Pool

by Justin D'Ath

  Wolfgang heard the approach of hooves as he carefully transferred the butterfly to his killing jar. Only when the lid was closed did he look up. Four horses, three chestnuts and one grey, stood in a semicircle watching him. They were only ten metres away; they looked huge. Wolfgang picked some grass for them as he waited for the butterfly to die, but the horses were shy of him and backed away when he approached. He tossed the grass in their direction and returned to his collecting equipment. He realised he was still wearing his helmet.

  When the butterfly was dead, Wolfgang transferred it to his field box with a pair of forceps, gently flattened its wings, then used a pin to secure it to the box’s cork lining. Beautiful.

  He already had two female shouldered browns at home, but both were from his father’s collection. This was his own. They were always more special when you’d collected them yourself.

  Collected. He thought of Audrey again. I should have apologised.

  The horses followed him back to the fence. They seemed skittish. It was unnerving hearing their hooves and loud breathing behind him. Wolfgang was relieved to put the barrier of the fence between him and them. He pulled up a clump of long grass from the roadside ditch and this time one of the chestnuts dared to come close enough to pull it out of his hands with its mobile black lips.

  I’ll see her tomorrow, Wolfgang thought. I’ll apologise then.

  10

  Keith Babacan came to the ticket window. It was just after five-thirty on Monday afternoon and Mrs Lonsdale was helping Wolfgang count the day’s takings.

  ‘I can see I’m in the wrong business,’ Keith said.

  Mrs Lonsdale looked up. ‘Good afternoon, Keith. You’ve missed your daughter, I’m afraid – she left half an hour ago.’

  ‘It’s your assistant I came to see, Shirley. Can you spare young Mulqueen for five minutes?’

  Wolfgang followed Audrey’s father out into the car park. Young Mulqueen. Had he found out Wolfgang’s age? ‘I ... um. How was your Christmas, Mr Babacan?’

  ‘Good, good. And yours?’

  ‘Yeah, it was okay.’

  ‘Good, good,’ said Keith, loosening his Homer Simpson tie. He was wearing a pink long-sleeved shirt with sweat-rings under the arms, fawn trousers and shiny brown shoes. He must have come straight from Furniture Kingdom. ‘Hot enough for you?’ he asked. ‘Let’s sit in my car.’

  It was a moss-green Mercedes parked illegally in one of the disabled parking spaces directly outside the entryway. The interior had a faintly chemical new-car smell and was pleasantly cool. Keith started the engine and made an adjustment to the airconditioner.

  ‘How much do you make in a week, Wolfgang?’

  ‘At the pool?’

  ‘No, at university,’ said Keith, then laughed his Furniture King laugh – Heh! Heh! Heh! Heh! – to diffuse the sarcasm. ‘Of course I mean the pool. What’s your take-home pay?’

  ‘It depends how many hours I do.’

  ‘Give me a ballpark figure.’

  Wolfgang shrugged. What business was it of Mr Babacan’s? ‘Around three hundred dollars.’

  ‘Three hundred dollars.’ Keith drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘How would you like to take home four hundred, hmmm?’

  The car’s engine whirred, a distant, gentle vibration through Wolfgang’s feet. ‘Are you offering me a job, Mr Babacan?’

  ‘That I am, Mr Mulqueen. Four hundred dollars a week – cash in hand – right through till you go back to university. Interested?’

  Of course he was interested. But there was one problem: he went to school, not university, and school started in the final week of January. Still, that left him five weeks to work for Mr Babacan. Two thousand dollars.

  ‘What exactly is the job?’

  ‘Before we go into that,’ Keith said, ‘would you mind if I asked you a personal question?’

  ‘I guess not.’

  ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’

  Wolfgang blushed. What sort of question was that? ‘I, um ... yes,’ he lied. After all, he was supposed to be at university. And he wanted to sound mature – mature enough to earn four hundred dollars a week. ‘But she lives down in Melbourne. She’s doing the same course as me, actually. At the uni.’

  ‘Does she get up here much?’

  ‘To New Lourdes? No, hardly ever. Mostly I drive down and see her.’ Drive, Wolfgang heard himself say. Shit. ‘Dad lets me borrow his car.’

  Keith looked him in the eye. ‘She’s not the jealous type, is she?’

  ‘I guess not,’ Wolfgang said. He was sweating now, despite the airconditioning. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t really know – I’d never do anything to make her jealous.’

  ‘Do you think she would mind if you spent a bit of time with Audrey?’

  ‘How do you mean, Mr Babacan?’

  ‘Keith,’ said Keith. ‘It’s simple enough. I want you to – what’s the expression you young people use? – hang out with my daughter.’

  Wolfgang ran his tongue over the groove in the roof of his mouth. Slowly this whole conversation was beginning to make sense. A crazy kind of sense. ‘Is that the job?’ he asked. ‘Looking after Audrey?’

  ‘Not looking after her, Wolfgang – keeping her company.’ Keith watched a group of girls coming out of the pool. ‘She doesn’t have any friends. Her mother and I, we think it would be good for Audrey to spend a bit of time with someone her own age.’

  Wolfgang was watching the girls, too. One of them was Naomi Weston. He’d asked her out once. ‘What would I have to do?’

  ‘That’s up to you. Hang out with her. Be her friend.’

  ‘What if it doesn’t work?’ Wolfgang asked, following Naomi out of the corner of his eye. ‘Are you kidding?’ she’d said, loud enough to be heard by nearly everyone in the quadrangle. ‘I mean, she mightn’t want to be my friend.’

  ‘She seems to like you,’ Keith said. ‘But, yes, I realise this is a bit of a gamble. Women are fickle creatures at the best of times, and the Babacan women are worse than most.’ He laughed again – Heh! Heh! Heh! Heh! ‘So here’s my proposal. Give me that briefcase, will you?’

  A fat leather satchel lay on the floor between Wolfgang’s feet. He passed it to Audrey’s father, who flipped open an outer flap and withdrew a white envelope. Unsealing it, he removed a bundle of fifty dollar notes, counted off two, folded them in half and slipped them into his shirt pocket. The rest he returned to the envelope and handed to Wolfgang.

  ‘Four hundred dollars,’ he said. ‘All I’m asking is you talk to Audrey, exert that old Mozart charm. If nothing’s happening after a week, forget the whole deal.’

  ‘And keep the four hundred dollars?’

  Keith gave him a sly look. ‘Yep. Even if you do absolutely nothing, I won’t ask for it back. But I pride myself on being a pretty good judge of character, son – I think you’ll give it your best shot. Bernadette and I were both very impressed with you the other night. And Bernadette says she’s seen you at church.’

  Wolfgang turned the envelope over, tracing the slim outline of the notes with his fingertips. If he was a good Catholic boy, would he be taking this money? It felt wrong to be accepting payment to be someone’s friend – to pretend to be their friend.

  ‘Does Mrs Babacan know about the money?’

  ‘No, son. This is strictly between you and me. Men’s business.’

  The airconditioner hummed. When two boys came out of the pool and walked past the car, Wolfgang hid the envelope from view.

  ‘What about my job here?’ he asked.

  ‘Carry on as normal in the meantime,’ Keith said. ‘Obviously, even if you and Audrey do become friends, you won’t be spending all your time together. And she’s here every day anyway, I take it.’ He winked. ‘Perfect opportunity to get to know her, hmmm?’

  11

  Wolfgang hardly slept that night. His brain kept going over and over what he was going to say to Audrey, obsessing about it, worrying she would reject him outright, do a Naomi
Weston on him – Are you kidding? – or even laugh. And then it took him until four-thirty in the afternoon to build up the courage to finally approach her and blurt out the proposal that over the past twenty-two hours had become a mantra inside his head.

  ‘Audrey, I’ve got the day off tomorrow. Would you like to go to the zoo?’

  ‘Okay,’ she said from under her hat.

  Wolfgang smiled at Campbell – a victory smile – and the dog wagged its tail as if it understood. ‘Well, that’s great then,’ Wolfgang said. ‘I thought we’d catch the seven o’clock train, if that isn’t too early? That’d get us there by about ten. And then we could –’

  Audrey lifted her hat to one side. Her face was pale and pillowy, her expression vague. She removed both her earpieces. ‘Hang on a minute. Did you say zoo?’

  ‘Y-yes,’ Wolfgang answered, steeling himself for the disappointment he’d been expecting all along. She hadn’t heard him correctly the first time. The zoo was a stupid idea. ‘But if you’d like to go somewhere else ...’

  ‘No, the zoo sounds excellent.’

  ‘Are you sure? We don’t have to go there.’

  Audrey laughed.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘You. Taking me to the zoo.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, blushing.

  ‘You say sorry a lot.’ Audrey sat up and smiled. She looked younger when she smiled – closer to his own age.

  ‘I want to smell a lion,’ she said.

  12

  Wolfgang was waiting outside the station when the moss-green Mercedes pulled up. The driver’s door opened and Keith stepped out onto the road. He spotted Wolfgang and waved as he walked around to the footpath. Audrey climbed out, holding a black and mauve backpack. As she slipped her arms through its shoulder straps, her father leaned into the car and removed a white cane from between the seats. He gave it to Audrey and closed the door behind her.

  ‘Wolfgang, good morning!’ he said heartily as Wolfgang approached.

  ‘Good morning, Keith. Hullo Audrey.’

  Audrey smiled in the direction of his voice. She was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans and a pink cloth hat he hadn’t seen before. ‘Hi. Have you been waiting long?’

  ‘Five minutes,’ Wolfgang said, although it was closer to twenty. He looked at her cane. ‘Where’s Campbell?’

  ‘Staying home. He’s a wimp when it comes to lions. See you later, Dad.’

  ‘Have a good time, sweetie. Did you bring your phone?’

  ‘No, the battery’s flat.’

  Keith rolled his eyes for Wolfgang’s benefit. ‘I buy her a mobile phone and she never uses the thing.’

  ‘I didn’t ask for a mobile,’ Audrey said tiredly.

  ‘They only got it so they could keep tabs on me,’ she told Wolfgang when her father had gone. ‘They treat me like a baby. I’m nearly nineteen, for Christ’s sake.’

  Nineteen. Wolfgang shouldered his backpack. He’d thought eighteen, hoped seventeen. ‘Let’s get on the train,’ he said. ‘I’ve got our tickets.’

  ‘You bought me a ticket? Shit, Wolfgang, I get enough of this crap from my parents.’ She held out her hand. ‘Here, give it to me.’

  ‘The ticket?’

  ‘Yes, the ticket. I’ll get you a refund.’

  ‘Why not just pay me for it?’

  ‘Because I can get a concession,’ Audrey said. ‘Point me in the direction of the ticket counter.’

  Not a good start, Wolfgang thought as he watched her tap her way over to the counter. There were three people waiting but they stepped courteously aside when they saw Audrey’s white cane. He wondered if she was aware that she was queue-jumping.

  ‘Can I get a refund on this, please?’ she asked sweetly, placing her ticket and the cane on the counter, then rummaging through her backpack for her purse. ‘My friend bought it for me but he didn’t have my concession card.’

  Friend. For the first time since he had made the agreement with Audrey’s father, Wolfgang felt a stab of guilt.

  Audrey slept almost all the way to Melbourne. Sitting in the aisle seat beside her, Wolfgang wished he had something to read. But he hadn’t brought a book, imagining the two-hour train trip would be a good time for him and Audrey to get to know each other. He’d even researched his role as a university student and found out which Melbourne universities offered veterinary science, along with some of the study units they offered.

  As the train swayed into Southern Cross Station, Wolfgang touched Audrey lightly on the elbow. ‘Audrey, we’re here.’

  She came awake in a moment. ‘Melbourne? Already? Oh God, I’ve been asleep, haven’t I?’

  ‘Only for the last ten minutes or so.’

  ‘And then some,’ Audrey said, yawning hugely so he could see almost to the back of her throat. ‘I’m not much of a morning person. Sorry.’

  ‘You say sorry a lot.’

  ‘Touché.’

  ‘Actually, I owe you an apology,’ Wolfgang said.

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yeah. For what I said when I was leaving your place the other night.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘How I was glad I wasn’t blind.’

  ‘I don’t even remember it,’ Audrey said. She touched his arm. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you aren’t blind, too, Wolfgang. I’m kind of relying on you to be my eyes today.’

  As soon as they were out on the platform, Audrey lit a cigarette. She offered him the packet. Wolfgang almost told her he didn’t smoke, but changed his mind and took one. It would make him seem more worldly. More like a university student. He lit up and took a single light puff, then exhaled immediately, before the smoke burned his throat – before he choked and gave himself away as a non-smoker.

  ‘What about your cane?’ he asked, noticing the folded shaft still protruding from Audrey’s backpack where she had stowed it when they boarded the train.

  ‘Don’t need it.’ She changed her cigarette to her left hand, then threaded her right hand through the crook of his elbow. ‘Lead on, McDuff.’

  They caught a tram to the zoo. The trip took about twenty minutes and most of it they travelled in silence. Audrey wasn’t talkative. She would answer any questions Wolfgang put to her, and do so cheerfully enough, but she initiated no conversation of her own. Wolfgang found it hard work and eventually stopped trying. For the final twelve or fifteen minutes of their journey they sat in silence, side by side like two strangers.

  I can’t do this for five weeks, Wolfgang thought. Not even for two thousand dollars.

  As soon as they alighted at the zoo stop, Audrey became a different person. ‘You know, Wolfgang, you really took me by surprise,’ she said brightly, clinging to his arm as they made their way towards the entrance.

  ‘How do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, the zoo! It isn’t exactly the most obvious place to take a blind person.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to come.’

  ‘I did. I do!’ She squeezed his elbow. ‘I’m just amazed that you asked me. Amazed and, well, grateful.’

  Now it was Wolfgang’s turn to be silent.

  13

  Audrey got to smell the lions. And, thanks to her disability and the kindness of the zoo staff, she also got to hold an orphaned wombat, feed the baby giraffe and pat an elephant’s trunk. But the highlight of the day, and Wolfgang’s main reason for bringing Audrey to the zoo, was their visit to the Butterfly House.

  He didn’t tell her where they were as they entered the exhibit. They followed a group of foreign-speaking tourists through the quarantine chamber with its spring-loaded outer door and its inner barrier of heavy plastic strips, then into the enormous tropical hothouse.

  ‘My God it’s hot!’ Audrey gasped. ‘I can hardly breathe. What is this place?’

  Wolfgang drew in his breath as a female birdwing, as big as his hand, spun a silent pirouette around them. He had been here perhaps twenty times, but the magic never dimmed.


  ‘You know how you said the other day that you weren’t sure if butterflies really existed?’ he said. ‘Today I’ve brought you to meet some.’

  Audrey let go of his arm and stopped on the wooden walkway. ‘I’ve heard about this. Are there butterflies here?’

  ‘All around us. There’s one flying between us right now. And there’s a big blue Ulysses circling your head. I think it’s got its eye on your hat.’

  A wide childlike smile broke across Audrey’s face. She stood transfixed, a party of elderly zoo-goers threading their way past on either side. ‘Is it going to land?’ she whispered.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Wolfgang watched it dance off into the simulated rainforest behind her. He realised now what gave the exhibit its aura of unreality – it was the silence. Butterflies swirled around them in a dizzying kaleidoscope of colour, movement, life, yet they didn’t make a sound. If you were blind, they might not have been there. He took hold of Audrey’s hand.

  ‘We’re in the way here,’ he said softly. ‘Come with me.’

  Wolfgang led her to an out-of-the-way corner, where the walkway broadened and made a ninety degree turn to the right. Standing her in the angle of the railing beneath the dew-dropped foliage of a six-metre bangalow palm, he dug a small plastic bottle from his backpack.

  ‘Hold your hand out.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Audrey, grimacing as he smeared a sticky paste on her wrist.

  ‘My secret love potion,’ Wolfgang said, then blushed when he realised how that must have sounded. ‘For butterflies,’ he added quickly. ‘It’s a mixture of beer, rum and jam. They find it pretty much irresistible.’

  Audrey raised her wrist and sniffed it. She screwed up her nose. ‘Smells rank,’ she said.

  ‘Butterflies love it, trust me. Hold your arm up a bit. That’s it. It shouldn’t take too long.’