*
Ella with her shoulders now thrown well back to accommodate her advanced pregnancy, made a full examination of the Book Maze, inspecting the building as if looking for signs of decay. Vivian followed her with apprehension. What impression would she make? And vice versa: what impression would she have of the bookshop?
Helen suspected that if Ella could have, she’d have x-rayed the shop to get a better picture. She hoped its problems were well hidden, and its occupants gave nothing of importance away.
Ella though, very easily extracted information from the bemused inhabitants; they surrendered easily to their inquisitor. After all, she wasn’t any old inquisitor; she was a young woman carrying an unborn child, and they felt she was vulnerable, needing to be protected, respected and comforted in every way. And if she was prickly or harsh, that was surely because she was not only incubating a baby, but transporting all the hormones that went with this arduous and momentous job.
She interrogated Helen about the running of the bookshop, and grilled Gabriel, indifferent to his status as a former boyfriend. She quizzed Jim, who blabbered nonsensically. But when Razoo grinned broadly on meeting her she was hypnotised. She gazed into the cavern where rows of broken and blackened stalactites and stalagmites crumbled. She gave him her card and a lecture on dental hygiene, as well as an offer of some free dental treatment, which, to her astonishment, he refused.
Ella wondered how Helen managed to stay unruffled, even calm, amongst all the chaos in the flat and shop. It was something Ella could never do. But perhaps having a family, and a few orphans, required that — anarchy — while at the same time it yielded warmth. Helen was a devoted mother who had a close relationship with both her sons. Ella didn’t think any child of hers could love her in the way Vivian appeared to love his mother.
Ella saw that the bookshop possessed a friendly atmosphere. She envied the ease and familiarity with which they all treated each other and their customers. If only she could replicate those qualities in her surgery. Ella wondered if it was trading in secondhand books that incited such casualness. Dentistry demanded a formal approach. People hated going to the dentist, and they never shied from telling her so. They hated the pain. And she hated inflicting it. And in that transaction a certain medical formality was obligatory.
Ella was determined to press her way through the maze, where halfway through she found Penny sorting out books in the Science section. She halted for an instant, just enough time for Penny to get in first. ‘I hear you’re a dentist. And you’ve got your own surgery.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Must be awesome.’
‘Challenging.’
‘You’d have to be pretty damn smart, I reckon.’
Penny’s youthfulness, openness and apparent lack of education disarmed Ella. The interrogator relaxed. ‘There’s gold in them there teeth.’
Penny frowned.
‘Money. Loads of money in bad teeth. Although you’ve a nice set,’ she commented.
‘Thanks.’ Penny nodded towards Ella’s huge stomach. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Going.’
‘You don’t sound too happy about it.’
‘Oh the pregnancy’s sort of okay. It’s once the baby’s out that’s got me freaked.’
Ella looked down, wanting to hide her uncertainty. She didn’t know the first thing about raising a child, or running a family. She knew of teeth and fillings, and running a surgery.
‘I’ve come to realise I’m not really into babies,’ she confessed. In Penny she saw something of herself and was instinctively drawn to her. She trusted Penny. And the feeling was mutual.
‘Me neither,’ Penny said, half laughing, but sympathetic.
‘At least you’re not pregnant. I look as though I’m giving birth to a hot air balloon,’ Ella remarked. ‘And to think I set out to get myself pregnant on purpose.’
‘Oh, and Vivian had nothing to do with it hey? You’ll be a great mum.’
‘No. I don’t think so,’ Ella blurted out, surprising Penny and surprising even herself as she heard her own voice admit failure. But it was with a sense of relief too because the anxiety within her was unbearable.
‘Give yourself time,’ said Penny.
Ella placed her hands on her rounded belly. ‘I’ve made a terrible mistake.’
‘No you haven’t,’ Penny said emphatically, looking concerned.
‘Really? I wanted a family. Now I don’t think it’s going to work.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because of the crazy way I put it together. Like I was constructing a building. This bit you put here …’ Ella’s voice trailed off as she examined the books more closely: such order, no mess there.
‘Families get put together in all sorts of ways,’ replied Penny. And destroyed, she thought.
‘More by accident than design,’ said Ella.
‘So what if you planned it all? You love Vivian, and that’s what counts.’
‘I don’t know if I do love him.’
Not having anticipated this reply, Penny was lost; she had assumed that like her, Ella was madly in love with her man. She struggled to respond to the woman who stood wretchedly before her. Her words of comfort were poor. ‘Worse things have happened.’
‘Like?’
Then suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, both women broke into laughter. It was either that or crying, and both knew which they preferred.
35
The bride had wanted a small wedding. Her mother was absent, but that didn’t seem to bother Ella, or the fact that she had no other relatives or friends present. And if she was troubled in any way, it did not show. She wore a navy blue maternity suit, and carried a bouquet of daffodils that Astrid had put together at the last minute.
The ceremony had been held in the church, much to Helen’s delight, Astrid’s tacit approval and Hendel’s immense satisfaction. And from the church they had walked to Astrid’s kitchen where, at her insistence, the reception was held.
Gabriel was best man and Penny was the sole bridesmaid.
Despite the shift in circumstance, Arnold could not have been happier. His eyes constantly strayed to Ella’s stomach. A bellyful of baby waiting to come out into the world, he thought as he grabbed a plate and piled it high with food from the kitchen table. But when he offered Ella the plate, her lips gave a twitch of discontent, and she carefully selected a wedge of watermelon from the pile. ‘I’m only having one baby, not a clan.’
Arnold was anxious about the welfare of his grandchild; it would be born starving. He said as much to Vivian who replied, ‘You’ve got to trust her. She’s a dentist who knows all about nutrition. Look, she’s worried about putting on weight.’
Arnold opened his mouth to argue further but Vivian cut him short. ‘It’s our wedding day, for Christ’s sake. How about you go and take some more photos.’
Helen, watching Ella, saw a verbal express, stopping for no one who got in her way. She wondered what it was that gave such velocity to her words. Why did she talk so much? Was she nervous? Curiously, Ella said nothing of her pregnancy and impending motherhood.
Helen had to concede that Vivian appeared happy.
Vivian, watching his new wife’s every move, hearing her every word, looked stunned at his good fortune in having this beautiful, intelligent, articulate woman, pregnant with his child.
Helen fretted. Would this marriage last? Or give way as her marriage had? She hoped it would survive. Early in her marriage to Arnold, when it still had a feel, a look, smell of being new, she had thought their match was good. She felt she and Arnold made two bookends. Two rock solid bookends holding three books between them. Three lives. Two written. One blank.
*
That night, when Arnold arrived home after the wedding, he ambled from one vacant room to another in a reflective state. The rooms evoked images of a newly married couple with a young baby moving awkwardly in their first home together. He and Helen and Leif had once occupied this spac
e.
The house was spotless. He wandered into the kitchen, flicked on the light and stared at the humble kitchen table. Memories flowed: Helen washing Leif in a baby tub on this table; a young family eating meals around this table; Gabriel standing on this table as a toddler and jumping onto his father’s back for a ride around the house; Vivian sitting reading under this table.
He made his way to the lounge where he sat on the sofa, holding his camera, happy in the knowledge that he now possessed evidence of having a family.
*
Once the wedding party had scattered and the business of cleaning up had begun, Astrid took the opportunity to face Hendel. The truth was, she was scared of the foreigner her husband had become. Astrid’s confession came in bits and pieces. She drew it out from deep within, in short bursts, until there was nothing left.
And Hendel took each portion as if being fed poison. He moved around the lounge room picking up glasses and plates, his face going from white to grey before he dropped into one of the empty chairs and shut his eyes, the joy of the wedding day crushed from him.
Astrid told of the years and the money spent at the casino, though omitted her big win, and her gift to Helen.
He knew the burden of guilt was his. He had failed to give Astrid a child in the earlier years of their marriage, worse still he had refused to seek medical help. Through stubborn pride and a blind faith in God’s will he had put his marriage on a perilous course.
He knew as he sat in his lounge room with the coolness of night descending that his marriage was truly over. He didn’t even attempt to argue with Astrid; he was too weary from years of wedded loneliness. He hung his head as Astrid completed her account. Finally she pulled short. ‘Well?’
Hendel raised his head. ‘Well? There’s nothing for me to say.’
‘You don’t care?’
Hendel pushed himself from out of his seat and stood facing his wife. ‘I’ll put the house on the market in the morning. Time we went our separate ways. I’m going to the church, just to make sure everything is locked up.’
Astrid knew the church was already locked up. She understood Hendel wanted to escape, to hide from her, to nurse their collective failure. She stood zombie-like at her kitchen sink, washing dishes, drying dishes, and putting them away. It filled her with sadness to think that their marriage had become nothing more than a shackle, endless days of silent animosity.
Why had she let it run for so long? Because, she thought, that’s how it goes. When the familiarity of conflict is all you have, you stay, you just do. You wear discontentment because it has become comfortable. Until, if you’re fortunate enough, it simply falls away, like rotten fruit off a tree.
36
Like a rainbow lorikeet Astrid flew into the Book Maze where she chirped, screeched, and scratched about the flat with exhausting energy. She made a nest for herself on the top bunk in the third bedroom and feathered it with her pack of playing cards and dice. Not one pair of dice, but bags of dice waiting to rattle and roll. Then came the roulette wheel, blackjack table and the chocolate wheel. It was a regular family reunion, and these inhabited the living room.
Helen was stunned. She didn’t need more addictions around the place. Astrid’s status needed amending to ex-addict; her gambling must be substituted with something else. Of course, there was Ella and Vivian’s unborn child. They would need a baby sitter. Astrid felt she had a claim on this baby. Perhaps it could be realised if Ella agreed to Astrid minding her baby.
Better still — the cardboard box beneath the counter — the business side of the bookshop.
Astrid sat at the kitchen table with the cardboard box, making a lot of ominous sounds as she worked her way through the bits and pieces of paper.
Helen went and hid amongst the books downstairs but the newly appointed bookkeeper found her. Astrid was holding papers in both hands. ‘Irren ist menschlich.’
Helen frowned.
‘To err is human,’ translated Astrid. ‘But you cannot run your business out of a box.’
‘I just never had the time,’ replied Helen sheepishly.
‘Why didn’t you ask me earlier? Oh Helen, it’s too dangerous to run a shop in this way. How much money has the shop made this year? And how much money have you saved for your tax bill? And where are the books? For wages. For everything. And why didn’t you do your BAS statements? They are due every month. There will be fines.’
Helen was silent, unable to speak as she stood before the firing squad. The day of reckoning had arrived.
‘Helen, I need a proper office.’
‘How about a corner of the living room? I can fix it up today. But honestly Astrid, we will have to move some of your stuff …’
‘Of course. Give it away. Such rubbish.’
It was with a profound sense of relief that Helen made an office for Astrid in a corner of the living room with a desk, chair and lamp scrounged from around the flat. And once Astrid was ensconced in her office, Helen donated her gambling equipment to the local amateur dramatic society.
Astrid went at the books with great diligence, working long hours to set up a viable practice. Once things were running smoothly she came out of her shelter and wandered down into the bookshop to chat with the customers.
*
One night after dinner Helen managed to corner Jim who was fossicking around in one of the kitchen cupboards. She spoke to his hunched back. ‘Jim as you can see things are getting a little crowded here.’
He wrenched his neck around and darted a glance of wary concern in her direction before returning to his fossicking. ‘You know what your problem is,’ said Jim, spinning back to her clasping a can of baked beans.
Helen gritted her teeth. What a nerve! Eating my food and about to deliver useless advice.
Jim waved the can of baked beans at her. ‘You’re too bighearted. A soft touch. And now you’ve ended up with all these parasites. I could’ve told you that but I thought to myself, butt out Jim, this is Helen’s show, she doesn’t need your interference. So I’m glad you’ve finally come to me for advice.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ve got all the advice in the world,’ answered Helen with her heart thumping and her throat constricted. She knew what had to be done.
He looked directly at her. ‘There’s only one thing for it. Honesty. Tell them, up front. Tell ’em nicely to piss off. Penny’s a lovely girl though. Shame.’
All Helen could see was Jim’s red face, his mouth moving fast.
‘If you don’t mind me saying, that old Astrid’s a noisy bird; the sooner she goes the better.’
‘Mmm.’
‘You’re too nice, and these people are using you. Remember what I told you to say? Let’s do a practice run, eh?’
‘That’d be wonderful,’ said Helen.
Jim put his can of baked beans on the kitchen table then took Helen by the shoulders and pulled her towards him. ‘Stand here, in front of me like this. Christ, you’re a bit tense aren’t you.’
Helen stood before him, too close for her liking, but it had to be got through.
‘Right,’ said Jim. ‘Tell me to piss off.’
‘Piss off Jim,’ Helen said as calmly as she could.
‘Oh Helen, you can do better than that.’
‘Piss off Jim,’ Helen repeated loudly.
Jim clapped, ‘Good girl.’
Helen folded her arms. ‘Piss off Jim, tonight, out of this house.’
Jim realised with a jolt what Helen was saying. And felt nothing but profound humiliation. ‘Oh I see. Razoo’s gotten to you, hasn’t he? Twisted your ear. What’d he tell ya about me?’
‘You owe him money.’ As soon as Helen uttered these words she regretted it. Jim had gotten the better of her, and she’d let fly, exposing Razoo.
‘What’s it to you?’ snarled Jim.
‘I’d like you to leave. Or as you would say, piss off,’ Helen stated adamantly.
Jim chuckled, a low cruel snicker. ‘This shop is mine, I’m n
ot leaving. Not unless you happen to have the rest of my money, two hundred and sixty thousand.’
‘We agreed on three hundred and forty thousand for this shop. I don’t owe you another cent.’
‘I wasn’t of sound mind and body when we did that deal. So I’m staying until I get what’s rightfully mine.’
He was like a blowfly that never stops droning until it punctures your exposed arm. And needs a bloody great whack to kill it.
*
If Jim was a blowfly then Razoo was a butterfly whose reading was getting better by the day. Now he was reading without Helen’s constant assistance. ‘He’d been in the saddle eleven hours straight, outriding a snowstorm to reach Hardluck in mid afternoon …’
Helen looked proudly at her student. ‘That’s wonderful.’
Razoo’s thoughts were floating. ‘Wish I could have been a cowboy, sitting on a horse all day,’ he said indolently. ‘Instead of taking care of books.’
Helen tilted her head to one side. ‘Working with books isn’t that bad, is it?’
Razoo grunted. ‘Na, suppose not. When I first started I used to think that if I mucked around with books I’d turn into a clever dick. Ha! Trick is, got to read books to think better. But I couldn’t. Sell the blighters all right. Read them, no way. I was rotten at school. So I barely went,’ Razoo took a short breather. ‘It’s a weird inheritance all right.’
Helen picked up his hand, sandwiching it tenderly between hers. ‘Well you can certainly read now. But I think you’ve always been a much cleverer and better person than most people. You didn’t need to learn how to read to become a better person.’
Razoo shot her an expectant look, as if he wanted to ask her something.
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘There was something else.’ Razoo’s heart was palpitating wildly, and the feel of Helen’s hands around his great paw made him dizzy with joy.
The Bookshop on Jacaranda Street Page 22