by Bill Day
He also spies the tall scarecrow and runs towards it. Helen runs behind, teeth flashing in the bright light.
Andrea stands on the stage and stares blankly at the waiting crowd. Shit, she hasn’t prepared a speech. I walk over and gently take the microphone from her limp hand.
“Introducing Andrea McTavish’ newest work. This scarecrow stands in defiance of change for the sake of change, growth for the sake of growth, and profit that forsakes all else. Light him up, Andrea.”
Orange and Muscles reach Matthew from the left and circle clockwise. Purple and Helen reach Matthew from the right and circle anticlockwise. Collision is unavoidable.
Andrea touches a match to Matthew.
Orange and Purple collide at full gallop directly behind Matthew the scarecrow. They cartwheel into the air. Helen leaps over both of them, lands on Muscles’ shoulders, and launches herself high above the cartwheeling hippies.
Matthew goes up like a bomb. Orange and Purple are engulfed in flames. Helen shines bright orange as she flies like a Pegasus. Orange and Purple thrash about in the air, pants ablaze. Muscles, unable to stop his headlong sprint, rolls through the flames like a circus daredevil. The dead cat spins high above the flames, arcs downward, and disappears into the inferno.
The crowd erupts in rapturous applause.
Fingers watches proudly, “I added a few incendiaries to make him burn.” Andy backs away. Smoke wafts from her eyebrows. She casts her singed eyes about and spies Fingers grinning like a fool.
She points him. “Arsehole!” He runs like a greyhound in a rabbit cage, with Andrea hot on his heels.
Purple and Orange hit the ground and pound at the flames. They rise from the ashes like the phoenix.
Helen lands deftly and continues to run until she reaches her doghouse. Muscles lands on his feet, glances at the crowd, and ambles off as if nothing is out of the ordinary.
Mathew roars in spectacular flames.
Eventually, the flames and applause fade away. The crowd disperses. One group walk close to me and I hear a few young artists jabber with excitement.
“That was awesome. Andy McTavish is a genius.”
“I get the two burning hippies but what was the significance of the dog?”
“The white dog symbolises faithfulness. She is faithful to her art.”
“Oh, that’s awesome.”
I laugh and go find Enrico.
14
Monty and the Ginger Cat
My phone rings, “Have you found that reporter yet?”
“Not yet Lucky, I’m on it now.”
I head off to search for Leah but an intermittent boom grabs my attention. My paint cannons! I race over to the doghouse. Enrico is test firing the cannons. “Bang”, one sprays up the side of the building and leaves a bright green slash forty feet long. “Bang”, another shoots over the entire grounds and sprays vivid red over cars parked nearby.
“Monty, they are so powerful. My girls are wonders.”
“That they are Enrico. Can’t talk - I have to find somebody.”
Just then I spy Leah weaving in and out amongst a stream of people. Celia follows well behind her. Celia sees me and runs up. She takes a quick look at the cannon.
“Load this thing for me.” Enrico does as she commands. She aims and pulls the trigger. Leah collapses in a haze of yellow. “Got ya!” Celia runs over and arm locks Leah. Fingers joins them and they escort Leah away.
My mother never fails to impress me.
With a shrug, I leave Leah to her fate and start firing paint into the dog house. I load and fire the first canister. The effect is immediate and startling. Helen, deaf to all the commotion until now, suddenly finds her house shaking like San Francisco. She races out and leaps upon the cannon with the full force of a demented kelpie. I abandon my weaponry and go into full retreat.
A small Japanese man runs over and waves a wad of cash at me. He wants to buy my cannons. I negotiate to sell all but the one Helen is savaging. He carries off his new prizes gleefully.
I stand and hold the “attention” signal for a full minute. Eventually, Helen looks up and stops biting my remaining cannon. With a look of superiority, she shakes her body, lowers her hackles, and stalks back into her doghouse. Fearful of disturbing her further I pack and store my last cannon.
The sun is coming up, the lights go off, and the real art starts to happen. Artists go to work. Some talk to spectators as they create, others just work quietly. Some are featured on the big screen. Potters wedge and kneed clay, preparing to throw pots and jugs. One small Indian gent makes yards of clay sausages. He will make a traditional coil pot out of them - an ancient skill. Poets recite on stage. A very thin Indonesian woman makes and flies wonderful kites. Already several dodge and weave above the stage. People wander through Andy’s wooden rectangles and discuss the why and what of them. It is all very impressive.
Later in the day, Sarah and Jessica amble up to me smiling. They are fully and beautifully painted. It is difficult to see if they are partially clothed or fully naked. I decide it really doesn’t matter.
“Monty, the body painting is on, are you getting a coat? Oh, we’re engaged by the way”. They display two lovely and identical diamond rings. “The rule is if you get painted you have to paint two others. Andy says it is something about exponentials. Celia and Brian are helping. You should go down and have a look.” Sarah looks a bit shy. “I painted that Enrico chap. He got a bit excited.”
I try to imagine my naked painted parents and decide to give the body painting a wide berth. Andy’s body painting plan seems to be working though, as I see more and more naked and semi-naked painted people walking about.
All the time Mary, Sonia, and Enrico work hard to get everything on the live feed and out to the world. Beyond my expectations, the event is going swimmingly well.
I hear a clanking, mechanical noise. A small crane has somehow negotiated its way through the throng of cars and people. The Japanese fellow who bought my cannons spreads out a giant canvas on the lawn and guides the crane so the arm is over the canvas. He connects a chain and a large bag of something lifts off the ground. He pierces the bag and blue paint starts to dribble out. He pushes it and it swings like a giant pendulum. It leaves interesting oval patterns as it swings. He runs over to a paint cannon and fires a slash of orange paint over the canvas. He giggles and lets the blue drip over it. He runs to another cannon and fires another burst of orange. The result is quite stunning.
Andy finds us. She waves, “Haru, you made it. Thank you for coming!” Haru waves back then fires another cannon shot. He laughs and gives the swinging bag another push.
I turn to find a place to rest and Enrico strolls up. “Monty! She made me into a barber pole!” He proudly waves his spiral painted penis in my direction. He turns to walk away and is face to face with Sonia, who slaps him so hard he loses his footing and lands in a puddle of orange paint slurry. As he rises from his orange puddle, I notice Mary as she sashays towards us. She is painted as a very naked, very beautiful ginger cat. I stare in wonder and edge away from Sonia.
I try to distract Enrico, “Who’s doing the drones and stuff?”
“It’s lunchtime. We will get back in a little time.”
Despite my feeble effort of distraction, he sees Mary and splutters.
“Sonia, get her covered up and get back to work.” He turns to me and glares. “What are you fucking looking at Monty?” That’s number three. Sonia aims a kick at my arse but I duck out of range, only to trip over my feet and land in the slurry puddle anyhow. I stay down until Enrico and the girls walk away. I stare at Mary’s retreating figure. I decide she’s the most beautiful girl in the world - and Sonia the most frightening.
I feel hungry so I make my way to the diner. On the way, I walk past the Tatters Brown Memorial Garden. Muscles is burying the charred remains of the dead cat. I wonder how many Tatters Browns are buried there.
In the diner there are woks, rotisseries, tandoors and a
host of other cooking devices. Friends who live here have come out to feed the hippies. Kwang-Seok is cooking Jajangmyeon, Ghasif Khoury is cooking Laban Immo, and Gladys is icing delicate cupcakes. I try a bit of everything and sink a few beers, then relax to let my food digest.
“Hello, Monty. Do you mind if I sit down?” I look up at Mary’s smiling face. She is wrapped in a grey trench coat but much of the ginger cat is still visible.
“Um.” Mary takes that as affirmative and sits.
“We are just taking a break. I thought I’d get a bite to eat.”
I look around. “Where’s Sonia?”
She laughs. “You’re safe Monty. She’s getting ready to film the closing ceremony.” Mary casts her eyes down. “I have about an hour. Why don’t you show me around?”
I swallow. “Um.”
Again, Mary takes this as an affirmative. She gets up, takes my hand, and we walk to the door. “I seem to remember your unit’s on the top floor.”
Hand in hand we ascend the stairs and head up to my unit. Inside Mary shrugs off her trench coat and puts her arms around my neck. I can smell her breath and feel it on my cheek. She fixes her deep brown eyes on mine and whispers, “meow”.
An hour later we stand on the balcony and watch the activity below. “She really likes you; you know?”
“Who?”
“Sonia, she talks about you all the time. It drives Dad and me crazy.”
I smile, “She’s no ginger cat though, is she?”
Mary gives me a strange look. “Are you blind, Monty? We’re twins - identical twins. She is as much ginger cat as I am, perhaps more so. She has more fire in her soul than me. You should get to know her better. Anyhow, I have to get back down. You as well.”
I think about Mary and Sonia. Sonia’s hair is short - Mary’s long and luxurious. Sonia’s walk is determined and no-nonsense - Mary’s a sizzling saunter. But there are more similarities than differences. They share a full figure and long legs, being a few inches shy of six feet. Both have dark hair with flashes of gold that mirror their deep brown, gold-flecked eyes. Their faces are models of South Italian beauty and carry a sultry look that both allures and terrifies me. Now that I look, I see they’re obviously twins. Sometimes I’m as blind as Ray Charles.
I walk Mary back down the stairs. With a wink and kiss on the cheek, she skips out the side door and is gone. I walk outside in a state of confusion and begin a general check that all is going as planned. I find all is going to plan.
Afternoon fades into evening without further incident and soon it’s time to wrap up the events. Andy mounts the stage and addresses the crowd. To the side stand Sarah and Jessica. “I just want to say thank you to everybody - this is as good as it ever can be. I love you all. Sarah Chan MP will officially close the day’s events.” Sarah approaches. She motions to Jessica to join her.
“Thank you, Andrea, for this marvellous event. As Minister for Housing and Construction, I maintain the register of historically and culturally significant buildings. This fine building behind me is one of the last examples of its kind in the city. As such I have registered it and its grounds as being historically significant. It is hereby protected from future development and preserved for future generations to enjoy. Furthermore, I have an undertaking from the owners that the building grounds will continue to host The Andrea McTavish Annual Art Festival in perpetuity. I, for one, will certainly be back next year. So, without further delay, I declare this fabulous day over. Go home people and see you next year!”
Applause and cheers well up as Andy, Sarah, and Jess leave the stage.
“What does all that mean Monty?” Fingers has whispered up beside me.
“I think it means Seabreeze and its grounds are safe for now.”
“Did you have a hand in this Monty?”
“No, I think it was more Jessica, Sarah, and Lucky.”
Fingers shrugs, “Still, things happen around you Monty. I think you had a hand in it somewhere. Good job.”
I smile, “Thanks Fingers. What was all that with Leah?”
“Ah, that’s for Lucky to explain. He smiles, what was all that with Mary.”
He notices the look of panic on my face and laughs. “Don’t worry Monty. Enrico was busy all afternoon. Be careful though. He dotes on his girls.”
I just nod. Exhausted I leave everyone to their own devices and head up to my unit. There is no sign Leah was ever there.
15
The Temple of World Rebirth
I wake to hear singing drift up from the grounds below. I walk to the balcony, slide the glass door open, and look down. A lot of people are down there. There are cleaners, hire company workers, Finger’s group of toilet movers, and a large group of singers. Amongst them, I can make out Lucky talking to Mike. My curiosity piqued; I make my way down.
“Monty, I believe you’ve met Attis.”
I look directly at Mike. “Attis?”
“Yes Monty, I am the god Attis reborn.”
“Who is Attis?”
“I am, you should listen, Monty.” Attis seems a bit rude.
“No, who is the Attis that is reborn?”
“I am, Monty. Are you stupid?”
I try to rephrase the question, “So who was Attis before you?”
Attis stares at me and shakes his head. He turns to Lucky. “Can you explain it to him? He’s an idiot.”
Lucky chips in, “Attis is the Greek god of rebirth, Monty.”
“So, Mike is Attis the god of rebirth, reborn? Have I got that right?”
“Monty, I am Attis the god of rebirth. Mike is gone.”
“Where?”
“Where what?”
“Where has Mike gone?”
“He’s just gone Monty, all right!”
“He has to be gone somewhere.”
“Mike is dead, okay?”
“Mike’s dead?
“Yes, as I said, Mike is dead. I am Attis.”
“Reborn?”
“Yes Monty, reborn.
Did Attis, the god of rebirth kill Mike to get reborn?
“What?”
Or did Mike kill himself so Attis could be reborn?
“No, I…..”
Or did Attis get reborn and then kill Mike?
“What? Nobody killed Mike!”
“Then how did he die?”
“Mike isn’t literally dead, you moron.”
So, what kind of dead is he?
“He is metaphorically dead.”
“Mike’s death is a metaphor?”
“Exactly.”
“For what?”
“What?!”
“Mike’s metaphorically dead so his death is a metaphor for something. So, for what?”
“Shit, It’s not that difficult Monty. Mike’s death is a metaphor for my rebirth.”
“And you’re Attis the reborn god of rebirth?
“Exactly.”
“So, Mike is figuratively dead?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
“So can I talk to him?”
“Who?”
“Mike!”
“Shit Monty! You can’t talk to Mike, he’s dead!”
“Then Mike is literally dead?”
“Yes, clearly.”
“And Mike is figuratively dead?”
Attis pauses, “It is a mystery beyond mortal comprehension.”
“So Attis, are you literally or figuratively reborn?”
Attis rubs his eyes, comes up close to me, and looks furtively to check no one is in earshot. “Look Monty you fucker, best shut up before I break your arms.”
“Ah, there you are Mike. I heard you were dead.”
He glares at me for 30 seconds, turns, and stomps away furiously muttering to himself. He joins the singers, who number about fifty. There is a sigh of adoration as he sits with them. A goodly number of them glare daggers at me. Dead or not he has charmed more than just Julia. I notice they all wear woven copper bracelets.
“Attis an
d his followers and walking to a property we have down South. We are going to lease it to him. His plan is pretty impressive. They aren’t taking food or money. Attis assures them they will be provided for along the way. They will build a temple when they get there.”
“Lucky, he’s barking mad.”
“Is he? He already has enough followers to register a religion. A registered religion in our pocket may be useful. Someone will have to follow to make sure they really are provided for. Can’t have the Temple of World Rebirth falling apart before it gets off the ground. It will be you or Fingers, although I can’t spare either of you at the moment.”
I rub my face. “Anyhow, forget Attis. I want to ask you about Leah Alcock.”
Lucky goes quiet. “She isn’t Leah Alcock. Leah Alcock is in Thailand getting her boobs done. Andy didn’t vet her properly. It’s my fault. I should have got Kevin to do it.”
“Kevin?”
“You call him Mr Bananas. You really shouldn’t. His nickname is Digger.”
“An ex-army man?”
He sighs, “No Monty, he digs dirt for us. You seem particularly dim today.”
So, what’s the problem if she fakes her way in?”
“Bloody hell Monty wake up. We can’t have stickybeaks poking around.”
“Hm, who is she then?”
“No idea. All we know is she isn’t Leah Alcock. I am more concerned with why she is here than who she is. I would know if she was police. She’s too clumsy for the tax department. She might just be a nosy reporter. She may be sent by a different mob of criminals.” Lucky shrugs, “I have Digger on her. He will get to the truth one way or the other.”
I don’t like the sound of that. I open my mouth to protest.
“Monty, we’re not barbarians. You watch too much television.”
“So where is she?”
“She’s taking morning tea with Flick I believe. Celia is with her. We will interview her after Digger identifies her. I might get Digger to do the interview. He is good at it.”
I think of Mr Bananas. “Lucky, he’s deafer than Helen.”
Lucky ignores me as his phone rings. He listens for a few minutes. “Come on Monty, let’s go visit Flick.”