The Unspoken

by Don Zelma

Chapter Eighteen

  ‘Hey! Tony!’ Ned shouted. From his position in the carport he could see his neighbour’s lamplight under the house. He saw long post shadows across the floor then heard Tony’s circular saw starting up. He had only spoken to him from the footpath, as neighbours sometimes do, but he was now in need for some decent company.

  He heard the high-speed blade starting to cut the wood and walked along the internal slat wall. He entered the next room, pine shavings scattered across the floor. Tony had his back turned with his knee up on a sawhorse and hadn’t seen him. A sawdust cloud rose up behind his head, looking like smoke in the light. Ned smelt the pinewood scent of the wood. The off-cut clattered to the floor and the saw began to slow.

  ‘G’day, mate,’ Ned said.

  Tony glanced quickly over his shoulder with a three-inch nail between his lips. The saw was loud and taking time to stop.

  ‘Ooo-ee!’ Tony mumbled, his lips together. He seemed a little surprised and took his knee off the horse. The saw stopped turning and it fell quiet and Ned could hear the crickets outside. His neighbour glanced incredulously at him again – yeap, he wasn’t delighted to see him.

  ‘What do ya know?’ Ned said. He placed his hands in his pockets.

  Tony pulled the nail from his mouth and spoke clearly. ‘Oh, I’m just messing ’round,’ he said.

  Ned stopped near the sawhorse. ‘Sweet,’ he said, nodding to himself. He moved his toes inside his boot, pushing his big toe up against the leather. He didn’t want to admit it but he knew he needed to talk. He leaned back against the flatness of Tony’s square concrete post and watched Tony carry a beam to the frame he was building around the laundry tubs. He took a hammer from his belt and knocked it snugly between two vertical struts. He hammered in a nail and ran a finger across the nail head, ensuring it was flush. He stepped back and regarded his work.

  ‘Looks good,’ Ned said, breaking the silence.

  ‘Yeah… Thanks, mate.’

  Ned wandered up towards the slat wall. He stopped, peered out into the street and could see his house far away. He thought about New Year’s Eve and his heart started racing. He looked down, stared at the ground and exhaled carefully. His fingertips started trembling inside his pockets and he squeezed them together.

  He looked across the room and saw Tony pick up a beam and hold it up to the light, gauging its flatness.

  He wants me to go, Ned thought. ‘Need a hand?’ he asked.

  There was a pause. ‘Nah,’ Tony said. He looked down at the mess around him. ‘Not really, mate. It’s a one-man job.’

  Ned nodded. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. He removed his tobacco from his pocket, rested it on his paunch and began rolling a cigarette. He worked his flint wheel and watched the flame light up the inside of his cupped hands. He saw his fingers were still shaking and pulled them away.

  ‘Wanna go to the Victorian?’ Ned said. ‘Want a beer?’

  The answer came quickly. ‘No thanks, Ned,’ Tony said. ‘Can’t really.’ He glanced at him. ‘I need these walls done by the weekend.’

  Ned pouted. ‘Yeah, I see,’ he said. He sauntered towards the paling gate and felt the warm breeze on his face. He turned and wandered back towards the post, inhaling on his cigarette. ‘F—k it,’ he whispered to himself. ‘F—k it all.’

  Tony turned around. ‘You right?’ he asked.

  Ned waited. He knew Tony was staring and took a drag of his cigarette. ‘Sure,’ he said. He exhaled then looked at Tony, but he simply turned and put his knee up on the horse.

  Hell, Ned thought, he doesn’t want to know. ‘It’s just the wife and kid, you know…’

  Tony glanced over his shoulder. ‘Yeap,’ he said. He looked at his beam. ‘I know what ya mean.’ Tony squeezed the trigger and the room went loud and he adjusted his footing.

  ‘I can’t blame him,’ Ned thought. ‘Over the years he would have heard the cursing and slamming doors from my house and my motorcycle screaming away’. ‘Yeah, they’re f—ked up!’ Ned shouted over the sound of the saw. ‘The wife doesn’t understand, you know!’

  Tony was cutting. ‘Yeah, sure!’ he shouted. He just wanted to finish the wall.

  Ned turned to the doorway and looked out into the night. ‘OK, then!’ he called. He looked at Tony, ‘I’ll see ya later!’

  Tony looked back. ‘Yeah, OK, mate!’

  Ned walked slowly across the room and out into the carport.

  I don’t blame him, he thought. I don’t blame him at all.

  He stepped onto the road and slowly began crossing the street. He saw his bedroom light on and did not want to face things, so walked into his fenceless yard and headed down the side of the house. He approached the shed and opened the rusty door. The gas lamp lit the room and he stood still in the middle of the floor. He didn’t know where to go.

  He glanced through the grubby window, up at the house. Just then, he saw the lights go out. He stepped up onto his stool and took a bedroll from the rafters. He knew a powerful unease was growing inside him and he had a sick feeling in his gut like he had eaten something rotten.

  He untied the mattress, rolled it out onto the floor and turned off the lamp. Things weren’t looking good, he thought, but just try lying down for now in the dark. You never know, he reasoned, you might just be able to sleep the damn thing off.