The Bookshop on Jacaranda Street

by Marlish Glorie

  Helen, shaking her head, put her hands on Gabriel’s shoulders and shook him. ‘I’ve left him. I’ve left the house. And I’ve left all the crap behind. Can’t you see? I am starting a new life.’

  ‘I just thought …’ Gabriel spluttered like an engine running on empty. He was shaken. She really meant it. There was no going back for her. What the hell was he doing?

  Helen continued. ‘You are so young. And this is a cruel, cruel thing to do to your father. It’s just the sort of thing he would want, a baby in the house. But even so, I mean it when I say I don’t think it’s going to get him to move one scrap of junk.’

  Gabriel studied her in hurt silence, his expression accusing her of betrayal.

  Helen was between a rock and a hard place. She got up and walked downstairs and around her yet-to-be-renovated bookshop. Hadn’t she just left all her troubles behind? Hadn’t she just ploughed through a great deal of anguish and, with some amazing luck, set herself up with the bookshop she’d always dreamed of? What was happening? Obviously, she concluded wryly, marriage to a hoarder is a thing for life; it never ends, the accumulation of worries matching the accumulation of junk.

  11

  Ignited by his son’s good news, Arnold blazed with hope and purpose. He tingled with happiness. Trust Gabriel to give him a grandchild. A lifeline. He would never admit it but Gabriel was his favoured son, and never more so than now. With Vivian, he was constantly refocusing, trying to understand his youngest son, this quiet young man whose nose was perpetually in a book, a faraway land that held no interest for his father. Vivian, with his moods and silences, belonged to his mother.

  Now was the time for all his ventures and collections to come to fruition. Time to cash in. He could hear the chink of coins, the rustle of notes. Surveying the wealth around him he chortled with glee. He would of course divide up the proceeds evenly, four ways, his two sons, Helen and himself. He would not leave Helen out. He bore her no malice. He knew things happened in a marriage to throw it off kilter.

  He pranced in a jaunty walk around the kitchen. He stopped, and considering his bulk, managed a neat little dance. It wasn’t enough; he needed to broadcast his news. Unable to control his happiness he half ran, oblivious to the pelting rain, to Astrid’s, even though he had barely said two words to her in as many years. But he had to tell someone.

  He banged away at the front door, and wondered, while he waited, why Gabriel had kept Ella such a secret.

  A small thing. Silly detail. He suddenly realised Helen might be at Astrid’s. That would be awkward. He had sworn to himself not to follow her here. Still, this was an excuse if ever there was one.

  Suddenly Astrid was at the door, peering at him suspiciously.

  ‘Helen’s not here,’ she said, straightaway.

  ‘No, no, no. Gabriel’s going to have a baby,’ he blurted out.

  Astrid ushered him into the kitchen and onto a chair as if she had been preparing for this moment for a lifetime. ‘Who is the mother, and when is the baby due?’ Before Arnold could utter another word, Astrid’s fantasies unfolded into plans at lightning speed, as though they had been drawn up and approved years before by an architect of uncompromising precision.

  ‘They must all come and live here. These new mums are very modern, but they don’t know anything. Are her family close by?’ She gave Arnold no chance to reply, but raced on, ‘I don’t mind if it’s a home birth. I can help. Why, Arnold, I was born at home, before it was alternative, or mattered. I’m so happy. A baby! I will buy a brand new cot. And a bath. I love to have a baby here. Thank God you came to see me. You know once the baby is born you can visit as often as you like.’

  Arnold felt his face tightening and his heart pounding. He stared at Astrid; she stared back. Words started to form in his mouth. They felt like gravel. He had no taste for fighting, but it had to be done.

  ‘Astrid, I think the baby will be better living with its grandfather.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Yes. Me.’

  ‘You cannot have a young mother and a newborn baby living in your house.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because, Arnold, your house is a ghetto, a slum, not fit for anyone to live in, let alone a beautiful little baby.’ Astrid held back for a second as if deciding something. ‘It will catch diseases.’

  Arnold went pale. ‘Diseases?’ His voice was trailing. He combed his beard with his fingers, uncertain of what to say next.

  ‘No, that’s not what I meant.’ Astrid caught herself, but it was too late, and she knew it. She held her arms open and flexed her fingers as a sign of apology. The gesture however was lost on Arnold.

  He had had enough of fighting. Astrid had given him a mortal blow, a king hit. He couldn’t take another. One round and he was down for the count. He dare not ask for an elaboration about diseases. He knew what she was on about — Leif. Yet despite the bruising he raised his head and said, ‘You think my house is a ghetto, a slum?’

  Astrid gave a heavy sigh. ‘Yes. Why, you think Home Beautiful wants to do a feature on your pigsty? What do you think I have been seeing out of my kitchen window all these years? The Taj Mahal?’

  Arnold winced, too stunned to speak in the face of Astrid’s outburst. He had expected warm, hearty, congratulatory words.

  She was relentless.

  ‘What do you think I have been looking at, Arnold?’ Astrid gestured towards the large window facing her neighbour’s house. The curtains were drawn back, held by lace bows. ‘A mountain of rubbish, that’s what. You should know all about it, you made it.’

  Arnold sat, silent.

  ‘It’s for the best that Gabriel and his young family stay here in my house.’ She paused a moment. ‘With me.’

  Arnold made his way back home slowly through the pouring rain like a man doomed. He had already lost Leif, Helen, Vivian. It would be too much to lose Gabriel and his girlfriend, but above all — his grandchild. His life was unravelling fast. Despite his best efforts to provide, to be a loving husband and father, he had failed.

  Drenched to the bone he sat in the lounge room. Next to him was a box of old tennis balls. He lifted out a ball aged into a pale tufted brown and held it in his hands, deep in thought. There was plenty of money in all this, if he sold it. He began to do a mental list and started to feel overwhelmed, having little idea he’d accumulated so much. And what variety! His stash of ashtrays was worth a fortune by his reckoning. And his stockpile of religious artefacts and Bibles ought to give him a quid or two. And his assemblage of lampshades. He hesitated; who’d buy those? A smart person, he reasoned. Half a roomful of lampshades was an excellent investment.

  If making the place like a dental surgery guaranteed that Gabriel, Ella and the baby all lived here, then so be it. Maybe Helen would return too. Or was that asking for too much?

  He would prove Astrid wrong. His home was not a ghetto or slum where diseases lurked, ready to pounce on an innocent grandchild. He threw the tennis ball against a box, and then lifted another from its cardboard nest and threw it hard, sending it ricocheting around the room. He sent another tennis ball flying, and another, until the room was a swarm of rubber bullets. He intended serving Astrid more than a couple of aces. Show his neighbour with her empty house and vacant head that he was well capable of keeping his family together.

  ‘Forty love,’ he yelled. ‘Game to me! I’ll keep that woman’s mitts off my family.’

  The tennis balls bounced back and pooled around him as if telling him he was right.

  12

  Astrid was washing Helen’s face with kisses and tears and hugging her before she even got out of the car. It was late, past seven, and Helen was tired after a long day at the shop.

  Astrid’s unexpected reception was wearisome.

  Vivian walked past them into the house; displays of overly ripe emotion made him shy away.

  ‘A new baby! You will be a grandmother. And they are all going to live here!’ Astrid cried, still holding onto He
len as they entered the kitchen.

  ‘How did you find out?’ said Helen, releasing herself from Astrid’s grip.

  ‘Arnold came and told me.’

  ‘Arnold?’

  ‘Yes.’ Astrid began to wipe her tears away. Helen’s tone was sobering her up.

  ‘Arnold was in this house?’ Helen’s eyes were piercing. ‘He was in this house talking with you?’

  Astrid swatted Helen’s questions away. ‘Aren’t you excited about the baby?’

  Helen’s face was blank with despair. Gabriel had lit a fuse running straight to a powder keg. His plan was already causing explosions, casualties. Arnold, who had always detested Astrid, was now talking to her.

  ‘You don’t seem very excited.’ Astrid was trying to figure out her friend’s train of thought.

  ‘I’m tired Astrid. It’s a lot to take in.’

  ‘Helen, I can’t believe this. Is it because your grandchild will be born out of wedlock? Or that its grandparents are separated? Are you scared this baby will be born into scandal? All nonsense. Under my roof that baby has nothing to fear. There will be no gossip.’

  Helen shut her eyes briefly; this wasn’t a time for hesitation or hedging, but plain straight talking. ‘No Astrid, there is no baby. It’s a lie. Gabriel lied to Arnold.’

  Astrid’s cheeks warmed. ‘No. Gabriel would never do such a thing.’

  ‘Oh no? My son isn’t a saint. You know that. Him and his harebrained schemes. Like going into the army, how silly was that when he was always such a non-conformist? I’m ashamed to say it, but Gabriel has no qualms about lying.’

  ‘Not this time, Gabriel would not lie about a baby. It’s you lying now!’

  Helen stood motionless. Surprised that she wasn’t surprised by Astrid’s reaction. Astrid wanted this baby as much as Arnold, if not more.

  Summoning up the last scraps of strength she had left within her, she spoke softly. ‘Why would I lie about such a thing?’

  ‘Because you don’t want me to look after the baby. And you don’t want to see Arnold happy!’ Astrid said triumphantly.

  Helen flinched, shocked at how quickly the conversation had taken a nasty turn. She decided it wasn’t worth arguing further. She didn’t want to damage her relationship with Astrid. If Astrid wanted to believe in a lie, so be it.

  ‘I might go to the church for a while,’ she said in such a way that Astrid knew she had been excluded.

  Astrid was at a loss as she watched Helen walk out the door. The boom gates had gone down. Helen didn’t want this baby. How strange, but then again, thought Astrid, Helen was under a great deal of stress. She sat at the kitchen table feeling wretched. Her day had started off so wonderfully.

  Helen had always shared everything with Astrid. Now, suddenly, at this crucial time, she was being shut out. How could her friend abide sitting in that tiny church all alone in that silent, sanctimonious, stagnant air, after hearing such news.

  Helen’s response had been downright bizarre — accusing Gabriel of lying! It aroused suspicion in Astrid. Then suddenly it occurred to Astrid. Why of course, Helen wanted the family at the bookshop, or maybe she wanted Arnold to have them staying with him. One thing was certain: Helen did not want Astrid to have the baby. Why else had she rushed off to the church without a word of explanation?

  She sat at her kitchen table, sliding her hand up and down the smooth green formica. Worn and familiar, it offered some comfort, but not enough to quieten her troubled thoughts. Having the young family stay with her was not to be. She was not a member of their family. No matter how much she did for them, or how good she was to them, or how much she loved them, nothing would give her membership to their exclusive club.

  Soon she would lose Helen. And Vivian. There was no way of stopping them. She knew she would miss them badly, she already did. They were at the bookshop all day, every day, and each evening they brought back the smell of the bookshop with them. And each stage of the restoration conveyed a different smell. She dreaded the day when they would return from their work smelling of nothing.

  Helen had invited both her neighbours to come to the bookshop. But to Astrid, books held no interest. She considered reading a solitary pursuit, and if there was one card game she hated it was solitaire. She felt a sudden urge to go to the casino, a destination she hadn’t been to since Helen had moved in.

  *

  Helen sat in a pew, hopeful that the sacred church air would settle her sense of panic; it didn’t.

  She heard the back door open and assumed it was Astrid coming with a new torrent of questions. However the footsteps were heavy and torchlight shone across the church catching Helen in its beam. The unexpected company was Hendel.

  He quickly lowered his torch. ‘I do apologise for disturbing you. I was going to lock up, but please stay … I’ll come back later.’ The torch beam formed a pool of bright light around his feet and left his face partially eclipsed in darkness.

  ‘Thank you,’ Helen sighed. ‘It’s good to sit here in the dark.’ It didn’t feel odd to be speaking with Hendel in the dark, in fact it felt restful.

  ‘Is everything all right Helen?’

  ‘Yes, of course. How about you?’

  ‘Oh fine, fine,’ he replied. ‘It’s wonderful to have you and Vivian staying with us.’ He hesitated for some moments. ‘I saw Gabriel today. He hasn’t changed.’

  Helen began to feel alarmed. Had Gabriel told Hendel about expecting a baby? ‘Yes, Gabriel’s a regular comedian,’ she said. ‘What did he have to say for himself?’

  Hendel laughed, ‘Everything. He told me all about the army. He’s an engaging fellow, that Gabriel,’ said Hendel with great affection. ‘You have two wonderful sons. It must be good to have them back home.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course it is. They’re still a handful though, even now. They’re taking their time growing up.’

  ‘Better to have your sons Helen, even if they are a handful, than nothing,’ said Hendel, his face etched with sadness. Or regret. In the dim light it was hard to tell. He continued to speak. ‘And as for growing up … well, I am no expert.’

  He stood there silent for a second longer as if wanting to say more, but then turned towards the altar, as if unsure which way to go, then left the way he had come.

  *

  Arnold studied the grasshopper collection he’d been given on Mr Doover’s death some years before. Mr Doover’s relatives had insisted that Arnold was the most worthy recipient of fourteen framed displays of dead grasshoppers, which had all yellowed and become tinder dry over time.

  Feeling swamped by the enormity of the job ahead, he rubbed his forehead. Gabriel was right next to him going through boxes of costume jewellery.

  ‘How are we ever going to move all this shit?’

  ‘Ventures and collections, son.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  Arnold trained his gaze onto Gabriel. ‘Where are we now? Mid-August. Your girlfriend, Ella, she’ll be twelve weeks pregnant by now. When do I get to see her?’

  ‘Not before you start moving this crap. I can’t bring her here like this — where would she sit?’ He flung out an arm and promptly knocked a pile of boxes to the floor. ‘How about a continuous garage sale.’

  Arnold rubbed his forehead again. ‘A continuous garage sale? Maybe,’ he muttered, for his thoughts were still circling around Ella and why Gabriel was keeping her hidden.

  ‘Great. Let’s start now. Right now!’

  Gabriel’s command startled Arnold out of his musings, ‘What? Ah, once I’ve catalogued —’

  ‘No. No. No. And No! Sell it! A continuous garage sale. It’s easy, slap up half a dozen trestles. Few signs. Bingo!’

  ‘Gotta see what we’ve got first.’

  ‘Quit stuffing around!’ Gabriel yelled. ‘No cataloguing. No sorting. No farewell parties. Just throw it out there for the hungry gatherers of useless items and rake in the dosh.’

  Arnold was lost. The thought unnerved him. ‘We shouldn’t rush t
hings.’

  ‘Rush things! I’ve got a pregnant girlfriend!’

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure to leave you alone. I’m off to watch TV.’

  It bothered Arnold that he hadn’t yet seen Ella. He’d like to see the evidence with his own eyes. Maybe she was just spinning Gabriel a story to make him marry her. Or maybe it was Gabriel spinning him a line. But he didn’t want to doubt it, he’d had a gutful of reality; it was too awful.

  13

  Armed with an arsenal of cleaning products, cloths, buckets, ladder and tools, Helen went at the old building with the relentless force of a prosecution lawyer hammering a witness under cross-examination. The grubby bookshop’s defence was meagre and came to pieces under Helen’s scrutiny, surrendering up its filth to her tireless hands.

  The irony that she had left one dump to land in another did not escape her. But this time she was free to do as she pleased; for once, junk was subordinate to her. And she didn’t want Vivian’s help; she wanted this job, she’d earned the right to throw out whatever and however she pleased.

  The scraping sound of the giant skip bin being delivered on the pavement was like a cannon going off. The moment she heard it, she ran. Starting from the top floor, she threw, flung, dropped, tossed and dragged everything out, without a backward glance, into the giant skip.

  Vivian hid as items flew, emerging only when she started to throw out the books. He argued for clemency. Denied. The books were grubby and damaged beyond repair. Vivian went into hiding, this time with a small pile of books he’d managed to salvage. His mother had become a whirling dervish of astonishing power. She asked his help only to carry the larger pieces of furniture and white goods out into the giant skip bin.

  There was to be no plea-bargaining for any object. No reductions of sentence, no mercy. Every object was guilty. Helen quickly filled the bin, then another four in succession, emptying the store of its shoddy contents and fittings within two days.

  Vivian sat reading on the bathroom floor, with his back against the wall, and heard her ripping up the threadbare carpet and the old linoleum. Heard her wrench the boards from the windows. Heard her cursing and swearing until her voice mellowed into song.