Brothers and Sisters (32 page)

‘Of course she will,’ I answered, although I never felt sure that Gwen would be back.

‘But if she didn’t, if she didn’t come, what would happen to us?’

‘Nothing would happen to us, Nez. Nothing.’

‘We wouldn’t be separated again? Like the time she got sick and we were fostered?’

Her voice broke up a little as she spoke. I looked across to the horizon, and for the first time noticed a mountain range in the far distance. Behind the mountains was a band of dark cloud and what looked like heavy weather coming our way.

‘No, we wouldn’t be separated. Never again. We’d go. If Gwen didn’t come back for us, then we’d go too.’

She squinted into the sharp light of the sun above the low cloud.

‘But where to? Where would we go? Tell me that story too, Jesse. Tell me that one.’

THE DISCO AT
THE END OF
COMMUNISM

Christos Tsiolkas

It was Saverio’s week to do the shopping. Trying to fit the key into the front door lock, with two full grocery bags under each arm, he noticed his wife’s shadow looming towards him in the cloudy beer-bottle glass; she was rushing to open the door for him. He was about to kiss her, to ask her to help him unload the other bags from the car, but froze when he saw her expression. He didn’t drop the bags, or cry out, but he could not speak.

‘It’s not the kids—they’re fine.’ Rachel grabbed two of the bags from him and ushered him into the house, leading him by the hand. When they got to the kitchen, she put down her bags, and took his hands. ‘Julian rang while you were at the market. I’m so sorry, it’s about Leo. He had a stroke this morning. He’s dead. There’s nothing anyone could have done, Sav. It must have been quick, he wouldn’t have suffered.’

His first thought was to protect her, to banish the fear and confusion from her eyes. He did so by gripping her hand tighter. She started to cry. Almost immediately, he envied her ability to exhibit all the appropriate signs of grief. It had been well over a decade since she had last seen Leo.

‘Julian’s left a mobile number. He wants you to call him back straight away.’

‘I’ll unpack the groceries.’

She was shaking her head. ‘I’ll do that, baby. You call Julian.’

Julian answered on the first ring, his voice surprisingly youthful and clear. Saverio had always liked Julian, had considered him good for Leo and had been distressed when he’d heard that they had split up. But Julian had remained loyal to the friendship and Saverio was not surprised that he’d been the one there at Leo’s end. Julian would be assuming all the responsibilities that, in the normal course of events, should now be Saverio’s. But Leo had never been one for the normal course of events.

‘Thank you.’

‘What for?’ Julian sounded astonished.

‘For being there.’

There was silence, then a rapidly muttered, ‘That’s okay.’

‘Rachel said that it was immediate, thank God.’

‘Yes.’ He could hear a match being struck, the long inhalation of smoke. ‘He’s been pretty crook, his liver has been giving him trouble for some time now.’ Julian hesitated, then said quickly: ‘I might as well be straight with you, Sav. He was pretty drunk when it happened—he was shooting up amphetamines.’

Saverio watched as Rachel methodically stacked the groceries on the kitchen table: toiletries for the bathroom, food and drinks for the kitchen and pantry, cat food and detergents for the laundry. Every now and then she would throw a quick glance over at him. Her eyes were still swollen and red.

He died shooting up speed, Rachel, he wanted to mouth at her. The dickhead was shooting up speed at fifty-two. The stupid, stupid fool.

‘When did it happen?’

‘Sometime last night.’

‘Who found him?’

‘There’s a woman close by who keeps an eye on him. She’s a good soul. She rang the police and then she rang me.’

‘Are you there already?’

‘Nah, nah, mate, I’m still in Sydney. I’m flying up tomorrow morning.’

‘Does the coroner have to deal with it?’

‘No. I’ve talked to the local cops and they say it’s all straightforward.’

That was it. Saverio was out of questions.

Julian cleared his throat. ‘I’ll arrange the funeral from Demons Creek. I’ve already got a copy of Leo’s will and he wants to be buried up there. Sav, I want you to come up for it.’

Rachel wasn’t concentrating. The dishwashing liquid was in the pile with the laundry stuff.

‘Of course I’ll come.’

Saverio caught the relief in her eyes, and felt it as well in Julian’s affectionate farewell. He hung up, wanting to slam the phone against the wall, wanting to explode in anger like a child.

At that moment, shirtless, with his pyjama bottoms hanging half off his arse, Matthew shuffled into the kitchen, greeting his parents with a muffled grunt. Saverio checked the clock. It was just past noon. The useless prick had been clubbing all night, wasting his money, probably doing the same stupid drugs that had just killed Leo.

‘
Cazzo!
This is not a civilised hour to crawl out of bed, you lazy shit!’

Rachel’s eyebrows arched and her mouth fell open—but she said nothing.

Matthew, who was peering into the fridge searching for the orange juice, swung around. ‘What the fuck’s wrong with you?’

Rachel came and stood beside Saverio, placing her hand on his shoulder. He wanted to shrug it off.

‘Matty, we’ve just heard that your uncle Leo has died.’

There was a moment of incomprehension and then Matthew sheepishly hung his head. ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’

Saverio couldn’t speak. He felt wretched. He wasn’t sorry that his brother was dead, he was just feeling relief. It was over.

In the end Rachel did not fly up north with him. She had been on higher duties since the beginning of the year, taking over the management of her unit from Gloria, who was on long-service leave. The extra money had been useful, allowed them to pay Matthew’s university fees upfront, but it had meant Rachel working longer hours, bringing home work on the weekends and having to fly regularly to Canberra to assist the minister while parliament was sitting. Saverio felt as if he had hardly seen her over the last month; she had worked late every night organising an international conference on industrial relations. In response to his complaints she had booked a four-day retreat for them at Mount Hotham after the conference. Saverio was a keen skier but it was years since they had visited the snow. On the night they’d heard the news about Leo, she had come into the bedroom and announced that she was going to cancel the retreat.

‘Why?’

‘I’m sorry, darling, I can’t go to both Leo’s funeral and the snow. I just don’t have the time.’

‘I want to go to Mount Hotham with you.’ He beckoned her over and pulled her onto the bed. Her hand was greasy from lotion she’d been rubbing into her arms. ‘I really want this holiday. You don’t have to come to the funeral. I just want to bury him, say my goodbyes and that’s it. I’d rather go alone.’

Her eyes were searching his face. She didn’t believe him. Or didn’t want to believe him. ‘I think I should be there.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ he groaned. ‘As if Leo would have given a fuck if you were there or not.’

Her hand slipped out of his. Her eyes were cold, distant.

‘More than anything,’ he continued, lowering his voice, introducing a note of pleading, ‘I want to be away with you, just you. That’s what I’m going to need after the funeral.’

She gave no answer, just kissed him on the forehead and went back into the ensuite. In the mirror he watched her finish applying her creams, watched her floss and brush her teeth, grinned as she slid the door shut to take a pee, enjoying as he always did the fact that even after so many years she could still be shy with him. He’d also caught the hint of relief in her expression. She would have willingly come to say her farewell to Leo. He had always made her laugh. But Saverio knew she would have been dreading the idea of spending time with any of Leo’s old friends.

As the plane began its descent into Coolangatta, Saverio took out his earphones and, ignoring the sleeping man next to him, looked down at the splendour of the Pacific and the ugly town thrusting out of the lush green landscape. Matthew had been rendered almost dumb by the news of his uncle’s death—not from any personal shock or grief, for he had very few memories of Leo, but rather out of fear of having to communicate somehow with a supposedly mourning father. He had created a playlist on Saverio’s MP3 player filled with uncomplicated rock and roll from the late seventies and early eighties. A tinny whisper of ‘Brass in Pocket’ still seeped softly from the earphones and an unsmiling stewardess leaned over to scold him.

‘Please turn it off, sir, we are about to land.’ Saverio settled back into his seat. He did appreciate Matty’s clumsy effort at sympathy; it was a loving, masculine gesture. Words would have been impossible between them. Saverio didn’t dare confess to his son his ambivalence about Leo’s death. He had always been more comfortable with his daughter. On hearing the news, Adelaide had rushed to him, and clutched him tight, whispering,
I know it’s difficult, I know it must be
. It had been exactly the right thing to say. He had marvelled at her innate wisdom: only two years older than her brother and, no matter how much Saverio still tried to deny it, undoubtedly an adult. He gritted his teeth and held tight to the armrests as the aeroplane surged. In a few seconds the wheels would touch earth, the moment he always feared, the point where the hubris of this mass of steel and wire defying gravity would end in calamity for all on board. The bronzed gentleman farmer sitting next to him, with the open-necked polo shirt and the clearly expensive Italian loafers, stifled a yawn. The wheels of the craft touched asphalt, the plane pogoed, swayed from side to side, then righted itself and screeched forward on the runway. They were safe.

The drive from Coolangatta to Mullumbimby cut through some of the loveliest forest in the country. Saverio could see that if one believed in deities, one could call it God’s Country, could imagine that the hills and coves and vast open space were the garden and sky of Eden. From time to time, as the rental car climbed into the hinterland, he would catch sight of the ocean sparkling in the rearview mirror, the silvery light of the sky touching the glimmer of the sea. It was beautiful. No wonder his brother had made this part of the world home. But as he veered off the highway onto Demons Creek Road, Saverio felt a knotting in his stomach. He tightened his grip on the wheel.

There had been money put into the communities that dotted the verdant hills. Eleven years ago the road had still been gravel. Now it was shiny black bitumen. Architect-designed holiday houses jutted out of the greenery, all with prominent verandahs overlooking the sea. When Leo had first moved here in the early nineties there still existed the remnants of a commune, the property itself owned by a septet of academics who were radicalised as students at universities in Sydney and Melbourne. The commune had disbanded soon after Leo had moved there with Julian but, nostalgically loyal to their old politics, the landlords had all agreed that Leo could live and paint there rent-free. Saverio and Rachel had urged him to buy some land when it was still going cheap, but Leo had scoffed at their capitalist avarice. To the end he had refused any of the money left to him by his parents. I don’t believe in inheritance, he had brutally said to Rachel when she phoned after his father had finally died and they needed to know what to do with the portion of the estate left to Leo. But what do you want to do with the money? she persisted. The answer had come a week later in the form of a letter. Half of the money, it stated, was to go to the Aboriginal community centre in Redfern, the rest to an outreach centre in Kings Cross. The lawyer had raised her eyebrows on reading the letter and whistled out loud. ‘Are you sure he’s not a little mentally unbalanced, your brother?’ It was intended as a joke but they did not miss the eagerness of her question. ‘Just do whatever he says,’ Saverio had replied. ‘Just as long as I don’t have to speak to the prick.’

The car nosed its way up the dirt drive to the cottage. Eleven years before there had been an immaculately maintained herb garden, a fig tree, and lime and lemon trees. The garden was now overrun by weeds, and rotting fruit covered the ground underneath the untamed foliage of the trees. Saverio wasn’t surprised. The garden had been Julian’s project and once he’d gone Leo wouldn’t have had the gumption to keep it together. The chassis of the car scraped along the ground as the front left wheel sank into a pothole. Frigging Leo, Saverio thought, he couldn’t look after anything. Five or six cars were already parked haphazardly across the yard. There was music coming from the cottage and Saverio could see people standing and sitting on the wide verandah. He felt as though every eye was on him and his hand trembled as he turned off the ignition. The sun was setting behind the mountain and the crowd on the verandah was in shade. He was dreading the small talk, the hours to come. For a moment he contemplated simply turning back, weaving down the mountain back to the coast, to get the last plane home to Melbourne. The seatbelt was still buckled, his foot still rested on the accelerator.