The Slap

by Christos Tsiolkas

  But his lie had done its job. When he told Sandi that evening she just nodded.

  ‘That girl works too hard.’

  He kissed his wife on her bare shoulder.

  Saturday morning came around and the sky was clear and the weather mild. Sandi had risen early to go to the market and spent the morning preparing salads. Harry had a bong after his swim and then sprawled on the couch watching music videos. Rocco joined him and they silently watched the monkeys going through their motions on the television. All the black girls acted like sluts and he wondered momentarily whether it was a good thing for his son to watch these baby whores rubbing their arses and tits. But before he could say anything Rocco got up.

  ‘This is boring.’

  Harry held out the remote for him. ‘You can change it if you like.’

  ‘Nup,’ responded his son. ‘I’m going for a swim in the pool.’

  ‘Good. I should do the same.’ But the dope had made him lethargic and he dropped the remote and kept watching the screen.

  ‘What do you think of her?’ he called out to his son. A teenage black girl dressed in a yellow tank top and a denim miniskirt was circling around a fat rapper who was sprouting some bullshit about guns and bitches and crack. Harry liked hip-hop but he thought this particular song ridiculous and ugly. There was no tune, there wasn’t even a proper rhythm. God, it was awful. Rocco stood in front of the television and watched the girl who was now miming an orgasm and rubbing her hands up and down her thighs.

  He turned to his dad. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘You like this?’

  ‘Nah. But it’s okay.’

  ‘What do you think of her?’

  Rocco was confused. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Do you think she’s sexy?’

  ‘Shut up, Dad.’ Rocco’s disgust was obvious.

  Harry cackled and muted the volume. ‘One day you’ll understand, Rocco baby. There’s no escape from the evil clutches of women.’ He pointed to the screen. ‘She’s gorgeous but she’s cheap. Cheap women are never any good.’ Except for one thing and we’ll talk about that in the future.

  Rocco watched the model who was now gyrating away in silence. Bored, he turned away. ‘They’re all hos,’ he said to his father as he headed to his room to change. ‘Black chicks are all hos. Everyone knows that.’

  Van arrived at noon on the dot. He parked in the driveway and yelled up to Harry to open the garage. Harry, who had just fired up the barbecue, leaned over the balcony and grinned.

  ‘Why don’t you ring the doorbell, you crazy Chink bastard? That’s what civilised people do.’

  Van grinned back. ‘Go screw yourself, you hairy butt-ugly wog dog. But before you do, open the fucking garage.’

  He had brought along five large albums of DVDs and Harry helped him carry them up to the living room. Sandi wiped her hands and kissed Van. He smiled at her.

  ‘You’re a beauty, Miss Sandi. Why don’t you leave this mad wog bastard and come live with me?’

  ‘And what’s Jia going to say about that?’

  ‘Sandi, darling, you come live with me, I’ll get rid of Jia today. I promise.’

  Rocco emerged from his bedroom and he shook Van’s hand. Van grinned and opened one of the albums, took out three DVDs from a sleeve, and handed them to the boy.

  ‘You like Adam Sandler, don’t you? I’ve got his new one.’

  ‘Cool. Can I put one on?’ The boy looked expectantly at his mother.

  ‘Sure. But you turn it off when the others arrive. Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’ With a whoop the boy dived for the DVD player. He turned around.

  ‘Thanks, Uncle Van.’

  Within the hour the guests had all arrived. Alex had immediately walked over to the food and then spent the rest of the afternoon playing computer games with Rocco. He had made no effort with his clothes: he was dressed in black track-pants and an Olympiakos T-shirt with a hole under his left armpit. The women paid him no attention at all. Most of them were married, anyway, but Tina was still single and Annalise divorced. But Alex seemed oblivious to the women there. Hector, however, certainly made an impression. Harry felt a smug pride at the attention his cousin received that afternoon. They were a good-looking family, no fucking doubt about it. Here they were sliding towards middle-age and they still turned the chickadees’ heads. As if a deliberate contrast to Alex, Hector was wearing a pressed short-sleeve shirt that fitted snugly across his chest and torso. His cotton shorts were conservative and expensive. After kissing and greeting his cousin at the door, Harry had whispered in his ear, You look so good I could fuck you. Now, outside on the verandah, turning the sausages on the barbecue, he looked through the glass doors of the living room and watched his cousin talking to Annalise on the couch. The woman was staring at Hector with open admiration. Harry grinned. He liked Annalise. She talked too much, but she was generous, friendly and had certainly not deserved that loser of a husband. Maybe she and Hector could get together and he could divorce that uptight bitch of a wife. He heard the squeals of delight, the splashing and laughter from Rocco, Adam and Melissa who were diving and playing in the pool and he felt ashamed. She’s the kids’ mother, and that’s that.

  He called out to them. ‘Food is on!’

  ‘Ten more minutes, Dad.’

  ‘Out. Now.’ His tone softened. ‘If you get out now maybe we’ll take you guys out to the beach this arvo, what do you reckon?’

  ‘Fooking A!’

  He pointed the skewer warningly at his son. ‘Watch your mouth.’ He turned the sausages one last time. ‘Come and get it!’

  Van sold a shitload of DVDs that afternoon. He had boxed sets of all the hit TV shows and all the latest movies, including the new Tom Cruise that hadn’t even opened in Australia yet. Harry sat back on the couch and watched the women search through the album sleeves. Sandi bought a few romantic comedies, the new season of Lost and the complete set of Sex and the City. She also paid for a few action movies for him. Alex was only interested in the Hong Kong martial arts selection and he and Van got into an animated discussion about the genre.

  ‘This is the boss, man.’ Van was excited and pulled out a DVD with a lurid image of a Chinese girl in a bikini kneeling before a leather-geared man in sunglasses holding a rifle to her head. ‘This shit is wild.’

  ‘I’ll take it.’

  Sandi had looked across at him, questioningly. ‘Do you want it, honey?’

  Harry shook his head. Some of that chink stuff was alright, but it was all the same. He’d seen enough of it. His cousin was politely sifting through the albums but had not yet made a choice.

  ‘Come on, Ecttora, seen anything you like yet?’

  Hector smiled and shook his head. ‘Sorry. Aish and I prefer seeing films at the cinema.’

  ‘Fuck that shit, man.’ Van looked outraged. ‘The cinema is dead, brother. What’s your home entertainment system like?’

  Hector laughed. ‘It’s called a TV.’

  Nadia, one of Sandi’s oldest friends, stopped flicking the sleeves and looked up. ‘Ben and I haven’t been to the pictures in years.’

  Van ignored her. ‘What kind of television are we talking about?’

  Hector hesitated. ‘Sony. Yeah, I think it’s a Sony.’

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Maybe eight years? We got it when Melissa was born.’

  ‘You’re fucking having me on, man? Get your wife a new television, a flat-screen mother with surround sound.’

  Annalise smiled across at Hector. ‘I’m with you, Hector, I prefer going out to the movies as well.’

  Van snorted and lit a cigarette. ‘Right, so I pay fucking thirty bucks for me and Jia to see a film, another fucking thirty bucks for popcorn and drinks, and then have some doped-out kid usher me to a seat that some sweaty-arsed motherfucker has been sitting in for hours just so I can watch a movie that I could have downloaded for myself for free.’ Van shook his head in disbelief. ‘I hate the fucking movies.’ He st
ared at Hector combatitively. ‘Come on, man, there must be something you want.’

  ‘You got The West Wing?’

  Harry rose and walked to the bar to refill his glass, ill-humoured. He loved his cousin but, Jesus, Hector and Aish were wankers. The fucking West Wing? All they did on that bloody show was talk. Talk talk talk talk. And the women were all butt-ugly. He poured himself a long shot of whisky and stayed standing at the bar. Maybe he should take Sandi to the cinema soon. She liked it, and it had been a while. But he agreed with Van. What for? He looked over proudly to the giant plasma screen on the wall.

  ‘Which series you want?’

  Harry grinned. He could tell Van hated the show as much as he did.

  ‘Aish and I have seen series one and two. We never got to see the rest. You know how it is with television channels these days. They play them Tuesday one week, Thursday midnight the next. You can’t keep a flow going.’

  Then why don’t you invest in cable, you cheap fuck? The whisky felt nice going down. Harry walked back, sat cross-legged on the floor next to his wife and began to pack the bong.

  ‘Bro, I don’t have any of The West Wing with me.’ Van looked around at everyone, winked at Nadia and smirked. ‘I didn’t think anyone would be interested. But I’ll get them all for you next time.’

  ‘Deal,’ said Hector. ‘Have you got Six Feet Under?’

  You had to hand it to his cousin, the cocksucker wasn’t intimidated by Van’s obvious contempt for his loser trendoid taste.

  ‘Wog man, wog man,’ Van sang out to Harry, in a deliberately Ching-chong voice. ‘I think your cousin’s a pousti-malaka.’

  Harry spluttered into his bong. Hector just smiled. He closed the album in his hands, handed it back to Van and got up from the couch.

  ‘Sandi, I’m going to take the kids to the beach.’

  Van took the bong from Harry. ‘Hey, man, I meant no offence.’

  ‘No offence taken. You’ll get me The West Wing?’

  Van inhaled, the bong water spluttered and gurgled, and he exhaled. ‘Sure, man. A deal.’

  ‘For me too? I’ve always wanted to see it.’

  Harry nodded to himself. Annalise definitely wanted to fuck his cousin.

  ‘You want it too? Sure, darling.’ Van packed the bong and handed it to Annalise. His tone was innocent, charming. ‘You can call Hector, you could get together and discuss which season’s the best.’

  Harry burst out laughing and covered it up by pretending it was a cough.

  ‘Coming with me, Harry?’

  He looked up at his cousin. He felt good, stoned and a little pissed, sitting next to his wife, all he felt like was going to sleep soon. He had no energy for the beach. But Hector’s gaze was sharp, pressing. ‘Sure, man.’ Unsteadily, he got to his feet. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘That guy’s an arsehole.’

  Alex had decided to come with them.

  ‘Van’s alright.’

  ‘That slope dickhead is a fucking prick. You let him talk to your cousin like that?’

  Harry was surprised. It always looked as if Alex and Van got on fine. He waited for Alex to explain further but true to form, his friend went silent. They crossed the road at the lights and walked down the bush path to the beach. The kids ran ahead of them, in their bathers, with towels wrapped around their shoulders. On the sand, the kids impatiently waited for Hector and Harry to rub them down with suntan lotion and then ran screaming into the water. Harry was proud of his son. Rocco dashed down to the water’s edge and ran into the sea; without hesitation he dived under the soft, small waves. Adam, his fat bulk shivering, took ages to muster the courage to dare the water. Even little Melissa was under the water before him. He lit a cigarette and stretched out on the towel. Alex had taken off his shoes and was standing knee-high in the water, watching the kids, or most probably the two blonde women who were swimming bare-breasted in the water near the kids.

  ‘Sandi wants me to organise it so you and she can meet Rosie and Gary and have a talk.’

  He groaned. The lie hadn’t worked after all. Harry sat up and stared out to the sea. Rocco was fearless, he was further out than any other swimmer. Pride and anxiety battled within him. He nearly rose to call out, then he watched as his son dived under the water, and emerged, swimming towards his cousins.

  ‘When did she ask you?’

  ‘Just before lunch.’

  How dare she?

  ‘She’s really worried, Harry. But that guy Gary is an arsehole. There’s no way to make him see sense. I don’t think you four getting together is going to do any good.’

  It would if it meant I could fucking murder the cunt.

  ‘What else did she say?’

  Hector was looking longingly at the cigarettes lying at the foot of the towel. Harry took a perverse pleasure in lighting another one even though he had just butted one out. The intake of smoke and nicotine calmed him down.

  ‘Come on,’ he insisted in Greek. ‘What else did she say?’

  ‘She’s worried about you. She thinks you’re not handling it. She says you’re angry all the time.’

  Hector was looking straight ahead, out to the kids, they could hear their laughter.

  ‘I’m handling it, mate. She’s the one not handling it.’ He butted out the cigarette in the sand; he had only had a few drags. ‘She can’t stop thinking about it.’

  ‘I understand. Charging you with assault, that’s all bullshit. He can’t live without drama in his life. It’s the way he is.’

  ‘And she’s innocent?’

  Hector hesitated. ‘No one’s innocent in this.’

  You fuck.

  ‘You mean me.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have slapped him.’

  ‘Fuck off, Hector. That little bastard deserved it. I was looking after my child. I was protecting him. That’s what fathers do.’

  Harry’s fists were clenched. He felt the heat of the sun, the stretch of the sky, they were heavy weights descending onto him. There was a hammer at his chest. He felt his cousin’s hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off.

  ‘Harry, listen to me. You’re a good man. You don’t deserve this.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But you shouldn’t have hit him.’

  He wanted to cry. Take back that moment, fix that moment, change that moment, so that he had never hit that child. That fucking cunt of a child, that fucking animal of a child. Panagia, he whispered to his God, I want that child dead. He was back on the sand, the warm sun on the back of his neck. He could hear Rocco’s laugh. Rocco brought him back, as he always did.

  ‘Okay. Sure. I’ll go and apologise to them. Can you organise it?’

  Hector was shaking his head. ‘I know him, mate. It’s not going to do any good.’

  ‘I’ll give it a go. For Sandi’s sake. But she’s not coming with us—I don’t want her to have anything to do with that vroma, that filth. Will you do it?’

  Hector slowly nodded.

  ‘Are you going to tell Aish?’

  Hector’s face was grim, determined. ‘Of course I’ll tell her. She’ll find out from Rosie. Don’t worry about Aish.’

  Harry looked out to the water where the three children were playing. ‘I’m glad they get on so well.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s good for Rocco, he doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. It’s good he has Adam and Lissie.’

  ‘They’re family,’ Hector answered simply.

  Harry laughed and indicated the sea. ‘Don’t they remind you of us when we were kids?’ He reached for his cigarettes. ‘You sure you don’t want one?’

  ‘Don’t tempt me, you evil bastard.’ Hector turned and faced Harry. ‘You ever going to give up?’

  ‘When I stop enjoying it. I still love it.’ Harry lit his cigarette. ‘Man,’ he said, putting on a fake gangsta accent. ‘All my money goes on alcohol, nicotine and gasoline.’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Hector with a laugh. ‘Who’d have guessed it’s probably the gasoline that will fini
sh us all off.’

  Harry groaned. ‘Jesus fucking Christ, cuz, you think too much.’ He placed an arm around his cousin’s shoulder. ‘Don’t think about all that shit, global warming and terrorism and the war and the fucking Arabs and the fucking septics. Fuck them all. Fuck them up the arse.’ Harry nodded out to the dazzling sea, the brazen, endless sky. ‘We got it good. Just think about how fucking good we’ve got it.’

  They sat, in silence, watching their children play.

  It cost him—for he was full of such fury he could gladly have struck at God—but he remained polite, courteous, a classy host, on his return from the beach. He was confident that as far as his cousin, his son, Alex, Van and his wife’s friends were concerned that he appeared to be content; possibly only a little detached from the effects of the mull. He was proud of how he contained his fury, maintained an easy humour throughout the interminable afternoon. He nursed that pride, consciously submerging himself in the role of generous host, so as not to lose it and snap, to lose it and grab his wife and shake the stupid bitch over and over till he could hear her teeth rattle in her head, till he could see her eyes bulge, till he had her crying for forgiveness on her fucking knees. On. Her. Fucking. Knees. He was affectionate saying goodbye to his cousin and the kids, cracking jokes and smiling all through the quick supper that Sandi prepared for Van, Alex and Annalise—would the arseholes never leave? He read Rocco a bedtime story. Van offered Alex a lift, and Harry was glad he had drunk and smoked just a little too much to feel any obligation to drive Annalise home to Frankston. He was smiling as he walked her down the drive to the cab. She kissed him clumsily on the lips and he thought, You are such a slut.

  ‘Sandi’s so lucky,’ she called out as the cab reversed, screeched out onto Beach Road. Annalise leaned her head out of the window.

  ‘But you’re the real lucky one,’ she yelled. ‘Don’t you forget it.’ He could hear the rush of waves from the beach and her voice sounded ugly, a squawk, like one of the seagulls. He smiled again, waved a goodbye, nodded in pretend agreement. He watched the cab drive away. He was no longer smiling. He walked slowly back up the drive.