I Have a Bed Made of Buttermilk Pancakes

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  Marbie said that there was a famous composer who used to tie weights to his little fingers to strengthen them, for piano playing, but often this just broke the fingers.

  After her telephone conversation with the aeronautical engineer, Marbie did not hear from him for two weeks. She read the other visions he had given her, but none of them spoke to her in the same direct way as the one about the sharp fence posts. That particular vision she pinned to the corkboard above her desk, and read each morning like a mantra.

  It is curing me, she thought to herself, in wonder. Whenever she feared a long sharp item these days, she would close her eyes and imagine the aeronautical engineer, prancing plumply alongside a fence, snapping off the sharp bits one by one. In her imagination, he turned to her with an armful of fence ends clutched to his chest, and he blushed, and lowered his head.

  One Tuesday afternoon, Marbie looked at the phone on her desk and thought: well! Because why had he not called?

  She had not had a chance to say: no more tennis, so why had he decided no more tennis? All of his own accord. (Did he have a vision that she had meant to say it?) Of course, the weather had turned grey and chill, so maybe tennis was no longer appropriate. Bare legs would goose bump as they ran towards the net. Still, he could have called for a chat.

  Marbie wandered out of her office and found Tabitha and Toni gasping in the corridor. It turned out that Abi and Rhamie had joined an A-grade netball team, abandoning the office comp. ‘Call me old-fashioned,’ said Toni, hotly, ‘but Abi is just not an A-grade player!’

  ‘Let’s have some wine from the small boardroom fridge,’ suggested Marbie, ‘and discuss it.’

  They slipped in to the boardroom, one at a time, and closed the shutters so that Abi and Rhamie would not find them. Then they discussed what a bad netball player Abi was, although, they conceded, now and again Rhamie was an excellent shooter.

  Later, they moved on to the Night Owl Pub, where Abi and Rhamie found them and said, ‘What’s going on?’ Toni explained, with a strong but occasionally trembling voice, that she and Tabitha felt betrayed. Abi and Rhamie were shocked, and it turned out it was all a misunderstanding! Because Abi had sent an e-mail around about the A-grade team, inviting Tabitha and Toni to join too. But Tabitha and Toni had both deleted the message, thinking it was that virus going around. So it was nobody’s fault. They all congratulated each other on being such good netball players, and Toni cried.

  Marbie herself was not on the team, so she could be objective, and they thanked her for that, once the dispute was resolved. ‘You’re so tall,’ said Rhamie, as usual. ‘You’d make a great keeper!’ But the others just laughed because Marbie always let the ball slip through her fingers.

  At that, Marbie put down her frothy Irish ale and said, ‘I don’t feel so good.’

  ‘That’s because you had wine before beer,’ declared Abi, and then she chanted: ‘Wine before beer, and you’ll feel queer; beer before wine, and you’ll feel fine.’

  ‘Is that true?’

  ‘Of course it’s true,’ said Rhamie, ‘it rhymes.’

  Then Abi and Rhamie remembered their husbands, gathered their handbags, and made a joke or two about netball.

  A moment after they had gone, Marbie gasped with realisation, and whispered to the others: ‘How did Abi know I had wine before beer?’ Tabitha and Toni also gasped, for they had kept their meeting in the small boardroom a secret.

  After they had analysed this for a while, Tabitha and Toni had to run to their step class, and Marbie thoughtfully finished her frothy Irish ale. She was just about to pick up her own handbag, so she could get the express train home, when two hairy hands fell on her shoulders.

  Sir:

  I am writing this while riding the 73 bus. There is a largish, sweaty man beside me and his bottom is taking up more room on the seat than it ought. It is Wednesday, 2 pm, and I should be going back to work. But it is impossible. I’m going home.

  This is what has happened.

  Last night, I went to the Night Owl with the girls from work. There was a lot of crying and gasping, to do with their netball team, but it was all fine and I felt refreshed. The girls left – Rhamie and Abigail to their husbands, Tabitha and Toni to step. I had my Irish ale to finish, and there I sat, and behind me? Leaning over my shoulder, breathing beer into my cheek, two hairy hands on my shoulders? The aeronautical engineer.

  I hadn’t seen him for a fortnight, at least. Not since he gave me his visions. I had almost forgotten him.

  Anyhow, there he was in the Night Owl Pub.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, leaning over me, a murmur of a smile around his beery lips.

  ‘Hello,’ I replied.

  ‘I have a suggestion,’ he said.

  ‘Not tennis,’ I said.

  He pretended to look shocked. He did a mime, as if a tennis ball had hit him in the stomach, but recovered quickly, and the smile was less a murmur, more a shout.

  ‘All right,’ he agreed, ‘not tennis. I had this idea, is all.’

  Then he leaned closer and murmured in my ear: ‘Come to my house, tomorrow at 1, and you know what we’ll do?’

  ‘What?’ I whispered back.

  ‘We will take off our clothes,’ he explained, in his low, soft voice. ‘We will take off our clothes, and we will lie on my bed, and you know what we’ll do? We will look. We will not touch. We will lie together, for no more than three minutes, and then we will get dressed again!’

  I stared at him and said, ‘Will we?’

  ‘We won’t touch,’ he said again. ‘So there is no betrayal. I know you have a boyfriend, but this can hardly hurt him. And I’ll get to see your body without these things.’ Then he touched my shirt with a contemptuous wave.

  And here is the extraordinary thing: ‘All right,’ I said. ‘We will.’

  ‘Take the 73 bus at 12.45,’ he said, ‘it stops right outside my door.’

  And that is what I did; and that is what we did; and that is what happened; that is: nothing; nothing except nakedness; and now I am on my way home.

  I hardly looked at him; I felt very cold, I have to say, and I felt very pale and strange and I wondered: what are you doing?

  He set his clock radio for precisely three minutes, and then, when three minutes were up, a toothpaste ad filled the room, and he sat up and looked for his shirt.

  So, you see, I could not go back to work.

  I am on my way home, to fix this.

  Yours sincerely,

  Marbie

  On Wednesdays, before recess, they had Food Technology. Recess was the most difficult time because there were fifteen minutes to fill, and you were not allowed into the library. You were never allowed into a classroom; everybody had to sit outside on the lawn even though it was so cold these days that girls huddled together, or rubbed each other’s hands between their own to make them warm, or sometimes groups of girls got up and did the Can-Can in a row.

  The point was, there was nowhere to hide, and there were fifteen minutes to fill.

  Sometimes, Listen thought about just going out onto the lawn and joining a group of huddled girls. If she was quiet, they might not notice.

  Sometimes, also, she thought about going out there onto the lawn, amongst the garlands of girls, and simply sitting on the grass. She could sit alone, eat an apple, read a book, and who cares what anybody thinks?

  There was never a single person eating lunch on the lawn alone. I am the only one in the entire school with no friends, she realised. Or if not, where do they go? Where are the other lonely people? Why can’t we join up and be friends?

  On this Wednesday, they had made cheese soufflé in Food Technology, and Listen was hopeful. The bell had rung for recess, and they had not even washed up! The other girls groaned, while Listen quietly filled her sink with slow, soapy warm water.

  ‘Never mind, girls!’ cried the teacher, generously. ‘Out you all go! I’ll clean this up later!’

  Listen pretended not to hear, and concentra
ted on the cheese chunks in the grater.

  ‘Come on, Listen, I’m sure that’s clean,’ called the teacher, ushering the last girls from the room. ‘Go along and get some fresh air!’

  Outside the classroom, Listen checked her watch. It was ten forty-six. There were still fourteen minutes to fill. She leaned over, untied her shoelaces and retied them, went to the end of the corridor and retied them again. Then she took the long route to the bathrooms, around the back of the building, always hurrying, sighing and checking her watch, so that if anybody saw her she was just rushing off to meet her friends.

  At the bathrooms, she washed each hand with soap, and dried them at the heaters with great care. Now it was ten fifty-one. There were still nine minutes. She hesitated outside the bathrooms, looking both ways along the empty balcony. One direction would take her into the admin office, where she could pretend she had lost something and fill in a lost property form. The other took her to the Year 7 classrooms, where they were not supposed to be. Her eyes wandered the locked doors of Classes 7A, 7B, 7C and 7D, and then stopped at the next door along. She had never noticed that door before.

  It was a darker grey than the other doors and did not have a number or letter. As she watched, it was slowly opening. A school handyman was emerging, his arms stretched wide around a large cardboard box. Once out of the room, he looked both ways, kicked the door closed behind him, and grunted. Then he disappeared down the fire escape. She did not even make a decision. She just strode along the balcony, opened the grey door, and walked inside.

  It was cramped, dark and smelled like mushrooms. She could see the shadowy shapes of boxes stacked precariously, shovels, rakes, and shelves lined with aerosol cans. Also, against the far wall, a tiny bulb illuminated a panel of switches. Fuse box, she thought, and felt pleased with herself. Growing up in a caravan with nobody but a big brother, she had learned how to change fuses, tyres, and halogen lights. She had helped Vernon install a dishwasher once.

  She had a moment of pleasure at that thought, and then the pleasure faded like a pilot light burning out. What if the handyman came back? What reason could she give for being here? She could be practising her Tae Kwon Do. She could say that she had a grading right after recess and this was the only place to practise.

  For authenticity, she tried a spinning hook kick. Then she swivelled and tripped on a tangle of cords. She fell against the fuse box and slid to the ground with a sound like someone flicking through playing cards. She stood back up in a panic and flashed her eyes over the fuses. Some said OFF and some said ON – which ones had she knocked?

  They should probably all be ON. She flicked them all, breathing hard, and backed out of the utility room, closing the door behind her.

  There was nobody on the balcony. There were distant sounds of girls laughing and chatting on the lawn. Somewhere, teachers were also chatting, in deeper, more sardonic voices. She used up the last five minutes of recess standing at the bag rack outside 7B, and leafing through the contents of her school bag.

  Walking home from school that day, hunched against the pale cold sky and the thin waves of rain, Listen thought: don’t worry, there are only two more days until the end of the week. Also she thought: don’t worry, soon I’ll find a new group to join.

  As she stepped around the edges of muddy puddles, Listen tried once again to go through the different groups of girls in her form, but instead found herself remembering a particular day from a weekend a few years back. On that day, she and Vernon had taken a ferry ride on the harbour. Alongside a ferry wharf she had seen a large yellow sign, which announced, in black letters:

  Caution:

  Submarine cables.

  Reading the sign, she had shivered with delight. There was a submarine right beneath her! She imagined it must be slender and silver, and inside, a group of harried sailors hunched over long low tables, sipping black coffee and studying maps. The submarine would be tethered to the sea floor with a cable which might trip you up.

  Later, Vernon explained that ‘submarine’ just meant ‘below water’. The sign was saying ‘Caution: underwater cables’.

  As she stepped up onto the apartment porch, Listen thought: there is nothing magic in the world. There are no flying motorbikes, just aeroplanes. There are no shooting stars, just satellites. There are no submarines, just underwater cables. There are no eternal pacts.

  Then, as she found her key in her pocket, she thought: I don’t think I can make it to the end of the week.

  Inside the apartment door, she had to stop as the weight of her school bag had become too much for her shoulder. There was a noise down the hall. ‘Hello!’ called Marbie’s voice. ‘Is that Listen or a burglar?’

  Marbie was sitting at the kitchen table, and the radiator buzzed at her feet. The room was so warm it was like a woollen hug. ‘It’s my beautiful Listen!’ cried Marbie, leaping to her feet and throwing her arms into the air. ‘Look, I’ve got you a welcome afternoon tea!’ She swept her arms back and forth across the table, which was set with a lace cloth, a chocolate bar arranged in pieces on a saucer, wedges of orange in a bowl, and a steaming cherry pie.

  ‘Wow,’ said Listen, dropping her school bag. ‘How come you’re not at work?’

  ‘Do you think you could take the rest of the week off school?’ said Marbie, ignoring the question and pushing the saucer of chocolate closer to Listen. ‘I’m about to call Vernon and see if he can close the Banana Bar. Because guess what? I heard on the news that it’s snowing in the Blue Mountains! So I’ve arranged the Deluxe Package for the three of us at the Hydro Majestic. There’ll be flowers and chocolates on arrival! And there are fireplaces in the rooms! And we can build snowmen, and toboggan down gentle slopes, and then we’ll come inside for spa baths, and hot chocolate, and marshmallows, and we’ll all play Pictionary or whatever game you like. What do you think? Would you like to take the rest of the week off school? I’ll write a note and say you’ve got a brain tumour!’

  Listen laughed so hard she started crying.

  The following week, Listen arrived at school with a snow tan, and found that the Year 7 classrooms had been flooded. Everyone was excited like a holiday, and they had to take their lessons in the Science labs or even outside on the lawn. The teachers laid plastic sheets on the grass to stop them getting chills in their kidneys.

  Vernon reached under the driver’s seat to adjust it back. ‘You must be shorter than you look,’ he commented to Marbie, who was in the passenger seat beside him.

  They were driving home after a Zing Family Secret Meeting.

  ‘How was the meeting?’ said Listen, from the back seat.

  ‘Okay,’ said Vernon, ‘how was your movie with Cassie?’

  ‘Fine,’ agreed Listen. Passing headlights striped all three in turn. ‘Vernon, how come you read out that letter from my school tonight?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Vernon glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘I thought you wouldn’t mind. It was just for fun.’

  There was silence in the car, except for the tching of the indicator as they waited in a right-turning lane.

  ‘How’s school anyway, Listen?’ Marbie said.

  ‘Fine.’

  Vernon and Marbie each sighed slightly. They had discussed Listen’s recent habit of answering questions this way and concluded that now she was a teenager with a new private world inside her head.

  ‘Looking forward to the holidays?’ Marbie tried next.

  ‘Yep,’ said Listen.

  Then she surprised them, as Vernon took the corner, by asking, ‘Marbie, can you tell your swimming pool story again?’

  ‘Well,’ said Marbie, at once. ‘I was five years old and this was a hot summer day. I was playing on the swing that Dad had hooked up for us, as a goodbye present when he left to go to Ireland, you know, the swing that hangs from the big gum tree down the back of the yard? So, I was swinging back and forth trying to pick up a breeze to cool me down, so higher and higher I swung, and the higher I went the more I could see: Mummy�
�s flower beds, our old trampoline, the tops of small trees, the tops of taller trees, and the roof of the garden shed. Higher and higher I swung until I could even see the roof of our own house, and then of course, I started to see the neighbourhood – the empty school yard of Bellbird High next door, their netball court and its goal posts, their tennis courts, their old stone buildings, the sloping lawn at the back of the school, how it falls into scrub and forest, and then, with one final swing of my knees, I went higher than I ever had before. And that’s when I saw the spark of something blue in the bush there.

  ‘That night, I waited until everyone was asleep, and I climbed out of my bedroom window, and ran down the back of our house. I found a gap in the fence between our place and the school, and I ran down into the bush, and there were rocks and dried grass that hurt my feet, but I didn’t notice because I wanted to find out what it was. And what it was, of course, was the school’s new swimming pool. I was hot and dirty from running through the bush so I jumped in and swam around a bit. Then I went home and went to bed.’

  ‘And then for the rest of that summer,’ prompted Listen, sleepily.

  ‘And then for the rest of that summer, every night, after midnight, I would slip through the gap in the fence and go for a swim in the pool. I thought it was my own secret pool. Of course, after a couple of years I stopped being able to fit through the gap in the fence, which is why –’

  She turned around to the back seat, but Listen was fast asleep.

  Sir:

  I am writing to you from my office where, I am pleased to inform you, it is Wednesday afternoon. Soon it will be the weekend! Tabitha and Toni are gasping through the plexiglass there, and, in a moment, I will join them to find out about the latest netball drama.

  But this is to inform you that I have not seen the A.E. since that nakedness fiasco. It is like a nightmare in my memory, that fiasco, and I prefer to regard it as simply that: a dream. It never happened.