Dead Dog in the Still of the Night

by Archimede Fusillo

Adrian didn’t reply. He was whimpering, grimacing at every touch of his mother’s hands on his swollen face.

  ‘Keep your father out of here,’ Primo’s mother said. ‘I don’t want him to see any more of this than he already has.’ When Primo hesitated she added more forcefully, ‘Now, Primo. Do it!’

  Primo swallowed a reply and backed out of the bathroom. He found his father and Tone in the kitchen. His father was at the sink, pouring water from one glass into another. Tone was leaning against the far wall staring into the middle of the room.

  ‘It was Ari, wasn’t it?’ Tone said heavily.

  Primo made no response. He stared at his father.

  ‘Reckon he found out,’ Tone went on, as though he needed to speak aloud what was swirling about in his mind. ‘It was just a matter of time, right? Can’t keep something like what happened in the dark forever, eh?’

  ‘Shut up, Tone.’

  Tone looked at Primo. But Primo’s eyes were fixed on the old man at the sink, his thin, hairless legs poking out from the incontinence pad that sagged between them.

  ‘It’s all your fault,’ Primo began after a moment.

  ‘Me?’ Tone pushed off the wall, pointing at himself with one hand and lifting the other in Primo’s direction.

  Primo spat, ‘You and your women.’

  Tone realised his mistake and dropped his arms to his sides.

  ‘Mum was too good to you. She should never of taken you back that first time. She should of left you out on the street. You should never of been allowed back into this house.’

  Primo was moving now, circling the kitchen table, bearing down on his father who still had his back to them, hands busy pouring the water from one glass into the other, mumbling incoherently to himself.

  ‘Prims?’

  ‘It’s easy for you now, isn’t it?’ Primo went on, oblivious to Tone. ‘Losing your mind is a great way to escape all the shit you created!’

  Before Tone could grab him, Primo was at the sink and had one hand on his father’s elbow, turning him around. The old man let out a sharp cry, as though in sudden pain.

  The sound stopped Primo dead.

  ‘I good driver,’ his father said. He dropped the glasses into the sink and propped his hands, steering an imaginary car. ‘Like Fangio. I good driver. Like Fangio.’

  The old man made sounds to mimic accelerating, and leaned to his left as though taking a tight corner.

  ‘You can’t catch me! I too fast!’

  Primo’s clenched fists opened, his arms fell limp.

  ‘I want to buy a car. A special one. A Bambino. Red. Red for speed. Red for the sex.’

  Primo drew a breath. Before him the old man that was his father turned slightly and looked in his direction.

  ‘One day, Papa, you’ll see, I’ll get it,’ his father said, in his native Italian dialect. ‘I won’t always be a goatherd. I won’t always be a peasant like you.’

  And then the old man turned back to the sink and his ritual.

  ‘The goats need to drink. It’s so hot. They’ll die if they don’t have water.’

  Something in Primo broke.

  His shoulders drooped and he stepped back just enough to rest his backside against the kitchen table.

  He couldn’t be angry at this old man. He couldn’t forgive him, Primo realised as he looked at his father, but he couldn’t stay angry at him any longer. It was destroying them.

  ‘He doesn’t remember buying Bambino,’ Primo said softly, his voice trembling. ‘He thinks he’s still a young kid in Italy.’

  Primo watched his father lean forward and touch his smiling reflection in the windowpane.

  There was sudden movement at his back and Primo turned to see his mother. She said nothing but strode past him and put an arm gently around her husband’s shoulders, easing the glass he gripped into her own hand, before turning the old man away from the sink.

  ‘I’ve run the bath for your brother,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Keep an eye on him while I change your father.’

  It was not a request. Primo nodded and waited until his parents had shuffled past him, heading for the laundry.

  Tone was beside him as Primo stepped into the bathroom and Primo heard the quick intake of a sharp breath.

  ‘Shit!’ Tone said.

  In the bathtub, up to his neck in hot water, Adrian lay with his swollen eyes closed, moaning softly, face twitching almost imperceptibly.

  The soiled towels had been removed, but blood smeared the tiles. The stiff scent of disinfectant filled the air. It was cloying and Tone almost gagged, stepping out of the narrow room to catch his breath.

  Primo didn’t flinch. He sat down heavily on the stool his mother used to sit his father on when sponge-bathing him.

  Adrian stirred but didn’t open his eyes. His fingers clawed at the edge of the bathtub for a second then relaxed just as quickly.

  Primo felt another kick to the guts and sat forward. This was his fault, too. Yet not completely. His and Adrian’s, both. And their father’s, too. They were all complicit in what had happened, what was happening.

  ‘... wanted to kill me.’ Adrian’s voice was feeble, the words slurred.

  Primo jolted and looked at his brother’s face.

  Adrian’s eyes were still closed. He was biting his bottom lip, his face contorted in pain. ‘Would of, too.’

  Primo reached out a hand to touch his brother, reassure him that he would be okay, but withdrew it when Adrian coughed suddenly, spewing blood and saliva over his chin.

  ‘Adrian?’ he managed, but didn’t get further because Tone returned and stood at the foot of the bathtub.

  Primo exchanged glances with his mate.

  ‘Is it bad?’ Adrian asked suddenly, between rasping slow breaths.

  ‘Flesh wounds,’ Primo replied. ‘Bitch slaps.’ He tried to add a laugh and failed.

  Ad hiccupped a half-laugh of his own.

  ‘Hey, Ad?’ Tone said.

  Adrian didn’t reply. He writhed in discomfort and water spilled over the lip of the bath.

  ‘It was her brother, wasn’t it?’ Primo asked. He needed to know.

  Adrian reached up and felt for his nose. He tensed visibly at what he felt.

  ‘It was her brother, right?’ Primo persisted.

  Adrian laughed. He coughed up more blood and saliva, and forced his eyes open.

  ‘Her brother, yeah,’ he muttered indistinctly.

  When he tried to smile Primo saw the shattered front teeth.

  ‘Shit!’ Tone exclaimed.

  ‘Did he say anything?’ Primo asked. Did he mention my name? he thought but didn’t ask.

  ‘No. I was just jumped,’ Adrian said slowly and winced. His fingertips brushed along his lips and he felt the jagged edge of his broken teeth for the first time. He yelped and started weeping.

  Primo knelt down at the edge of the tub, reached forward and pulled Adrian into a sitting position, cradling him against his own body.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ad,’ he whispered through tears. ‘I’m so sorry.’ And he rocked Adrian gently back and forth, his brother’s low plaintive sobs punching at him.

  The next thing Primo knew he was being prised away from his brother and led out of the bathroom. When he looked around, expecting to see Tone at his side, Primo was startled to discover that his mother had an arm about his shoulders.

  She held him tight for a few moments then motioned that he and Tone leave her alone with Adrian.

  ‘Should I call the cops?’ Tone asked when he and Primo were in the kitchen.

  Primo sat across the table from his father who was busy shuffling a deck of cards. He was neatly dressed now, hair combed, reading glasses fixed to the bridge of his nose.

  Primo didn’t say anything. It was as though the old ghosts and the new spectres were brushing up against the family. Even Tone, standing awkwardly by the door into the hallway, knew enough to be both embarrassed and concerned.

  Minutes later, when his mother entere
d the kitchen, Primo swallowed hard, feeling unable to meet her gaze.

  ‘It had to come to this,’ she said into his ear so her husband and Tone couldn’t hear.

  ‘This is the price we all pay for me not being strong when I needed to be,’ she added, not bothering to whisper. ‘For your father’s weaknesses too. For all of it.’

  Primo looked up. ‘Mum,’ he started and stopped when his mother glared at him. She was playing absentmindedly with her wedding band, rubbing it gently back and forth.

  A pitiful keening began, inhuman, primitively animal.

  Tone cursed under his breath and instinctively his hands went up to cover his ears.

  Primo saw that his dad’s face was buried in his hands and his entire body was racked with sobs.

  No one moved. The world stood still, the semicircle of shattered figures leaning slightly in toward the centre of the kitchen table.

  Primo’s hands came up from his lap, and he brought them to rest on the table palms down. His mother was looking at him, through him. Tendrils of surprise and knots of fear bristled between them.

  ‘I knew it would come to this one day,’ his mother said with deep certainty. ‘But it has to stop. Now.’

  ‘I deal.’

  Primo jumped at his father’s voice.

  Frowning, his father dealt three cards across the table for Primo, then three for himself. He carefully laid four more face up between them, sat back and held his hand to his face. He was no longer weeping, but his eyes glistened.

  ‘You see what’s happened to Ad?’ Primo asked. ‘You see his face?’ He brushed the cards his father had dealt him aside and made a fist. ‘He doesn’t deserve that. Not even Ad deserves that.’

  ‘Go find another dead dog perhaps, Primo?’ his mother challenged him firmly, taking the cards he’d discarded and holding them up as though to play the hand. ‘Maybe I can go find all those women your father wronged me with and slap them?’

  She moved too quickly for Primo to react, pulling her right hand across her shoulder, lining up beside her husband’s head.

  ‘Maybe I should just kill this man here and now and be done with it all.’

  When her hand swept just a hair’s breadth from his father’s head Primo jumped to his feet, lunged forward and grabbed his mother’s arm.

  The momentum carried them forward so that Primo had his mother sandwiched against the sink even as Tone rushed forward to steady her.

  Primo’s mother pushed herself free, stepping around them.

  ‘Look at them, Primo,’ she said. ‘Your father and your brother. What do you see?’

  Primo cringed. His father was looking at him over his cards, mumbling.

  ‘He looks pathetic. They both do,’ Primo answered. ‘Sad and pathetic.’

  ‘And us, Primo? What about you and me? How do we look, do you think?’

  A movement in the corner of his eye caught Primo’s attention. Santo had walked in. He stood beside Tone, hands in pockets, and grinned into the room.

  ‘Who died?’ he asked with detached amusement.

  ‘So, let me get this straight. Even though you know who did this we’re just going to sit back and take it?’

  Santo was still prowling the kitchen hours after Adrian had been put safely to bed. Tone had brought in pizzas and piping hot spinach and ricotta cannelloni from his family’s pizzeria. Much of it lay on the table, uneaten in open cartons and aluminium boxes.

  Kath had been summoned and was sitting across from Primo, who hadn’t said much since helping his mother put his brother to bed.

  ‘Pretty much,’ Primo repeated yet again.

  Their mother had made them promise not to escalate the situation and he was just as unhappy about it as Santo, but Primo was determined not to create more strife than he already had.

  ‘Pretty much! Pretty much!’ Santo grunted. ‘Ad could have been kicked to death. Stabbed. Anything.’

  ‘But that didn’t happen,’ Kath cut in. ‘Which is Mum’s point. Ad’s going to be okay. He’s battered and bruised and groggy, but alive.’

  ‘But nothing!’ Santo hissed. He came to a stop in the doorway, fists opening and closing. ‘Dad wouldn’t be too proud of us, is what I’m thinking. The old man would be pissed, is what I’m guessing. He’d be wanting someone to take charge and do something.’

  ‘Do what? Get even?’ Primo said. ‘It’s about equal now.’

  Santo barrelled toward his younger brother. Primo didn’t bother getting to his feet.

  ‘You making fun of me, little man?’ Santo challenged. ‘You think maybe I won’t kick your arse?’

  Santo brushed a row of empty plastic cups from the table, scattering them on the floor.

  ‘The woman found a dead dog on her doorstep and it freaked her out,’ Primo said, turning his gaze to his oldest brother. ‘She’s got kids and they could of found it, so no wonder she told her brother and he went a bit troppo.’

  It wasn’t just the dead dog, Primo told himself. The dead dog just let loose the stench of everything that had come before it.

  Not that that justified what he’d done, Primo realised. Not in the slightest.

  Nothing was ever black and white. Not even his father’s actions, or how his mother had reacted.

  And now she was caring for an old man, shrivelling up into a shadow of who he’d been – the man his mother had known for all those long years. Or perhaps hadn’t ever really known.

  That thought made Primo’s head spin and he shook it aside.

  ‘Here’s an idea, Primo,’ Santo said. ‘Maybe you and your mate should of got the belting, not Ad, eh? If that’s why Ad got such a hiding, then maybe he took the fall for you and your dickhead mate. And that’s not right, is it, Primo?’

  ‘Shut up, Santo!’

  Kath was on her feet, stepping between Santo and Primo. Primo felt obliged to get to his feet also. Kath pushed him back into his chair. She reached her hand to rest on Santo’s shoulder.

  ‘How far back are we going to take this, Santo?’ She looked round at Primo. ‘How far back are we going to go to find who to blame next?’

  They heard a commotion at the end of the hallway. A light went on and leached into the dim kitchen.

  Stella appeared at the kitchen doorway. Beth skipped in just ahead of her.

  ‘He’s okay, Stella,’ Kath said. With a quick glance at Primo she crouched down to sweep Beth into her arms. ‘He’s sore, but he’ll survive.’

  Stella gazed into the middle distance. Primo thought she looked far too calm for someone whose husband had just been bashed. Smoothing down the front of her dress she made eye contact with Primo first and then Santo.

  ‘I’m not glad it happened, but he had it coming,’ she said. ‘You don’t cheat on your family and think you’ll get away with it.’ She sniffed and turned to Kath, dancing gently round the room with Beth in her arms. Beth squealed in delight.

  ‘He never considered our feelings, or what it would do to us,’ Stella added curtly. ‘Not once.’

  When he looked at Santo, Primo saw that he was biting his lip, fists clenched at his sides, fuming. He became aware that he had his own fists clenched too, white-knuckled and aching. He shook them loose.

  ‘He’s sorry,’ Primo uttered.

  The room was almost silent. Even Beth, aware of her mother’s fury at her uncle’s words, only sighed in disappointment when her aunt put her back on her own feet.

  Stella smirked.

  Primo gritted his teeth.

  ‘Is that what he is? Sorry? Yeah, I guess he is,’ Stella said. ‘Like your old man. Sorry for getting caught.’

  ‘Stella!’ Kath began.

  ‘You want to see Daddy?’ Stella said, ignoring Kath. The little girl smiled at each of the adults in turn, then took her mother’s hand.

  ‘Is he in a fit enough state not to scare Beth?’ Stella asked.

  Kath nodded uncertainly.

  ‘Hey, Beth, Aunty Kath wants to show you something pretty in the garden,’
Stella said and handed the child across before almost gliding down the hallway to her husband.

  They were silent for a long time. Primo sat heavy in his seat, his mind reeling with what Ari could have done, and confused by why he hadn’t.

  Perhaps he gave Ad a belting to serve as a vicious warning of what was possible. Perhaps Ari wasn’t finished with Ad yet. Perhaps there was more to come.

  Primo sprang to his feet. Maybe it wasn’t over yet. What if Ari was just starting out on his revenge?

  The thought made Primo feel nauseous.

  That night, for the first time in many years, Primo stayed under the same roof as all his siblings. But none of them slept much. Primo heard the toing and froing between where his brother lay bandaged and sore, and where their father lay dreamily oblivious to what had happened. If it wasn’t his mother, it was Kath. If not Kath, it was Santo checking in on the old man and Adrian.

  Eventually Primo got up and checked on Ad as well, pulling up a chair in his bedroom and sitting in the semi-dark watching the night shadows slowly pale and fade at the window.

  In the morning Primo helped his mother take Adrian to the family doctor before making his way to school. He’d insisted he go with his mother and brother, leaving his sister to look after their father.

  Santo went off to do whatever it was that occupied his days, which may or may not have included getting things in order for reopening the workshop.

  ‘Hey, Prims!’

  Tone caught up with Primo in the school grounds, just outside the locker corridor.

  ‘Tone? What are you doing here?’ Primo asked, leading him inside.

  Tone shrugged. ‘You weren’t home when I dropped by. Kath told me you were taking Ad to the doctor and then heading here, so ...’ He shrugged. ‘How’s Ad?’

  ‘He’s going to need a bit of dental care,’ Primo answered, immediately regretting his glibness. ‘He’ll come good. Doc doesn’t believe the spiel about Ad falling over at home, but without Ad willing to give him anything …’ Primo looked away. ‘He’s going to be sore for a while, that’s for certain.’

  ‘I feel bad about the dog,’ Tone said. ‘You were right. If I hadn’t run it over, you know. If I had just left it where it was …’

  ‘It’s all good, Tone,’ Primo said. ‘What’s done is done, yeah?’