by Jaap Robben
“And I did. Sent him packing because he’d had … enough to drink. And then he lost it.”
“You know we gave him a week to come up with that money,” Henri says. “And he lied about your brother only staying a few days. Well, now we find out he’s been pocketing our share of the tenant’s rent. Nothing but trouble, that dad of yours.”
“Started hurling abuse,” Jean chimes in. “Calling us … filthy bastards. Calling the tenant … a pervert. Threatened to … set off fireworks … under his caravan.”
“And did he?”
They shake their heads in unison.
“That’s when we dragged him over to the dog cage.”
“And what happened to your eye? Was there a fight?”
“Let’s just say he didn’t … go quietly.”
“But by the time we threw him in there, he was already well gone.”
“Feffe … feffe …”
“Watch out,” Jean warns, but Lucien has managed to grab another bottle and proceeds to smash it on the floor. He has stepped in broken glass and his foot stamps blood on concrete. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Here.” Jean tosses me the key ring. “I want them back.”
Henri starts sweeping up the splinters. “It’s nothing against you.”
“What does that mean?”
Jean looks at Henri. “We’re sorry, Brian.”
“What?”
Lucien is getting impatient.
“Your dad is going to pay what he owes us. And then he can clear off out of here.”
“Where to?”
“You’ll have to ask him that. The three of you have got to go. This is no place for you and your brother.”
-
44
As soon as I helped him out of the dog cage, he jumped in the pickup and drove straight to the bank. The slamming door when he got back told me all I needed to know.
“Nothing on my account. Zero!”
“How can there be nothing?”
“Santos promised me the transfer was on its way. So where’s the bloody money? Riddle me that.”
He flings open the kitchen cupboards and grabs an old food mixer. Blows dust off a couple of bowls.
“What are you going to do now?”
“There’s a car boot sale in a village the other side of Saint Arnaque.” He picks up Lucien’s box of Duplo.
“Wait! He likes those cars, they help calm him down.”
But Dad’s already out the door, box under his arm. He comes back for the drill. And the old bread box that holds the drill bits.
“But you only borrowed that …” I say, trying not to rile him.
“Yeah, from those fuckers.”
“Do we have to move house?”
Dad scans the contents of the cupboards under the sink.
“They told me we have to clear off.”
“Not bloody likely. I’ve been sent packing once too often in my life.”
He dangles Rita’s collar from his pinkie for a second, then tosses it back onto the kitchen counter. Sees Lucien’s bedpan and shoves it in the bag with the drill.
“But that’s not ours.”
“What’s not ours?”
“The bedpan.”
“They gave us a bedpan?”
“You ticked it off on that list.”
“Lucien wears nappies. What do we want with a bedpan?” I follow him into our bedroom. He snatches the radio alarm clock. The cable swings behind it like a tail, whacking the plug against everything it passes. His eyes settle on Lucien.
“How much could we get for him?”
Dad doesn’t think it’s funny. “I’m doing what I can here, Bry.”
I stand in front of my desk to hide my comics. Dad charges into my room and his eyes flit across my things. He picks up my old Olympique Lyonnais shirt from the floor and stuffs it into the bag with the bedpan. Catches sight of my old football boots. “Aw, Dad, no …” I plead. He’s already carried them off. Not that they fit me anymore, but they were the last birthday present from Mum. “From Didier too,” she said when she gave them to me. He was outside in the car waiting for her.
Nothing in Dad’s room is worth shit, but he looks anyway. On his way out the door he pockets Rita’s collar after all. “I’ll be back around noon.”
“Can’t we come with you?”
“Your brother’s bad for sales.”
“I’ll keep him quiet, promise. I could take him for a ride in his wheelchair.”
“Half the customers will be too busy gawping at Lucien to buy anything. The other half will look the other way.”
When Dad’s gone, I hope the power will come back on, so I can take a warm shower. It doesn’t.
-
45
“Look. Lucien’s walking.”
“All the way over here?” Emile acts like he cares, but he won’t let us in.
“His foot’s bleeding.”
Emile opens his door a little further. “Show me.” Like an old nag in need of shoeing, Lucien lets me lift his foot.
“That doesn’t look good.”
“He stood on some glass. I was hoping it might heal by itself.”
For a moment I’m afraid Dad has doubled back, but the sound of the passing car dies away. Emile comes out of his caravan holding a toilet bag and pulls out a roll of bandage. “Shouldn’t he be wearing shoes?”
“Yeah, I forgot.”
He takes a close look at the sole of Lucien’s foot. “This doesn’t look good at all.”
“It’s my fault, I wasn’t paying enough attention.”
“I don’t think you could have prevented this.”
“Why not?”
“You do what you can. A boy like your brother hurts easily. It would take a thick coat of fur to save his skin. Without you, Lucien would have been all cuts and bruises by now.”
He goes back inside for a bowl of water and a towel. We rinse Lucien’s foot clean and pat it dry. “This is going to sting,” Emile murmurs and sprinkles a few drops of Betadine on the cuts.
“I’m sorry about last night.”
Emile acts like he hasn’t heard me.
“For what my Dad said to you.”
From a side pocket of the toilet bag he removes a roll of sticky tape the colour of plasters. He tears off an awkward strip.
“I said I’m sorry.”
“I heard you.”
“Well?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Suit yourself.”
Emile focuses on taping up Lucien’s foot, then says, “I told you those things in confidence.”
“What happened to ‘I don’t want to talk about it’?”
All the fiddling with his foot is starting to make Lucien restless.
“I expected better of you. And your father seemed very …”
“What?”
“Perhaps it’s time to find myself another place.”
“I said I was sorry. And Dad was drunk.”
Emile checks that the bandage is tight enough.
“Besides, you said things too. Things you weren’t supposed to say. About Selma. And that you helped me with my brother.”
He looks me in the eye for the first time today. “I thought your father knew all that.”
Lucien shakes his taped-up foot. The bandage seems to bother him more than the cut did.
“So does that make us even?”
“I apologize. I didn’t give it enough consideration.”
Emile holds out his hand and I shake it.
“I still have something for you.” He goes back into his caravan. He must be the only tenant we’ve had who wipes his feet every time.
With no warning, Lucien grabs my ear and twists it hard.
“Let go, let go, let go!” It hurts all the way down to the roots.
From inside the caravan, I hear a dull thud and a cupboard door slam.
“Ow!” I have to bend Lucien’s wrist to breaking point.
Emile reappears just as Lucien lets go. “Are you okay?”
My ear throbs to the touch.
“Cartilage can usually take a bit of punishment.” He takes a closer look. “From what I can see it’s still firmly attached.”
Lucien’s attention has wandered again. He’s spotted the aquarium through the caravan window and seems to be hypnotized.
“Your opened your curtains.”
Emile nods. “Here. For you.” He hands me a square parcel. “As promised.”
“For me? So you’re not angry anymore?”
“Go on, open it.”
It’s tightly wrapped in coloured paper. He’s even written my name on it, like he’s got a bunch of presents tucked away and needs to tell them apart.
“Looks like a book,” I say. “But that’s not a present …” I tear off the paper.
“I saw it on the shelf and I thought of you.”
“Pocket Medical Dictionary,” I read aloud.
“You were asking me all those questions about Lucien’s medicine and I didn’t know the answers. If you don’t like it, you can give it to someone else.”
“No, I do, I do.” I want to act like I think it’s great, so I flick through the pages looking for something nice to say. “It looks really, really interesting.”
Emile jumps. Lucien’s hand is grabbing at his shoulder.
“If he’s annoying you, just push his hand away.”
“No, no. It’s no problem. Took me by surprise, that’s all.”
Lucien pulls us over to see the aquarium. He bangs the window so hard I’m afraid he’ll smash it.
“Maybe we should take a walk.”
“Yes, let’s,” Emile says.
“Do you want to come?”
“If that’s okay?”
Dad hasn’t been gone long, so I’m not afraid to risk it.
“Where would he want to go?” Emile asks.
“Just for a walk. Anywhere, as long as it tires him out.”
Once we’ve put his shoes on, Lucien steers us toward the bottle bank. Emile looks at Lucien’s hand on his shoulder.
“Is he hurting you?”
“His nails need cutting.”
Lucien pants and plods behind us, like he’s forcing two grouchy donkeys up the slope. We reach the bottle bank and let him chuck in a few bottles we find under the bushes.
Emile laughs along with Lucien’s high spirits.
“Did you find out he likes this?”
I nod.
“That’s quite something.”
“Do you want to go a little further?”
“You think your brother’s up to it?”
“We can give it a try. Otherwise one of us will have to wait with him while the other one fetches the wheelbarrow.” The transistor at the top of the electricity pylon buzzes like a wasps’ nest. “There’s a stream across the road. I know a good place there.”
You can see the water glint among the trees. Lucien is caught up in the rushing sound. Most days it’s a tired old trickle, but upland rain swells it into a stream that makes your heart race.
“How about we go down this way?”
“I can see fine from here.”
“We can walk a bit and then go down. It’s not as steep further along.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Brian. Especially not with Lucien.”
I hold down a slack stretch of barbed wire with my foot. The rusty barbs poke through the sole of my flip-flop.
“Why don’t we look for a shady spot by the road? We’ll have a nice view from there.”
The grassy verge is newly mowed. Emile sits down and Lucien slumps to his knees.
“Some parts are deep enough to swim.”
“Do you come here a lot?”
I nod. “But with my brother I never got this far.”
Lucien is lying on his back.
“Did you mean what you said just then?” I ask.
“What?”
“About leaving.”
Emile squints into the sunlight. “I’m thinking about it, yes. To be honest, I was biding my time until Louise told me I could come back. But now she’s laid it on the line, I realize that chance has gone.”
“Can’t you decide for yourself whether to go back or not?”
Emile shakes his head.
“What’s she so mad about?”
Emile smiles again, he thinks I’m asking too many questions.
“But you’re a really nice guy,” I say.
He puts his hand on my neck, brushes something away.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought I saw a horsefly.” Emile carves his thumbnail into the heel of his shoe. “You’re the only one I talk to about these things …”
“Even then, you don’t say much.”
“Remember me as you know me now. That’s what I’d like best.”
Just as I’m about to ask why, he starts talking again.
“Louise has every right to never want to see me again.” He shields his eyes with his hand.
We sit quietly for a while. Lucien rolls around and rubs his back on the grass. His face is a wide grin. His arms and legs furry with short, yellow blades.
-
46
I peer at my shoulder in the mirror above the wash basin. The crescent left by Lucien’s nails looks like the bite of a gap-toothed animal. The surrounding skin goes from blue to murky yellow.
I can’t find the nail clippers. But I do find Dad’s razor. Shaving foam. And a red bottle of aftershave that’s evaporating little by little. Dad says he saves it for special occasions. And for the ladies.
Next to that, there’s a jar of condoms. Dad takes it out and shakes it every now and then. “Oh yes,” he chuckles, with a nudge and a wink, as if the jar contains all the sex he’s still got coming. “Pulling the birds” he calls it. The number of condoms never changes. It used to be ten, until I nicked one and took it to school with me. Blew it up like a balloon at breaktime. The boys from my class all laughed and acted the tough guy, but a few of them came up and whispered in my ear later on. I charged them a euro to try it on in the toilets. Made them rinse it under the tap, dry it off, and roll it up again.
I slip a condom into the pocket of my swimming trunks and shake the jar so it looks like there’s still nine.
“And?” I ask. “Sell anything?”
Dad whips out two tenners. And I can hear small change jingling in his pocket. He doesn’t notice Lucien by the outdoor bed, standing with no help from me. Even Rico is wagging his tail proudly.
“Look, Lucien’s standing by himself!”
“That’s nice, Bry.”
I want to tell him about Emile. The words are set to burst from my mouth, but I’m not going to betray him a second time.
Together, we carry everything back inside. That’s the saddest thing about car boot sales. Not the way our stuff lies on the road beside the truck like it’s spilled out of a torn rubbish bag. But this. The things that come back home with us, looking even more forlorn now they’ve been disowned and no one else wanted them.
“Didn’t you sell anything at all?”
“Of course I did.”
“Then what?”
Dad glances at the garage.
“Got twenty for the drill.”
-
47
A car slows in the distance and for a moment I think it’s Mum and Didier. That any minute they might drive through the gate, looking for us. Mum would get out and plant a kiss on my head before giving L
ucien a hug. And I would tell her everything was fine. And show her how we walk together. And how Lucien can do more when I help him. Things he can’t do without me.
They would want to take Lucien home alone at first. But he would start screaming and flailing when he realized it meant leaving me behind. So Mum would let me come and stay for a while. All I’d have to do is grab some clothes. Maybe not even that. I could hop right into the car and we’d buy new ones on the way. And when Didier turned to look at me from the driver’s seat, he would have Dad’s face.
Rico sits up in his cage and barks a warning. The distant car really is coming closer. When I hear tyres crunching down our rutted track, I jog over to the gate to take a look. It’s a police car, the copper with the tough-guy sunglasses at the wheel. I dive into the bushes and watch as he eases into the middle of the yard, pulls up outside the garage, and kills the engine. The doors swing open and a copper I hadn’t spotted gets out of the passenger side. They check their belts, straighten their berets, size the place up. The copper with the sunglasses disappears into Henri’s shed. The other one circles round the back.
I sprint back to the caravan.
“Dad? Police!”
“Shit.”
We peer out between the slats of the kitchen blind.
“What are they doing here?” Dad mutters.
“It’s the same copper who stopped us the other week,” I tell him. “Yves.”
“Do you think they’ve come looking for the tenant?”
“Why?”
“How should I know? Because he’s been up to something.”
The coppers reappear. Before they get in, they start a conversation across the roof of the police car.
“No, no, no,” Dad tries to will them away. But the car heads in our direction and rolls to a halt beside the pickup.
“Fuck … fuck.”
“Did you sort out that paperwork, like he said?”
“When the fuck was I supposed to do all that? Well?”
Yves gets out of the car. Rico is barking non-stop.
“Do you think your mum’s behind this? Or that Santos fella?”
“Have they come for Lucien?”