Drybread: A Novel (16 page)

'Young bastards,' said Theo.

'You can't reason with pricks like that,' said Nicholas.

He made as if to wipe his blood from the floor, but the
owner said he'd fix it.

'Do you still want me to call the cops?' the girl asked.

'No, what's the use?' said Theo.

They thanked her and the boss, then left, not pausing
at the door in case that be seen as fear. The couple, and
the older man, gave them a quick glance as they passed:
a look not so much of sympathy as embarrassment, and
satisfaction that they themselves had not been abased.

The two friends said little during the short walk to
Nicholas's flat. As Theo helped his friend to clean up, soak
his shirt and sponge his jacket, Nicholas quickly began
to fashion the night's experience into one of his stories.
Theo realised, however, that he was shaken nevertheless.
Theo was upset himself; not because they had featured
so unheroically, but because Nicholas's intelligence and
worth had been so easily overcome by intimidation and
stupidity. He was reminded that beyond their own circle
of acquaintance and experience, their accepted codes and
expectations, whirled incomprehensible worlds. Maybe
Penny was in one of them and it, too, was beyond him.

'You and your damn exercise,' said Nicholas, reclaiming
his wry humour. 'Don't ever bother me about it again.'

'You rang me, remember.'

'You have this thing about running — about fitness.
I'd rather have the exercise at that Cargoe Street massage
parlour. What's the name of the girl you had there again?'

'Becky,' said Theo. He was surprised by his own ease
of recall, though he'd never been back. Her nakedness
remained quite clear in his mind, but without lust, as you
might recollect a well-executed painting of a nude.

Nicholas sat with just a V-necked jersey over his singlet.
Greying hair showed at the base of his throat, and, though
he had thoroughly washed, his nostrils were faintly pink
with blood. The left side of Theo's face was sore to the
touch, but the skin was unbroken. Both of them realised
that what had happened was an aberration, unrelated to
the rest of their lives. There was no sense to be found in it,
no action regarding it to be taken. They began to talk of
themselves again, as a form of comfort and normality.

'At any given time, the place I want to be in my life, and
where I find myself to be, never seem to quite coincide,'
Nicholas said.

'That's because you're an old, divorced bugger with
too much time to think,' said Theo. 'Your sons will ginger
you up a bit, and don't you drink much more tonight, or
you'll be hopeless at work tomorrow. Take some Panadol
and sleep everything off.' He wanted to go home and close
off a night that had become meaningless and futile: exactly
the outcomes he most feared for his life in general.

But Nicholas wanted Theo to stay, so reached into his
grab-bag of recollections for something to hold him. 'I had
an odd experience the other day. I was coming out of the
chemist's, and I saw this woman walking away who must
have been Cynthia Jenkins, one of my old girlfriends. It
gave me a real jolt. I walked after her, and then she turned
to look in a shop window and it wasn't her after all. From
the back I could have sworn, though.'

'She'd have changed a hell of a lot by now. I bet she
dumped you anyway, didn't she?'

'No, she terrified me with her possessiveness. It was my
first experience of that in a woman. She was like one of
those pilot fish who swim into the gills of sharks, or those
African birds who pick the teeth of yawning hippos. She
was always squeezing the pores on my face, hanging on my
neck, combing dandruff from the back of my head. She
wanted to know everything. What are you really thinking,
she used to say, tell me what you really think. Even when
we made love I felt this strange suction, as if she was
determined to empty me out, to absorb me completely.'

'You've certainly struck some weird ones,' said Theo.
'Damn lucky it wasn't her, then. Anyway I'd best be off.'

'Did I tell you that Trish was a great one for talking in
her sleep?' Nicholas began quickly to tell of being woken
in the small hours and lying there as his wife unwittingly
confided to the darkness long monologues which revealed
her fears of humiliation, divorce and ageing, her extravagant
hopes for her sons and her own material wealth, softvoiced
and precise descriptions of items in her mother's
wardrobe recalled as by a child. 'In dreams even the closest
of partners go their own way,' Nicholas said. 'I knew things
about her life that were beyond her own conscious reach.'

'Was she interested in it all when you told her?'

'I never did. I never took advantage of it either, and I'd
only say to you, Theo, but I take a small pride in that. Even
in the bad times I never used it for ammunition.'

'Good on you,' said Theo. 'Maybe it wasn't all true
anyway.'

'The subconscious makes nothing up — it just stores
and selects,' said Nicholas. The interest of the subject had
animated his face again, though his pinkish nose gave
just a suggestion of clownish absurdity. Theo wished that
expression to be the last he saw as he left Nicholas at the
door.

'See you then, Nick,' he said.

When Theo reached home he sent an email to Penny,
although it was almost midnight and she wouldn't retrieve
it until she next went to Alexandra. 'Hi Penny, I hope all is
well and that your spell at Drybread is almost over. I think
of you often, no, all the time, and look forward to seeing
you soon. Theo.'

Sending it made Theo feel closer to her, took his mind
from his sore face and the dispiriting meeting with the
hoons outside the Chinese restaurant. He dreamed that
night of the three of them, Penny, the boy and himself,
at a picnic: not in the open sweep of Central, or its small
valleys, but some bush area with ferns, and fungi with
bold, sematic colours. They were sitting on a yellow railway
tarpaulin which Theo knew, with the unsubstantiated
certitude of dreams, to be stolen, and Ben was singing a
childish song about a spider and a waterspout. His small
voice was threatened by foul, multi-toned mutterings from
somewhere in the bush behind them. In the dream Theo
was convinced that if he kept looking at the boy, kept a
countenance of encouragement and attention, then those
responsible for the growing chorus couldn't materialise. To
maintain the focus wasn't easy; the tarpaulin became ever
more steeply angled beneath him, and he wasn't able to see
the expression on Penny's face. A silly dream, and obvious
in its connection to the night's experience, yet the sense of
sad dismay and powerlessness persisted long after he was
awake and had begun his day.

Stella's father died after a fall from a ladder while
attempting to clear the leaves from the guttering of his
house. Stella was angry because he'd promised he would
get a handyman in. The doctor wasn't sure whether the
fall had caused the stroke, or the stroke had caused the
fall, but either way it was very quick, he said. Stella found
Norman, with slippers on, lying among the lavender
bushes, with a child's yellow plastic spade by his head.
She'd tried twice to ring him earlier in the day. All this
she told Theo on the phone, so he wouldn't see the death
notice in the paper without knowing about it.

'I'm terribly sorry,' Theo said. 'I talked to him not so
long ago. I liked your dad.'

'I know you did. He quite liked you. He was slipping
noticeably though. He got anxious over little things that
once would never have bothered him, and he worried
that he might be forced to go into a home. I suppose
that's why he was so bloody stubborn about doing things
himself.'

'Do you want me to come round?' asked Theo.

'It's okay. I've got a friend with me. I'm actually not
too bad. I guess it hasn't hit me yet.'

'When's the funeral?'

'Wednesday. Dad wanted to be cremated. Do you
want to say something?'

'At the service?'

'Yes,' said Stella.

It was probably the lawyer friend who was comforting
her: the guy Theo had met at the Darfield pub on his way
back from the Coast that hot day. He couldn't remember
much about him except that he had thick, floppy hair,
heavy wrists and a legal complacency of manner. How
long ago was that? Stella had now lost her father and
her mother, and she'd been close to them both. Theo
wondered whether his parents' death would arouse in him
more love than he felt for them while alive.

'I remember the spade,' Stella was saying.

'The spade?'

'He must have been using it to clean the guttering. It
was part of a set I had as a kid, and we'd go down to New
Brighton by the surf club building. There was a bucket
and a little rake and shovel, and a flag, all yellow, and
they'd watch me play where the sand was just right for
building — between the dry dunes and the stuff at the
water's edge that's too wet. It's sad, isn't it.' Stella was
trying to keep her voice matter of fact.

'Bloody sad,' said Theo.

'You don't have to come at all if you don't want to.'

'If it's not awkward for you I'd like to come,' Theo
said.

'Well, it's not really about us, is it. That's the way I
look at it. It's for people who knew Dad and want to say
goodbye.'

'I see it that way too,' said Theo. 'You let me know if
there's anything I can do.'

'You and Dad got on well, Theo. I suppose you're alike
in some ways,' said Stella. He put that observation aside to
ponder later, for the moment assuming it a compliment.

Should funerals be wet and blustery as nature pays
homage in its way? Wednesday was still and cool, with
high, pale cloud like an eyelid. There was no inexplicable
eclipse for Norman, no sudden rush of wind as some
spiritual departure. He wouldn't have wanted anything
like that. The chapel and crematorium were set in lawns
and gardens, and only when you were close did you see
the numerous plaques amid the roses, on artfully placed
boulders, or set into the low walls of the terraces. Some
were of brass, some of dark, polished granite, and some
of a noticeably cheaper material that looked like Formica.
So the demonstration of means follows people even after
death.

Before the service began, Theo wandered among the
long flower plots and the silver birch trees on which the
leaves had turned to yellow. The lawn was closely cut, and
the dew that remained in the afternoon was barely enough
to gather on the glossed toes of his best shoes. By walking
he avoided any prolonged talk with mutual friends from
the time of his marriage, and any awkwardness he might
cause Stella. He wondered how many dentists would attend
the funeral, and how many geologists, and whether he
would be able to identify members of each group without
knowing them individually. The dentists would surely have
a short-sighted appearance, and be better dressed than the
geologists.

Norman's cremation provided the occasion for Theo's
first meeting with Melanie's boyfriend, and his formal
introduction to Stella's. He was made more aware of being
on his own, and wondered if he was pitied by the people
gathered at the chapel door. 'Theo had no one with him,
did he?' they might say, and speculate as to his mode of
living and state of mind. 'I've not heard of anyone, have
you?' they might say.

By a round bed of camellia bushes, Theo met Linda
from work, and an accompanying woman who was
introduced to him as a fellow photographic artist. 'Theo
used to be married to Stella,' Linda said frankly. Neither
did she pretend any particular grief, but spoke about an
exhibition of monoprints that she had seen the night
before, and then was curious as to Norman's age.

'I'm not sure,' said Theo. 'Early seventies anyway.'

'Women live longer than men,' said Linda. 'They have
a stronger immune system.'

'Something like that, I gather,' said Theo.

'Exactly like that.' She bent down and pulled chickweed
from the base of one of the camellias, then walked on,
leaving her friend standing for a moment with Theo. They
exchanged wry, slightly awkward smiles. 'Coming?' said
Linda. Theo was reminded, as he watched the two of them
move away, that her urge for trivial dominance was not
entirely sexist.

Melanie and Robin Sellus came from the grouping
around the chapel entrance to meet him as he walked back.
The architect was a bulky man with heavy crease lines on
his forehead and neck. He was talkative concerning his
own interests, but distracted when others had a chance
to speak, glancing obviously about him as if in search of
more distinguished company. Theo was disappointed in
Melanie's choice, and thought her kindness and intelligence
wasted on Sellus. She looked even smaller beside such
a heavy man. Her halo of hair trembled as she kept a
conversation going among the three of them. Theo had
never intended to marry Melanie, or live with her, but felt
an immediate vindictiveness towards her choice of partner.

What could he be except an egotist and a thuggish lover?'
Theo accepted that this conviction might be proprietal
envy, but was surprised by the concern, the affection, he
felt for her.

Entering the crematorium chapel for the service, he
took Stella's hand briefly, and she introduced him to
a second man that day who had supplanted him. There
was an irony to it that he appreciated, and he filed it for
mention to Nicholas. 'This is James Rowlands,' Stella said,
and the two men shook hands.

It was an unequal situation in so many ways, not just who
stood with whom. James had a great deal of information
about Theo from a privileged, but not unbiased source,
and Theo knew next to nothing of him. Would the lawyer
recall having met him that hot day at the Darfield hotel?

'Good to see you again,' said James.

'Maybe we'll have a chance to talk after the service,'
said Stella.

'Sure,' said Theo, and passed on to allow others to
express their sympathy.

Theo took a back seat. He had declined Stella's offer
to say something about his ex father-in-law. His role was
to be respectful and, yes, take a back seat. Gillian and
Thor Aargard came and sat beside him. Thor taught at the
university with Stella. Theo had met the couple socially,
but not since his divorce. Social acquaintances are like
waiters: you know when you go to certain places they'll be
there, but they have no essential place in your life. 'Quite
a blow, quite a blow,' said Thor quietly, and proffered his
hand.

'Nice to see you, Theo,' said Gillian. Theo was aware
of her unabashed and intent scrutiny. She was looking for
evidence of his life since splitting with Stella: the stains
of takeaway meals perhaps, unchecked nasal hair, the
false ebullience of incipient alcoholism and the scorch of
indulgence on his breath.

'How have you been in yourself, Theo?' she said.

'Not so bad,' he said.

'We've been meaning to have you for a meal. The time
just flies, doesn't it. We see your pieces in the paper, of
course.'

'It's quite a blow for Stella,' said Thor. 'I didn't meet
him myself, but I gather they were very close.'

'It's nice she does have personal support though isn't
it,' said Gillian. 'You've met James?'

'Gillian,' chided her husband.

'A few times,' said Theo. 'Seems a nice guy.' Truth wasn't
the aim in such a reply, but to deny her the satisfaction that
any glimpse of pain, or a falling away in life, would give.

'I gather her father was well known as an amateur geologist?'
said Thor.

'He was a specialist on the volcanic origins of Banks
Peninsula. He did a great deal of fieldwork there over the
years,' said Theo.

'And things have been going okay for you?' asked
Gillian. She was adept at the verbal angler's art.

'I'm pretty busy,' said Theo. 'The journalism's always
demanding, but the sex is great. You know what it's like for
single guys.' It came out unplanned, but intended. Gillian
wasn't put out, but her smile contained a grimness that
showed a realisation she was baulked.

'Ah, memories, memories,' said Thor lightly. There was
no more conversation among the three of them.

Nor was there an opportunity to talk to Stella following
the service, after the burnished coffin had passed through
the cosmetic entrance and presumably into the maw of
the furnace. The invitation hadn't been a serious one for
either of them. Theo slipped away through the birches and
the rosebeds studded with plaques. He resolved that he
would think of Norman over a drink that night, for he
had paid little attention to the service. Most of the time
he had been thinking of Penny, and Ben too. Penny longlimbed
and wry at the sod bach at Drybread, with the heat
and the openness and the bare hills — perhaps the heat
no longer visiting, and frost warning of later snow. Penny
Boomerang: all the way to America and marriage, and back
again. Penny and her son, feeling the world was against her.
Norman had been a decent guy, he had been significant in
Theo's life for a while, but he was dead, and Theo was
concerned with the living. It's harder for the living.

Stella phoned him at the paper on the following Monday
morning. She wasn't back at work yet. Theo wondered if
there was any message in that, conscious or subliminal.
An evening call from one home to the other might be
expected to be longer, and more personal. 'I just wanted to
thank you for coming to Dad's funeral,' she said.

'I've thought about him quite a bit since then. How he
always used to give me a book voucher for my birthday
— an old-fashioned gift, in a way. And how very proud
he was that you ended up at the university. He had an
amateur love of scholarship, and that's old-fashioned too,
I guess.' They talked of the service briefly, though Theo
remembered the grounds more clearly.

'What sort of plaque are you getting?' he asked.

'The wording you mean?' said Stella.

'No, the actual plaque. There were some cheap and
nasty ones. Brass and marble last well and they look so
much better.'

'I think I chose granite,' she said. 'Not the cheap stuff
anyway.'

'What's the difference between granite and marble?'

'I've no idea,' she said.

'Odd, isn't it. That's exactly the sort of thing Norman
knew all about.'

'Anyway,' said Stella, 'I just wanted to thank you.'

'Sure.'

'Melanie tells me that you've met someone through
work — that woman in the custody case you've been
writing about. She seems to have had a real time of it. No
doubt appreciates your support. I hope it works out for
you, Theo.' It was distancing, the use of his name. Close
people rarely use names.

'Likewise,' he said. 'I thought James seemed an all right
guy, but I'm not so sure about Melanie's architect.' Better
not to have said that. Stella told him things he didn't know
about Sellus: how he came home from his office to find his
wife dead on the kitchen floor and his two infant daughters
with all the cupboard doors open and stuff everywhere.
She became quite animated while recounting the tragedy,
but then had not much more to say.

'Well, I'd better let you get back to the job. All busy in
the madhouse as usual I suppose.'

'Pretty much,' said Theo.

'Okay then, bye.'

Theo knew that, with the phone replaced, Stella would
still be standing by it. She always did. No matter that he'd
never seen the inside of the house she now lived in, had
no vision of the physical detail around her. She would be
standing there, with one hand to her hair, as if fixing in
her mind what was important from the conversation. That
was Melanie, she used to say, or that was Dad, or Nicholas,
Diane, or whoever, and go on to give a synopsis of what
had been said. It didn't matter if Theo had been in sight,
even in earshot. He might hear her from the kitchen, or
his study down the hall, or turned in his chair from the
television. It was always the same, and such habits aren't
cast off when a partner is changed. She would be standing
there with the phone, her hand to her short hair, and
lawyer James would perhaps be hearing the summation of
her conversation with Theo. Theo had become one of the
them, not the us. The removal of familiarity bears so close
a resemblance to the removal of love, that the feelings are
sometimes indistinguishable.