goolwa. Even when school was overwhelming. As schools usually are. In my fifth or sixth year, I checked up on it. Rang the motel.

  Spoke to Toon through what must have been a cloud of dopesmoke.

  No, no one there, he laughed. People come, people go. Everyone seems to disappear. Look, you could do worse. Could do worse.

  And it was Toon who did most of the work to begin with. After all, he took care of all the motel jobs. More than handy.

  I paid him some money, to show I was genuine. So he sorted out a few repairs. Carpentry and plumbing, the necessary electrics. He rewired the water heater I used till the end.

  No, the shop wasn’t in bad condition. But it needed to be loved. And yes, it was Toon who found Lulu. Soon she was painting, washing the windows, tidying. In return for free accommodation.

  Lulu had been hanging around the motel too, you see. But don’t we all hang around? Somewhere? Yes, everybody seemed to know Lulu.

  So I started going over when I could. Of course, there were weeks when it was impossible. But I began to find I was thinking about Hey Bulldog. Wondering if I could make something happen. As I’m thinking about Badfinger, now. And Glan.

  And the girl, added Mina. Don’t forget Serenissima.

  She stood up to go to the Ladies’.

  Parry continued talking to whoever might hear him.

  I cleaned everything, he nodded. And everywhere. Took a brush to that outhouse and swept away years of spiders’ webs. Some big buggers, you can imagine. One of them bit me. Ever seen spiders’ teeth marks? Little punctures. And yes, that bite hurt. Don’t think it was poisonous.

  There were wasp-husks hung up in cocoons. I gritted my teeth and brushed them away. Yeah, cleared away those ghosts. Grey as Caib coral.

  Someone, years earlier, had painted the privvy yellow. So when the plaster fell, it looked like gold, caught in those webs. The original paint had turned to golden powder.

  So I cleaned all that myself while Toon did the skilled jobs. The toilet door had been broken and people had shat wherever they chose. I unblocked it with rods from the motel.

  Must have wanted it, mustn’t I? Must have loved it. Like I’m doing now, with 33, Caib Street. But Badfinger is in better condition. I don’t need a Toon.

  Even so, I’ve painted it myself, the downstairs toilet at Badfinger. Can you guess the colour? Have you been in there? Yes, it’s aubergine. Really is. Gorgeous aubergine. Did it for Glan. And Serene, of course. That purple pair.

  Look at Glan now. He’s great, isn’t he? Don’t you think? Pity we can’t hear him. Bloody Fflint’s been repeating the same chord for twenty minutes. His fingers must be raw.

  But Glan looks good, I think. And what about that shirt? Fits him perfectly. Never thought he’d wear it. Never thought.

  III

  Nia and Mina stood together upstairs in the Paradise, looking east. Below them were the lights of The Caib, masked in mist. Beyond the funfair was the black silhouette of the dunes.

  Mina remembered the posters around the bar. Printed poems and songs Nia had provided. Exhortations to use the language.

  Did people speak to you? That special night? Did they use … it?

  A few, smiled Nia. Oh yes. They dredged words out of their memories. Words they hadn’t used for years. Words they never used. Words they were afraid to use. Embarrassed to use. Yes, a few got their orders in. And I paid up.

  Mina looked at the girl.

  You’ve the passion, I’ll say. Haven’t you?

  You have to feel strongly about something. My mum showed me that. And my dad. He’s coming back, you know?

  From where?

  Been away, hasn’t he. But he’ll be back. Soon.

  Even when she rubbed the window, Mina could see nothing clearly. The dunes were a missing space in the world.

  Couldn’t have picked a worse time, could you?

  You mean with…

  I mean with the kids. The boys. The girls who…

  Strung themselves up? said Nia. Those fools. Those cowards. I was in school with two of them.

  Someone came in the shop the other day, said Mina. Had all their names in a rhyme. I couldn’t believe it. Like it was a song. Kyle. Keeley. Names starting with K…

  Maybe it’s something else, said Nia. As if there’s a taint in the air. Around us. Something that shouldn’t be here. Or maybe, there’s something missing. Missing from The Caib. Something we lack.

  The room where they stood seemed full of the fog.

  Will you stay? asked Mina, hunching her shoulders.

  Will you?

  I have to, said Mina. I’m that age. But if I was you, oh boy. If I was you, I’d be making my plans…

  Maybe I am.

  Oh?

  I want to travel. Course. But look, look out there. It’s why I brought you up here.

  Can’t see anything.

  The dunes. That black space. That emptiness.

  Scary, isn’t it? agreed Mina.

  No, said Nia. Look harder.

  Like I said, I can’t … seem to work out where we are… Or what we’re looking at. But yes, if I look… There’s a darker place in the night.

  Yes, it’s pitch over there, said Nia. You know the very top? Where the stones smell of sulphur? And there is all that coral? The colour of dead grass?

  Stayed well away, love. My mum didn’t allow it. Over there’s where that girl was found, they say. That prehistoric girl. No, I never dared.

  Well, under there, said Nia, under that black space, under that dark hill, are caves. Caves and springs. A whole cave system that might go on for miles. I mean it. For miles.

  She smiled again to herself, thinking of hot sand and moon-coloured coral dust. The sulphur-smelling summits of the dunes.

  News to me, said Mina.

  And I’ve been thinking about the fact that nobody’s ever explored those caves.

  Yes, it’s easier now there’s so little streetlight, said Mina. But I can’t remember what’s there in the day. Let alone now.

  There might be hidden entrances up there, said Nia quietly. Hidden in the limestone. But the springs are fed from sources miles away. Maybe fifty miles.

  You wouldn’t get me down any caves, said Mina. And seemed to shiver.

  I went caving in Uni, said Nia. There was a good group of us. Started to get the feel of it. Then, well I left, didn’t I?

  Because of Gil?

  Andall this time, yes it’s taken me all this time to come to … terms with it.

  With Gil? repeated Mina.

  I don’t know. With what I was thinking. If I was thinking anything. But it’s taken me … years, if I’m honest.

  Well, face it, said Mina. Older man, younger girl. Classic situation.

  Sounds like you…

  Understand…? Hey, you have a habit of underestimating me, young lady.

  Look, sorry, said Nia. But maybe I was numb. Dropped out of college and ended up. Here. Dropped out of caving, of the arts group, everything.

  But yes, it might work, she added. This place. I really think it might. But what about you?

  It’s no secret now the Basement is cl
osing. So no job. And I’m the wrong age for a pension. Really lousy luck. But maybe I can hold on to the flat.

  IV

  You sure you’re all right? asked Mina.

  Fine. You keep asking. Why?

  You know why.

  I’m alright.

  You’re looking grey. Not yourself.

  Like the fog, said Parry. The fog’s inside the club now.

  Have you noticed? Yeah, fog in paradise. Who’d have thought it?

  I mean grey in the face, said Mina. No, not yourself.

  My latest incarnation. But grey? Blame Gil’s smoke machine. Thank God it packed up. But it made people cough and it gets me like this every time. What’s that bloody smoke made from? Smells like brake linings.

  Well, if you’re sure? said Mina. Looks like Serene’s taken Glan home. What was he on, I wonder?

  Pretty obvious, I’d have thought, said Parry. Where’s Nia?

  Talking to Gil, next door. About what happened. Or didn’t.

  And Fflinty?

  Gone home to Mum, laughed Mina.

  That’s rock and roll, kid. Weren’t great, were we? Or were we?

  You want the truth?

  Never.

  I’ve heard worse, said Mina. But that long number could have been cut. Same thing over and over…

  …and over. And over? I think Gil wanted to create a trance-like state.

  At the Paradise? asked Mina. It’s waking us up you want to work on, lover. Not putting us to sleep. Short and sharp, is what was needed.

  Well Gil…

  Had his back to the audience, most of the night. Laughing with you. All those little private jokes. Very in-crowd. Very exclusive.

  So our driftwood soul could have been better?

  You what? That’s the story of your life. But does driftwood come back to where it started?

  What was Serene like?

  Good dancer. More confident than I thought she’d be. That’s who people were watching. And you know why.

  Yeah, Serene’s great, said Parry.

  V

  He and Mina walked out of the club. They stood beside a gutter and overflow pipe. There was a beard of mould beneath the spout, the air filled with a mesh of rain.

  Then they turned left. On the corner of Cato Street, the man paused and looked around. The Paradise audience had disappeared and the town was deserted.

  Listen, Parry said.

  To what?

  That’s high tide you can hear. Black waves to the top of the slipway. And I can describe those waves exactly. I’ve watched that tide so many times.

  You need to be indoors, said Mina.

  Neon on the black waves, smiled Parry. That’s what I can see. A desperate message, I used to think. But maybe…

  Don’t think I haven’t watched it too, said Mina, hunching her shoulders. Scribbled in red. Maybe in green… And upside down. Sometimes I’ve thought it was language melting. You know, melting in the sea. Or maybe the sea was dissolving the words. Like acid, those waves. A kind of acid bath.

  They were standing under one of the few working streetlights. Mina’s hair was a web in the fret. When she looked at Parry, he seemed drenched in light. The rain on his face was like wire. There were seed-pearls in his hair.

  But people came, he insisted. Didn’t they? Forty’s good. Isn’t it? Forty?

  Yeah. Forty’s good. Ish. But more like thirty. Including us.

  No, I counted. It’s good, isn’t it? Forty?

  Forty’s wonderful. In this filthy fog. And your little talk was spot on.

  Parry shivered and shook himself, rubbing his arm, flexing his palm.

  Listen, he said quietly. To that black tide. After all these years, it’s still difficult to know when the tide’s coming in. Or when it’s going out.

  Suppose so, said Mina.

  And I suppose I’ve always looked for that one moment when the tide’s … perfect. You know? When everything’s balanced.

  He rubbed his arm again.

  Come on, he said. I’ll have to deal with the human wreckage of Glan now. Looked good, though. Didn’t he? Dusky pink, eh?

  He’ll sleep the clock round, said Mina. But I thought you were going to wear that shirt.

  The woman glanced up Amazon Street. Yeah, he looked okay, she agreed. But the little shit can’t sing. And the little shit can’t play…

  But maybe he’s in the right place at the right time, insisted Parry.

  Right place? Mina held up her arms and opened her hands. Right time? Hey, look around, lover. Look around.

  VI

  There was no one left. Yet Nia decided to take the steps back to the room where she and Mina had stood together. In the far corner another flight of stairs led upward. She decided to try these.

  Nia climbed carefully. The single bulb in the top landing was working, but was very weak, so she had borrowed Gil’s torch. The girl could feel plaster crunching under her feet on the wooden boards.

  As far as she could make out, there was one dark room, with three other doors leading off. She was surprised there was so much space. Nia had been here only once before. That was her first exploration, after being made what…? Manager? Dogsbody?

  She remembered one of the old men on the committee saying, ‘oh yes, we’d be so very grateful, so very grateful… As you know, there’s not much call now…’

  Was it duty? she wondered, listening to her steps disturb the dust. Her shoes scratched as if she was walking through sand. And yes, there was sand, even here, on the third floor under the roof. Sand in veils of grey grit. Sand clogging the webs. In one corner was a radio with scattered CD cases.

  Under the window was a pile of clothes. She identified a blanket, a leather jacket, a yellow tee shirt. Then stepped closer and saw a sleeping bag.

  Nia was sure it had not been there when she had first explored. There was also a wine bottle and two glasses. The heel of a loaf. She counted seven candle stubs.

  It was damp in the room and she felt a draught from the window. Stepping closer to the glass she found an attempt had been made to repair a missing pane. A piece of cardboard was inserted into the frame.

  Nia tried to remember overhearing attic sounds. Yes, the roof groaned in high winds. But she had imagined it was the building settling itself. The girl wondered if she had ever heard the radio in that room. A room such as where the boys were found. Bodies not discovered for months. Footprints of rats in the dust. Words on a white wall. Unread.

  Kids, she thought.

  Just kids.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The author acknowledges and is grateful for the award of a Literature Wales/Llenyddiaeth Cymru bursary which allowed him to work on this volume.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Robert Minhinnick published his first novel, Sea Holly with Seren in 2007. He has also published a collection of short stories, The Keys of Babylon (2011), and three collections of essays, two of which have been Wales Book of the Year. The latest of these collections is Island of Lightning (2013). His Selected Poems appeared from Carcanet in 2012, containing his two Forward prizes for ‘best individual poem’. From 1997 to 2008 he was editor of the international magazine, Poetry Wales. Robert Minhinnick is an advisor to the charity Sustainable Wales, and was co-founder of Friends of the Earth Cymru.

  Seren is the book imprint of Poetry Wales Press Ltd

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  © Robert Minhinnick 2015

  ISBNs:

  978-1-78172-249-7 paperback

  978-1-78172-250-3 kindle

  978-1-78172-251-0 ebook

  The right of Robert Minhinnick to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  A CIP record for this title is available from the British Library.

  All rights reserved. No part of thi
s publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted at any time or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the copyright holder.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters and incidents portrayed are the work of the author’s imagination. Any other resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher works with the financial assistance of The Welsh Books Council