Milosz

by Cordelia Strube

  ‘Bit of a rat’s nest, isn’t it?’ Vera observes. She’s polishing his mother’s silver candle holders. ‘These are lovely. It’s a shame you let them tarnish. I’ve never seen anything half so grand.’

  ‘They were a wedding present for my mother.’

  ‘She must have been a lovely bride. Have you any photos?’

  ‘No.’ He does but doesn’t want to show them to her.

  ‘It must have been heartbreaking for you, losing her so young. Wally says you know how to cook because you had no mum. His sweetheart’s coming on Saturday.’

  ‘She is?’ Fennel called despite his instability? She must be cash-starved.

  ‘She sounds darling. I thought you and I could put our heads together and come up with something top-drawer. Oh, and I darned these socks for you.’ She hands him the socks. No one has ever darned his socks. ‘Wally’s the same way, always wearing through his heels. I hope you don’t mind me doing a bit of your laundry, it just seems a bit rash running the washer just for Wally.’ She sets the candle holders on the table. ‘Won’t Fennel be impressed? It’s a nice name, Fennel. Very original. Have you met her?’

  ‘No.’ How did he become so mired in deceit? Soon he won’t be able to speak for fear of uttering the truth.

  ‘You can’t go wrong with Yorkshire pud and a nice roast. What do you say, Milo?’

  ‘Super.’

  He lies prone on the basement floor searching for Puffy. Seeing the candle holders caused his heart to spasm. Annie polished them monthly. After she died they slowly tarnished until Mrs. Cauldershot shoved them in the closet.

  ‘Where are Mummy’s candlesticks?’ Milo asked.

  ‘What do you care?’ Mrs. C. replied.

  ‘They’re Mummy’s.’

  ‘Well, Mummy’s not here to polish them. Your father doesn’t pay me to sit around polishing silver.’

  What did he pay her for, Milo wanted to ask, because it seemed to him Mrs. C. spent a lot of time sitting around watching TV. When Annie stopped getting out of bed, Gus hired Mrs. Cauldershot to help. But Mrs. C. scared Annie and ‘made no bones about the fact’ that she thought Annie was ‘spoiled’ and ‘lazy’ and should ‘pull herself together.’ Annie and Milo huddled together while Mrs. C. slammed around the house, cursing at the world’s injustices. She softened when Gus was around and always made sure dinner was ready when he came home. Milo found her niceness as she served his father even scarier than her meanness. With Mrs. Cauldershot in the house, Milo knew his mother would never come out of her room. So he brought the candle holders and polish to Annie and helped her rub them till they sparkled. When his mother didn’t seem to care about the candle holders anymore, he buffed them himself, hoping to impress her, but she didn’t seem to notice. ‘Look, Mummy,’ he’d say, waving them in front of her uninhabited eyes. Why does he care so much about Annie when he hardly knew her? Is he mourning for what might have been, drowning in fantasies of devoted mother love when, doubtless, her only devotion would have been to the bottle? And can he hold this against her when he, after returning home with what Gus referred to as a ‘bullshit of arts degree,’ began drinking on the side? Just beers, then more beers. It gave him the courage to utter the occasional profanity at the old man, even though he understood that Gustaw had once been a boy who lost everything, who got off a boat – or was it a plane – in a strange country with little more than the clothes on his back and a sack of tools. Why can’t Milo forgive? What right has he to judge? He who runs around half-naked in front of strangers?

  If his father were here, Milo would say he is sorry – for what exactly he isn’t sure, but there it is, a sticky guilt that no amount of rubbing will remove.

  He places Puffy’s cage on the floor and shakes more hamster food into the bowl, then grabs the empty laundry basket and collects sawed-off ends of wood from his father’s projects. It’s eerie touching them, knowing that his father’s hands held, measured, sawed and discarded them. Gus spent most of his retirement down here. His old cassette player, coated in dust, perches high on a shelf. Milo presses play and hears what he thinks must be Polish folk songs. Gus refused to speak Polish, why would he listen to it? What memories and longings did he allow out of the box during his subterranean hours? One photograph of him as a child in pre-war Poland survived.

  In what must have been his best clothes, he stands holding hands with a girl in a gingham dress. Milo once asked who the girl was. ‘Can’t remember,’ Gus said.

  ‘You’re holding her hand,’ Milo, who was only seven, pointed out. ‘You must remember her if you held her hand.’ He, personally, had never held a girl’s hand, although he’d thought about it. The girl in the picture had dark eyes and braids and was slightly taller than Gustaw. In her other hand she gripped a daisy. ‘Did you give her that flower?’ Milo asked.

  ‘Can’t remember.’

  ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Go help Mrs. Cauldershot with the dishes.’

  Milo hasn’t seen the photo since, but he suspects the dark-eyed girl ended up naked in a mass grave.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Robertson asks.

  ‘Building.’

  ‘You never build.’

  ‘I thought I’d try. I have all these bits of wood and I thought maybe I’d make a sculpture.’

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘I don’t know. Do you have any ideas?’ Milo’s been in the yard for forty-five minutes pretending to be interested in wood scraps while Robertson has been on the trampoline.

  ‘You could make a tower,’ Robertson suggests.

  ‘Do you think that’s possible? They’re all different shapes.’

  Robertson takes the scrap from him and finds another piece that fits perfectly. He picks up the hammer and digs around in the tin for the right nail. This could take hours, which was what Milo intended.

  ‘Somebody stole Mrs. Bulgobin’s hamster,’ Robertson says. ‘Mum thinks it was you.’

  ‘How outrageous.’

  ‘That’s what I said. I said, “Milo is way too chicken.” Anyway, Mrs. Bulgobin thinks I did it. I’m just worried about Puffy. I hope the kidnapper is taking care of her.’

  How easy it would be to reveal the truth, but then Robertson would feel obliged to tell his mother. And Tanis would be very angry, even angrier, with Milo, and order the hamster back to school, which would distress Robertson even more.

  ‘I hope they didn’t feed her to lizards,’ Robertson says, hammering another block of wood onto the tower.

  The four of them eat cream crackers with processed cheese while watching a reality show featuring foodaholics. Pablo isn’t using a plate. Cracker crumbs fly in all directions.

  They hear banging on the back door again.

  ‘Must be your lady friend from next door,’ Vera says.

  With her hair unbound, Tanis looks mildly deranged. ‘Did you go into the school yesterday?’

  ‘The school?’ Milo leans against the door frame in an effort to appear nonchalant. ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘The hamster is missing.’

  ‘What hamster?’

  ‘The hamster Robertson was worried about. Someone stole the hamster.’

  ‘Who would steal the hamster?’

  ‘Someone who doesn’t want Robertson to be extremely worried.’

  ‘Well, that would be very considerate of them.’

  ‘No, it would not. Because Mrs. Bulgobin thinks Robertson took the hamster and is lying about it. I was called into the principal’s office again today. They believe my child is evil. They don’t admit this, of course, because it wouldn’t be politically correct to condemn a mentally challenged child.’

  ‘I took the hamster.’

  ‘I know you did.’

  He could kiss her at this moment because she doesn’t accuse, doesn’t shout. She just knows. ‘What do you want me to do about it?’

  ‘Take it back and explain.’

  ‘It’s escaped.’

  ‘How?’

&nb
sp; ‘I guess the cage wasn’t closed properly. It’s on the lam in the basement.’

  ‘Does Robertson know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Let’s find it.’

  They crawl around on the basement floor with flashlights. He would like to reach out and touch her, console her, make it all better.

  Pablo’s workboots, unlaced as always, appear before him. ‘Fennel’s on the phone.’

  ‘Who’s Fennel?’ Tanis asks.

  ‘Some nudie chica from Milo’s art class. She’s coming for dinner Saturday.’

  ‘She’s not a model, she’s a painter.’ With Tanis’s eyes on him, he tries to appear laid-back, as though having a chica dinner guest is not out of the ordinary.

  ‘I asked if she likes strawberries,’ Pablo says, ‘because me and Vera are making trifle and Vera says lots of people are allergic to strawberries. She knows a lady who breaks out all in hives.’

  ‘Go for it, Milo,’ Tanis says. ‘I’ll keep up the hunt.’

  ‘You want me to help?’ Pablo asks. Leaving Pablo in the basement, bare-chested and familiar with Tanis’s underpants, causes Milo unease.

  He checks the kitchen to make sure Vera is out of earshot before picking up the phone. ‘So I hear you’re coming Saturday,’ he whispers. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Yeah, but now I’m scared I’m going to screw up, like, I mean, I’m a lousy liar.’

  ‘I’ll do the lying, just be nice and polite.’

  ‘I’m not giving back the cash if I screw up.’

  ‘You won’t screw up. Just show up. Please.’

  ‘I can’t promise how I’ll act. I’m pretty spontaneous. I mean, sometimes I say the wrong thing and I don’t even realize it. What’s my boyfriend’s name again?’

  ‘Wallace, or Wally.’

  ‘How will I recognize him?’

  ‘He’s bigger than everybody else.’

  ‘Tell him if he touches me I’ll kick his nads in. And I don’t eat mammals.’

  ‘Does that mean you won’t eat roast beef and Yorkshire pud?’

  ‘Last I heard a cow is a mammal.’

  ‘Couldn’t you just have a bit of meat, just for show?’

  ‘Not negotiable.’

  ‘Okay, well, I’ll sit beside you and when Vera’s not looking you can slip me your mammal.’

  Back below ground, Milo finds Pablo lifting Tanis, clutching her around the hips as she checks around ceiling beams. Her naked thighs below her cut-offs and Pablo’s naked chest are pressed together. Milo restrains a strong impulse to swing one of Gus’s mallets at his head.

  ‘Nothing here,’ Tanis says.

  ‘Put her down,’ Milo orders, more gruffly than he’d intended.

  She puts her hands on Pablo’s naked shoulders as he sets her down.

  ‘Would you mind putting a shirt on?’ Milo almost shouts. ‘This isn’t fucking Cuba.’

  ‘Sí, señor.’

  Immediately regretting having revealed his lurid jealousy, Milo practises damage control. ‘I just don’t understand why you can’t wear a shirt. This is Canada. It’s polite.’

  ‘Don’t shirt up on my account,’ Tanis says and Milo suspects she enjoyed rubbing against Pablo’s smooth brown muscles. How disgusting: in the midst of the hamster crisis she is feeling up a Cuban. He would like to scream that her husband may be dying.

  ‘I’m going outside,’ he says.

  He sits by his mother’s grave even though her body was burned. The lilac has tripled in size since the day Milo taped two sticks together and stuck them in the ground.

  These feelings he has for Tanis are completely inappropriate. These feelings must stop.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asks.

  ‘Quite. Did you catch it?’

  ‘No. Why are you hiding in the bushes?’

  ‘I’m resting.’

  She sits beside him. He wants to slide his tongue over her legs.

  ‘Pablo was just trying to help,’ she says.

  ‘I know what Pablo was doing.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me he worked on a mushroom farm. It’s criminal how they exploit those workers. It’s good of you to take him in.’

  Oh, so Milo has done something right for a change, except he hasn’t done it.

  ‘You have to speak to the principal, Milo.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Thank you for building with Robertson.’

  ‘Is he in bed?’

  She nods. ‘He’s been walking in circles again.’

  ‘Maybe the hamster would help. If he had it to care for.’

  ‘Stealing is wrong.’

  How can she believe in right and wrong? It’s never that simple. ‘I’m the one who stole it. I’m the sinner. Robertson could be the hamster handler.’

  She stares at her house as though waiting for someone to come out of it. ‘Billy Kinney’s in a coma. It was an aneurysm. I hope, for your sake, you didn’t cause it.’ She starts to get up but he grabs her hand.

  Robertson appears in his pyjamas with the dog in tow. ‘What are you guys doing?’

  ‘What are you doing out of bed?’ Tanis asks, snatching her hand away.

  ‘I’m worried about Puffy. Maybe we should call the police.’

  ‘Possum, you have to stop worrying about the hamster. Whoever took it must have really wanted it and will take care of it.’

  ‘Unless they feed her to their lizards. People buy boxes of mice to feed their lizards.’

  ‘The hamster is in my basement,’ Milo declares, without looking at Tanis who will despise him for his weakness in the face of righteousness. Robertson blinks repeatedly as he computes this new information.

  ‘I took Puffy,’ Milo explains, ‘because I wanted you to stop worrying about him.’

  ‘Her.’

  ‘Her. But she has escaped and you are the only man who can rescue her.’

  Robertson and Sal charge to Milo’s. Tanis remains disconcertingly still.

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ she says and walks away. He listens to the soft flapping of her flip-flops before hurrying to his computer to find out exactly what an aneurysm is, and if he could have caused it. An aneurysm is a pre-existing defect in an arterial wall that, over time, balloons and thins out. Eventually the ballooned vessel can burst, causing bleeding in the brain and loss of consciousness.

  A pre-existing defect causing loss of conciousness. Does that mean the aneurysm made Billy crumple, not Milo? There can be a genetic link. Family members are often screened after a case is found. Triggers for the rupture can be random. Stress and raised blood pressure may contribute. An aneurysm is usually but not always lethal, depending on its location, the extent of the bleeding and how quickly care can be delivered.

  Stress and raised blood pressure may contribute. Like being grabbed by a man in a Spider-Man mask and hauled behind a dumpster? Or not.

  ilo sits on the bench and waits alongside the other naughty boys who pick their noses and swing their legs. The principal’s secretary is on the phone enthusing about her slow cooker. ‘I just put a bunch of stuff in the pot and go to work and when I come back it’s cooked. I’m not kidding. You have to fry the meat a bit first though, right, but then my neighbour told me to just add the flour, like, just dump it on top.’

  Milo stands again, hoping to get her attention.

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ the secretary says, ‘but my neighbour said just dump it on top. I’m not kidding. She just throws stuff in and comes back eight hours later.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Milo interjects. ‘Do you have any idea when Mr. Gedge will be in?’

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, then I can’t help you, sir.’

  ‘But these boys are waiting for him. How long do they usually have to wait?’

  ‘We don’t mind waiting,’ one of the boys offers.

  ‘It’s way better than being in class,’ adds the other. They’re both wearing T-shirts emblazoned with s
uperheroes.

  ‘May I ask what this is regarding?’ the secretary inquires.

  ‘It’s about the missing hamster.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I know where it is.’

  ‘Did you bring it with you?’

  ‘No.’

  She narrows her eyes for several seconds while flicking her pen. ‘One moment.’ She dials what Milo suspects is Gedge’s cell. ‘Your name, please?’

  ‘Milo Krupi.’

  ‘A Mr. Crappy’s here,’ she says. ‘He says he knows where the hamster is.’ She pauses, still eyeing Milo. ‘No, he did not bring it with him. He’s waiting to see you.’ She removes one of her shoes and shakes something out of it. ‘Very good, sir.’ She hangs up. ‘Mr. Gedge will be here shortly. Take a seat.’

  How absurd that Milo, a grown man, should feel his bowels loosening while waiting for the principal. Mr. Grocholsky, in this very same office, unjustly reprimanded him for talking in class. It wasn’t Milo’s fault that Dean Blinky and Horace Blunt, gabbing on either side of him, were exchanging hockey cards. Just as it’s not his fault that Billy the Bully had a ballooning vessel in his head that burst. Tanis is unjustly reprimanding Milo. He tries hard to believe this as he stares at dirty linoleum between his feet.

  The stout, wiry-haired man who retrieved Robertson from the yard appears and speaks gruffly to the naughty boys, concluding with, ‘I don’t want to see you here again.’ Off they schlump to be enlightened. ‘Mr. Crappy?’

  ‘Yes. Actually, it’s Krupi.’

  ‘Come into my office.’

  The decor has changed. Pictures of sailboats adorn the walls.

  ‘What’s this about the hamster?’ Gedge asks, hands on hips, clearly not a man to mince words.

  ‘I took it.’

  ‘Or did your child take it? It’s perfectly natural to want to protect your child.’

  ‘I don’t have a child. I took it.’