The Unspoken

by Don Zelma

Chapter Thirty-seven

  Dan removed his sweater and dropped it beside the compost box. He stepped to the garden, struck out with his hoe and levered up behind a weed. He heard the high-pitched squeak of the front gate, slowly straightened his back and calmly brushed his hands over the barrow. Fewer visitors came to the manse during the day and he was more than a little curious.

  Joe Judd appeared around the corner of the house and Dan smiled. He approached, wearing his grey work uniform, a worn baseball cap, and holding a can of cola in the afternoon light.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. He seemed upbeat. He stopped in front of the garden, put his free hand in his pocket and glanced around the yard.

  ‘It’s been a few weeks,’ Dan said. ‘I was wondering what had happened to you.’

  Joe gestured at the garden with the can. ‘Doing a bit of weeding?’

  Dan tapped the hoe on the ground, breaking the soil from the blade. ‘It’s spring,’ he said, ‘and time for planting.’ He rested the pole on the grass and held it like a staff.

  Joe sipped his cola and looked up at the mango tree then slowly around the yard. ‘Nice backyard you got here,’ he said and looked over his shoulder. ‘Greenhouse. Poinciana tree… It’s nice to see during the daylight.’

  Dan picked up the hoe and walked slowly towards the compost.

  ‘I need a break,’ he said, pointing. ‘Let’s rest over here.’ He leaned back onto the wooden box and smelt the rotting food scraps. Joe joined him and looked around, absent-mindedly, as if he’d merely been out on a stroll.

  Joe gestured at the slats of the house. ‘You got a workbench in there?’ he asked.

  Dan pouted. ‘Um… No.’ He looked down and gently bounced the hoe on his tennis shoe.

  ‘Really?’ Joe said. He slowly nodded then sipped his can. Dan rested the hoe against the box. ‘Everyone needs a workbench,’ Joe said.

  Dan chuckled. ‘Well, I’m not a normal man.’

  Joe glanced at him and laughed quietly.

  Dan put his hands back on the box and watched Joe carefully. His visitor gently began digging his heel into the lawn, holding the can down against his thigh. The cola sloshed around and Joe started smiling to himself. Dan prepared for a long wait – Joe was a fawn that had wandered into his yard and he needed to remain quiet and still.

  He turned around to the box, brushed his hands over the compost, feeling the rising heat of the rotting mulch. The air was crisp and the shadow of the house was long on the grass. He liked the afternoon light and looked directly into the sun; it made him happy to be alive. He knew he had time and closed his eyes and saw his blood inside his eyelids. He waited over a minute then opened his eyes and saw the sun’s rays fragmenting through the mango tree. The whole yard was turning red like an old sepia photograph.

  Joe hadn’t said a word and he finally looked at him. He was staring down at his boots, seemingly deep in thought.

  ‘Good God,’ Dan thought, ‘with that expression he looks just like Jay.’

  He watched him a long time, until the red had drained right out of his clothes.

  Joe craned his head back like a bird in a birdbath and took two gentle mouthfuls of cola.

  ‘So, Joe, what can I do for you?’ Dan asked. It had turned twilight.

  Joe looked down and shrugged. ‘Ah, nothing I guess,’ he said. He gently kicked at the lawn. ‘How’s things?’

  Dan pondered. ‘Things are good,’ he said. Joe put his hands on the box behind him and Dan heard his fingernail begin clicking a splinter in the wood. Seconds later, Joe closed his eyes and swallowed some saliva. Something had worked him up pretty good. Dan felt a cold breeze on his back and reached down for his sweater, glancing at his visitor. It was getting dark and Joe looked down at his watch.

  ‘You OK?’ Dan asked. He forced his head through the neck, feeling the soft wool over his face.

  Joe scratched his unshaven chin. ‘Sure,’ he said positively, ‘I think so.’

  ‘You don’t sound it,’ Dan said.

  Joe wiggled the empty can absentmindedly and balanced it on the box. He looked straight ahead, avoiding Dan’s eyes.

  Dan turned and faced the house and stared at the soft light burning in the kitchen window. ‘How’s Lola?’ he asked.

  ‘Fantastic,’ he said, slowly nodding. ‘The most wonderful person I’ve ever met.’ He gently shook his head in awe.

  Dan looked down at his tennis shoes. ‘Yes, I remember,’ he said. ‘When we met at the campfire you seemed fresh and awake.’ The garden was now a simple black rectangle in the lawn. The birds had fallen quiet and he could smell the neighbour’s dinner emanating from their kitchen.

  Then, after a few more painful minutes, Joe finally spoke. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. He straightened and changed his footing. ‘It’s just… some things have happened and I don’t understand my reaction.’

  Dan looked at Joe and could barely see him in the dark. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Give me the gist.’

  He shrugged. ‘Oh, you know. I took her to see the humpbacks and exposed too much too quickly. Soon, she raised some straight stuff.’

  There was a long silence. Dan looked down at his feet but couldn’t see them.

  ‘Does intimacy bother you, Joe?’

  He hesitated and saliva clicked in his mouth. ‘Now? No, not at all.’

  Dan heard Joe pick up his can. ‘So, nothing’s wrong, then?’ Dan said.

  It was quiet then Dan heard the can crush quietly in the dark. He folded his arms and played with the fibres in his sleeve.

  ‘The solution for many problems, as you know, is to verbalise them,’ Dan said. ‘Hear yourself saying them. Did you talk to her?’

  Joe gently kicked the ground. ‘I wish she hadn’t smiled when she said it,’ he said, his face at the ground. ‘It’s been keeping me up at night.’

  Dan waited and heard him rest the hollow can on the box.

  Outside the yard, the streetlights blinked on and gently lit the house, reflecting a little light onto Joe’s face. Dan could see a clear silhouette of his head.

  ‘Truthfully, it’s not a big deal,’ Joe said.

  He hadn’t coughed it up and Dan knew it was a good one. He was prepared to wait all night.

  ‘Listen,’ Joe said, ‘Lola and I once agreed to tell each other everything. It was a beautiful idea – really. But now, I gotta tell ya – I ain’t so sure. If she can’t leave that stuff in the past I’m in trouble. Danny, if I don’t feel like her man that image is gonna get me. If she jokes about it one more time, I’ll go under. I can feel it.’

  Dan looked up and stared at the outline of his head. ‘Why do you think she’ll broach it again – whatever it is she said?’

  Joe was silent. ‘Something she told me a long time ago.’ He changed feet, leaned back against the box, making the wood creak.

  ‘You are strong,’ Dan said. ‘You will not be harmed.’

  Joe looked down and slowly shook his head. ‘Lola was right,’ he said quietly. ‘Humiliation is contagious.’

  Dan shook his head. These guys just kept coming up with this stuff, and getting things straight was like untangling a fishing net from around a propeller. He glanced at Joe and could see that he was having a real moment.

  ‘She will not joke about them, anymore,’ Dan said.

  Joe seemed to think about it then shrugged. ‘Why say it when I was floating?’

  He didn’t know and felt himself getting sucked into the whirlpool of Joe’s doubt. ‘It’s anyone’s guess,’ he said.

  Joe sighed then surprisingly and slowly doubled over, putting his hands on his knees. ‘I’ve got a problem,’ he said. ‘When I go to bed the pictures start up.’

  Dan looked at him and winced. This was beyond his experience. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘Joe, I don’t understand. What are we talking about here?’

  He cleared his throat and went quiet. Then, with a strained voice, it popped out. ‘I’ve got a porn movie in my head with my girlfriend in it,’ he said, �
��and I can’t get it out.’

  It was a real showstopper. Dan went silent, leaning back against the box. ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘she knows you’ve had a full life and will not be intimidated. Maybe you are her sanctuary, the one that will not judge.’

  ‘Yes, I thought I was too,’ he said.

  Dan looked down and saw the silhouette of the barrow on the lawn.

  Joe straightened up. ‘I am sorry about this,’ he said. ‘This is ridiculous.’ And, for a moment, it seemed Joe would just shrug off his problem. But Dan needed to ask the one important question.

  ‘Joe,’ he said, ‘do you love her?’ It was a scorcher and meant to make him think.

  Joe slowly removed his cap and ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. Then he looked down and shook his head. ‘But you’re not going to believe this,’ he said, ‘love only makes it worse.’ The crickets grew loud and rang in Dan’s ear. Joe slowly put on his cap. ‘I thought love was supposed to make you stronger,’ he whispered.

  There was a little – just a little – truth in Joe’s words. Dan looked at him and saw beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

  ‘I used to dream of finally meeting The One, you know,’ Joe said. ‘To share my private life. Not for a second will I do it now. When Lola first confided in me, we were friends and I was grateful for our honesty. But now that I love her I don’t want to know the others.’

  A moment of silence followed.

  ‘I got to tell you Joe,’ Dan said, ‘this whole story is not quite making sense. Try to summarise it in one quick sentence so I can digest it.’

  ‘You want me to be honest?’

  Dan shrugged. ‘Sure, I do.’

  Joe pondered; he didn’t want to say it, but then did: ‘I think I’m jealous of her,’ he said. ‘I feel small around her.’

  It went silent. Dan successfully prevented his jaw from falling.

  ‘Your discomfort,’ Dan said, ‘no matter how unusual, will dissipate over time.’ But he knew he was clutching at straws.

  ‘I think time is my enemy on this one, Danny.’

  Dan had to say something – he couldn’t just let Joe’s insecurity win. ‘It seems so unfair on both of you,’ he said, ‘if you can’t truly be straight.’

  Joe stared down at the grass and slowly nodded. ‘I know,’ he whispered. ‘That’s why I can’t talk about this to her.’ He rested the ball of his foot over a Poinciana pod and slowly cracked it in the dark.

  The porch light came on and Dan looked up. The screen door squeaked open and Ruth walked out to the railing. She looked down the stairs. ‘Dan?’ she said.

  ‘I’m here, darling,’ he said. ‘Near the garden.’ His voice was loud in the silence. ‘I’m with a friend.’

  Ruth waited, staring into the dark. He knew his business often troubled her and that her current expression was not good news. When he talked with Jay’s friends she always suspected a link with him. Perhaps, tonight, she wasn’t far wrong. She turned and slowly walked inside.

  Dan straightened. ‘I’m sorry, Joe,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ Joe said. ‘Never mind. I was just rambling.’

  Dan took the handle of the hoe. ‘You were not rambling,’ he said.

  Joe turned and his wide shoulders became silhouetted against the streetlight. ‘I guess I’ll get going,’ he said, gesturing at the road.

  ‘Yes… Yes, of course,’ Dan said. ‘But Joe, anytime… I am always here.’

  ‘Sure, Danny,’ he said, flicking his empty can a few times with his finger. ‘It’s good having you around.’ He reached out and the men shook hands then he started off for the hibiscus. Dan laid the hoe across the wheelbarrow and watched him going away. He was walking with a hunch, a little bit like a bricklayer carrying a bag of cement on his back. He stopped under the porch light and looked back. ‘You should get some oil on that squeaky gate,’ he said, pointing at the front.

  Dan smiled. ‘Ha, it’s fine like that,’ he said. ‘It gives me a warning when visitors arrive.’

  ‘He-he,’ Joe said. ‘I guess so.’ He waited, as if wanting to speak more. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘It was nice chatting with ya,’ and he slowly turned and headed away.

  Dan lifted the wheelbarrow and heard its wheel start to squeak. He looked up and his visitor was gone. The barrow was placed under the stairs and he stepped back onto the lawn. He stared at the corner of the house where Joe had disappeared. It was a pretty good guess, he thought, Joe hadn’t even told him the half of it.