by Dean Mayes
“They’re no good for you Jeremy—those thugs,” she growled. “Believe you me, I’ve been around my fair share of those characters and they are nothing but parasites. They will suck you in and spit you out just as quickly and they won’t give it a second thought.”
“It’s n-not like that, Nana,” Jeremy snapped defensively.
“Oh—really?” Virginia challenged him defiantly. “I’ll bet you think that by hanging around them, you feel as though you belong to something, don’t you—that you’re worth something to them. Well…it’s a charade boy. They don’t give a damn about you.”
Virginia paused, letting the impact of her words reach him.
“But I’m telling you this. There are people who do give a damn about you, Jeremy, and they love you. Asher and Ruby and Minty—they adore you and they would do anything for you. Your mother and I love you…even your fath…”
“No!” Jeremy snarled, cutting her off in mid sentence. “Don’t tell me that.”
He didn’t want to think about his father or even acknowledge him right then. He shook his head defiantly as his eyes welled with tears. He brushed at his face, trying not to lose his composure.
Virginia waited for a moment, sensing the turmoil within her grandson, then she lowered her voice.
“You do belong to something. And although it’s far from perfect, there’s a lot of good in this family. I and your Mum and the girls and Minty—we depend on you to do the right thing, even when…”
Her voice caught in the back of her throat then and Jeremy saw flashes of regret and shame plague her eyes.
“…especially when your father can’t.”
Virginia looked down at her hands resting in her lap and sighed. She knew that she shouldn’t burden Jeremy with the kind of responsibility that should be his father’s but, they both knew that in the absence of a strong male figure in this household, the girls and Minty looked to Jeremy.
Jeremy saw her shoulders droop as if a great weight had descended on them.
“You are the kuyeta—the first-born son of this family,” Virginia said earnestly, emphasising the ancient Peramangk word. “And soon, you’ll be a man. So long as you belong, Jeremy—you don’t ever have to feel alone.”
Sitting straighter once more, Virginia balled her fist and tapped it to her chest, over her heart.
Jeremy looked away and covered his eyes with one of his hands.
Virginia could sense the turmoil within him. She gently patted his knee, then stood and shuffled slowly across to the door. She turned back to him.
“You’re a good person, Jeremy,” Virginia said. “Don’t throw your life away on those who don’t show you respect.”
Chapter 15
Gavin’s Holden coupe was parked in a busy beachside car park overlooking the azure waters of Adelaide’s Gulf of St. Vincent. The car stood next to a second vehicle, a beat up orange panel van whose occupants—a mixture of Caucasian and Aboriginal males and females—were mixing and mingling with the members of Gavin’s gang.
Jeremy watched the nubile young women, whose bikinis left little to the imagination, from his vantage point on a grassy hillock up above the two vehicles. He wished he was down there in amongst them but he had been made a point guard of sorts, keeping a lookout for the local police, while the others drank beer from a cooler in the back of the panel van. Evidently, the car park was a designated dry area and the fines for getting caught with alcohol here were considerable—especially given that it was a family friendly part of the coast. The gang certainly didn’t need any additional attention from the authorities right now.
Jeremy felt more than a slight twinge of jealousy as the girls in the group squirmed suggestively in amongst the others—Gavin, Mickey, even Jabba was getting some attention. He was largely ignored by them, except for the occasional questioning nod from Mickey to ensure that he was still keeping a close watch on the esplanade behind them.
The sunny Saturday afternoon had brought many to the seaside. Families were out and about, flying kites on the beach, playing games and swimming in the sea. Children were riding their bikes along the path that divided the car park from the dunes. People were walking their dogs. Teens were laughing, chatting and sunning themselves on the sand or were mingling around parked cars nearby.
Jeremy found himself detached from it all. His orders had been made clear from the time they’d arrived at the beach. Keep a careful look out and don’t bother the others—especially Gavin. Jeremy once again felt the uncomfortable awkwardness that came with being relegated to the outside. It made him feel isolated. He was beginning to question whether he would ever be brought into the fold of the gang…or if it was worth the trouble.
He was also distracted by the conflict at home. Virginia’s talk with him the other night played on his mind. As much as he might have tried to deny it, her words had affected him. Given her failing state of mind, his grandmother’s clarity and her strength of conviction was something he had not expected from her. He’d found himself thinking about her words constantly and it only fuelled the conflict within him.
Jeremy shook his head and scratched at the grass between his legs. There was a kind of twisted irony in that—of all the people in his life—his grandmother was the one person he thought he understood the least. The other night brought home to him the fact that she was, perhaps, his staunchest ally.
Every so often, Jeremy’s eyes wandered back to Gavin, who was engaged in an animated discussion with the owner of the panel van, a young man of a similar age. Jeremy hadn’t met this man before, nor had the others spoken of him but he guessed he was a close associate of Gavin’s—someone with whom he had collaborated in the past. There was a definite tension between the two presently. They were disagreeing about something but, from his vantage point, Jeremy couldn’t hear them above the music that was blaring from the car stereo.
Eventually, two of the girls began pulling their respective boyfriends in the direction of the beach itself, indicating that they wanted to take a dip in the sea. The girlfriend of Gavin’s associate got in between him and Gavin and began kissing him on his cheeks until he relented and stepped back from Gavin. It was clear that they were all headed to the beach but Jeremy wasn’t sure if that meant he was invited to join them as well.
Mickey turned toward him, grabbed a beer from one of the others then trotted in between the cars and up the hillside toward Jeremy.
“Take a break, Delfey,” Mickey said, sitting down beside Jeremy and handing him the beer with an uncharacteristically friendly smile. “The girls wanna have a swim…should be a good perv.”
He nudged Jeremy conspiratorially and Jeremy smiled bashfully.
“Who is that?” Jeremy asked hesitantly, setting the beer can down beside him without opening it. He gestured with a nod at the stranger walking alongside Gavin.
“Baner?” Mickey responded. “He’s a sort of rival of Gavin’s but they’ve tended to work with each other more than against one another…so it’s sort of hard to say that they’re truly in competition.”
“He—Baner—seems intense,” Jeremy observed, recalling the heated exchange.
Mickey dismissed it with a shake of his head.
“Nah. Baner’s trying to get Gav—and us—to help him out with a little problem he’s having. See, Baner’s in the car business but stock—good stock—has been scarce lately. Vehicle owners are more cautious, there’s outside competition from rival gangs who’ve moved in on Baner’s turf and the police have been more vigilant. They’ve taken down a few of the bigger gangs recently which has made it harder to get good cars. Baner’s looking for a smaller crew, one that isn’t as visible.
“A crew like us,” Jeremy ventured.
“Well…us,” Mickey corrected, pointing at his own chest with his thumb. “Not necessarily you.”
Jeremy’s shoulders sagged visibly and he looked down and away from Mickey.
“Why not me?” he said, a little pathetically.
“G
av doesn’t feel you’re up to the task. He’s not convinced you’re capable.”
“But I am,” Jeremy protested. “I did my part on that last job and we got away clean. I’m doing everything Gavin is asking.”
Mickey fixed him with a look that hovered somewhere between mock sympathy and sarcasm.
“But you’re sloppy, mate,” Mickey pointed out. “Gav’s not sure that you’re dedicated enough—that you’d go all out for this crew.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jeremy retorted churlishly.
“It means that if you wanna be a part of our crew, then you’re gonna have to prove yourself, like really prove yourself. You’re gonna have to put this crew before everyone else…even your family.”
Jeremy looked up at Mickey then and held his stare. Mickey smiled knowingly and nodded slowly.
“You need to quit bullshitting around with that little cousin of yours and her poofy little violin. Stop pretending that your dad is gonna get his shit together and be good to all of you. He’s never gonna be the kind of dad you want him to be. If you wanna real family Delfey, then we can be that family. But you’re gonna need to earn your place here.”
Mickey allowed Jeremy time for those words to sink in.
Jeremy fidgeted absently with a few blades of grass between his legs. His longing to be accepted, his frustration at being kept at an arms length, the conflict he felt—all of it swirled around inside him and made him feel nauseous.
“Well…wh-what do I have to do?” he asked, his voice cracking, barely above a whisper.
“Don’t worry. An opportunity will come,” Mickey said knowingly. “Gav is watching. We’re looking for the right—moment—to test you.”
He got to his feet then and stood beside Jeremy a moment.
“When it does come…you’ll have your chance to prove yourself. You’ll need to prove yourself. Otherwise, you’re an impediment to the crew and a danger to it.”
Mickey started off down the hill to the car park and the beach. He stopped at the bottom and turned back, gesturing to Jeremy with an almost laconic wink.
“Come on…let’s walk. There’s some nice tits to look at over there.”
Jeremy hesitated, feeling even less sure about himself and his place than he did before. Forcing a smile, he got to his feet and followed Mickey across the bitumen and toward the beach.
Ruby meekly stepped through the doorway to the main auditorium of the Elder Conservatory and paused at the top of the stairs, once again taking in the grand and lofty hall before her.
Despite the knowledge that she was now here as a legitimately invited guest, Ruby remained overwhelmingly nervous and still harboured the feeling that she didn’t belong—that she was an intruder. She had passed one of the guards from the other night outside—the nicer of the two—and he’d smiled at her, but his gesture didn’t make her feel any more at ease. She’d merely clutched the handle of her violin case tighter, lowered her head and kept walking.
The lavender cardigan she wore chafed the back of her neck and the floral print dress she wore seemed ill-fitting, alien and uncomfortable. The ensemble only added to her feelings of awkwardness. But her grandmother had insisted Ruby wear them today. They were the only dressy clothes she owned. Thankfully, Virginia hadn’t protested when Ruby chose her sandals over a stifling pair of leather shoes.
Ruby could see Khalili now, down on the stage under the mighty pipes of the organ, instructing a group of musicians who sat in a semi circle around him. They appeared to be some sort of smaller orchestra. A few people occupied the seating closest to the stage, in much the same way as they had the other night, chatting amongst themselves or practising their own music.
A couple of the students in Khalili’s group glanced up at Ruby as she entered, prompting Khalili himself to turn around. He smiled upon seeing her and motioned her hurriedly to come down.
“Now, I want you to run through the first and second movements before we meet again on Friday,” he instructed, turning back to the group. “Are there any questions?”
Receiving no responses, Khalili nodded.
“That is all for today.”
The group stood and began gathering their belongings while Khalili turned toward Ruby once more as she approached the stage, hesitating at the bottom of the stairs.
“Come, come,” he smiled warmly, holding an outstretched arm.
As the members of the group he had been instructing dispersed and filed off the stage, Khalili took a pair of chairs and set them down facing one another. He then retrieved a music stand from the semi circle and set it next to the chairs.
Ruby ascended onto the stage and stepped cautiously over to the chairs as Khalili sat down and patted the seat opposite.
“Have a seat,” he said. “How are you today?”
Ruby nodded almost too quickly, causing the professor to chuckle.
“It’s alright, child. Remember—you are here with my invitation.”
Ruby shifted in her seat, her eyes darted from Khalili to the people around them, to the rafters high above.
“How was your journey?” Khalili asked. “You took the train, yes?”
Ruby nodded again and opened her mouth to speak.
“Nana gave me the fare this time,” she answered, her voice a whisper.
“Good, good…” he responded before adding a mischievous grin. “You must relax. Breathe, my child.”
Khalili nodded, then patted the top of the violin case.
“Now—let us see the Vrassidaun once more. I have been so eager to hear it again since our last meeting.”
Ruby looked down and brushed her hand across the case. Flipping the latches, she opened it, taking the aged violin and bow out carefully then setting the case to one side. She lifted the violin in her well practised method of finding her best positioning under her neck and adjusted her grip on both the bow and fingerboard.
Khalili watched on, his demeanour immediately slipping into that of an instructor with a keen eye and Ruby sensed that he was assessing her. Khalili sat forward in his seat and placed his hands at Ruby’s sides, gently pivoting her hips and straightening her spine. He tut-tutted as he did so and shook his head slowly.
“Always neglected is the posture,” he mumbled, proceeding to lift her elbows then press down on the tops of her shoulders.
At first Ruby didn’t know what to make of his fussiness and she was more than a little perturbed by it. But once he sat back and studied her, she relaxed into her new posture and smiled faintly.
“How does that feel?” Khalili asked.
Ruby took a moment to gauge how she felt, adjusting her grip on her instrument before nodding affirmatively.
“It feels…good…different.”
“Hmm,” Khalili mused. “You should always remember that posture is everything to a musician. Without it, you cannot hope to project the strength of your sound nor give your audience a fully realised performance.”
He stood and retrieved a battered brown leather bag from the centre of the semi circle where he had been teaching earlier.
“Now,” he began, returning to his seat and rifling through the bulging bag. “Your grandmother says that you can read music very well.”
Thumbing though a thick sheaf of disorganised paper, Khalili squinted and blinked, searching and searching until he stopped, his eyes widened and a grin creased his lips.
“Ahh—here we are—Franz Liszt. I doubt you would have seen this piece before. Correct?”
Ruby sat forward and inspected the sheet music in front of her. She shook her head slowly.
“I know that,” she said.
Khalili frowned slightly and delved into his collection of sheet music, searching again.
“What about…” he said, thumbing through the pages. “Ahh, what about Rhychner? You wouldn’t have played Rhychner.”
Ruby met his eyes with a flat stare.
“Played it.”
Khalili sat back in his seat and gauged the y
oung girl before him with a probing look.
“Okay…” he ventured, appraising his leather bag once more.
Khalili took hold of a folder therein and pulled at it, struggling as the folder seemed to be stuck between other such folders and papers. With an effort, he yanked harder until it came free, causing several other papers to pitch from the bag and into the air.
“Damn,” he cursed.
As the sheets of paper floated down, Ruby’s eyes fell across a tattered and yellowing sheet of music that stood out. It settled to the stage floor, slightly away from the others.
She stood and retrieved the sheet of paper—a hand written sheet of music.
Khalili saw her with it and reached out with his hand toward her.
“Y-you don’t want to read that,” he mumbled dismissively.
Ruby retracted her hand and fixed him with a conspiratorial glower.
“Why not?” she probed, examining the page.
“Laaa…Chaimm?” she intoned slowly, reading title of the piece at the top.
Khalili withdrew his own hand and clasped the leather case close to his chest.
“L’Chaim,” he repeated for her, adding his subtle accent to the word.
“L’Chaim,” Ruby repeated. “What does it mean?”
Khalili sighed, rubbing his brow in mild frustration.
“It is a Hebrew word,” he said brusquely. “Meaning ‘to life.’ It is a kind of praise to—or a celebration of life.”
“I don’t know this piece,” Ruby said as she carefully studied the notes, beginning the process of committing them to her memory. She frowned and glanced around the page at Khalili. “I could play this.”
Khalili folded his arms and reclined in his seat.
“I-I don’t know,” he ventured worriedly. “It is very rough.”
“W-well…who wrote it?” Ruby probed, undeterred.
“It was written long ago, long before you were born,” he said. “Perhaps…even before your grandmother was born. A young man first conceived of it in a very dark room where he spent many days and nights all alone.”
That last sentence made Ruby shiver.
