Elliot couldn’t speak. His jaw fell open and stayed dropped. He registered Arnie and Dorice looking at each other as if to say, obviously he didn’t know. ‘She left two weeks ago; Mr Rashim just took the family and went. I’m keeping an eye on things for him.’
Everything suddenly seemed bleak. Zeya would be married off; her dreams of university blown. All that lay ahead was confrontation and disappointment. Elliot felt despair like he’d never known before.
A storm was brewing in the city when his mother rang early one evening about a week later. For once, he couldn’t avoid her.
‘Elliot, you’re going to have to keep warm; there’s terrible weather heading your way,’ she said. ‘Torrential rain and gales.’
‘It’s already started. We’re home from work late and Arnie’s lighting the fire, which is my job, so I can’t talk long.’ Elliot ignored Arnie’s waving hand that indicated he was under control. ‘I need to get more wood, Mum.’
‘I know you’re busy, but I wanted to say that a lady rang here this afternoon and asked for your Wellington address. She said you’d bought some second-hand tools off her husband, and that as she was going to Wellington she’d deliver them herself.’
Elliot exhaled slowly. ‘And you said?’
‘Well, naturally I said thank you and gave her your address. She’s heading down tonight so you’ll get them soon, I think.’
‘Right. Perfect. Thank you … Yes, you too. Goodbye.’ Elliot hung up and thought, shit.
It wouldn’t have been more than half an hour later that someone knocked on the ranchsliders. Arnie was bent over the cat bowls dropping vitamins into their dinner and he only needed to stretch out his arm to slide the door back.
‘Hello, hello,’ he said and Elliot braced himself. He’d expected Lena but it was almost worse to see Katie standing under the outside light. She was wearing a long, stylish black raincoat with a grim-reaper-type hood. Water ran off it in rivulets.
Katie walked past Arnie as if he was the doorman and stepped directly over to Elliot. ‘I’ve been looking for you, my boy. Lena is pregnant, as you know. She says you’re the father. And you’re dodging the issues.’ Her short sentences were accompanied by jabs of her index finger at Elliot.
‘Would you like to sit down? I’m sorry I don’t know your name,’ Arnie said. He’d come around to stand beside Katie, who looked taken aback that the bent old man at the door was standing straight and tall before her.
‘No, I’m here to speak to Elliot.’
‘Well, my name is Arnold Cashwell and this is my home and I’d like you to remove your wet coat so my carpet isn’t ruined.’
Katie closed her mouth. She looked down at the cat-ripped mangy carpet and Elliot looked at Arnie.
‘I’m sorry.’ She took off her coat and passed it to Arnie. Some of her attitude went with it. ‘I’m Katie, Lena Hopgood’s aunt and guardian.’
‘I’ve got nothing to say,’ Elliot muttered as the coat ceremony was happening. He could feel his heart pounding as the trap closed around him.
‘Well, try listening then,’ Arnie cut in and Elliot scowled at him.
Katie ran her fingers across her forehead as if she couldn’t remember her lines and Elliot grabbed his chance.
‘I’m not talking or listening. I’m gunna deal with stuff in my own time, in my own way.’ He patted his pocket to check he still had the van keys and started for the door. ‘If you don’t leave, I will.’
‘I’ll go. I’ve found you and now I’ll give you this.’ She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. ‘This is Lena’s number. She’s here in Wellington this weekend and you have to arrange a meeting, just the two of you. If you don’t, we’ll both be here on Sunday before we drive home — via your parents’ house. And Elliot,’ she put her hand out as if to touch his arm and he recoiled from her. ‘You have to get over all the stuff that happened between you and Lena last year. I know it was traumatic.’
‘What?’ Elliot shouted. ‘Traumatic?’
‘Keep calm, buster,’ Arnie said and Elliot stepped back from him as well.
‘Yes, it was a dreadful business, you and Lena, but you have to face your responsibilities now. Lena doesn’t want this either but she doesn’t have the luxury of procrastinating.’ Katie thrust the scrap of paper into Elliot’s hand. ‘May I suggest you grow up? Perhaps begin by educating yourself on what involvement is optional and what is mandatory?’
‘Well, I agree with that,’ Arnie said. ‘I’ll have a chat to him.’ Arnie ushered Katie to the door and held up her coat. ‘He’s a good boy.’
‘I’m sure,’ Katie said. ‘Now he needs to start being a good parent.’ She put her coat back on and slid the door open.
‘Be careful on the path; it’s a bad night to be out.’
‘What was all that?’ Elliot said as soon as the door shut on Katie. ‘You can’t take sides. Why should I meet with Lena? I hate her.’ He bounced on the balls of his feet as if he could shake out the fear. ‘And you shouldn’t have spoken for me, saying shit like “He’s a good boy”. Why’d you say that?’
‘Elliot, listen. Calm down.’
‘This isn’t like my old girlfriend and we’ve fallen out of love or anything. This is like dealing with a freak, a fruitcake.’ Elliot got more agitated with each depiction. ‘A witch.’
‘Then smarten up and know your enemy. If she’s as bad as you make out then running away won’t save you. And anyway,’ Arnie said, ‘it’s not about you and the girl; it’s about the baby now.’
‘You don’t know stuff. You’ve got no kids or wife.’
‘I do know stuff, you arrogant little upstart.’ Arnie spat out the word stuff and a drop of saliva sat on his lower lip. He didn’t wipe it away but took a menacing step forward. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘because I spent the best years of my life looking for my father.’ The skin on Arnie’s face was pulled tight over the bones, making him look skeletal and ugly. His nose was a veiny neon light. ‘I joined the navy because all I knew was that my father was a married naval officer. He was on shore leave when I was conceived and I’ve looked for him for the best part of eighty years. So don’t you tell me I don’t know stuff.’
Elliot shuffled back a step and looked at the fire. He thought Arnie might cark it if he didn’t calm down.
‘This whole thing isn’t about you; it’s about the baby. God knows you’ve had your chance and you’ve been given a bloody good run with those parents of yours. The only way you can repay good folks like them is to do the right thing by the next generation.’
Arnie’s hands were trembling and he shook his head as if he was speaking to a complete idiot. ‘Your baby needs two people gunning for it and if it can’t have that, then it’s entitled to know exactly who its parents are.’ He went to the rum cabinet and sloshed drink into a glass, the liquid spilling onto the wooden surface.
There was silence in the room except for the sound of the fire behind the glass door. Arnie took a swig, taking his index finger off his glass to point at Elliot. ‘I didn’t want a father so I could claim an inheritance or break up another family. I wanted a name, a history, a place, goddamn it.’ He took a step forward again. ‘You’ve fathered a baby, so you now have a duty of care.’
‘I’ve told you a million times, I don’t know if the baby is mine.’
‘Yes, you have told me, but your approach to the problem is cowardly.’
‘Well it doesn’t matter now, ’cause I’m snapped. It’s all over.’
‘It’s not over, son. It’s only beginning.’
They didn’t speak much for the rest of the night and dinner was a miserable affair of leftovers that they ate separately. While the storm grew and intensified outside, inside, Arnie and Elliot retreated to their corners and licked their wounds. Arnie sat in his chair with his task book on his lap. He drank too much rum.
Elliot wanted to say something but it got harder to speak as the evening wore on. He had his laptop open on his knee and aimlessly trawled
through sites. Occasionally he stole a glance at Arnie and thought about him as a young man looking for his father.
The storm was still rampant the next morning, bending branches on the trees as if they were on puppet strings, and littering the road with debris. High winds threw the rain, and the fat drops on the windscreen became darting silver fish. The wind violently buffeted the van and roared through the ladder on the roof.
‘Change of plan,’ Arnie shouted as he turned off his phone. ‘Stan Wishnovsky needs us at the Old Brewery in town. We’d better fight the traffic and go now.’ Arnie’d unclipped his seatbelt to dig the phone out of his pocket and now struggled to do it up again. His heavy oilskin held him like a straitjacket. After several attempts, he threw his swollen, mottled hands in the air and said, ‘I’m not wearing it. Just drive.’
‘No, you have to; this weather’s crazy.’ Elliot pulled over. ‘I’ll do it.’ He leaned across to grab the belt and Arnie turned to look out his window. The close contact felt awkward after last night’s fight.
There were no parks at the Old Brewery, so Elliot edged two wheels onto the footpath and left the hazard lights blinking. They stared out at the weather before either of them opened the door.
‘You said last night, I didn’t have kids or a wife.’
‘Yeah, sorry, I was—’
‘No, you were right; I’m alone and old.’ Arnie wiped a spider’s web off the edge of the dashboard as he spoke. ‘I’m your typical grumpy old man. I’m annoyed with the way you haven’t dealt with things, but I’m still here for you.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate that. I’ll call Lena this weekend.’
‘Yeah. You have to. It’s time to show some initiative, lad. I thought you’d done it when you went home for your mate’s birthday.’
‘I wanted you to think that so you’d get off my case.’
‘Well, there’s no fool like an old fool,’ Arnie said as he opened the passenger door. ‘I’ll be pleased when this is sorted ’cause I’ve about had enough. Now move the van; you’re too close to the corner.’
‘I’ll move as soon as we’ve spoken to Stan,’ Elliot said. They both leapt out and bent into the weather as they ran for the shelter of the Old Brewery. The rain was needle-sharp and the cold cut through Elliot’s windbreaker.
Inside was gloomier and colder than out in the weather. A deep-seated smell of beer rose from the ancient carpet and the old-fashioned wallpaper was stained and yellowed. Tools were lying on the floor but there was no sign of the builder, Stan.
‘We took so long getting here he’s probably wandered off for a hot drink,’ Arnie said.
‘I couldn’t have gone any faster.’
‘I know that,’ Arnie said in a snappy way. He walked to the wall by the door to have a look. ‘He wants a security camera in here, and he needs a new power-point to service it.’ Arnie examined the wall in the half-light. ‘He’s drawn a pencil shape up there, where it’s got to go.’
‘That might be something else. You can’t just assume—’
‘I can, actually. I’m the boss, remember?’
Elliot shut up. He’d hoped Arnie might chill out, but it wasn’t looking hopeful.
‘If you leave me with my tool bag, I’ll poke around here and make a start. You go and find a place to park.’
Elliot had to circle the block several times before he found a space and it was a long sprint back to the brewery.
Inside was still deserted but Stan’s pile of tools had been moved. It looked as if Arnie had spread them out and left one of the power tools, the drill, not only plugged into a socket, but still running.
Who the hell leaves an electric drill running and unattended? Arnie’s bloody losing it. He yelled for Arnie, but he was nowhere to be seen. ‘Arnie? Hello?’
Elliot was aware of the deafening sound of a wall of rainwater falling outside the door. He leaned down and switched the drill off; he called again and then wandered across the room.
Arnie backed out of a cupboard along the passage way and peered into the gloom. He seemed surprised to see Elliot. ‘You’re back? Where’d you park?’
‘Miles away,’ Elliot said, but Arnie wasn’t listening. He walked past Elliot and went to the drill on the floor, moving it with his shoe as if it were a live crab on the beach. Then he grunted, turned away and dragged an old metal bar stool over to the wall. ‘Where’d you park the van?’ he asked again. ‘I need my other tool bag.’
‘I told you, miles away. I had to run in this thing,’ Elliot said, taking his sodden jacket off and dropping it on the floor.
They looked at each other for a moment. Arnie glanced at the rain before he bent down to search amongst the tools he had. ‘These will have to do then,’ he said to himself as he selected some pliers. He added them to the things in his hand and heaved himself up onto the rickety stool.
Arnie groaned as his knees objected and Elliot watched him grit his teeth and clutch the wall. He pulled the drill out of the power-point and let the plug fall to the floor. Then he started to unscrew the plastic cover of the wall socket.
Elliot was just going to ask Arnie what the hell he thought he was doing when he felt his mobile vibrate in his jeans’ pocket. He checked the caller, terrified it might be Lena.
It was Zeya. Elliot’s breath caught with the sheer joy of seeing her name come up. She must be back. He had to speak to her.
He took two steps back into the semi-darkness of the old building and pressed answer. ‘Zeya?’
‘Elliot.’
‘Oh, are you okay? Are you—’ There was so much Elliot wanted to ask and no time to speak. He knew Arnie would be angry if he caught him answering his phone at work. Elliot glanced in Arnie’s direction to buy himself a few more seconds but what he saw made him freeze. Arnie’s pliers were poised to cut through the wires behind the power-point.
‘No!’ Elliot yelled as Arnie cut. Immediately Arnie’s body seized up. There was no scream or noise as the electrical current surged through him, just the terrible sight as he locked rigid.
Elliot heard Zeya saying something but he dropped the phone and ran forward. ‘Arnie! Arnie! Oh my god.’ Arnie’s eyes rolled in his head. For a split second they stared at each other, Arnie begging, Elliot terrified.
There were sparks at the point of the pliers and in that moment, Elliot registered they were non-insulated pliers. ‘Hang on! Oh shittin’ hell, what the fuck?’
Elliot knew what to do then. He picked up his sodden jacket and held it by the ends of the sleeves. Get him away from the power source even if you break his arm doing it, he remembered his father teaching him. He twirled the jacket once and lassoed Arnie. It hooked him around his shoulders. He yanked the jacket but it slid up around Arnie’s neck. He pulled again, hard, and Arnie toppled off the stool. He lay crumpled but free.
A terrible sound came from Arnie, a dying exhalation perhaps — or a grunt of relief. He lay there, not moving. His eyes were half-shut; his body completely still.
‘Are you okay? Can you hear me? Come on. Talk. Talk, Arnie!’ Elliot shook Arnie’s shoulder through his drenched coat.
Nothing.
He lay with his foot twisted up under him. It didn’t look natural. ‘Come on, Arnie, come on.’ He tapped the side of Arnie’s face then scrambled back to get his phone. ‘Shit, shit. One, one, one. Come on,’ he muttered.
He was through immediately to emergency services and then through again to the ambulance. It felt like forever. The woman at the other end asked if Arnie was breathing.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘What address? Stay on the line when you’ve told me,’ she instructed.
‘The Old Brewery. Aah, middle of the city.’
‘What city?’
Was she stupid? ‘Wellington, of course.’
‘What street?’
He didn’t know. ‘Wait. I’ll find out.’ He ran around Arnie to check outside and nearly collided with a man walking in.
‘Hey,’ the man shouted.
‘You shouldn’t be in here. This is a construction site.’
‘Oh my god, are you Stan?’ Elliot said. ‘What street is this? Arnie’s been electrocuted.’
‘Jesus! Where is he?’ He looked past Elliot to see Arnie crumpled on the floor. ‘Taranaki Street,’ he said. ‘Is that the ambulance? Tell them to hurry.’
Stan went over to Arnie and knelt beside him. ‘Is he breathing?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, but started doing CPR and Elliot gave the street name to the operator. She asked Elliot to wait nearby for the ambulance and then asked again about Arnie: did he have a pulse, was he breathing?
‘I can’t tell you if I have to stand outside and wait for an ambulance,’ Elliot shouted at the operator. People hurried by, their snippets of conversation reflecting normal routines while Arnie’s life hung in the balance — metres from the door.
Please let him be okay, please don’t let him die. Elliot begged the piece of grey sky that he could see above the buildings.
At last Elliot heard the faint sound of an ambulance siren amidst the noise of the traffic and the rain. Relief rushed through him. Cars pulled aside and people out walking stopped to watch.
Elliot waved the ambulance onto the footpath. ‘Quick, he’s in here. He’s really bad, a shit colour; the thing just went crazy. I had to drag him away from the source and I think he’s broken something, maybe his leg.’
‘In here?’ The medic pushed past Elliot, leaving his driver to get out the oxygen. ‘Good work,’ he said to Stan. ‘We’ll take over.’
Stan and Elliot watched as the ambulance officers got to work. ‘Get his coat off,’ one of them said. ‘It’s bloody saturated.’ When Arnie’s wet oilskin was peeled off they wrapped him in a huge piece of tin foil and carefully laid him onto a stretcher. Elliot started to shake.
‘Here. Shock. Put this on,’ Stan said. He bent down to pick up Arnie’s oilskin and stayed there, staring at his drill. ‘What’s this doing out?’
‘Dunno,’ Elliot said. His teeth chattered.
Coming Home to Roost Page 12