The Eden Effect

by David Finchley

  These things were done with a heavy heart by Harold Low but they were nevertheless still done. Done for the greater good. And Harold was right. ‘Excising the cancer’, removing the purported cause of the scandal worked. The money had been repaid, the guilty had been punished. Clients stopped leaving, some even came back. The firm survived.

  But the relationship of Arthur and Marie did not survive. Yes they were in love, perhaps not so much as in those early years, but still in love. Yes, they had a good marriage, not great but good. It was not enough. The family was by now living in a three-bedroom rented flat in East Malvern. The leased cars were gone. Arthur had no job, no income. Who would employ him in the world of finance or for that matter anywhere in the business world?

  Their lifestyle had been lavish, their expenses horrendous and as a result the money in the bank was not nearly enough. They made a brave go of it for a while but it did not last. The atmosphere at home became intolerable for both of them and within three months Arthur had left. A cousin who was divorced and living on his own took him in. Arthur survived on the dole and for a while consoled himself with bottle after bottle of Scotch, Johnny Walker red not the single malts that he was used to.

  Marie and the children, well, after Arthur left they were taken in by Harold for a time. He was a widower, alone in a large house and there was plenty of room. Before long another Toorak house was found, a new car leased and for Marie and the children life continued unchanged, at least in the material sense. Marie was forbidden from seeing Arthur, not that she necessarily wanted to. Arthur saw the children for one day every second weekend. He had little to offer them apart from his love, not even a bed for them to be able to sleep over. Arthur, at the insistence of Centrelink continued to look for work. He has given up looking at anything in the area of finance but had not yet accepted the prospects of a job in a factory or behind a bar. But Centrelink kept pressing and pressing. He had to find work. And finally, after countless job applications and interviews he was in the town of Eden, about to start a new career as the assistant milkman in the towns’ dairy.

  ‘That’s the long version Martin,’ Arthur said.’ It exhausts me just talking about it.’

  That’s a story Arthur. Not the worst I’ve heard, not the best either, but it’s up there.’

  There was a moment’s silence. Arthur was unsure whether he was expected to say anything but before he could decide, Martin continued.

  ‘Everyone has a story Arthur. We all have, you’ve got one, I’ve got one. Don’t worry I’m not going to burden you with mine. I want to make some observations and I want you to understand some rules.’

  Arthur remained silent, waiting.

  ‘As you no doubt realise, you are not the first assistant sitting here and you won’t be the last. I am a realist. I know that this job is not anyone’s dream job but is not a bad job.’

  Martin paused for a moment and then continued.

  ‘Do you know the average duration of employment of an assistant milkman in the town of Eden, Arthur?’ Martin asked. Arthur was about to reply when Martin continued.

  ‘Don’t bother trying to answer. I will tell you. The average is one month. The shortest was one day. The longest was six months which probably brought the average up. I said this is not the worst job you can have and it’s not. The work is not difficult. Sure, we start early. But we finish early. You have most of the day to yourself. Just in case you are wondering what I mean by early, we head off at 5.30 am, you therefore must be awake no later than 5am. You look a bit pale Arthur, they’re not accountant’s hours but that’s what it is. We finish early, by 9.30 am, 10 at the latest.’>

  Martin paused briefly again.

  ‘I am a good boss Arthur. Do right by me and I will reciprocate. Someone of your intelligence could do this job in their sleep. In fact I suspect you will be doing it at least half asleep. They’ve told you the pay. Not the pay of a partner in an accounting firm but more than the dole and there are few expenses Board is free. Food here is relatively cheap, you don’t need a car and there is not much to spend money on in Eden.’

  Arthur was nodding, seemingly in agreement although he was not sure what he was agreeing to.

  ‘I’ll be fine Martin,’ he said.’ I can’t promise you that I will stay a lifetime but I can promise you that you can rely on me to do the job. I suppose you will eventually tell me what the job is.’

  ‘It’s not rocket science Arthur’, was Martin’s reply.’ We deliver milk. I drive the van. You ride in the van next to me. I stop the van. You get out. You take the milk out of the van and leave it at the doorstep. I will show you the system I set up. I’m quite proud of it. It is automated and almost fool-proof. I drive onto the next address. You then do the same thing. And so on and so on and so on. Then we come back here. You change into your own clothes and the time is yours until 5am the next morning. Did I mention that’s seven days a week? It’s just you and me Arthur, no one else.’

  Arthur was about to say something about labour laws, the five-day week, but he thought the better of it. As if reading his mind, Martin said, ‘yes, I know seven days a week is not strictly by the rulebook. But if you add up all the hours, you barely work thirty hours per week. That more than makes up for it.’

  Arthur did not reply to that. He waited. Martin had mentioned something about rules.

  ‘Now to the rules. They are not complicated, not particularly onerous, but Arthur, pay attention, they are not negotiable. You will have free accommodation here as I said. Between 5.30am and 10am at the latest you will be working. After 10am and until 5.30am the next morning your time is your own. You can do absolutely anything you want to do, none of my business. But what is my business is what you do here, on my premises. I mentioned rules, but there is really only one rule. While you are here, either during working hours or in your own time, there will be no newspapers, no radio, no TV, no Internet. I have no use for any of those things and while you are here on my premises, neither will you. Outside of here you can do what you like, read what you like listen and watch what you like. Just don’t do it here.’

  Arthur stared but did not respond. The obvious question was ‘why’, but he was not sure whether it was a wise question to ask.

  ‘I am sure you want to know why I have this rule. You are probably dying to ask. Don’t. If I want to tell you some day, if there is ever going to be some day, then I will.’

  Arthur felt he had to say something.

  ‘OK Martin, I can’t see any problem with that. You have my word.’

  ‘So Arthur, the formalities are over. I think that’s enough for one day. You start tomorrow morning. Remember 5.30 sharp. Move your things in if you want to. Your uniform is in your quarters, several actually, varying sizes. I am sure one will fit.’

  ‘Uniform? ’Arthur asked.

  ‘Did I forget to mention it? We both wear white Arthur, not just me. I meant all white. Shirt, trousers, socks, shoes, hat and jacket. It’s a bit old-fashioned but that’s how it was when I took the dairy over and that is how it will stay. Looks quite smart really. And appropriate don’t you think, white, milkman, you know’.

  ‘White’, Arthur muttered. ‘OK, white.’

  What do I care he thought to himself. White from head to toe, that’s the least of my worries. And before Arthur could say anything else, Martin stood up and left. Arthur stayed seated a few minutes, unsure what to do next. Move your things in, Martin had said. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.

  Arthur went to his car, went to the boot and took out a suitcase. It was Samsonite, lightweight, silver in colour and once a very expensive. It now looked a little shabby, with a few small dents and more than a few scuff marks. He wheeled the case in, put it on his bed and proceeded to move in. The case contained his clothing, shaving kit and a few books. Apart from his car, a second hand blue Mazda 323, with one hundred thousand kilometres on the clock, these were is only belongings. Oh and the watch, the gold Longines that his ex-father-in-law had given him as a we
dding gift and which somehow he managed to hold on to throughout his ordeal. The room was sparse but adequate. He had stayed in worse. There was a queen sized bed with bedside table, a small desk and a wooden wardrobe. The floor was wooden boards which by the look of them had not long ago been polished. A small circular Persian style rug was on the floor and on the window, through which he had a view of the courtyard behind the dairy were crooked venetian blinds which hung rather awkwardly at an angle. It will do, he said to himself. He took out his belongings, lay them on the bed, opened the wardrobe and contemplated where to put his things.

  There was a knock on the door. The door opened and as he turned to see who was knocking he stopped in his tracks.

  Standing in the doorway (actually standing was not the right term for it) was a woman. The first thing that struck Arthur was her sheer beauty. The second thing was that actually see her face he had to look down, way down. Not that she was short. She was, how to say it, incomplete. The face was stunning, perfect, a vision. Her jet black hair hung down in a bob. Her piercing blue eyes looked as if they were about to jump out of her face. She wore a low-cut blue blouse displaying a most ample cleavage. There was certainly nothing wrong with the top half of her body. Her arms were bare in the sleeveless blouse and Arthur noted were rather muscular for a woman. It was obvious why. She was actually standing on her hands. Below the waist there were two short stumps encased in denim shorts and nothing else. Her legs were absent to her mid-thighs so that to stand she used to hands. Arthur was speechless. He realised he was staring but could not help himself.

  ‘It’s okay to stare’, the woman said. Her voice was husky, barely above a whisper.

  ‘My name is Natalie. I’m Martin’s friend. I don’t suppose he mentioned me.’

  Arthur stopped staring for long enough to reply.

  ‘Hi. I’m Arthur, Arthur Fromm. I’m Martin’s new assistant. No, he did not mention you. Glad to meet you. I just arrived today. I start work tomorrow. 5.30am.’

  Arthur realised he was babbling. He always did when he was nervous.

  ‘Can I come in?’ Natalie asked.

  ‘Sure’, Arthur replied. ’Come in, sit, err, sit down.’

  Natalie walked in. Again, walking was not the right description of what she did. She moved forwards, one hand in front of the other, quite nimbly, Arthur thought. She hoisted herself up with those muscular arms onto the bed and sat down. As she sat, Arthur could see the ends of the stumps were covered in what looked like a knitted beanie, blue in colour.

  ‘OK Arthur,’ Natalie began. ‘Let me put you out of your misery. I lost my legs in a train accident five years ago. Not really an accident but that’s for another time. I do have a pair of artificial legs which I mostly use to look normal. Couldn’t be bothered today. From the thigh up I’m normal. Well, maybe not the voice, but that’s another story too. Tell me about you.’

  Arthur wasn’t sure what to say. He certainly did not have the energy to retell his story.

  ‘I’m the new assistant milkman. Sent by Centrelink. I’ll do my best to do a good job and stay, at least for a while. I am a single. No, actually, divorced. I have two kids who I don’t see. I was once an accountant. I think that’s it, nothing else to say really.

  He could see Natalie looking him up and down. He felt conscious of his suit, once so elegant, now so shabby.

  ‘I assume you’ve had your welcome speech from Martin.’

  ‘Yes I have.’ He wasn’t sure whether to ask but he did anyway.

  ‘What’s with the prohibition on all modes of communication and news?’

  ‘Yes, I know, the rules,’ was Natalie’s reply. ‘Bizarre, I agree. But Martin has his reasons. He might tell you one day. Listen to me Arthur. Martin is one of the good guys. Some strange ideas but a heart of gold. If you hang around long enough you will get to learn that for yourself. ’

  ‘You said you’re Martin’s friend.’ Arthur began but Natalie interrupted.

  ‘Girlfriend actually. We’ve been together four years. We don’t live together but we are you know, romantically connected.’

  ‘OK’, was all that Arthur could think of saying.

  ‘I’m glad that’s all sorted, ’Natalie said. ‘Come on, let’s go. I’ll show you around. Martin is not very good at that sort of thing. It’s almost six, we’ll go to the pub. You can meet a few of the others. You can settle in later. Come on I’ll drive.’

  Natalie turned and started to move out of the room. Arthur followed, realising that he was struggling to keep up with her. Those arms could really move. Natalie’s car was parked outside. A red Mini Cooper convertible, a two-seater. She jumped into the driver’s seat, literally jumped in. Arthur got into the passenger seat, put on a seatbelt and the little car took off, Natalie operating the hand controls.

  ‘The pub is around the corner. The Red Lion. The only pub in Eden. It’s quaint, you will like it. Larry the owner is a good mate of mine and Martin’s. There should be another couple of mates there too by now. You’ll like them.’

  Natalie drove the rest of the way in silence. She parked the mini right outside the front door of the Red Lion, in the only spot available, the disabled parking spot. Arthur glanced at the windscreen and did not see a disabled sticker. But who was going to argue with Natalie about that.

  ‘Wait in the car for a minute,’ Natalie said. She was out of the car in a flash and Arthur heard the car boot opening and some rattling sounds. Two minutes later she was standing, yes standing at the passenger door which she opened for Arthur. Arthur could see that she had her artificial legs on and as he stood up he realised that they were the same height. Arthur was one hundred and eighty centimetres tall and could look Natalie eye to eye. Natalie locked the car with her remote, turned and headed towards the Red Lion, Arthur trailing behind, again barely able to keep up.

  Natalie pushed open the door, walked in with Arthur following. She headed over to the left towards a red leather booth. The red in Red Lion was meant to be taken literally. The whole interior was red. A blood red. The tables, chairs, couches, carpets, walls and ceilings. Arthur wondered who the decorator might have been. The place was almost full. The din of the voices was complemented by the not too soft background music. Arthur recognized the Beatles track that was playing but it was too noisy to make out the lyrics.

  Natalie slid into the booth. Seated on the other side were two men, one looked in his forties, the other perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties. They greeted Natalie with a smile and a hi.

  ‘Guys, let me introduce Arthur. Sorry Arthur, I know you told me your surname but I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘Fromm’, Arthur muttered.’ Arthur Fromm.’

  ‘Arthur Fromm,’ Natalie repeated.’ Arthur is Martin’s new helper. Yes, I know, another one. Arthur those two characters over there are Owen and Glen.’

  Natalie looked at each of the men in turn. Owen was the younger and Glen the older.

  ‘I’m Owen Jordan, pleased to meet you Arthur.’ Owen gave Arthur a welcoming smile and put out his hand, which Arthur shook. Arthur noticed a firm grip at the end of a muscular arm. Owen clearly kept in shape. He was blond, blue-eyed, his face was unlined and tanned. Glen followed, put out his hand to shake Arthur’s.

  ‘I am Glen Roberts, nice to meet you too Arthur, hope you stay.’

  Glen was not in as good a shape. Balding, a saggy face with pronounced bags under his eyes and a paunch which was straining the buttons of his blue shirt.

  ‘Nice to meet you both,’ Arthur replied.’ I just arrived. I was unpacking when Natalie dragged me over here. I start work tomorrow. I do hope to stay.’

  Again babbling, nervous.

  ‘Owen is the sports teacher at the local high school,’ Natalie volunteered. That seemed to make sense to Arthur.

  ‘And Glen is Eden’s doctor. The only one left. We couldn’t survive without him,’ Natalie said.

  A doctor, Arthur thought, hardly a specimen of human fitness. Probably overworked with no ti
me to look after himself. Glen stood up ‘I’ll get the first round. What your poison Arthur? I know what these two are having.’

  Arthur hesitated. In his former life his poison was Scotch whiskey, single malt, preferably from one of the Scottish Islands. Laphroaig from the Isle of Islay was his favourite. It had been a long time since he tasted that mellow, peaty nectar. He doubted that the Red Lion in the backwater of Eden would be stocking Laphroaig and even if it did, he could not bring himself to order such an expensive drink.

  ‘A Scotch, neat would be great,’ Arthur replied, ‘anything they’ve got would be fine, he added.

  ‘You’re a Scotch man Arthur,’ Owen chimed in. ‘Natalie will be pleased. She doesn’t have anyone to drink scotch with. Glen and I are beer men, strictly beer. Martin is into the red wine, Shiraz usually. No Scotch drinkers apart from Natalie, at least until now.’

  ‘You will definitely need to stay Arthur,’ Natalie said. ‘A Scotch man. Well, you can’t be all bad,’ she added. ‘The usual for me, Glen.’

  Arthur was tempted to enquire about the usual but kept his silence. Glen headed off in the direction of the bar. There was a brief, awkward silence in the booth. Arthur was not sure what to say next.

  ‘Owen, Arthur used to be an accountant. Maybe he can help you with your tax. You’re always complaining about having to do it yourself.’

  ‘I don’t know Natalie,’ Arthur replied.’ I’m not a registered accountant any more. Haven’t kept up with tax law for ages.’

  ‘You’re bound to know more than I do Arthur. Anyway, forget that from now, it’s not tax time.’