Fat Man, The

by Gee, Maurice

‘Shut up, Ma. Put a sock in it.’ The fat man was edgy and sour. He was dangerous. ‘Take her upstairs,’ he said to Bette. ‘Take them both.’

  But Bette took only Verna. The fat man stood up. He seized his mother by the arms and sat her in a chair. ‘Sit and keep quiet. Kid, you’re treading dirt in. Wipe your feet.’

  Colin went outside, although the rain came down just as hard, and washed his feet under the garden tap. He would have gone round to the front and sheltered on the porch, but he wanted to be with his father – he felt that he, and Grandpa too, were somehow under threat. When he went back they were talking about boxing. He went around the table to stand by Laurie, passing Mrs Muskie on the way. He caught the sour smell of her, and heard her rhythmical groaning like the purring of a cat except that it sounded of distress. It kept time with her rocking in her chair.

  ‘A good wrestler will always beat a boxer,’ the fat man said. ‘All he’s got to do is get a grip.’

  ‘No,’ Laurie said, ‘because a boxer hits him coming in. A wrestler’s wide open for a punch.’

  ‘Sure, he’ll take a few. You always take a few to get in close. But once you get your hands on, it’s all over. A wrestler will break a boxer up, with his pansy gloves. He’ll tear off his arms, eh, and feed ’em to the cat. What you say, Ma?’

  ‘Those men are digging in my garden.’

  ‘They’re digging drains, not for sovereigns, Ma.’ He winked at Colin – ‘Sovereigns’ – and spiralled his finger at his temple. Then he grinned at Laurie. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you and me try it out? I’ll be the wrestler, eh, and you can be the boxer. There’s room here.’

  ‘No, Dad,’ Colin said.

  ‘I don’t fight any more.’

  ‘You can be bare knuckles. Even it up. We’ll push the table back against the wall, make a ring. Get up, Ma.’

  ‘Someone will only get hurt, Herbie,’ Laurie said.

  ‘I’m used to getting hurt. I can stand a bit of pain to prove I’m right.’

  ‘No fighting,’ Grandpa said. ‘It only makes bad blood. Tell you what, why don’t you have an arm wrestle, eh? Boxer against wrestler, eh, eh?’

  ‘I don’t mind that,’ Laurie said.

  ‘Arm wrestling? Well, sure, why not? I seen a bit of that in me time,’ the fat man said. A cruel little smile played on his mouth and the worm made a sideways jump. ‘Just to make it interesting, how about we each put in ten bob? Winner takes all.’

  ‘Ten bob?’

  ‘Ha!’ Grandpa said. ‘Take it, Laurie. If Herbie wants to chuck his money away.’

  Mrs Muskie stood up and searched in the cupboards again. No one took any notice of her. They cleared an end of the table and placed two chairs. The fat man took his jacket off. Yellow braces held his trousers up. His torso was rounded like a melon. Laurie was a beanpole beside him. His hands were bigger though and his arms more muscular. Colin put his hope in that. When they clasped hands the brown one almost swallowed up the white.

  ‘You can be referee, eh Pops,’ the fat man said.

  ‘Sure thing,’ Grandpa said. ‘When I say go … Both ready? Go.’

  Colin knew at once that his father would lose. His forearm was longer and he had to bend his wrist. The fat man’s arm was immovable. His face coloured to a yellow-pink from which the scar stood out in a ridge, white as dough, but he showed no other sign of strain. Laurie was fitter, and stronger in his arm, but the fat man was able to get eighteen stone behind his push. Slowly he levered Laurie over. Then he let him come up and gain an inch or two. Colin saw that he was playing. Laurie knew it too. Sweat had broken out on his face.

  ‘Laurie, you’re not bad for a country boy,’ the fat man said.

  ‘Gone, gone,’ Mrs Muskie moaned, rattling plates.

  ‘But I been in a hard school. Want to give in?’

  ‘No,’ Laurie gritted. Perhaps he thought his fitness might count in the end.

  ‘I seen arms get broken in this game,’ the fat man said. He stayed rock still, then reached his left hand into his pocket and dabbed his cheeks with his handkerchief. ‘But if I break yours you won’t be able to finish my weatherboards, eh?’

  ‘No giving cheek to your opponent,’ Grandpa cried.

  ‘Shut up, Pops,’ the fat man said. He held Laurie still for a moment longer, then forced his hand down easily and laid it on the table. ‘Ten bob to me.’

  Laurie looked stricken. He could not look at Colin or Grandpa. He seemed to shrink as if some of his weight was lost.

  ‘I’ll take it out of your wages,’ the fat man said.

  ‘Yes. All right.’

  ‘It’s a long time from Loomis school, eh Laurie?’

  ‘Laurie would still beat you in a fight,’ Grandpa said.

  But Colin knew he was wrong. The fat man would do what he had said: get in close and squeeze and twist, break Laurie up. It was as if he had started already.

  ‘You reckon? You want to try, Laurie?’

  ‘No. No fights,’ Laurie said.

  ‘I’ll go easy on you.’

  Laurie shook his head. He took his glass of beer and drank a sip. He did not seem able to gulp any more.

  ‘Ma, sit down,’ the fat man said. ‘There’s no sovereigns.’ He grinned at Laurie. ‘You want to have a turn against my ma? Get your ten bob back? I’ll tell her to go easy too.’

  ‘Hey,’ Grandpa said, ‘there’s no call for cheek. We’re all friends here.’

  Laurie worked his arm, getting its strength back. ‘What’s biting you, Herbie?’ And perhaps there would have been a fight, but a knocking sounded on the front door brought the fat man’s head swinging round.

  ‘What the hell … ?’

  He screeched back his chair and left the kitchen with Mrs Muskie after him, still talking to herself. Looking on an angle across the hall, Colin saw him swing the front door open. Two women with dripping umbrellas stood on the porch. Clyde Muskie peered from behind them.

  ‘Herbie,’ he said, grinning uncertainly, ‘here’s Olive and Dora. We thought we’d come and visit you and Mum.’

  ‘Well, if it ain’t me sisters,’ the fat man said. ‘Ain’t that great?’

  The sisters were tall women with none of Clyde’s uncertainty. The one in front sprang her umbrella half open and shook it again, spraying the fat man with water. Her hair bushed out from under her hat.

  ‘Herbert, what makes you think you can come back and live in this house? Without so much as by your leave?’

  Colin could only see the fat man’s back, but he felt him smile, felt the worm wriggle in his cheek.

  ‘Come in or stay out, Olive. Make up your mind. I’m closing the door.’

  ‘We’re coming in. We’ve got more right than you. Who are these people?’

  The fat man closed the door. He looked at Colin and Laurie and Grandpa peering from the kitchen and winked at them. ‘Me carpenter. Me drainlayer. Remember the Potters, Olive? They’re working for me. And that lady up there on the stairs is me wife. And that’s me daughter. Bette and Verna. Say hallo.’

  ‘Wife? You’ve got no wife. Who’d marry you? She’s your fancy lady. How dare you bring her into mother’s house?’

  ‘Married her in the registry office, Olive. I’d have asked you both if I’d thought you’d come. Want to see the certificate? Fetch it, Bette. But hey, I haven’t finished my introductions. This lady standing here is my Mum. Remember her? It’s a long time since you met, eh Olive?’

  The other sister pushed her head out on her long neck. ‘We don’t come because we’re not welcome,’ she hissed. ‘But that doesn’t excuse you. We know what you’re after.’

  ‘What am I after, Dora? Her sovereigns? Tell them, Ma.’

  ‘They stole them. You stole them,’ Mrs Muskie cried. ‘These women came and stole my sovereigns. Where have you put them?’

  ‘Mother, we stole nothing,’ Olive said. ‘But Herbert has come to steal your house. And Dora and I are not going to let him.’

  The fat man laughed. It
had an ugly sound – the gravel in the chute sound Colin knew. He stood close to his father. He looked at Verna at the top of the stairs, close to her mother. No one was safe from the fat man. But at least it was Olive and Dora and Clyde he was after now.

  ‘What I’m doing,’ he said, ‘I’m looking after Mum’s business affairs. Not that there’s much of them. But what about you, eh Olive, eh Dora? Waiting for her to die, am I right? Then you’ll be out here like a pack of hungry dogs.’

  ‘How dare you?’

  ‘I dare anything,’ the fat man said.

  ‘We’ll get the police. We’ll get you thrown out of here.’

  ‘Too late, me lovely sisters.’ He turned to Bette on the stairs. ‘Aren’t they lovely girls? Look at them. They don’t come to see their ma for ten bloody years. But when they hear I’m home they’re out here in a flash to look after her. Real queens.’

  ‘Herbie, we got some rights,’ Clyde said.

  ‘Who says? You got no rights. I’m the one with rights now, and I’ll tell you what they are. I run things for Mum. Me. Herbert Muskie. We went to see a lawyer and all the business side is handed over to me. I’m the manager. Tell ’em, Ma.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mrs Muskie cried, ‘Herbert has come home. I always knew he’d come. But where have my sovereigns gone?’

  ‘Mother,’ Olive said, stepping towards her. The old lady lifted her hands to ward her off.

  ‘Stay away. I’ve made a will. It’s all for Herbert now. He’s the only one who cares. What have you done with my sovereigns?’

  ‘Oh, Mother.’

  ‘Oh, Mother,’ the fat man parroted.

  ‘We love you, Mother,’ Dora said. ‘We’ve come to save you.’

  ‘From me,’ the fat man said, and laughed, keeping in check an ugly rage. ‘Well, now I’ll do some saving of my own. Out, out.’ He moved at them and drove them back, Olive and Dora and Clyde; threw the front door open. ‘Out you go.’ Then he saw the sawmill truck parked at the gate. ‘What, Clyde, you drove them round here in the truck? Me stuck-up sisters? I’ll bet they loved that, eh?’

  ‘Herbie …’

  But the fat man seized him and held him helpless. He rummaged in his pockets and came out with a key. ‘Well, they can walk back, rain or not. Because I’m taking the truck. I’ve got a buyer.’

  ‘You can’t,’ Clyde said. ‘I can’t run the mill without a truck.’

  ‘The mill’s closing. It’s closed. It’s costing money. The mill doesn’t open tomorrow.’

  ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘I can. I just did. Why should Ma and me keep the mill just so you can have a free ride? Out you go. Out, Olive.’

  ‘But listen –’

  ‘Out, Dora.’

  He slammed the door and turned them into shadows behind the fractured glass.

  The fat man laughed. ‘Showed ’em, eh? Got rid of them.’ He stretched his yellow braces and let them snap back against his belly. ‘Come ’ere, Bette, and give me a kiss.’ But Bette seized Verna and fled with her under the stained-glass window into a bedroom.

  Colin and Laurie and Grandpa went back into the kitchen.

  ‘Can we go home, Dad?’

  ‘It’s still raining.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘Yeah, let’s go.’

  Laurie packed his toolkit. They heard the fat man walk up the stairs and heard a door open and heard him laugh. In a moment Verna came down. She sat at the table and looked at no one. Mrs Muskie came in and took up her search.

  ‘We’re going, Verna,’ Colin said.

  She made no reply.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She was still in her damp dress. All her other clothes were at Bellevue House.

  ‘Will she be all right, Dad?’ he said as they went out the gate.

  ‘Yeah, I think so. The old lady’s there. Her mother’s there.’

  That counted for nothing. But there was not a thing Colin could do. Olive and Dora and Clyde walked ahead of them, huddled under two umbrellas. The rain stopped as they turned on to the bridge. Grandpa caught them up and walked with Clyde. Colin and his father went the other way.

  ‘Can he really close the mill, Dad?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He doesn’t need a reason. But it’s true what he says, it’s not making any money. All it does is keep Clyde in a job.’

  ‘What will Clyde – Mr Muskie – do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you really think there’s a will? And Herbert Muskie gets everything?’

  ‘If there’s anything to get.’

  Colin nearly told him about the sovereigns. Instead he said, ‘Do you have to work for him, Dad?’

  ‘It’s wages, son.’

  His father was defeated. The fat man had beaten him, more than just with arm wrestling. He had made him smaller somehow.

  ‘Has he been seeing Mum again?’

  ‘No, I warned him off.’

  Colin did not believe in a warning-off, not any more.

  ‘Did you really bully him at school?’

  ‘Yeah, a bit.’

  ‘Is that why he wants to get us now?’

  ‘He doesn’t want to get us, Colin. I don’t know …’ His father wouldn’t talk about it any more.

  Colin took his hand as they walked along, and Laurie, who would normally have thought it was sissy, held it and did not seem to mind.

  Chapter 7

  The Fat Man Gets Serious

  The sawmill closed. The fat man sold the truck. Laurie worked at the house, stripping rotten weatherboards and putting new ones in. He replaced floorboards here and there, rehung the sticking doors, got the windows running smoothly in their frames. He climbed a long ladder to the roof, removed sheets of rusty iron and hammered new ones in. Grandpa Potter finished the drains. But still the old lady lived alone in the house while Verna and Bette and Herbert Muskie boarded at Bellevue House.

  By the time of the May school holidays, Laurie was almost ready to start the painting. He had burned the old paint off with a blowtorch, working on a scaffold high up the walls. Colin helped with sandpaper, working at ground level, and Verna gave a hand now and then. Colin liked working alongside her. Her hair had grown two inches and was starting to curl. But he didn’t care about that any more, he liked her however it was. ‘Love birds,’ Grandma said in her sour way. Bette Muskie wasn’t pleased about them either. She did not like her daughter running round with a barefoot boy.

  As for the fat man, he did not seem to notice. He was away most of the time. He drove off along the Great North Road each morning and often was not home till after dark. The truth, which came out later, was that he had become a receiver of stolen goods, working with the man who had bought Laurie’s cups. Perhaps he did some burglary too – no one knows. He always had plenty of money. But whatever he was up to, his other game, his deeper game, was being played in Loomis.

  He and Grandpa Potter set up a little sly-grog shop, working out of a shed at the disused mill. The fat man brought crates of beer from Auckland in his car – you could get six dozen bottles in the boot and another four, hidden under a blanket, on the back seat. He carted the beer and took the profits while Grandpa, on wages, did the selling. They explained his presence at the mill by saying that he was nightwatchman there. All this came out later too. And Grandpa was arrested and served a month in prison, which would have pleased the fat man, although it was Laurie and Maisie he was really after. But our story is getting ahead of itself. We must go back and say what happened to Mrs Muskie.

  ‘He locks her in her bedroom at night,’ Verna said. ‘He says it’s so she won’t burn down the house. You can hear her crying in there.’

  ‘Someone should tell Clyde.’

  ‘He makes Mum empty her chamber pot when we go round. At least he bought a new chamber pot.’

  ‘Why don’t you and your mother run away?’

  ‘Mum’s too scared. She says he’ll come and find us.’<
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  Sometimes the fat man forgot to lock the door – or perhaps he left it unlocked on purpose. Then Mrs Muskie searched the house for her sovereigns. She pinned on her hat, lit a kerosene lamp and dug at Grandpa’s new drains with her trowel. Someone must have told Olive and Dora. They made another visit and tried to smuggle Mrs Muskie with them to the train, but the fat man came home and chased them away.

  Autumn came. The weather was steamy and wet. Maisie Potter bought Colin some shoes and insisted that he wear them to school. So he set off with them on his feet but took them off round the first bend in the road. He carried them in his schoolbag all day and put them on just before he reached home again. Verna, too, was learning to run barefooted. The Rice gang had lost interest in her now that her hair had started to grow. Several times she and Colin went to the pictures on Saturday afternoon. They held hands in the dark. It was known in Loomis school that they were girlfriend and boyfriend and they got kidded about it for a while, but that stopped too. Colin would have been happy in these days if it hadn’t been for his father not alive in the way he had been, and for the fat man, always there even when he was away in Auckland.

  In the holidays he helped all day, sanding the baseboards of the house. He and his father started work at eight in the morning and sometimes heard Mrs Muskie calling to be let out of her room. Then Colin would slide a window up and climb inside. He ran up the stairs past the coloured window, turned the key in her lock and ran back again. She prowled the house. The fat man did not seem to mind when he arrived. ‘Don’t get too smart, kid,’ was all he said.

  They rode down on the bike one morning after a night of rain. The sky had cleared, the day would be muggy and hot. They both worked with their shirts off, although dust from the sanding soon caked Colin’s skin. Mrs Muskie made no sound in the house, which meant that the fat man had not locked her in. Colin wondered if he would come today, or if Bette and Verna would walk round. He liked Verna to see him working hard.

  ‘Got to have a pee, Dad,’ he called.

  ‘Have one for me,’ Laurie answered from high on the scaffold.

  Colin grinned. His father sounded more the way he had been. He went down to the back of the section, past the bare patch where the shed had stood and the grubbed earth that would turn into a lawn one day – so the fat man said. Already it was growing weeds. He stood out of sight from the house and peed at the creek, hoping he wouldn’t poison the eels. It wasn’t till he was buttoning up that he noticed something – what was it, a bunch of dried flowers? – caught against the bank where the pool curved out of sight. He looked harder and saw that it floated on a small island, brown or green. Then it came properly into focus, and it was Mrs Muskie’s hat. The fat man must have thrown it away – he had threatened to.