Gabriel and Vivian stood speechless as their father, ignoring their catatonic state, rambled on. Arnold took a deep breath, pulled back his shoulders, struck his chest out and announced, ‘Continuous Garage Sale Here! Never thought I’d be saying those words …’
His sons were thinking the same. It was unimaginable.
He startled them out of their mannequin-like trances when he started again. ‘Tidying up a bit. Make a bit of space for Ella.’ He winked mockingly at Gabriel, adding. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll have the place looking better than a dental surgery.’ Arnold grinned before promptly switching his facial expression to solemn. ‘I couldn’t let you down son. If I’m to be a grandpop, sacrifices have to be made.’ He added weight to each word, making them land like punches. ‘What month is the baby due?’
This last question almost knocked Gabriel over. Vivian, sensing his brother’s inability to come up with an answer, did some rough sums and gave a hasty reply. ‘Well we’re now in October … baby’s due in February.’
‘What day?’ Arnold shot back, curious yet saddened to see Vivian run with Gabriel’s story.
‘Twelfth,’ answered Vivian.
Arnold stared straight at Gabriel before speaking. ‘Cat got your tongue, or something? Why’s Vivian doing all the talking? She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?
Gabriel stood with a blank look on his face.
Now, thought Arnold, now is the time to confess. Tell the truth Gabriel. He’d forgive his son in the blink of an eye if he came clean.
Gabriel gathered his wits and gave the reply he felt his father was looking for, ‘Yeah, for sure.’
Despite feeling weighted down with disappointment, Arnold continued. ‘Funny, I didn’t see her at the launch last night.’
‘Morning sickness, all day, every day.’
Arnold studied Gabriel for a moment, as if searching for something, but his son’s face revealed nothing. ‘We’ll have the place looking like a palace within three months, four tops,’ Arnold said cheerfully. Overly so.
Gabriel and Vivian meandered like casualties, intermingling with the derelict white goods and pensioned-off computers, so numerous Arnold had begun stacking them on top of one another. Nothing could have prepared the boys for this — the thing they had yearned for all their lives, a home that was a junk-free zone.
*
Arnold’s reputation for hoarding was legendary. So legendary that all it had taken was one phone call to a like-minded acquaintance, and the news was broadcast via numerous phone calls that galvanised the junk-collecting community of the southern suburbs. Overnight, word had spread far and wide about this garage sale, predicted by connoisseurs of junk to be the mother of all garage sales.
Cars were soon pulling up in front of the house to disgorge people sniffing for whatever was to be had. The crowds went barmy, climbing, crawling and fossicking among all of Arnold’s ventures and collections. The noise bought Gabriel and Vivian back to life. They watched their father scurrying about, calling out instructions to them. ‘Christ I haven’t even priced the stuff yet. Quick boys, help me. These people are going crazy.’
It was too good to be true. Gabriel and Vivian were astounded: a historical event was taking place before their eyes. Man landing on the Moon, Fall of the Berlin Wall; such world events paled to insignificance next to this astonishing event: MAN PARTS WITH LIFETIME’S JUNK.
Prices were made up, haggling commenced, items sold, money handed over, car boots stuffed with junk and driven away.
Gabriel and Vivian helped their father until sunset, until they could no longer move. Adrenalin had kept them awake and their hangovers on the back burner. But once the frenetic pace began to wane, their headaches, queasiness and exhaustion kicked in.
They made their way into the lounge room where they collapsed onto the floor. It was a lifetime’s habit, which they saw no reason to abandon. Besides, the sofas were still buried under stuff.
They closed their eyes for a five-minute nap.
*
The last customer had left, and Arnold, sensing that nightfall was closing in, went to collect his signs. He stood wistfully in front of his home, feeling wretched as he thought of all the things that had walked off the place that day. He was selling off his safety net. Getting rid of his oldest and most loyal companions.
He looked up at the vast night sky and spied a star, one star shining. He smiled, and entertained the thought that this star was Leif looking down at his old man. And that he would approve of Arnold selling his ventures and collections.
*
The interior of the house was already expanding in size and stature. Gaps were discernible. An endangered life form was emerging from near extinction, like tiny green buds after a fire has swept through a forest turning trees into blackened stumps. Where all hope of space and light had gone, it was reappearing.
Gabriel looked at Vivian sprawled on the floor next to him. ‘Ella doesn’t want to know about me.’
Vivian rolled carefully from his back onto his side to look at his brother stretched out on the floor. ‘Whose fault is that?’
‘I dunno. Mine, sort of, I guess.’
Vivian stared blankly as if he were miles away. In fact he was ruminating on Gabriel’s predicament.
‘You can see what Dad’s doing. It’s unbelievable. Now, if I don’t show up with the goods what do you think will happen?’ moaned Gabriel.
‘Nothing much I imagine,’ replied Vivian, who thought his brother was being a drama queen.
‘Shit no,’ Gabriel ranted. ‘This is my life on the line here, and all for the old man’s sake.’
‘Cut the dramatics. Honestly, if she’s a dentist, right, money’s not a problem. Why would she want to live here anyway?’ Vivian stalled, attempting to fathom the ridiculous story Gabriel had concocted. ‘I can’t believe Dad bought your dumb story.’
‘Nor can I.’ Gabriel paused as if trying to figure out an explanation. ‘It’s unbelievable what one little lie can do.’
‘Little?’ squeaked Vivian with disbelief.
‘Geez, who cares about the size of it, the important thing is that it’s working, isn’t it? I mean Dad has swallowed it because he wants to.’ Gabriel clamped his hands onto his head. ‘Man, have I ever painted myself into a corner. Didn’t figure that Mum wouldn’t back me.’
‘Mum’s not to blame.’
‘She ain’t supportive, or helping me.’
‘Why would she support a lie?’
Gabriel ignored this remark, and then with mournful eyes stared at Vivian.
‘No way,’ snapped Vivian.
‘All I want is one tiny favour, that’s all.’
‘What?’
‘Go and see Ella for me? Please.’
‘Why?’
‘Maybe we can get back together, make a baby.’
Vivian appraised his brother’s situation. It seemed pathetic.
‘What exactly did you do to her?’ said Vivian.
‘I accidentally backed over her Siamese cat. Killed it. She accused me of showing no remorse.’
‘Well? Did you?’
‘For freak’s sake it was a cat, Vivian!’ Gabriel exploded. ‘You want to know why she was really shitty with me though? Because I wouldn’t buy her a new Siamese kitten. Got her a stripy cat, for free. She wouldn’t even look at it. Money means everything to that woman. Her old lady’s filthy rich, gave her the cash to buy her own surgery. She calls it the Tooth Fairy. Can you believe it? Talk about a stupid name. And everyone has to call her Doctor Ipp. Doctor! What an ego!’
‘Ipp,’ said Vivian. He ran his tongue along his teeth until he found the hole where his molar had once sat. ‘It sounds like you can’t stand the woman. I think you’re crazy to even think about having a baby with her.’
‘Vivian, do I have to beg you?’
‘Even if she was interested, you can’t come up with a baby in the next three months. Give it a rest.’
‘Please, I’ll beg.’
&n
bsp; ‘Okay, where does she live? I’ll go pay her a visit.’
Gabriel sat up, momentarily speechless. He hadn’t expected Vivian to cooperate.
‘Grove Street, number 5.’
‘What’ll I say?’
‘Okay, try this, Vivian my man. Tell her I’m sorry and that I want to fuck her so as to get her pregnant. No pleasure involved. Breeding only. For sure she’ll want to marry me. Love me for the rest of our lives. And we’re all going to live with my father who is fast turning his house into one giant dental surgery.’
‘Quit being the smart-arse, what am I going to say to her?’
‘That I can’t stomach her.’
‘Try and be more cooperative.’
‘Right,’ said Gabriel with renewed urgency. ‘Tell her, tell her … that I’m full of remorse for my terrible behaviour. I still love her; in fact I’m dying, dying inside. Tell her I’ve lost a ton of weight and that I left the army because of her, and now I’m lost, and only she can save me.’
*
Mr Cooke sat rigid, forced back into the dental chair by Ella drilling away at his rotten tooth. ‘Brush and floss, or they’ll rot! You hear me!’ she yelled above the screeching drill.
Mr Cooke closed his eyes and thought of the car he’d most like to have. A four-wheel drive. He saw himself driving in the outback across red earth, through low scrub, sleeping out beneath an expanse of night sky and stars.
But his dream was cut short as Ella tugged at his right ear, ‘Wake up, rinse, and I’m telling you for the last time — brush those damn teeth of yours, and stop eating junk food, because you’ve got more fillings now than a plateful of sandwiches.’
Mr Cooke sat up apologetically, took a gulp of mouthwash, rinsed and spat, mindful of Doctor Ipp’s watchful eye.
Ella stood staring at him, slapping her hand with his dental card. ‘You’ll end up a toothless old man, you know. And it’ll be your poor wife who has to chew your food for you, and then spit it into a ball for you to swallow.’
Mr Cooke gave a crippled grin.
Ella knew that Mr Cooke wasn’t in the least bit interested in his teeth. And it annoyed her, for teeth were a vital component in mankind’s survival. And not to be taken for granted.
‘You can go now, see the receptionist. Next appointment in a month’s time.’
*
It was evening and Arnold sat at his kitchen table reflecting on the fact that he was now fifty years of age. A fact his doctor had reminded him of while telling him that it was high time he took some responsibility for his own health. Arnold cringed; the doctor had spoken to him like he was some imbecile. He’d only gone there for his gout, but ended up having a full body check and lecture, and worse, having to pay for the bloody insult.
He thought of the night before when, in the semi-darkness, he had lined up his substantial collection of mirrors and paraded naked in front of them with the assurance of a man who knows he is completely alone (Gabriel had gone out for the night), and that his physical condition will hold no surprises. Arnold had believed he still had the body of a twenty year old.
But a rude shock was lying in ambush, and when it sprang, Arnold’s house did not seem so unoccupied. Instead it swam with obese middle-aged men. Kilos of white fatty flab, acres of sagging skin, forests of bristly grey hair, and uncountable blemishes, warts and moles. A stranger had invaded and taken over his once splendid body. He swivelled around, thinking the mirrors must be wrong. He realigned them in varying and ingenious angles, but they all reflected the same image. Like the wicked stepmother, Arnold felt bitterness at the mirrors’ betrayal. He had been kind to them. Saved them from a shattered ending. His kindness had not been reciprocated.
He could not get the images of himself out of his head. He sat at his evening meal, darkly ruminating on the treacherous reflections, as he quaffed a bottle of cheap red wine and huffed into several hot meat pies with heavy lashings of tomato sauce. The mirrors had, he was convinced, grossly exaggerated. Perjured liars the lot of them. He looked down at his rounded belly and gave it a pat. The mirrors would have to go.
Funny, he thought, how easy it was now for him to part with his ventures and collections. Where once he had kept a vice-like grip on everything, now he couldn’t get it out the door fast enough. Or was it that his ventures and collections had a hold on him? They had given him enormous comfort over the years. It was like the parting of a great friendship.
18
Helen and Vivian sat behind the counter waiting. Waiting for a customer to walk through the door. At nine-thirty a.m. a young woman entered and glanced nervously at the people staring intently at her from behind the counter. Deciding they meant no harm, she edged her way into the maze and shortly afterwards came out holding two books.
Helen stepped forward, smiling in readiness for the patter, the exchange of book talk and money.
The young woman spoke first, the words gushing out. ‘You’ve got an awesome romance section in there. I’ve got, let me see, What my Heart Desires and Love at Low Tide. Great hey?’ She waved the books in front of Helen.
Helen opened her mouth but nothing came out. How could she speak while choking on sheer surprise? Her voice box garrotted by the words the young woman had uttered so ecstatically.
Vivian came to her rescue. ‘My mother is a mute, grumpy too.’
‘A mute?’ The young woman pronounced the word cautiously, as if apprehensive of what a mute might do.
Vivian prattled on. ‘She got caught out in the wind when she was a little girl, it was blowing a gale and she had this fearsome look on her face. Her mother and father had warned her. But no … stubborn as,’ he said stabbing his thumb towards his mother.
‘Vivian, stop it!’ scolded Helen, then looked to the young woman. ‘Joke,’ she said flatly.
‘Oh, I see, you’re not a mute at all.’ She sounded disappointed.
‘Sorry,’ said Helen.
Vivian had calculated the cost of the books. ‘That’ll be sixteen dollars please.’
The young woman rummaged through a large shoulder bag, producing two crumpled five-dollar notes, a half empty bubble-pack of headache tablets, a train ticket, a health care card, an empty water bottle, a hair brush with a mat of black hair caught in its bristles and a tampon in its clear cellophane wrapper, all of which she placed on the counter. Vivian could feel the heat of his mother’s temper.
The young woman gave Helen a cautious glance and then looked to Vivian for help. ‘ I’ve got the rest here somewhere.’ She laughed a strained and pleading noise as she tipped her bag of its remaining contents onto the floor. Amongst the half eaten apple, flyers, notebook and biro she picked out six one-dollar coins, which she handed Vivian.
Helen gave a restrained smile.
The young woman quickly repacked her shoulder bag. ‘This has made my day. I’ll be back!’ she cried as she hugged the books to her chest, lifted her eyebrows and smiled at Vivian, careful to avoid eye contact with Helen. ‘And I just love your maze. Great idea.’ She was looking earnestly at Vivian as though it was his idea. ‘It’s like life isn’t it? A maze.’ The young woman smiled shyly at her own observation before departing from the shop.
Helen was astonished. Vivian was pleased as he smoothed out the five-dollar notes. He turned to his mother. ‘Like I said, crap sells.’
Helen was silent. Vivian had been right, crap sold, and for now he was happy.
Shortly afterwards a woman with a herd of kids came in, sniffing about while her children ran amuck. She was short and squat, in fact looked to Helen uncannily like a bright-eyed frog. She too disappeared into the maze, to reappear with an armload of crime novels, which she dumped on the counter. Looking straight at Helen she whined, ‘Haven’t got many kids’ books, have you?’
Helen felt the children’s accusing eyes upon her.
Again, Vivian came to the rescue. ‘My apologies, it’s such a small section, but we’ve only just opened. We’ll definitely have more books for the kiddies nex
t week.’
The woman put her hand to her glasses. ‘Listen, I’m a single mum, and there’s not much money in that. I’m not complaining here, just explaining.’ She paused. ‘You do credit?’
‘No, I’m afraid not,’ answered Vivian.
The woman curled her bottom lip as if contemplating her next move. ‘How about knockin’ a few bucks off these then.’
Vivian turned to his mother who nodded. He added the prices on each book. ‘That’s sixty dollars. I’ll knock off ten dollars, makes it fifty.’
‘Fifty bucks! Bloody hell,’ howled the woman.
‘You’ve got a lot of books there.’
She looked aggrieved as though discriminated against yet again. ‘Okay, I’ll just take these,’ she announced wearily as she weeded out two. ‘Do I still get my discount?’
‘Sure, I can knock off four dollars for you,’ replied Vivian.
‘Four dollars,’ said the single mum as if rinsing her mouth with the coins, weighing them up and then spilling them out. ‘Better than a poke in the eye with a burnt stick, I suppose,’ she uttered as she paid. Then collecting her books, she huffed out of the shop followed by her children who were complaining at having to leave empty-handed.
‘It’s time to get a bigger children’s section or we’ll have a lynch mob on our hands,’ Vivian said as his gaze followed the rabble progressing down the street.
‘I’ll go pay Razoo a visit,’ said Helen.
Vivian picked up on her disappointment; their very first customers had been a common lot. He turned to her, a sermon on his lips. ‘Mum, what were you expecting? Royalty? This is a second-hand bookshop. Meaning, we sell cheap books, which equals poor and even uncivilised customers. Get over it, because their money is still good. And at least they’re readers.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No.’
‘Well I’ve got something to say.’
‘Speak.’
‘We need to introduce a scheme whereby people can bring in books for cash or credit.’
‘Credit only Mum, we can’t afford cash.’
The Bookshop on Jacaranda Street Page 12