Indelible Ink (51 page)

Leon also felt nothing. He said, ‘I’d better get to work.’

‘Well, I’m going out soon. So you just help yourself to anything in the kitchen when you have a break. Okay?’

Leon walked down to the banana palms. They made him miss his Queenslander with its shambolic garden and scaly-breasted lorikeets. The tomahawk was blunt. He missed his own tools too, even the
half-life he had left behind in Brisbane. As the cicadas swelled, his irritation grew at the massive inconvenience of his mother’s illness. Was it really as hard for them as Susan said? There
was something so easy about it as well: it nominated priority and obviated choice. All the same, Leon couldn’t project beyond each day. He was positive his mother didn’t believe in God,
any more than he did. Which meant that in a few months she would be in the ground, mineral and bone — was that the words to a song? — for the worms. He didn’t know what to feel
about it.

He blazed through the copse of banana palms for the next two hours, removing those going to seed and the one with a ripening bunch. He threw his whole weight into each blow, enjoying the
violence of blade through fibre. His t-shirt became drenched in thin sticky sap and he removed it, enjoying the sun on his bare skin. He dragged the oozing trunks to the side fence then wrapped the
green bunch in a plastic bag. He wandered around the garden poking a stick into the beds. In places sand was emerging. No matter how much compost and mulch was laid down, the sand was always
rising.

He was standing in the kitchen drinking water when the vacuum cleaner started up in the hall. He leapt with fright, then realised it must have been Fatima. He went out to greet her, but she had
her back to him and couldn’t hear. When she turned and saw him, she screamed.

‘Sorry!’ Leon realised he still didn’t have a shirt on. ‘Didn’t you know I was working here?’

‘No.’ Fatima stood there with her hand on her chest, then she laughed. ‘You give me fright.’

Leon climbed into his t-shirt. ‘I do the garden here. I’m a gardener by profession.’

‘You are good to help your mother.’

Yeah. That’s for love. This is for money.’ He spread his lips in a smile.

Fatima nodded politely. On the one hand, Leon wanted to put her at ease and let her know he didn’t think he was any better than her because he was the son of the woman who owned a mansion
she cleaned. On the other hand, he didn’t want her to think he was just more hired help. He usually stayed out of her way when she cleaned his mother’s house. She had always struck him
as a bit false in her perfect clothes and heavy make-up. Now he saw her skin was fresh, the black curve of her eyebrows quite natural. She was proud, and she was also shy.

‘Are you due at Sirius Cove tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’

‘Because Mum’s back in hospital. But I’ll be there.’

A look of concern crossed Fatima’s face. There wasn’t a single line on it, but Leon felt somehow younger than her. ‘She said chemotherapy was bad. She look terrible last
time.’

‘Yes, but they’re giving her a new mixture. It’ll be different this time.’

‘Yes, it cured my sister.’ Fatima propped the vacuum hose against the wall. She nodded thoughtfully. ‘My sister have cancer. She was very sick in beginning, but now it’s
all gone.’

She smiled at Leon encouragingly. Leon felt a bit queasy.

‘The chemo’s just to shrink the tumours, Fatima. It’s not going to save her.’

Fatima looked startled. Her face jutted forward. ‘She said she get better.’

Leon said nothing, just shook his head. Fatima’s eyes darted around nervously.

‘Will you keep cleaning for us?’ said Leon. ‘Like when my mother moves house, when she gets really sick?’

‘Of course.’ Fatima crimped her mouth. She shook her head then looked back at him with emotion. ‘I’m sorry.’ She picked up the vacuum cleaner and went into the
living room.

Saying it out loud was like learning it afresh. Leon felt terrible when he left the Joneses’ later that afternoon. He still burnt with energy at Sirius Cove so he worked in his
mother’s garden for another hour. He knew he was only tending to what would be destroyed. A garden was like a child: you could convince yourself it was for the common good and that you served
it, but really it was the other way around. It was there to serve you. It was your therapy and your sustenance. When Leon walked through it after his swim, he felt happy seeing the evidence of his
work. Then he noticed the xanthorrhea had scale. He pressed a spear between thumb and forefinger, feeling the squish. Christ, they were rampant. A breeze came over the headland and he turned in it
to relieve his sunburn. He knew he would be spending another night at home. Sailors or no sailors, the drive into town was just too far.

Marie’s last request to him before she returned to hospital was a complicated regime of pills and food for Mopoke. She had fixed him with her drugged blue eyes and exhorted him to be nice
to her. The cat had grown more miserable each day and was howling outside Marie’s bedroom when he went upstairs. And she had pissed on the landing again.

‘Shut up,’ Leon cursed. ‘Shut
up
.’

What the fuck am I doing here?

After lunch, Marie came out to the verandah. There was a patient sitting down the end in the spot she usually chose, obscured by a visitor. Marie drew the blanket close,
angling her legs to draw warmth from the sun, thinking it ironic how tortured she had been by its heat only recently. Apart from a burning around her rectum after another enema, the pain
wasn’t too bad today, and she reclined in a pethidine dreaming, wanting nothing. Ten minutes after a shot, she could be sure of this blissful state of non-caring. The closest thing to it was
the feeling of second trimester, after the sickness had worn off and before the weight had become uncomfortable.

Voices floated along the verandah, one female, one male ...
here a month and I’m still paying your bills ... I fucken tried ... your son not mine ...
The visitor beginning to cry,
the patient’s voice growling. Marie opened her eyes. The sun hurt. She could see the visitor’s back, comb marks carved into her greasy bleached hair.
Jesus Christ, woman.
It was
Brian’s voice.
I just wanted us to have a nice afternoon together.

Marie shut her eyes, feeling sympathy for the woman, who left soon after. Marie imagined Brian had left as well. She felt content out here in the fading light even though her lunch, a ham
sandwich on white, was still boiling in her oesophagus. Eating it had been a marathon. She could smell cigarette smoke. A burp rasped out of her body then Brian was shuffling down the verandah.

‘My son won’t visit cos he thinks I’m a loser.’ He snorted. ‘He’s probably right.’

He slumped into the chair beside her and his hand brushed hers and, though she had no energy to placate him, Marie opened her hand to his.

That night she found two miniature paperbacks of the Gospels in the bedside table, perfect for bite-size reading between nodding off. She had begun Susan’s novel but every time she opened
it forgot what was happening and had to reread the previous page again. She opened the Gospels.
Steps to becoming a Christian
, she read.
Admit to God that you have sinned.
She shut
the book crossly. She shifted around, trying to get comfortable. Increasingly, the best position was flat on her back. Over and over, she stroked the memory of Brian’s hand. Sleep eventually
came.

The next afternoon when she came out to the verandah, Brian was in their spot at the far end, smoking and reading his book,
Stalingrad.
He was wearing boardshorts and a Cold Chisel
t-shirt. Without the hospital gown he seemed so much healthier. Marie sat beside him. As soon as he finished his cigarette, Brian cleared the ashtray and returned with a jug of water and two
cups.

‘How sweet of you.’ Marie tipped some water into the dehydrated gardenias.

‘The least I can do.’

They sat looking out across the red-roofed suburb.

‘Was that your wife who was here yesterday?’ Marie asked him cautiously.

‘My ex. My third ex. Ask any of the ladies I’ve been with, Marie, they’ll all tell you I’m a bastard.’ There was a note of pride in his voice, a sort of resentful
challenge.

‘I’ve always had a bit of a thing for bastards.’

Brian laughed.

Marie felt embarrassed. Why had she said that? But it had gone down well. ‘It’s pathetic really. How did your tests go yesterday?’

‘I have to have another procedure.’

‘What sort of procedure?’

‘Dunno. Can’t make sense of it anymore.’ The sun was moving around the pylon, striking the terracotta tiling and making the whole verandah glow. ‘Nearly finished my book.
Those poor buggers didn’t have a hope in hell. Freezing, starving. Doomed from the start.’

‘Do you read many war books?’

‘All the time.’

‘Why?’

‘War makes the world go round.’

‘You think?’

‘Well, what do you think does?’

Love and money occurred to Marie, but they sounded too human to give the full picture. ‘Chaos?’ she said.

‘But that doesn’t make sense.’

‘No. Does war make sense?’

‘Blokes attacking each other. Genocide.’ Brian smiled, the black molars showing. ‘People taking land. Yeah, it makes sense.’

‘Rape,’ said Marie.

Brian said nothing.

‘I’m reading these.’ Marie showed him the Gospels.

‘Oh yeah? I read the Bible in gaol. Can’t remember those bits. When’re you having your next chemo?’

‘Tomorrow. Doxorubicin.’

‘That’ll make your piss go red.’

‘I’m glad you warned me.’

‘They didn’t warn me. I thought I was pissing blood when it first happened. I thought I was dying.’

‘But you —’ Marie stopped herself, just as the nurse named Carla appeared.

‘There you are! Your afternoon tea is here.’

‘This is the life, eh?’ Brian hauled himself upright.

The tea for some reason was in proper crockery today. Marie listened to the chime of spoon in cup, Brian slurping. So sore and vague she couldn’t speak.
But you
are
dying
,
she had wanted to say. But what did it matter?

Next thing she knew, Clark was beside her. He had a bag of peaches. ‘Sorry I’m late.’ Marie opened her arms to her grandchild. Nell moved awkwardly into her embrace then
reattached herself to her father’s legs and stared at her grandmother. Marie introduced everybody, and Brian held out his hand to Clark. They shook firmly, looking one another in the eye.

‘I saw Susan downstairs in the cafeteria. She’s got a bunch of flowers this big.’ Clark addressed them as a unit, explaining to Brian, ‘Susan’s Mum’s best
friend.’

Nell was staring at Brian. He caught her eye and winked, and she hid her face in Clark’s jeans.’

‘Hallo!’ Susan came down the verandah rattling a plastic bag of fruit, garnering admiring looks along the way. Clark dragged a chair over and introduced her to Brian. There was a
boyish naughtiness behind Clark’s civility, Marie noticed, as though he were expecting scandal. It reminded her of David on their last date together and her eyes sharpened. Brian drew himself
up: Susan gave his hand a quick shake and sat down, not knowing where to look.

‘Marie’s best friend, eh?’ Brian said to her cheerily.

‘Yes.’ Susan was pleased. She noticed his book and looked at him differently. ‘
Stalingrad.
I’ve heard good things about that book. What’s it like?’

‘A bloodbath. The usual story. I was telling Marie.’

Clark took Nell’s hand. ‘We’re going to find a knife to cut up these peaches.’

‘I must read it. I took the liberty of arranging some flowers in your room, Marie. And I’m making you a little cap’ — Susan pulled out some knitting — ‘so you
don’t catch cold. Feel how soft it is.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ said Brian.

Marie touched the wool. ‘It’s cashmere. Thank you.’

Clark returned with plates and a knife, Nell lugging another large bunch of flowers. Clark removed the card and handed it to Marie.

The Chinese woman wheeled her companion out and smiled over at them. ‘Having a party?’

The card read:
Dearest Marie, All the best to you at this difficult time. Your bravery is inspiring. Thinking of you with much love, Gina and John.
‘The Tottis,’ Marie said
out loud.

‘Good,’ Susan said with satisfaction.

‘That’s a very impressive tattoo on your leg, Brian,’ said Clark. ‘I’ve seen them down at Bondi.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Brian shifted his leg as though he wanted to hide it. Marie stared at Clark.

‘Yeah, lots. Saw one on this Brazilian guy the other day.’

‘Like this?’

‘Yeah. On his arm.’

‘Bra
zilian
?’ Brian made a face. ‘You sure?’

‘There are heaps of Brazilians in Bondi. The beach is a total tattoo gallery.
Every
one’s got one. They’re
every
where.’

Brian looked even more perplexed. ‘Brazilian, eh?’ He glared out at the red roofs.

He had the same effect on Clark as he had on Leon, Marie realised. They both wanted to impress him, even if differently motivated. And on her. A calm, even friendly authority, but not to be
messed with. He must have been perfect running things in gaol. ‘How are you Susan?’ she said, changing the subject. ‘How’s the garden?’

‘Lovely. I’m very happy. Leon is a master.’

Nell finally placed the flowers on the ground and let out a loud sigh.

‘Oh, Nellie, you big strong thing, sorry.’ Clark rescued them. ‘So what does it mean?’ he said to Brian.

‘Eh?’

‘Your tattoo.’

Brian’s eyes slid over to Marie as though sharing a joke. ‘It means I’m a sexy motherfucker.’

Clark and Susan laughed awkwardly. Marie gathered Nell in her arms and whispered, ‘Why don’t you be a good girl and put these in Brian’s room with Daddy. I’ve got plenty.
Ask the nurses where to go.’ Clark and Nell left on their next mission.

‘Aren’t they lovely? It’s always difficult buying flowers for Marie,’ Susan told Brian. ‘She’s the best gardener on the north shore.’