Fava Beans For Breakfast

by Suzanne Salem

  Nayeema watched him pick up his spoon and resume his maddening munching as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He had a strange way of separating the concrete facts from his emotions. To Fawzy, even love could be explained by the concrete facts of neurochemical triggers firing in the brain. But she would not focus on the snake and miss the scorpion. What had Fawzy been doing behind the weatherboard cottage when he’d seen the schoolgirl, Annabel?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  For the first time in months, Tom was certain. Without any doubt, he had just collided with the defining moment of his life. He’d firmly shaken hands with it and introduced himself like a puffed-up dignitary. Oh, his defining moment was something to savour. Not everyone could say that.

  In every person’s life, there was a defining moment. For his grandfather, it was the moment he’d decided to quarry sandstone in Burraboo. Big Jack’s defining moment? That was impossible to know. The man kept too many secrets. For Tom’s brother, a chance encounter with his future wife decided everything. Back when Tom was holed up in his Oxford college, suffering that ignominious malaise, he never could have guessed that his defining moment would arrive courtesy of a couple of prehistoric amphibians that spoke the story of the earth.

  He straightened his tie and switched the television back on. A journalist was standing in the Burraboo region of the Bindi State Forest, just north of Bishops Bay and the Burraboo peninsula, where the discovery of the prehistoric amphibians had been made. Every television station was covering the story. There were special bulletins and newsflashes, and in every second sentence there was another mention of Burraboo. National news crews were crawling over his town.

  Denise buzzed Tom from her desk outside his office. ‘Mr Copes is on the line. Will you take the call?’

  ‘Yes, put him through.’

  Mick Copes cleared his throat. ‘Tom. Are you watching this? Have you heard the news?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Could be a game changer.’

  ‘Could be? It will be. No doubt about it. We need a new strategy. New projections. This changes everything.’

  ‘I’ll get onto it.’

  ‘Let’s meet this afternoon. My office at four pm. Does that give you enough time?’

  ‘Sure … but I don’t think we should get too carried away. Let’s keep our base revenue forecasts conservative. If we exceed our estimates, it’ll be a nice surprise.’

  ‘The only thing I’ll be surprised about is your lack of vision after these discoveries. You’ll need to give me numbers that have more ambition than this conversation.’

  ‘We can talk about what’s practical when we meet.’

  ‘Mick, I’ve gorged on your miserable practicalities. We need a new strategy and new numbers. Don’t disappoint me.’ He hung up the telephone before his overpaid strategist could retort.

  Staggering, it was. This extinct, ancient creature’s body had been preserved in sandstone for two-hundred-and-twenty million years. It was a perfect fossilised specimen from the Triassic period. It even predated the dinosaurs, for godsakes. Two-and-a-half metres long. After a massive global disaster, which wiped out most of the earth’s species, this meat-eating beast with savage teeth emerged on the earth. Sure, compared with a T. rex or even a modern-day shark, the Burraboo amphibian didn’t sound particularly large or ferocious. But Tom was enthralled that this ugly beast represented the transitioning of animal life from water to land. Right here on the Sydney Basin, on the edges of Gondwanaland.

  A geologist and his crew of students had discovered the fossil two days ago. They were on a field trip to explore the geological delights of the state-owned forest, which stretched from the central part of the Burraboo peninsula and along the hinterland region up to Jindy. It was in the Burraboo peninsula that they scraped and cleaned off a thick layer of sandstone sediment from a large boulder, to find the first fossilised amphibian. A palaeontologist was contacted to verify the finding. Incredibly, after authenticating the fossil as a brachyopid, the palaeontologist explored the area further. He did a bit of his own sediment scraping and to his amazement he found another prehistoric relic, not two metres away. What were the chances? This time, just a skull, also of an amphibian, but incredibly, from a different period altogether—the Jurassic. It was too much. The scientists were in a lather. Who knew what else sat beneath that section of earth?

  Prehistoric Burraboo sounded a hell of a lot better to him than extinct Burraboo. Nothing this spectacular or well-preserved had been found in the Sydney Basin since 1910. Tom wondered about that. When he was a kid, his grandfather had handed him several bone imprints that came from the quarry. Poor quality. But still. Great Artie had turned a blind eye. He didn’t care about what had gone on before him; he was interested only in the here and now, the value of annual revenue, and his status as the king of Burraboo. Artie was no guardian of history. Not ever. He was the owner of a big bloody quarry and he’d do as he damned well pleased.

  Tom turned up the volume on the television.

  ‘—This is another significant find that will reveal more of Australia’s climatic history. It follows the discovery earlier this year of the human remains of an ancient skeleton in Lake Mungo in south-western New South Wales, making this a golden year for the scientific community.’

  While Tom and his executive team had been working out where the final phase of funding would be sourced, fossils were being authenticated under his nose. This changed everything. You little beauty.

  Another buzz from Denise. ‘Tom, Davo is on the line.’

  ‘Thanks, love, I’ll take it.’ He switched off the television and returned to his desk. ‘Davo. What’s news?’

  ‘Well, I’ve just booked out all five rooms upstairs. Media folk. Just like you guessed.’

  Tom laughed and slapped his hand against his thigh. ‘That hasn’t happened in fourteen years.’

  ‘Thought you’d want to know.’

  ‘Can you and Tina handle the extra load? Those rooms will need cleaning.’

  ‘We only have linen for two of the rooms. Tina will have to buy more … she’s gone to Gosford this morning for that.’

  ‘Tell her to get whatever she thinks the rooms need. And organise someone to spruce up the rooms while she’s gone. We’ll need an extra hand on deck …’

  ‘I’ll find someone.’

  ‘Listen, I’ve got a feeling this fossil thing isn’t going to die down quickly. We need to be prepared. You’ll need to do another food order. These media folk—scientists as well—they’ll want to take lunch and dinner at the pub. We might have to organise a breakfast fry-up for the mornings. Toast and honey won’t cut it. We’ll need an extra body in the kitchen, at least one more, until we see how this fossil scenario pans out.’

  There was silence.

  ‘Reckon you’ll be right to sort that out this morning, Davo?’

  ‘That’s a lot to organise, with Tina gone to Gosford and all …’

  ‘I’ll be right over. Give me twenty minutes.’

  Tom put the phone back over the cradle, took off his tie and jogged out of his office. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of hours, Denise. Any problems, call me at the Royal.’

  ‘Oh dear … is everything okay?’

  ‘Never been better.’ He winked at her and was out the door, his car keys already in hand. Today was turning into a magnificent day. You little ripper.

  When he arrived at the Royal, all the parking spaces on the road in front of the pub were already taken. As Tom stepped into the saloon of Burraboo’s only licensed drinking establishment, the smell of wet beer mats and something suspiciously ammoniac like urine instantly assaulted him. It was as though he were suddenly gifted with new sight and senses. He’d have to talk to Davo about this. The stench had to go.

  There were several people gathered inside, talking among themselves. Almost all were cradling beers. The atmosphere was always convivial at the Royal. He was proud of that. The television was turned on, the volume loud. Quite a
few people were watching it with keen interest. There was an unmistakable pulse of excitement in the main saloon.

  Barry Bargearse was standing at the bar, hunched forward with his chin cradled in his hand and his sizeable backside protruding behind him like a semi-deflated balloon. Bargearse was staring up at the television, his face exhibiting all the strains of intense concentration.

  It took Tom a moment to notice that Fred was standing beside him, with a troubled look on his face. Come to think of it, Fred had looked troubled the last few times Tom had seen him.

  ‘Barry. Fred …’ Tom raised his hand to them. He nodded at Davo, who was pouring beers.

  ‘This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to this town since the footy team won the regional comp twenty odd years ago,’ Bargearse said to Tom, his face widening into a smile like a squeezed pillow. He pointed at the television. An excited palaeontologist was being interviewed at the site of the fossil discoveries.

  Fred’s face lit up when he saw Tom. ‘From an evolutionary perspective, this is an important discovery,’ Fred added. He shook his head slowly to demonstrate that he appreciated the enormity of the discovery.

  He was an agreeable bloke, that Fred.

  Bargearse suddenly slapped the counter with a flat palm. His face went red as he stared at the television. He expelled an angry mouthful of air then looked Tom in the eye. ‘Those bloody Rainbow Lily hippies,’ he said, his bottom lip puckered in distaste. ‘Look at ’em.’ He nodded at the television. ‘This is our big moment to shine in front of the country. We’ve got the whole bloody world lookin’ at us with them fossils and those hippies are tryin’ to get a piece of the action. Who cares what those lazy bastards think? Those cameras should be coming into town and asking us what we think about the discovery. Us, who’ve lived here all of our flippin’ lives, not the johnny-come-latelies who’ve lived here for three seconds and reckon that counts for somethin’.’ A bubble of saliva rose and fell in the corner of Barry’s mouth.

  Fred shifted his weight from one foot to another.

  Barry’s face slackened as he looked at Fred awkwardly. ‘Oh, but you know, it’s different with you New Australian types. You lot seem to be fitting in … making a contribution. And all that.’

  ‘I believe it is important to work hard. I have never admired those who do nothing to help themselves in life and expect fortune or luck or some other foolish belief to intervene,’ Fred said, sharply.

  ‘I’ll cheers to that mate. Still, youse wouldn’t knock back a bit of coin at the horses if Lady Luck smiled on yer, would yer?’ Bargearse winked at Fred.

  ‘You’re still rabid about the Rainbow Lilies? Isn’t that getting a bit old?’ said Tom.

  ‘Those young people getting shickered up on the farm make it hard for me to lose interest. It’s a damned shame.’ Bargearse bit his lip.

  ‘You think that it is only on the hippy farm that young people are misbehaving? What about here in the town? Young people everywhere like to misbehave. Full stop,’ said Fred.

  ‘Them lot are a different breed to us. They’re like a noxious weed, multiplying by the frigging day. I’ve bin up there. I’ve seen it with me own eyes how they live, that type o’ thing. All of that marijuana smoking, I know they’re into that stuff. That’s pretty much the only thing I can get them on.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Fred, leaning in. ‘What else? I mean, what else are they into? It’s important for me to understand this, from a pharmaceutical point of view, of course.’

  ‘Well, I reckon the marijuana’s enough. Sorry, Fred, I know this sort of talk about illegal drugs is upsetting to an ordinary, decent person.’

  Fred shook his head. ‘I have no objection to marijuana. I know it to possess good medicinal properties in certain contexts. Some of the English elite of Alexandria with whom I was well acquainted … they smoked hashish … often … on water-pipes. I can assure you that it didn’t seem to damage their intellectual dexterity in the least. However … I understand your concern for keeping law and order. As we were discussing earlier, I have a great respect for the law and for keeping order.’ Fred looked at Bargearse earnestly.

  ‘Speaking of which, let me know when you’ve got a decent lead on my car or the vandals here at the pub.’ Tom raised his eyebrows at Bargearse.

  ‘I’m not getting any reliable information. Not yet.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’ve chased up a fair bit but it’s come to naught.’ Bargearse looked at his watch and cleared his throat. ‘Tom, no doubt we’ll be in contact.’

  Bargearse and Fred shook hands solemnly. Bargearse made his way slowly to the exit and threw a wave to a group of men near the pool table. He slapped a few shoulders playfully along the way, before he finally waddled out of the Royal.

  Tom turned to Fred. ‘Everything okay?’

  Fred looked up at him, his earnest young face as fresh as a cool autumn breeze. His immaculately trimmed black sideburns ran down to his jaw, which met his slightly pointed chin. Some might say it was a weak chin. But that would be unfair. A young fella like Fred had time to acquire a more assertive chin. Fred cleared his throat. ‘One can’t complain.’

  ‘Sometimes, the local law enforcement doesn’t have all the answers. Guess you’ve noticed that.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Fred mumbled into his half-drunk glass of cola.

  ‘If you think I can help, you let me know.’

  ‘That is very generous. I’m just not sure …’

  ‘You’d be surprised. I can move a few marbles around. Having problems at Pat’s?’

  Fred flinched, a subtle action represented by a sideways tug of his mouth. ‘Hmm? Problems? No, no. But, if there were, one might consider it a rather delicate matter.’

  ‘Let me know if I can help.’ Tom gave Fred a genial slap on the shoulder. Fred smiled at Tom, releasing two deep wells of dimples on his cheeks.

  Fred’s self-conscious smile was pulled across his face like a drawing.

  Tom pulled his gaze away to Davo, who gestured for Tom to join him in the small alcove they used as an office, behind the bar. Davo looked as though he’d just lost his balance from the extra workload. Each breath was a noisy wheeze from the chest. ‘You okay, Davo?’

  ‘There’s a lot to get done.’

  ‘It’s incredible, how life can change in a single day … These fossil discoveries, blimey, who could have planned for this to happen? Look around, the bar is buzzing, and Burraboo is in for a ride,’ Tom whooped.

  ‘Yeah, well, hopefully things calm down soon enough.’ Davo tugged at his shirt collar.

  Cripes. If they were all lucky, this was just the beginning. He had a sense of the borders disintegrating, the invisible lines retracting into clay and sand and silt to bury yesterday’s humiliations with the bones and marrow and memories that saturated the earth. He felt himself stepping into the centre of his own life; his own story was finally beginning. He had to speak with Neema. Their little kiosk could no longer occupy the shadows. The gods of tomorrow were being born today.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Nayeema craned her neck to peer out of the houseboat’s kitchen window. The sky was clear except for a single cloud squatting awkward and low as though it had been flung there by accident. The haze and glare that muddied the horizon during the warmer months was now absent, and gave way to crisper, flawless depths of colour unmarred by human industry. In Alexandria, even on a clear day, there were fumes that lined the air like sweat on a bricklayer’s body, and in the Paprika Triangle, pollution from Parramatta Road stayed as close as a friend. Only here, in the bay, could she see the translucence of air.

  On the pier, she caught the distinctive, uneven stride of Tom Grieves as he approached, observed how his stiff left leg failed to yield sufficient movement at the knee. He nudged his way down the narrow staircase of the houseboat, which shuddered for a moment with the extra weight as he stepped down into the cabin.

  ‘Neema … Goldie,’ his voice boomed heartily. He tipped his hand in a jovial greeting.


  She smiled at him warmly. ‘Hello, boss.’ She knew he loved that. Goldie rolled her eyes.

  The lunch service was coming to a close and there were only a few sandwiches left. There were caramel slices for the next ten people who wanted them. The hot food had sold in the first hour. There was a small queue of people waiting on the pier. ‘You want something to eat?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve already had lunch, thanks … but I would like a word when you have a minute.’

  She marvelled at his apparent refusal to snack between meals when the size of his neck suggested he ate the camel and everything it carried.

  ‘I can manage here, if you like, we’re almost done,’ offered Goldie.

  Nayeema wiped her hands down the front of her apron. ‘Thanks,’ she mouthed silently.

  In the narrow passageway by the entrance, Tom turned sideways to let her pass first into the small vestibule. She walked towards the built-in seating roughly in the middle of the houseboat. The sofa could be opened up into a bed. At the very end of the houseboat was an annexe that functioned as a small bedroom. Was there ever a time when Tom was able to squeeze himself on either of these beds? It was difficult to imagine him as a child.

  ‘Actually, I’d prefer if we talked outside—this houseboat always makes me feel crammed in.’

  ‘You get cramps from here?’ This was not surprising: anyone who was forced to stoop like Tom would surely get cramps in the neck.

  He smiled. ‘Not cramps … crammed. Like squashed.’ He demonstrated by taking his hands out wide then moving them towards each other. ‘You know, like I’m inside a kiddie’s dollhouse or something.’

  They made their way up the stairs to the square platform deck and sat on two fold-out chairs. Small white peaks skimmed the top of the bay. Water smacked noisily against the posts of the pier. Looking away from the pier and towards the inlet, she felt Tom’s gaze follow her own. There it was: the majestic boulder. She studied the varied, delicate hues that the light cast on her beloved edifice in the sand.