Fat Man, The

by Gee, Maurice

  ‘Lost your tongue, eh? Here.’ He pulled something from his pocket. ‘Like chocolate, do you? Have a bit.’ It was a Nestlé bar, identical; the same red wrapper, rolled back now.

  ‘Take something when it’s offered to you,’ his grandma said.

  ‘No …’

  ‘Take it, Colin,’ his father said.

  He took an end of the chocolate bar and felt the fat man holding the other to make it snap. He remembered the strength in those hands.

  ‘What’s the matter with the boy?’ his grandma said.

  ‘Say thank you, Colin,’ his mother said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome, kid.’

  ‘Can I … ?’

  ‘Yes, sit on the steps and eat it,’ his mother said. ‘And don’t get any on your shirt.’

  Colin went out, and through the dining room where the King and Queen hung smiling on the wall, and Queen Victoria with her red-coated soldiers, and pretty girls in white gowns leaning on Greek columns, looking across a blue lake at a pink sky; and out on to the porch and down the steps. He went round the side of the building and sat in the shade with his back to the wall, trying to think what to do. The fat man was back. He was Mrs Muskie’s son. And the chocolate was a way of telling Colin that they were still accomplices. He’s not going to pimp on me, Colin thought. And yet he wanted him to pimp and get the whole thing over. Now he had his thumbs tied again. Now the fat man was stropping his razor. Colin felt as if he had been pulled below the surface in one of the deep pools of the creek. He felt the fat man hanging on his legs.

  A little while later he had eaten the chocolate. He did not remember putting it in his mouth, and he wanted to spit, but it was too late. He heard his grandmother setting the table in the dining room. He side-crawled under the coalhouse roof and sat on a pile of folded sacks with his knees drawn up. There was no way he could go inside and sit down at the table with the fat man.

  ‘Colin,’ his mother called. He made no answer. He heard her clatter down the steps and come round the side of the house. Her head looked into the dark shed and she blinked. ‘There you are. Why didn’t you answer when I called?’

  ‘I feel sick.’

  ‘Nonsense. It’s that chocolate on an empty stomach.’

  ‘I don’t want any dinner.’

  ‘Stop being silly. Come on at once. My word, young man, you’ll be in hot water. I’ll send your father after you. And just look at your clothes, coal on your trousers.’ She took his ear and pulled, then bullied him along in front of her, even though he was taller by half an inch. ‘If your grandma hadn’t done all that cooking I’d send you home.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll go. I can go by myself.’

  ‘Don’t be cheeky. I’m having a good talk with you when we’re finished here.’

  ‘Mum’ – he held his stomach – ‘I’m sick. I really am.’

  ‘Just sit at the table then and keep quiet.’

  She pushed him into the dining room. The others were already at the table – his father, his grandfather, the fat man (Colin could not say Herbert Muskie in his head) and someone new, a woman with yellow curls, painted lips, and blue eyes that looked several sizes too large. She wore a pink frilly blouse and bangles on her wrists and rings on her fingers with fat stones in them, green and white, and probably glass like Mrs Muskie’s. She smiled at Colin. A little flake of powder fell from her cheek. ‘Hello, who’s this?’

  ‘Colin,’ Mrs Potter said, ‘my son. Who’s going to have a bit of explaining to do. Look at his trousers. Clean this morning. Just look at them.’

  ‘A taste of Itchy Edgar for you,’ the fat man said, and added, ‘kid.’

  ‘And now he says he’s got a stomachache.’

  ‘Oh, don’t punish him,’ the woman cried. ‘I never hit Verna. Well, maybe just a wee tap if she’s gone right over the edge. But love is what children need. Love and understanding.’

  The fat man laughed. He made a sound like stones rattling in a chute. ‘That’s a good one. Love and understanding. Did you get much of that, Laurie? I seem to remember the old willow stick round your legs.’

  ‘Plenty of times,’ Laurie said.

  ‘Me too. From the old man. He never hit Clyde though, or the girls.’ His face was suddenly ugly as he remembered. Then he laughed again. ‘I can’t remember a day in me life when someone wasn’t laying into me. It’s different now though, eh Bette? Good times is here.’

  ‘Good times,’ Colin’s grandpa said, waiting for the roast. He crossed his carving knife and fork like a multiplication sign.

  ‘Your mother was good to you,’ Grandma Potter said from the door. ‘I won’t hear a word against her.’

  ‘What, my old lady?’ the fat man said. ‘How’s she?’

  ‘You were her favourite.’

  ‘Does she know you’re back?’ Maisie asked.

  ‘Not yet. I’m going to surprise her. So you’ll be doing me a favour if you keep quiet, all of you. What’s she like? Still going strong?’

  ‘She walks into town every day,’ Grandma said.

  ‘In her hat. That’s some hat,’ Grandpa added.

  ‘Mum, the roast,’ Maisie said. Grandma vanished into the kitchen and came back with the leg of mutton on a dish. She brought the roast potatoes, the vegetables, the gravy. Grandpa carved and the meal got under way.

  ‘Where’s your little girl?’ Maisie asked Bette. ‘Isn’t she coming down?’

  ‘She will in a little while. She’s not feeling well, poor wee lamb. She hasn’t really got her strength back yet.’

  ‘Has she been sick?’

  ‘The scarlet fever,’ Bette said, making her eyes big. ‘Oh, don’t be scared, she’s not contagious any more. But she was so ill, wasn’t she, Herbert? We thought we’d have to put our wedding off.’

  ‘I wasn’t having any of that,’ Herbert Muskie said.

  ‘Herbert didn’t want to wait.’

  ‘I thought she might get away from me.’

  ‘So we had to do without our flower girl. It wasn’t a big wedding anyway.’

  ‘Just her and me.’

  ‘Oh Herbert, it wasn’t as bad as that.’

  He grinned at her. The worm curled in his cheek. ‘It weren’t no society wedding, I’ll tell you that.’

  ‘Did your family go? Clyde and the girls?’ Maisie asked.

  ‘Didn’t ask ’em. Didn’t think they’d come.’ He put some meat in his mouth. ‘None of them know I’m here yet. They’ll find out when I’m ready.’ He swallowed and the tight knot in his tie rode up and down.

  ‘Anyway,’ Bette said, getting back to her daughter, ‘she didn’t want to come down yet. She’s shy.’

  ‘Should’ve made her,’ Herbert Muskie said.

  ‘She’s a pretty thing. Lovely curls,’ Grandma said.

  ‘Ha!’ Herbert Muskie said. ‘What you don’t know –’

  ‘Herbert,’ Bette cut in.

  He let himself be stopped. He winked at Laurie.

  ‘She’ll come down and have a wee bite when we’ve all finished. If that’s all right with you, Mrs Potter?’ Bette said.

  Grandpa carved second helpings. The fat man took a lot, while Grandma looked anxiously at the joint. He took more potatoes and poured gravy on. Behind him King George V stood with his belly pumped up. Colin had eaten most of his food. He knew that if he didn’t, his mother would make a fuss. He forced it down, although his stomach wanted to send it up.

  ‘And what do you do for a living?’ Laurie asked. ‘I heard you’d gone to America.’

  ‘Yep, I did. I spent more than ten years in the States.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘I was in the liquour trade.’

  ‘But I thought they had prohibition there,’ Maisie said.

  ‘Like in Loomis,’ Grandpa said mournfully.

  ‘You can make laws,’ Herbert Muskie said, ‘but business goes on. There’s always ways. You can’t stop a thirsty man when he wants a drink.’

 
‘Herbert didn’t do anything illegal,’ Bette said.

  ‘You weren’t there, Bette, so button your lip,’ the fat man said. He picked up her hand and pretended to bite it, but kissed it instead, then laid it down. ‘That part of me life is no closed book, so ask away.’

  ‘You were running booze?’ Laurie said. He looked as if he couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Bootleg hooch,’ the fat man said. ‘Truckloads of it from Canada. We brought it over in boats too.’

  ‘With guns and stuff?’

  ‘Maybe I have said enough,’ the fat man smiled. ‘I don’t want to scare anyone.’ He looked at Colin, who looked at his plate.

  ‘Like in the pictures?’ Maisie said.

  ‘The pictures don’t show half of it. But no more, eh? I better keep me secrets.’

  ‘Speakeasies,’ Grandpa said. He looked around sadly. ‘We were a proper pub here once.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what though, Laurie. Detroit was a great town for fights. I seen some beauties there. Seen Kid Maxey fight Johnny Doakes. Knockout, round thirteen.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You could’ve done all right in Detroit. Hey, I nearly forgot, I’ve got something for you.’ He pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Won’t be a minute.’

  He left the room. And Colin, looking after him, knew it was all planned. The fat man did nothing by accident. He even had a suspicion of what he would bring back.

  While he was gone Grandma and Maisie cleared the dirty dishes and brought the pudding in. It was, as Maisie had predicted, stewed fruit and custard – stewed plums. Grandma was serving by the time the fat man came back. Colin heard him treading down the stairs. How could a man as big as that be so light on his feet? He came in beaming. His little pointed teeth winked with light, his cheeks were bunched and the worm had only its head out. His eyes though, his dark eyes, had no fun in them. He lifted the milk jug to one side and put a Gladstone bag on the table.

  ‘There you are, Laurie. I thought you’d like to have ’em back, maybe.’

  Laurie was puzzled. He had gone red. He had no idea what was in the bag and did not want to play the game of opening it.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘What … ?’

  ‘Have a look. Here.’ The fat man flicked the lock undone. He opened the top of the bag like a long-lipped mouth.

  Laurie looked in. His face changed. He put in his hand and lifted out one of his cups. Looked at his wife. Pulled out another.

  ‘Not bad, eh?’ the fat man said. ‘It’s a present, Laurie. For all the fun we used to have at school.’

  ‘Where did you … ? This doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Sure it does. There’s more of them. They’re all in there.’

  Colin was the only one who knew that the fat man was being cruel. He was taking hidden satisfaction. Maisie Potter seemed to have some inkling of it though.

  ‘Where did you get them?’ she asked, suddenly fierce.

  ‘Hey, Maisie …’

  ‘Did you send that shark out to buy them from me?’

  ‘Hey, no. Don’t misunderstand. I don’t know anything about any shark. It’s just, there’s a bloke I know, a dealer in stuff like this, second-hand goods and knick-knacks and suchlike. We do some business. I saw these cups in his shop and I read the name. From the good of my heart, Maisie, that’s what it is.’ He put his hand there. ‘I knew Laurie must have hit hard times. We all have, haven’t we? Or he wouldn’t sell, not his cups. And I just happened to be flush, so I …’ He spread his hands.

  ‘How much do you want?’

  ‘Maisie, Maisie, it’s a gift.’

  ‘We can’t take it. We can’t take it, Laurie.’

  ‘No,’ Laurie said. He looked up from handling the cups and blinked his eyes as though, again, something was too much for him to understand. ‘I haven’t got enough to pay for these.’

  ‘Now I’m going to get mad. All this is just for old times’ sake. Were we mates, Laurie, or what?’

  Laurie blinked at that too. His face began to colour.

  ‘So okay,’ the fat man said, ‘you had a bit of fun with me, you and Donnie Shackley and Bill Briggs, and I had to take it, but that’s life, eh? I bear no grudge. It was just high jinks. It was kid stuff.’ He grinned. He showed his teeth again and his dark eyes gleamed, and Colin, watching, knew that it was not kid stuff at all, it was adult. Something adult was going on and the fat man was tying his father by the thumbs.

  ‘Herbert is a softie,’ Bette said. ‘So don’t say no or he’ll be hurt.’

  ‘No,’ Maisie said.

  The fat man turned his eyes on her. An ugly light flashed in them, deep down, and was gone.

  ‘You too, Maisie, back then. You pretty girls don’t know how you can make a poor guy suffer. But look’t I got now, I got Bette. So no regrets on my side, eh. Go on, take ’em.’

  ‘It’s charity, that’s all. We don’t want that.’

  ‘Maisie,’ Grandma protested.

  ‘Keep out of it, Mum.’

  The fat man walked in a circle, his hands behind his back. He breathed with a tinny whistling sound. Colin saw that he was enjoying himself.

  ‘There isn’t any strings. I just spotted them on the shelf and I thought, Laurie Potter, I’ll take ’em back.’

  ‘We don’t doubt –’

  ‘I’ll take ’em to where they belong. Laurie, I saw you win that fight, for the big cup there. Auckland champs, ’twenty-one. You knocked out a guy called Scotty Cameron, round two. I was in the hall, you didn’t know that. Just a couple of weeks before I left.’

  ‘Cameron turned pro. He won lotsa fights,’ Grandpa said. No one took any notice of him.

  ‘I couldn’t just leave it there, sitting on a shelf, could I, Bette?’

  ‘The good of his heart,’ Bette said.

  The fat man took another turn about the room. ‘Tell you what I’ll do, Laurie. Just so’s it’s not charity. I got a job needs doing. Least I will have soon. If you can give me a bit of muscle we’ll call it quits. In your own time, mind. There’s no hurry.’

  No, Dad, no, Colin wanted to say.

  ‘What sort of job?’

  ‘Ah, bit of this, bit of that, labouring mostly. I can’t be sure. Is it a deal?’

  ‘Well …’

  Grandma had put Colin’s pudding in front of him. The plum juice bled into the custard. She put the fat man’s plate at his empty chair and he sat down. He stirred the plums and custard together.

  ‘I’ll tell you what else. I’ll give your boy a job too. He’s a likely-looking cove. I’ve got one or two things he can do.’ He looked at Colin suddenly and stopped his spoon halfway to his mouth. Blood dripped from it. ‘On wages, mind. Would you like to earn a shilling, young feller?’

  Colin’s stomach heaved. He couldn’t control it. He shoved his chair back so hard that it fell over, and ran for the door; crossed the verandah, got to the rail and was sick so violently it splashed into the pansies on the far side of the path. His mother was at his side, holding him. He tried to tell her that he was all right, but his stomach gave another upward heave, as though a boxer had punched it from below. More vomit splashed on the path.

  ‘Poor lamb,’ Bette’s voice said.

  ‘He told me he was sick and I didn’t believe him,’ Maisie said.

  ‘Here’s a flannel,’ Grandma said. ‘Let me feel his brow. There’s no fever. What have you been eating, young fellow?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Colin managed to say. His mother wiped his face with the damp flannel.

  ‘Bring him in. You can put him in the lounge for a while,’ Grandma said. ‘And don’t you go sicking up in there. Harry, get some water and wash that away. I’m sorry, Mrs Muskie, I’m sorry about this.’

  ‘Oh, it’s no one’s fault. And call me Bette.’

  They took Colin through the dining room, where the fat man was still at the table, helping himself to more plums. He grinned at Colin. ‘Tough luck, kid.’ He spat a plum stone neatly into his spoon.


  Grandma had opened the door to the lounge. It was a big room, rarely used these days. Beyond locked doors on the other side were the two bars, private and public, where Grandpa wandered from time to time, stroking the beer pulls and the moulded panels. Colin had only been in there a couple of times, but he often came into the lounge and picked out notes with his index finger on the piano. Now they sat him in a chair. His mother wiped his face with a clean part of the flannel and his grandma felt his forehead again. She looked at him suspiciously. ‘I don’t know about you, young feller-me-lad.’

  ‘It couldn’t be … could it?’ Maisie said.

  ‘Scarlet fever? Nonsense. He’s as cool as a cucumber.’

  ‘Call us if you want us, Colin. We’re only in the next room.’

  They left him alone in an easy chair that normally his grandma forbade him to sit in. He lay with the folded flannel on his brow and heard his grandpa hosing the path. He felt no better now that he’d been sick, in fact he felt worse. His stomach was all right, but his head had too much in it. The fat man was still after him. And after his mother and father too. The sound of spoons tinkling on plates came from the dining room. His grandpa came back and said, ‘Done it.’

  ‘Wash your hands, Harry,’ Grandma said.

  ‘Didn’t touch nothing. Washed ’em under the hose anyway.’

  ‘I’ll eat that young feller’s plums,’ the fat man said. ‘If no one wants them.’

  ‘He’s got no bottom to his stomach,’ Bette said.

  ‘Got to keep me strength up.’ His voice seemed to come from beside Colin’s ear. Colin lifted the flannel and turned his head. He saw the fat man through the open door, spooning up custard. And the fat man saw him, turning by a kind of magnetism. He winked. Colin tried not to be sick again. He managed it. He felt he was unravelling like an old jersey. He covered his eyes with the flannel, but that was little help, the fat man was still there through the open door. Everyone else had finished and was waiting politely. His spoon scraped on his plate. At last he sighed. ‘Ah, that’s good. That’s as good a feed as I’ve had in years.’

  ‘Cooking was one of the things we was known for in this pub,’ Grandpa said.

  ‘What we need now … you know what we need, Laurie?’