Summer break arrived and kids finished school for the year. I saw them around more often, dressed in shorts and t-shirts for the holidays. Some of them came into the shop with their parents. A lot of families were going on holidays and we were flat out servicing cars ready for road trips. Some of them recognised me and sniggered, but most didn’t know who I was. To them, I was just some young mechanic, dressed in blue overalls and covered in grease. My past had gradually drifted away. Yet I couldn’t allow everything to go.
When Dad was busy, I secretly crept out to the porch to watch her. The light in her room was the only thing I had left of Eliza. I wanted to fly into it. I wanted her to look up and see me, buzzing around in her room. I had undergone a metamorphosis. I had left my ugly-grub stage behind and was now a wonderful, colourful butterfly. She’d be enthralled at my majestic beauty, my new strength and power. Yet, no matter how hard I’d try, we’d be unable to communicate. My voice would be strange and insect-like and all she’d hear were weird buzzing sounds. I still love you, I’d holler, I miss you, buzz, buzz, buzz! Annoyed, she’d take a great roll of newspaper and swat me into oblivion. I’d spin away and find myself pulled towards the light. It was a force I could no longer resist. I’d fly into it and burn away, cremated before her. Nothing would be left of me but dust. I was a moth to a flame.
Silas rolled his ball down the wooden slope and grunted acknowledgement. Another roll had been performed. Another now waited to be done. I visited him most nights now after work. I’d take off before Dad had time to wash up and walk home. The detour to Silas’s place was a little out of the way, but I guess I needed the exercise. The guy with the beard and tattoos, Erik, was so omnipresent in the house I thought he actually lived there.
‘Nah, mate. Got a wife and two kids. Divorced, mind you. Have to put in the extra shifts to pay child support,’ he said.
Erik worked his guts out in the house. He did all the cooking and the cleaning and wiped their bums and changed their gigantic nappies without complaint. He told me it was just a job, and that he’d had worse. I wondered what in the world could be worse than that, but he wouldn’t go into it. He looked sad and angry at the thought of it. His tattoos were of skulls and topless girls and guns and coffins. I wondered if he’d been in jail, and this was the only work he could get. His broken teeth grinned cheerily through that wiry beard. He seemed happy enough.
‘Do you like working here?’ I asked.
‘Beats a lot things,’ he said.
‘Like what?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘Yeah. I do.’
Erik continued to smile, but his good cheer began to falter. His yellowed teeth disappeared back into that bushy thicket and his eyes drifted away sadly. His knuckles, inked with love and hate, clenched involuntarily.
‘Did you kill someone?’ I asked.
‘What? No.’
‘Someone close to you then? They died?’
‘Why are you asking me this?’
‘I want to know.’
‘No, you don’t,’ he said. ‘You just want to see me suffer. I know your type. I’m not giving you the satisfaction, so stop asking.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’
‘Really? Look, make yourself useful and clear the table. I need to get these blokes fed.’
Erik held his cards close. He wasn’t going to let me pry into his history. And he didn’t want to know mine. I respected that. I never found out what it was that forced him to work there. He had lived a hard life, harder than I could ever imagine. Whatever disaster had befallen him, he’d accepted it long ago.
Two other men lived in the house with Silas; each had about the same cognitive ability. Erik termed them severely challenged, whatever that meant. They were seriously bizarre. One guy, Huong, squawked all the time and perched on the back of the couch with his arms tucked up under him like a chicken. Erik affectionately called him the Birdman. He was thin and wiry and grinned like a maniac. His favourite activity was pressing the TV remote buttons. He constantly flicked from station to station, not watching anything for more than a second before seemingly tiring of it and looking for something more interesting. Of course, he just liked the action of turning over the stations. He had control over something, I guess.
The other guy, Keith, was enormously fat and didn’t do anything other than eat. And I mean, eat. He had some kind of strange disorder that caused him to eat practically anything he could get his hands on. Dishwashing detergent, soap, toothpaste, socks, fluff off the floor, bottle tops, bleach, plastic wrappers, you name it, he’d eat it. Food too of course, he loved real food, but when there was none to be had, he’d try to satisfy himself by gnawing on the furniture. Erik said he was a human goat. He explained that it was actually a really serious condition and he could easily poison himself. The guy had been in hospital far too many times to get his stomach pumped. He sat on the couch eyeing off Birdman’s remote control.
Silas ignored everything and just rolled his tennis ball. I continued to visit him, not to talk or anything, that was beyond him. I’d just sit and watch.
Dad was right about one thing; Silas was unpredictable. For no reason, he’d yell and smash himself over the head, or try to smash anyone who was close enough at the time. Erik knew not to get too close and so did Birdman and Keith, but I forgot the warnings and scored a couple of punches to the side of my head. Silas didn’t seem to get pleasure out of it. He didn’t even seem to recognise the fact that he’d hit me. You couldn’t get angry or blame him. There was no plan behind it, no animosity. It was just something that happened. I continued to watch. After a few weeks of this, Erik became irritated.
‘You’re never going to get anything out of him, you know.’
‘I know,’ I said.
‘He’s never going to know you’re there. He doesn’t feel anything for you.’
‘I know. That’s not why I’m here.’
Erik looked at me suspiciously. I think he’d worked that one out already. I never brought Silas a gift or anything. I never once tried to help him get into his pyjamas, or feed him his stewed apple. I especially never offered to wipe his butt. I left all the work up to Erik. The only thing I did, was sit and watch.
‘Do you think he’s happy?’ I asked.
‘Look mate, I just work here,’ he said. ‘You’d be better off asking the professionals.’
‘I want your opinion. You know him better than anyone. Do you think he’s happy?’
Erik looked at Silas for a long time, pondering all the moments they’d spent together.
‘I don’t think he even understands what happiness means,’ he finally said. ‘He just is.’
He just is. Those three simple words were profound. He lives. He exists. He rolls the ball. He sees it fall. He uses energy. He moves from one state to another. He moves through time. He has direction. Purpose. He has reason for being.
Silas, with the mental capacity of a toddler, had worked out something I hadn’t even come close to grasping. Every living being needed action. Existence required movement. If you denied this simple fact, you just stopped working. You’d fall into the darkness. That was when the dog would become your friend.
I took my brother’s lead and worked. I didn’t think about anything else, I just worked. Gradually, I understood the simplicity of my father’s world. We’d drive to the shop in the mornings and now it was I who muttered those mechanical mysticisms.
‘Nissan Navara, tie rod ends. Volvo V40, high tension leads,’ I’d say.
Dad listened and quietly nodded in appreciation. I saw now what he saw. All around us was a visual world of schematics. There was order among the chaos. By making something new again, we were fighting against the ravages of time’s arrow. We took something back from the brink. Okay, maybe I was overthinking it a little, but we certainly saved more than one car from the scrap heap. I had a purpose. I had action. Direction. I was like Silas and his ball.
It was late when the light went off in her room. I watched from the front porch. At the other end of our street, Eliza was getting ready to sleep in that cold crypt. I recalled the time when she’d cut my hair, the night she lured me into her bed. I wanted to go back and tell her everything I’d learned since then. We didn’t need the school, her friends, any of it. All we’d need was each other. We could have got out, before everything had been destroyed.
‘You’re not going to let this go, are you?’ asked Dad.
‘I don’t know how.’
‘It’s alright. We all feel that way once.’
‘Even you and Mum?’
‘Even me and your mother. We still do.’
I didn’t understand that at all. How could he love her? I mean I knew he did once. But now? How could he after she had ignored him, and me, for all these years? She destroyed herself in front of him and he still stood by her. I thought of Martin and his wife. Loyalty and guilt can be ugly little twins.
‘Why, Dad? Because you feel guilty?’ I asked.
‘No, Monty. She wasn’t always this way, you know. She’ll come round.’
I couldn’t believe that, like my father. He had to trust her, I suppose. Me? I had only my own experiences to draw from. I never knew her like he did; the woman she once was simply never existed for me.
‘Get some sleep,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you in the morning.’
The car rumbled in to the auction rooms, hardly visible through a thick cloud of smoke. People gagged and held their noses in disgust. Dad glanced over at me and winked. It was perfect.
The ute had blown a head gasket, probably because the owner never got it serviced on time and allowed it to overheat. It wasn’t going to be an easy fix. I hadn’t performed something as technical as rebuilding an engine before, but I knew from my reading what to do. With a little help from Dad, I was confident I could have it up running.
Dad had picked it out as a winner. It was almost new, except for the engine. The sound was sickening. It rattled and spat, threatening to explode any second. It was a bomb. Dad explained to me about the car auctions. They were full of buyers from car yards, who were on the hunt for a quick sell. They’d never bid on something with obvious problems. He also liked the car because it was a ute and when I got my licence, I could use it to pick up parts for the shop.
I liked it because the rear tray had a canopy, a fibreglass hood with windows on the back. My dreams filled that space in the back. When I had my licence and enough cash in my pockets, I could toss a mattress in the back and get the hell out of Middleford. I pictured myself cruising up the east coast, lazily driving with one arm out the window. I’d live off fish and chips and get work in auto shops along the way. I’d buy some camping gear and see all the National Parks and, at night, I’d make a campfire then tuck up warm in the back of the ute. I’d be a transient creature, only staying in one place long enough to feel the warmth of the soil, breathe the air, and move on. I’d live. I’d exist. I’d use energy. I’d move from one state to another. I’d always seek a new direction. I’d have purpose. I’d have a reason for being.
The auctioneer asked for first bids and the car promptly died. A horrible sound rattled under the bonnet and the smoke finally stopped. We were the only bidders.
Old Bob thought the car was a waste of money, until he heard how much I’d paid for it. I’d got a serious bargain. Even if we’d just sold it for parts, I’d make some good money on it. But I had better plans. Old Bob let me keep it in the back of the shop while I earned enough to buy the parts. Dad and I would fix it up in our own time.
I was close. All I needed was a few months. But time can be disingenuous. Just when you think you’ve got everything sorted, it throws a spanner in the works.
Middleford mall was small by city standards, but had the ubiquitous collection of fashion shops and juice bars. Both seemed to sell everything in hyper-colour pink. I looked out of place in the mall.
‘Nice outfit,’ said Eliza.
She was looking at my greasy overalls and blackened fingernails. I didn’t care. I had become what’s known as a tradie, I guess. I didn’t shy away from it. The work was honest. I stood tall in my filth. I had managed to run into Eliza, on purpose, on her way out. Like most kids from school, she spent most of the holidays hanging out there. Eliza looked different somehow, smaller and less confronting, I guess, like she’d lost something. She even seemed nervous.
‘You want to grab a coffee?’ I asked. ‘There’s a cool little café that’s opened up. Got all junk from Paris and stuff hanging from the ceilings.’
She looked at me in wonder, or possibly hope.
‘Yeah, okay.’
The little Parisian café was a couple of streets away from the auto shop. I had stumbled across it after being sent for meat pies and iced coffees for the crew. When I returned with espressos and French pastries, they teased me for the rest of the week. Still, they ate everything. Secretly, I think they loved the change. I could see them dream of walking the cobblestoned streets of Paris as they chewed their pastries. For one small moment, they were transported far away from the stark suburbs, to a world of impressionist painters and joie de vivre.
A little iron bell tinkled our arrival as we opened the door. Marion, the woman who ran the place, knew me well by now. She gave me a courteous nod as we sat down and brought my usual order over, times two. After my accidental purchase for the boys, I had come back here everyday to sip espresso and gaze at the pictures of the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame. I’d go to Paris one day, I thought. After I’d seen this country first, of course. I’d cross Europe on foot so I could get to know the people. I’d pick up French, Spanish, and maybe even a little Portuguese. I’d live off fresh baguettes and hoon around on one of those mopeds. They looked like fun. And I’d have a girl with me. I’d always have a girl with me.
‘Since when do you drink coffee?’ Eliza asked.
‘Got a taste for it. This place does it really well. Good, huh?’
I liked the rush of caffeine and had quickly become addicted to it. I suppose I had the personality to go to extremes, even with coffee. I looked at Eliza and my tongue failed me. There was so much I wanted to say, but our shared past suddenly seemed distant. It was unreal. She looked like a completely different person, come to me from another time.
‘I heard about your mother,’ she said. ‘It must have been hard?’
‘Yeah.’
‘When’s she coming home?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘She probably just needs some time.’
‘No. It’s not that,’ I said. ‘I mean, I don’t know if she wants to come home.’
We sipped our coffee. We listened to the sounds of French folk music on the tinny speakers. I’d heard this song almost every day by now. The song was passionate, almost too agonising to listen to. Something about having no regrets, Marion had told me. No regrets, I thought, as I caught Eliza’s eye. We could have been in Paris for all we knew, except for the view of Middleford out the window.
‘I bought a car,’ I told her.
She looked at me, dumbfounded.
‘Dad and me are going to fix it up. By the time we’re finished with it, it’s going to be the hottest thing around. But I’ve got to be careful. Dad thinks I’m a speed freak.’
‘You don’t even have a licence yet, Monty.’
‘I will. Soon. By the time I’m sixteen, I’ll have it all ready to go.’
She sipped her coffee, and looked at me thoughtfully. Warily even.
‘Come with me,’ I blurted.
‘Where?’
‘Anywhere. We’ll have to wait until I can get my P’s but after that, I can drive solo. Let’s get out of here. Away from everything. You and me. We’ll go round Australia. I’ll get work along the way. We’ll go wherever we want. The Great Barrier Reef, Kakadu, Uluru, the world. We can go to Paris, for real.’
‘You want to take me on a holiday?’
‘I w
ant to live. I don’t just want to … waste away here.’
‘And what does that make me? I just go along with your plans?’
‘There’s no plan. No one in control. We just do what we want.’
‘You can’t just do what you want, Monty.’
‘Yeah, you can.’
‘No, you can’t. Life isn’t that simple.’
She didn’t want to come then, I thought. Fine. Stay here and live the rest of your life working the checkout and paying off your flat screen TV. I didn’t want any of it. I was going to get out, away from Middleford. There had to be more out there. Eliza pulled her sleeves and crossed her arms. There it was again; I was a threat. I finished my coffee and paid up. I looked back to her by the door.
‘See you then,’ I said.
‘Yeah. Okay. See you.’
I crossed the street in the dark. Maybe it was curiosity, or my indignation at yet another rejection, but I stayed to watch her from across the street. Through the café window, she looked like some beautiful heroine out of a French movie. She cried over her coffee. She looked so forlorn. I knew then it was me who had rejected her, that night with Pippa. Eliza was right; you can’t just do what you want. Consequences always come back to haunt you.
Chapter Eighteen
Dad woke me up from another night devoid of the dog. He told me the eggs were ready, as usual. I put on my overalls and gulped down my coffee, ready for another day’s work. As we came out of the house, I stopped by the car. The world had turned while I slept.
Red and blue lights cut the morning air.
A police car and an ambulance were parked outside Eliza’s house. I ran like crazy down the street to see what the hell was going on. Thoughts raced through my mind. It would have been Derek, who had tried to fix the hot water service by himself, but stupidly had forgotten to turn off the gas and the whole thing had exploded, decapitating him instantly. Or it would have been Doreen, who had tripped over the iron and sent the steaming hotplate onto her face, forever burning a brown triangle with little dots onto her forehead.
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