Indelible Ink

by Fiona McGregor

  ‘That’s a very impressive tattoo on your leg, Brian,’ said Clark. ‘I’ve seen them down at Bondi.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Brian shifted his leg as though he wanted to hide it. Marie stared at Clark.

  ‘Yeah, lots. Saw one on this Brazilian guy the other day.’

  ‘Like this?’

  ‘Yeah. On his arm.’

  ‘Brazilian?’ Brian made a face. ‘You sure?’

  ‘There are heaps of Brazilians in Bondi. The beach is a total tattoo gallery. Everyone’s got one. They’re everywhere.’

  Brian looked even more perplexed. ‘Brazilian, eh?’ He glared out at the red roofs.

  He had the same effect on Clark as he had on Leon, Marie realised. They both wanted to impress him, even if differently motivated. And on her. A calm, even friendly authority, but not to be messed with. He must have been perfect running things in gaol. ‘How are you Susan?’ she said, changing the subject. ‘How’s the garden?’

  ‘Lovely. I’m very happy. Leon is a master.’

  Nell finally placed the flowers on the ground and let out a loud sigh.

  ‘Oh, Nellie, you big strong thing, sorry.’ Clark rescued them. ‘So what does it mean?’ he said to Brian.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Your tattoo.’

  Brian’s eyes slid over to Marie as though sharing a joke. ‘It means I’m a sexy motherfucker.’

  Clark and Susan laughed awkwardly. Marie gathered Nell in her arms and whispered, ‘Why don’t you be a good girl and put these in Brian’s room with Daddy. I’ve got plenty. Ask the nurses where to go.’ Clark and Nell left on their next mission.

  ‘Aren’t they lovely? It’s always difficult buying flowers for Marie,’ Susan told Brian. ‘She’s the best gardener on the north shore.’

  Brian returned to the conversation politely. ‘Is thet right?’

  ‘Oh, I have another present for you.’ Susan passed Marie a package. Inside the tissue paper, Marie found a beautiful cloth printed with designs in black, brown and white. She remembered seeing a pile of them at David’s place. She pocketed the card to read later.

  Brian studied the cloth, frowning.

  ‘Who’s that from?’ said Clark, reappearing with Nell.

  ‘David Rosenthal. He gets them from Tonga.’

  ‘Who’s he?’ Brian asked.

  ‘A friend.’ Marie spread the cloth across her knees.

  Susan sent out a look full of innuendo. Clark caught it, with Brian’s eyes upon him. He cut a peach into quarters and offered it to Brian.

  ‘Thank you. Your boyfriend, eh?’

  Susan opened her plastic bag. ‘And these mangoes, I nearly forgot.’

  ‘An embarrassment of riches,’ said Marie.

  ‘You’re a dark horse, Mum,’ Clark joked.

  ‘Oh stop it. If he was my boyfriend, he’d be here, wouldn’t he?’

  Nell went to Marie’s lap, and stroked the cloth. Marie kissed the top of her head. She longed to pull her into her arms but didn’t have the strength. Clark handed the fruit around.

  With a mangoey finger, Nell began to trace the vine on Marie’s arm. When she reached the first flower, she turned her fingertip in a spiral. ‘You’re tickling me, Nellie! Press a little harder.’

  ‘David’s away,’ Susan said, needles clicking. ‘Look how big you are, Nellie. Are you going to big school yet?’

  ‘No.’ Nell leant against her grandmother and continued tracing up beneath her sleeve.

  ‘She’ll go next year.’ Clark lit a cigarette, offering them to Brian. ‘Is it alright to smoke out here?’

  ‘You haven’t smoked for about ten years,’ said Marie.

  The cigarette packet featured a child in a hospital bed staring miserably out from behind an oxygen mask.

  ‘Stop smoking, Dad,’ Nell said.

  Brian took a cigarette and looked at Marie’s present. ‘It’s from Samoa. Not Tonga.’

  ‘It’s very fast.’ Susan showed off her knitting. ‘I’m nearly finished. I’ll make you a cap too, Brian, if you like.’

  ‘Dad.’ Nell stamped her foot. ‘Stop it.’

  On Saturday Leon slept in then pored fruitlessly over the jobs and real-estate sections of the paper. In the afternoon he went for a swim and fiddled in the garden. After the evening news, he heated up some soup and ate it in front of the computer while he checked his emails. Two from friends, spam, invoices from suppliers in Brisbane. Political notices, which he opened mechanically. East Timorese resident for ten years to be deported. In Fiji, two men sentenced to imprisonment for homosexual sex. A petition against the collaboration of the CIA with Afghanistan warlords in the cultivation of poppy, a petition against whaling. Leon signed and forwarded them.

  Leon watched the screensaver start up. What was the point in signing all these petitions anyway? There would always be a crisis going on somewhere. He touched the cursor and went to Gaydar. Then he decided to ring George. George picked up straightaway.

  ‘Wanna go out for a drink?’

  ‘I’m having a night at home, actually.’

  ‘Same.’

  ‘How’s it all going?’

  ‘Okay. I’m working a bit. Mum’s back in for another chemo. What about you?’

  ‘I’ve been studying. One exam to go.’

  ‘You’re such a hard worker.’

  ‘I enjoy it.’

  Leon wished George could be his mother’s private nurse, but George was too much in love with his job running Triage. He didn’t want to tell him about Blanche. He was sick of all the sickness and Blanche’s didn’t seem that important, relatively speaking. It was a hot musky night. A party had begun somewhere near the water, the shrieks of girls and chipmunk techno bouncing around the cove.

  ‘Have you been out? Or just ensconced in the family stuff?’

  ‘Just been here. Going a bit stir, actually.’

  ‘Well, you’re welcome to come over for a beer if you like. I’m having a break in an hour or so. Better here than some hideous expensive bar.’

  What about the boyfriend? thought Leon as he showered, carefully cleaning his foreskin. Maybe he was there as well. Might be good to all hang out together, might help normalise things. Leon wanted him to be there, for the impediment to be a material thing, not a choice. He put on a black t-shirt and clean jeans. If it was tense, he could leave after one drink and check out the beat in Moore Park. He cleaned his teeth, pocketed keys, phone and wallet, told himself not to get so excited, and drove into town via the bottleshop.

  George lived in a ground-floor flat at the back of Surry Hills. Leon remembered the couch but the chairs and table were unfamiliar. They must have belonged to the boyfriend, who didn’t seem to be here. The living room was long enough for a dining room table as well, the kitchen full of implements. Mapplethorpe’s self-portrait with bullwhip hung behind a set of turntables. There was a wall of CDs and records. Thom Yorke was playing softly. The place felt lived in and loved in.

  ‘Cool pad.’ Leon handed George a stubbie. ‘You like living here?’

  ‘Yeah. The shops are good and I’m close to work.’

  Leon noticed a steamed-up pipe on the coffee table. Dread and excitement jabbed his bowel. ‘So Mr Homebody’s havin a smoko, eh?’

  ‘Yee-up.’

  ‘You’re not one of those drug casualties in the new government ads, are you? One minute you’re dancing, the next you’re in a body bag?’

  ‘There are no poofters in those ads. Nobody over twenty-five. Want a pipe?’

  Leon hadn’t had crystal for almost two years. He never sought it out. Nor could he ever say no when it was offered. Especially not to George. ‘Sure.’

  George went down the corridor into a room at the end and said, ‘Yeah mate, I’ve got a friend here.’ Startled, Leon turned to see a Russian Blue strolling purposefully up the hall towards him. Not taking its gaze from Leon, the cat jumped onto his lap and immediately began to purr. George laughed. ‘You okay? Not allergic?’

  ‘I’m f
ine.’ Leon stayed stock still, remembering suddenly that he had forgotten to feed Mopoke and give her her medication, thinking it was always a good sign when their pets liked you. But what the fuck was that about, Leon? Tentatively, he placed his hand on the cat.

  ‘That’s Bruce.’ George hunched over the table. ‘Don’t take it personally. He’s a slut.’ He tapped some crystals into the pipe then handed it to Leon.

  Leon sucked in as much smoke as he could, held it and, as his heart began to race, said through tightened lips, ‘My dad’s firm made those ads, y’know.’

  George roared with laughter, setting off Leon, the drug scouring his throat. The awkwardness between them melted. Leon remembered how much he liked this guy, what fun they used to have together.

  ‘You seen him?’ George asked.

  Leon shook his head, watching Bruce rub his cheeks obsessively against his thighs. ‘He’s so heavy.’

  ‘He’s a Big. Strong. Boy.’ George patted the cat with his cupped hand and Bruce stretched his paws ecstatically, the claws going through Leon’s jeans. George got more beers and when he sat down again Leon caught a little puff of his body odour, like warm, yeasty bread.

  They passed the pipe back and forth, pluming the air with dense white smoke. ‘I never knew you liked cats,’ said Leon.

  ‘I didn’t, until I met Bruce.’ George reached over and stroked him, and Leon vanished the cat to imagine George’s hand stroking his crotch. The icy, bitter beer tasted fantastic.

  ‘So what were you planning on doing tonight? All revved up and nowhere to go?’

  ‘Study. Cleaning. Maybe go on Gaydar later.’ He grinned. ‘You’ve got me on my first night off in a month.’

  So he was on Gaydar. Maybe they could go on Gaydar together, and Leon could learn George’s user name. God, he was getting horny. He wondered where the boyfriend was. Obviously not coming home soon. Unless they did Gaydar together. Imagine doing Gaydar, all three of them. Come off it, Leon. Fucking both of them. That might be interesting. No. No way. ‘What are you studying?’ He stared at George over a lungful of smoke.

  ‘A pathology course. Just keeping my skills up to date.’

  Leon gave Bruce a gentle push. The cat rolled obligingly onto the couch and Leon leant over to kiss George. Their hands began to roam.

  ‘Hang on a sec.’ George stood up. ‘I want to show you something.’ He crossed the room, discarding his shirt on the way.

  ‘Nice,’ said Leon to the hairy brown back.

  ‘No, seriously. Come over here.’ George removed the cover from a large tank in the corner. ‘This is Lili, she’s a diamond. She had a feed a couple of days ago so she’s in a pretty good mood. Had a good sleep, babe?’ The python stirred, lifting her head enquiringly. ‘Wanna come out?’ George placed his hand inside the tank. The snake’s head hovered over his arm like a diviner. When she was halfway up, he grasped her in the middle and lifted her.

  Heart racing, Leon watched her slide around George’s body. He ran a finger along the scales. ‘My god, she’s quite big, isn’t she?’

  ‘She’s a teenager. Beautiful girl,’ George crooned, stroking her. ‘Wanna say hallo to Leon? Take your shirt off, Mary.’

  Leon obliged, enjoying George’s eyes on his body.

  He held his hand out to the snake. She began her ascent and every hair she touched responded. He shelved his arms and Lili drew around him, tongue flicking. He held his head away as the full weight of the python settled, her head probing the air near his shoulder, George’s face wide with excitement. ‘Isn’t it insane?’

  ‘Can I walk around a bit?’

  ‘Yeah, but not in the kitchen. She’ll get into the top cupboards and stay there till Christmas.’

  Leon walked slowly around the room enjoying the pain where the python tightened against his sunburn. Lili must also have belonged to the boyfriend, and Leon felt gratitude towards his rival. The CDs clicked over and old-school dirty house began to play. Leon turned his head to find right next to his eye the probing, delicate head of the snake. ‘I’ve never been hugged so hard!’ He felt delirious, he felt like dancing; for the first time since returning to Sydney he felt alive.

  He began to talk and he couldn’t stop. He told George about the green carpet snake he had seen as a child in the Sirius Cove house; he told him what it was like living back there. He talked about his mother and her tattoos.

  George, who had a tattoo of a squid on his haunch, cocked his head. ‘Come again?’

  ‘Practically everywhere.’

  ‘Well, who’d’ve thought! I remember your mother. I thought she was really sweet. Quite in thrall to your father.’

  ‘They’re actually pretty amazing once you get used to the idea. She said the oncologist is being horrible.’

  ‘Oncologists are notoriously conservative. She probably freaked him out.’

  ‘Don’t doctors have a responsibility to their patients?’ Leon demanded. ‘You know, basic compassion?’

  ‘Specialists are just technicians, Leon.’

  ‘It’s fucked.’ Leon was trying not to sound desperate. Trying not to blame George for the medical profession’s failings.

  George came over. ‘I know, Leon. I know it’s shitty.’

  ‘She’s getting sicker. I was reading about Chinese medicine on the net, herbs and acupuncture, or unpasteurised goat’s milk? D’you know much about that?’ he gabbled, the breath catching in his throat, his mouth dry. ‘I’m gonna take her breakfast tomorrow. The hospital food’s crap.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What is it with that shit? I can’t believe the shit they feed sick people. It’s like great, let’s make ’em sicker. I wanna find her another oncologist. D’you know any?’

  ‘Nobody I’d recommend.’ George held his hands out to Lili and she unwound. Leon’s whole torso was stinging, and relieved of the weight of the snake he felt like he might bounce against the ceiling. He kept talking, becoming more emotional. George placed Lili in the tank, then took a joint off the table. He sat Leon on the couch, passed him the joint and held his hand. Bruce, curled up on Leon’s other side, began to purr.

  ‘D’you remember Mopoke?’

  ‘She had a mopoke for a pet?’

  ‘Her cat, called Mopoke. She’s really old.’ Leon let the air out in little bursts, passing the joint back to George.

  ‘Oh, I love old cats.’

  ‘She’s got like a zillion things wrong with her — half every meal is medication; she pisses everywhere.’

  ‘That often means they’re upset.’

  ‘I’m horrible to her, I forget to feed her. I don’t like cats,’ Leon said miserably. ‘I can’t help it: they should never have been introduced here, they kill birds.’

  ‘Ssshh.’ George rubbed his back.

  Leon leant to his touch. The music was getting sexier, snaking through him. Leon put out the joint, took George’s head in his hands and kissed him hard. He undid his fly, George pressed up against him, tongue searing his burnt nipples. ‘Suck me,’ said Leon hoarsely, leaning back, pushing down his jeans. George bent over and Leon felt the gentle scratch of his bristles, his lips.

  Then George turned his head and lay it in Leon’s lap in an attitude of comfort. He reached out and hugged Leon’s knee. ‘We can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I just can’t.’

  ‘You were gonna go on Gaydar. Why not me?’

  ‘You’re not just a fuck.’ George sat up.

  ‘Look, I totally respect this.’ Leon gestured to the room. ‘I’m here for one night. Not even that.’ He saw himself with his pants down, cock half hard, and felt vulnerable and compromised. He hitched up his jeans and reached for his beer. It was empty, so he went to the fridge for the last two.

  ‘There are feelings.’

  ‘You still have feelings for me?’ Leon said quickly, immediately regretting his hopeful tone.

  George sighed, head in hands.

  ‘Why did you ask me over?’ Leon said sulle
nly.

  ‘Because you rang and I know you’re going through a hard time.’

  ‘A mercy mission?’

  ‘No. I wanted to see you. I was going stir too and I wanted to hang out. I’m really sorry, Leon.’

  Leon stood on the edge of the kitchen, drinking his beer. A stony heat was growing inside his head. He knew George was attracted to him. He found it unacceptable that he would say no. He read an interview recently with a writer who lived with his partner of thirty years and had another lover that he stayed with half the week, and he still had sex with other men. And he was happy and functional. Why couldn’t he and George still have sex occasionally? Why the big drama?

  ‘Want some more joint?’ George said.

  Leon came over and finished it, legs together, looking straight ahead. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Nearly one.’

  ‘What are you doing for the rest of the night?’

  ‘D’you want to go out?’

  ‘I feel a bit uncomfortable in this house, mate.’

  George moved over and slung his arm around Leon’s shoulders. ‘I’m really fucking sorry, you know. I really fucking like you, and I want us to be friends.’

  ‘We’ve always been that.’

  They sat there in silence.

  ‘Music’s good,’ said Leon.

  ‘I think there’s a party down at the cricket stands.’

  ‘You going?’

  ‘Nope. I’ve got a couple more hours of study and I have to work tomorrow. Here,’ he said, stuffing the remaining drugs into Leon’s pocket.

  ‘No, it’s okay. I might just go for a bevvy.’

  ‘Honestly, you’d be doing me a favour. I’ve got a ten-hour shift. And here, have a Xanax too — you’ll need to get some sleep at some stage.’

  Leon walked down to Cleveland Street, enjoying the honeycomb sandstone walls and graffiti of the laneways. He jaywalked the big intersection into Moore Park, wondering what the name of the street he had parked his ute in was and how he would get it back to Mosman if he was out of it. Dance all night on water, mate. He didn’t have much money on him but maybe if he saw someone he knew he could offload the drugs for a cab fare. Or else he could just drive across town and go to the hospital in the morning, straighten out that way. The lawns were dry underfoot; he sensed that in the daytime this area would still be showing the devastation of the heatwave. He walked deeper into vegetation, away from traffic noises. The sky was navy blue, pricked with stars. He could smell the chemicals exuding from his armpits. Energy sparkled off him; he felt good now, out here alone, night air cool on his skin. The world of duty, sickness and rejection receded. And, hey, there was a beat just up here. You watch, George, other guys’ll want me, they always do.