Chapter Twenty-three
Dan knelt at the dresser under his bedroom window and slid open the insect screen. He saw the houses of the street painted in starlight and watched a fruit bat flap silently across the night sky. The full moon emerged from behind a cloud and the street appeared as if dawn was approaching. He interlocked his fingers, rested his elbows on the dresser and closed his eyes, feeling the warm summer breeze on his face. His whispers to his maker were loud as if he were talking to someone in the room.
He thought of Joe Judd and the possible reasons behind his visit. As a counsellor you learn pretty quickly that people kept things to themselves, even from their closest confidants. It was only his position as a careful listener, bound by a strict confidence, that allowed him a tiny glimpse at what people hid. But he also knew, at some point, many wanted to talk.
He suddenly stopped, keeping his eyes closed and listening to his breathing. He thought he heard a noise out in the yard and the hairs on his neck slowly bristled up. He opened an eye and his pupil scanned the neighbour’s front yard. His other eye opened, and he held his breath and listened. His hand reached very slowly for the curtain and pulled it gently aside.
Lord, he thought, why is my heart beating so much?
Then, across the road, he saw a small moving light in the nature strip, like a firefly hovering near a telephone pole. It suddenly rose in an upward arch and glowed bright red then Dan saw it fall to the ground. A boot appeared from the pole and gently smothered it.
‘Who in God’s name?’
A small flame glowed and flickered in the breeze and a bearded face was brought down into cupped hands. A set of black eyes looked up at the manse. A cloud passed in front of the moon, turning the street went dark and Dan could barely see him. He watched the man turn and begin strolling along the pavement in the shadows of the timber then eventually pass under a streetlight. Then Dan saw him clearly – slightly obese, wearing a black leather vest. He stopped just before Dan lost sight of him behind the corner of the manse.
Dan looked across the room. Mini was asleep in her basket and Ruth was curled up under a white cotton sheet. He slowly stood, retied the elastic of his pyjamas and slinked quietly out of the room. He headed down the hall, opened the back door and saw the clouds scudding by, low and just above the house. The hibiscus leaves waved gently in the breeze and the yard was empty. He deliberated. If it was, in fact, Ned Col, what did he want?
Dan walked down the stairs and in through the paling gate under the house. Yes, he thought – to be frank he was pretty scared. He slid open his office door, switched on the desk lamp, shinning a light out into the night. He slowly sat and felt the cold leather of his chair and now didn’t know what to do. His fingers opened his appointment book and he slowly began to read. He needed faith, sitting exposed and unguarded in this small pool of light. He looked down and saw the pages were gently shaking between his fingers.
Almost ten minutes passed then he got his first sign – he smelt tobacco. His eyes slowly tracked up to the office window in front of the desk and he could see the hibiscus, thick and black along the fence. He refocused on the glass, seeking the reflection of the room behind him. He could see the office doorway. He listened, seeking every frequency.
‘There!’ he thought. ‘Slow footsteps.’
A chill raced across his forehead. The steps were inside the paling gate on the concrete and the pages in his fingers began throbbing to his heartbeat. Very slowly, he turned and his chair squeaked like a rusty hinge. He could see beyond his office doorway to the posts under the house and the slat wall. His throat became dry and he heard his quiet raspy breath. Suddenly, he saw a firefly appear in a dark corner and a silhouette move against the slats. The firefly slowly rose up and stopped at a dark bearded face. Yes – it was Ned Col.
Ned’s face was expressionless and smoke was fanning out from between his lips. Dan simply stared.
‘What the f—k are you looking at?’ Ned drawled.
Dan reached out for the desk lamp and slowly twisted the head towards the door. The lamp creaked and the beam panned across the posts and stopped on Ned. He was sleeveless and looking angry. Dan saw the tattoo of the snake around his neck, appearing again from under his sleeve at his forearm. He turned and strolled away from the light, like a large animal irritated by a sudden torchlight. He walked along the slats, with the soft streetlight beaming in through vertical lines, and stopped in the dark corner. There was silence for a long time. Then, when he finally spoke, it was like the devil in your dreams.
‘I’m f—king angry at you for making me come here,’ he said. He exhaled a lungful of smoke. His index finger tabbed the cigarette and ash fluttered down through a strip of light. He looked around and saw the old worn couch next to the gardening cupboard. Dan could just see its arm in the slat light and watched Ned’s black figure dust it off. He slowly sat out of sight. ‘Holy sh—t,’ he said. His voice seemed to echo in the room. ‘What a time I’ve had.’ He sounded like an actor speaking offstage. ‘I took a blade to me wife and now she doesn’t wants to talk to me. Funny, that.’
There was silence. Dan knew he must reciprocate; he could not remain inactive. He stood slowly, took his chair, feeling his pyjama legs dropped to his feet. He inhaled then peered around the edge of the door. He could see Ned sitting motionless on the couch – his head backlit by a strip of streetlight and his hair pulled back tight in a ponytail. Dan carefully stepped through the door carrying the chair.
Ned put a heavy package onto the floor and it tinkled. He slowly removed a bottle and uncapped it. His head tipped back and Dan heard a bottle start quietly gurgling. He heard Ned breathe.
‘Want a beer?’ Ned asked cordially.
‘I normally don’t allow alcohol in the house,’ Dan said quietly.
‘Good,’ Ned said, ‘We’re under the house.’ He reached down and picked up a bottle, proposing Dan take it. Dan remained motionless in the middle of the room. Ned placed the bottle on the floor in front like an offering then moved back in his seat, his leather jacket creaking like a ship’s mooring rope. He craned his head back and drunk quietly and Dan could hear his peristalsis. He looked like he was settling in for the night.
Dan took a step forward. ‘Why are you here, Ned?’ he asked softly. Dan glanced to his side at his escape route – the paling gate.
‘You invited me here, remember?’ Ned said.
Dan didn’t understand.
‘I wanted a drink,’ he said, ‘but no one wants to drink with me. I ain’t here to be converted, so don’t be starting anything, preacher.’
‘Sure,’ Dan said.
‘And don’t get smart.’
Dan took a cautious step, as if approaching a Doberman’s doghouse. He rested his chair on the floor and slowly sat several metres away from the visitor. It was dark but for bars of light in the room.
‘Look at you,’ Ned said, pointing at him. ‘You’re sh—tting your pants.’
Dan hesitated. ‘I feel I need to be careful,’ he said.
Ned waved his hand dismissively. ‘Ah, relax,’ he said. ‘I ain’t gonna hurt ya. You’re not worth a cent and I ain’t gonna make things worse by messing with you.’
Thirty seconds of silence followed. In the dimness, Ned leaned forward and removed something from his back pocket then leaned forward and put it in his lap. It seemed he was rolling a cigarette.
‘What sort of kid were ya, Revvy?’ he asked.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Did you go to church every Sunday, sh—t like that?’
Dan hesitated. ‘Yes, my father was a pastor.’
‘Huh,’ Ned said. ‘You’re a real piece of work.’ He licked, what looked like, a cigarette paper. ‘Did you have money?’
Dan slowly shook his head. ‘No, not really. Being a pastor doesn’t pay.’
‘Did you f—k around? Get drunk? That sort of thing?’
‘I did not,’ Dan said.
‘Ha – you’re a barrel of laughs.’
&nbs
p; Dan balked. ‘Am I?’
Ned put the cigarette in his mouth and reached into his vest. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Hilarious.’ He didn’t find what he was looking for – perhaps a lighter – and reached down into his jean pocket and began searching.
‘What do you need here, Ned?’
Ned stopped for a second then eventually shrugged. ‘Nothing, I guess.’ He removed a chromed Zippo lighter from his jeans and loosely held it. The hostility in his tone seemed to have eased slightly. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘when I was young I had a chance to get out. Me friend and I wanted to travel the world, you know. Eventually, he went but I didn’t go. Ha, I believe he’s done well – he’s in Africa working for some aid crowd. He’s still single and gets lots of skirt with all those do-gooders. Not bad, ah? He sees stuff a normal person wouldn’t see. He’s accomplished something real.’
Dan leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. ‘It sounds very interesting,’ he said. ‘But it’s not a life for me.’
Ned played with the Zippo, clicking the lid open and closed. ‘No kidding,’ he said. He stopped clicking. ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ His eyes looked up and searched the room. ‘I should have gone,’ he said. ‘But I lost me way. I married the wrong woman and had a kid and f—ked everything up.’ He paused. ‘I’ve never had money and sometimes feel me days are become like a f—king merry-go-round, you know what I mean?’ He picked up the bottle and slowly began waving it around. ‘And time is just ticking away, Revvy,’ he said. ‘Tick, tick, tick. A lot of guys are OK with a wife and a white picket fence, but not me. I got bigger plans.’ He picked up his bottle from the floor and raised it to his mouth. He sipped then was still for a long time.
Dan felt very uneasy in the silence. ‘Are you all right, Ned?’ he asked, peering into the dark. ‘What are you doing over there?’
Ned looked down and shrugged. He opened and closed the lid of the lighter then looked across at the tubs. ‘Hey, your windows are dirty,’ he said.
Dan looked over his shoulder. ‘Yes, I should clean them.’ He looked back.
Ned reached up and scratched his chin with the lighter then he put his arm back on the couch. ‘Hey, do you remember when you were young?’ he said. ‘When you thought about the future how rosy it would be?’
The room was silent and Dan kind of knew what he meant. He looked down. ‘I remember it,’ he said.
‘We’ll, I’m thirty-five,’ Ned said, ‘and me plans haven’t worked out. It’s like there’s no more... like... horizons, you know. I sometimes wake up in the mornin’ feeling a bit sh—ty, ya know.’
Dan pondered. It now seemed highly likely that Ned was here just to talk.
‘It’s a matter of perspective on life,’ Dan said.
Ned shook his head. ‘No, it’s not,’ he said. ‘It’s a matter of facing reality – that the biggest part of ya life is now behind ya. It’s a bit grim but the truth.’
Dan looked down and played with his pyjama leg.
Ned reached up and scratched his ear. ‘I don’t know why a person has ta feel like that,’ he said. ‘I reckon at some point people just wanna put their stamp on the world, ya know, and I don’t quite feel like I’ve done it.’
‘I see,’ Dan said. ‘I think this is true of many people.’
Ned glanced up, past him, and peered into the office. ‘I see you’ve got a nice bookcase in there,’ he said. ‘You read?’
Dan glanced over his shoulder. ‘Of course,’ he said. He looked at Ned.
‘Yeah?’ Ned said.
‘Sure.’
‘I like ’em’
‘What?’
‘Books.’
Dan winced and the room went silent.
‘Don’t give me that surprised look,’ Ned said. He reached up and slowly took a mouthful of beer, swallowed and started chuckling. He put the bottle down on the cushion between his legs. He still hadn’t lit his cigarette. ‘Ever read Lermontov?’
‘Who?’
‘A Hero of our Time?’ Ned said. ‘Chr—t.’ He grimaced and grew irritated. ‘Why has no one read Lermontov?’
Dan didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. He stared then shrugged. Ned reached back and removed something from his vest pocket. He held it loosely in his hands.
‘I love this f—kin’ book,’ he said. ‘Lermontov – I mean the author – was killed in a duel. Just like Pushkin. Interesting, ah?’ Ned started picking at the cover. ‘He’s got me respect and I’ve started carrying this around every day curled up in me pocket. I understand him, ya know?’ He glanced up at Dan.
‘You like the Russians?’
Ned leaned back in his seat. ‘I like that dangerous bored character that keeps popping up.’
Dan blinked. ‘The Superfluous Man?’
‘Is that the name? There’s a name for it? Huh, well, I’m like him.’
Dan paused, stumped, wondering where to take the conversation. Then Ned just came out with something:
‘I am so f—king bored,’ he said, ‘just like that bloke.’
The room was dead quiet. ‘I see,’ Dan said. This was one of the weirdest disclosures he had encountered. He glanced at the book in Ned’s hand. ‘What’s the book about?’
Ned shrugged. ‘Oh, this bloke goes ’round screwin’ up people’s lives. Everyone hates him but he doesn’t care. By the end of the book he’s such a c—t that everyone, even the reader, wants him dead.’ Ned reached behind him and put the book in his back jean pocket. ‘That’s me,’ he said. ‘That guy is me.’
Despite Dan’s vast career experience, he was struggling with this one – he just didn’t know if Ned was playing with him. ‘Ned,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind me asking again – what are you doing here?’
Inexplicably, Ned suddenly laughed and Dan saw his crooked teeth in a bar of light. Eventually, he stopped but kept grinning. ‘Lots of things,’ he said.
‘Well, I’m very interested.’
‘I’m sure you are. You were pretty nosey out on the farm.’ He looked down and stared at his boots. He licked his lips like a gambler. ‘You know what I think?’ he asked. ‘I was thinking about it last night – I reckon people are all just looking for the same thing in life.’
‘Are they?’ Dan said. He waited for Ned’s morsel of wisdom.
‘Peace,’ he said, ‘and a little bit of purpose.’
It was pretty good – Ned had surprised him.
‘You know your son used to talk about that – once having peace and stuff. But he said it was when he was naive.’
‘Did he?’
‘Yeah,’ Ned said. ‘Stupid subject, really. But I ain’t gonna talk about him so don’t get ya hopes up.’
Dan leaned back in his chair and waited.
‘Hey,’ Ned said, seemingly growing more comfortable, ‘do you know what it’s like to live your whole life and realise you’ve not really done anything? That was me before.’ He paused. ‘But now things are OK,’ he said. ‘When I read this book I know I can write too. I bet if I think clearly enough and show a little discipline I can write a good story.’
The room fell silent.
‘I keep this book with me all the time so I can steal ideas on how to write.’
Surely, now, he was playing with him.
Ned cleared his throat and suddenly, for some reason, spoke quieter. ‘See, mate, it’s gonna sound weird, but I write – most evenings in me shed. No one knows. No one thinks I got it in me. I’m gonna write somethin’ big and people are gonna know me. I’ve been working hard for a long time and got a lot of good ideas down. I reckon, just one more year and I’ll be home.’
Dan blinked once then twice – Ned was serious, but did not have a chance at writing a novel.
The biker leaned back with the cigarette between his lips and cupped his hands over his mouth. Dan heard the flint wheel and saw the furniture of the room appear in the light. It went dark again and Ned leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
‘I’m always w
orking on me book,’ he said. ‘See, now I have direction.’ The cigarette was a firefly in the dark. Ned paused, and started to scrape his finger along the arm of the couch. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I use to take a beating when I was a kid. And not by me father – but me mother. Can you believe that? F—k, she could kick. I started fighting back at age twelve. She used to say me being born had stopped her having a life – sh—t like that. She said I’d become nothing.’
Dan swallowed. It just went to show everyone had a story. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’
Ned slowly blew a funnel of smoke into the dank air between them and Dan felt it arrive warm on his face. Ned glanced momentarily to his side at the slat wall. ‘F—k,’ he said. ‘In a few years I’ll be forty – can you believe that? If it wasn’t for me book I’d be panicking a bit, I think.’ He paused and there was silence for a long time.
‘Is there anything else you enjoy doing?’ Dan said, wanting to change the subject.
Ned leaned forward and tabbed his cigarette. ‘Not much,’ he said. ‘I like to drink… smoke…’ He exhaled and the white plume entered a strip of streetlight. ‘I got an old boat, so there’s fishing.’
Finally, Dan thought, a positive note. ‘Why not take your family fishing?’ he said. ‘Build on your relationships. I know it sounds like a cliché, but they are the most important thing.’
Ned pointed down at the floor. ‘Are you going to have your beer?’
Dan looked at the bottle. ‘Mm, no, not just yet,’ he said.
Ned leaned forward and went still. ‘I don’t know, Danny,’ he said. ‘Sometimes, I feel a little stuck, you know? Like the walls are closing in on me or something. Does that ever happen to you?’
Dan remained quiet. He had heard this before; Ned was now shooting dead straight.
‘I don’t care I came here,’ he said, as if answering a question in his own head. ‘You’re a religious man and no one will ever believe I visited you.’
Dan nodded. ‘I’m glad you came,’ he said.
‘Are you?’ he said.
‘Sure.’
‘I was watching you through the office glass after dusk,’ Ned said. ‘I was standing right outside your window. I saw the photograph of your dead boy on the bookshelf.’
Dan nervously pulled at his pyjama sleeve. ‘And, like I said,’ Dan said, ‘I don’t know what happened to him.’
‘Jay?’ Ned said. ‘There ain’t no mystery. He front-braked a white line in the wet and hit a tree.’
Dan looked down at his feet and listened to Ned scratching the couch again. Dan could not look up and eventually Ned chuckled. There was a pause then his leather jacket began to crunch and Dan looked up and saw his silhouette standing tall.
‘You’re a strange bloke, Danny,’ he said. ‘You know that?’ He picked up his bottles from the floor and slowly began heading towards the paling gate. A shaft of light caught the back of his jacket and Dan saw the motorcycle club insignia. It depicted an angry dog, caged behind metal bars, clenching its teeth. It was identical to Jay’s tattoo.
‘Listen, Ned,’ Dan said. ‘I would like to go fishing sometime.’
Ned reached the door and slowly stopped. He waited and turned around. ‘What?’ he said. ‘Ha, I know what you’re doing,’ he said. ‘You’re trying to con me. You wanna know about your boy.’
Dan didn’t know how to answer that – Ned wasn’t far wrong.
He took a swig of beer, sniggered and gestured with the bottle. ‘You should see yourself, preacher,’ he said. ‘It’s one in the morning and you’re sitting alone under your house wearing your pyjamas.’
Dan just stared at Ned, wondering how this story would end. He watched his silhouette step through the paling gate then stop again out on the lawn.
‘I’ll think about it,’ Ned said. He took another nip of beer then slowly headed up the side of the house, and Dan saw his obese figure heading away as it passed the dirty laundry glass.