At the Big Red Rooster

by William Taylor

  A final heads down prayer and his eyes not closed but glued to the coffin. Casket, they had called it. Surely the damn thing was getting bigger. What if all the flowers slipped off? Those flowers, too, seemed to be growing. His throat worked again. Dry. Drier than ever. Pulsing. He owed her this. Didn’t he? Did he owe her anything? Must be something he owed the old girl for. If he didn’t owe her, well, at least he could blame her. After all, it was all her fault he was even here. Her fault he was caught here trapped between Teddy’s fat and old Arthur’s bone. Now she was getting her own back on him, as well as the other poor sods, in this last act.

  The nod came. As one the file rose. He rose with them. Little option. Hoisted, he was, by fat and bone. The file divided. Three to one side, three to the other. God, he’d forgotten. Did they hoist it up on their shoulders? Nah. No way. Sure way to croak poor old Uncle Arthur! Sure as hell didn’t want another funeral. Turn. Face the front. Face the music, face the audience. Oh, dear God, why did you make me half a head taller than the other buggers? A swimming sea of faces. White hankies here and there. Wispy souls fluttering?

  Breathe deeply. Lift. Light. Surprisingly light. A slow walk, not a very long walk. No great hassle. No need to look into the face of anyone. For what, then, or for whom, is this sudden prickling behind the eyes? For self? For her? For both her and himself? For what she had given him? Maybe for himself in this sort of celebration of what it was all about. For life?

  Tina & Sharon & Myra & Vi on a Saturday Night

  TINA SAID SHE THOUGHT she should wear the striped top and not the plain one and that stripes were trendy these days.

  Sharon, Tina’s mum, said that reminded her she had forgotten to call in and get the last roll of wallpaper for the hall and maybe they were open late.

  Myra, Sharon’s mum and Tina’s nan, said that in all her born days she had never known such an autumn and at least it made up a little bit for the summer, if you could call it that.

  Vi, Myra’s mum and Sharon’s nan and Tina’s nan-nan, said nothing, prodded at the buttons on the telly remote and switched from something about a blue dolphin to something about a black horse.

  Tina wrinkled up her face and said the plain one did have a better cut and looked good when she was dancing and this is what Angie reckoned, too. So did Lisa. So did just everyone.

  Myra said for her mum to turn the telly down.

  Sharon said the only thing wrong with the paper, really, was that Joyce Anderson down the corner had it in her loo, or at least that was what Hazel said and Hazel had seen it.

  Myra said, louder, for her mum to turn the telly down, sighed very loudly, shook her head and added, sort of quietly, that the poor old dear was getting worse and it would be a blessing for her when the time came and that she was a poor old soul.

  Vi, back on the dolphins, said nothing and jabbed at the remote buttons until the dolphins all changed to a greeny grey.

  Sharon said, shaking her head too, that enough was enough and wasn’t it time Nan-Nan was put in a home and there were some nice places around these days and Hazel was only just saying.

  Myra said the nice places didn’t grow on trees and cost an arm and a leg and what little the old girl had left, her house and all, would go down the proverbial, poof, just like that, and, after all, she and Bert had a right to expect a little something after all these years when the dear old thing passed on and, in spite of what anyone said, Nan-Nan was more at home than ever in the little room Bert had done up so nice behind the garage and all her things around her, too. Memories. Memories was what it was all about.

  Tina, doing her fingernails a nice magenta, said Greg was just about the nicest guy she had ever met and wasn’t she lucky, they all said. Awesome was what they all said, even Angie. Not only was he a first-class hunk but he even had a good brain, too.

  Myra said in her experience the only brain boys of sixteen had dangled between their legs and she wasn’t too sure whether it was the front dangly bit or the back dangly bit that did the thinking, not that any of that mattered when push came to shove, so to speak.

  Sharon said that Greg’s mum was a teacher and everyone liked her at the college. Tina said that Greg was not like that and that Nan was being very disgusting. Myra said to tell that to the birds or to her very own mother, who, although warned, had never listened and that being a teacher had nothing to do with the price of fish these days and never had.

  Vi farted, said beg pardon and jabbed again at the telly remote.

  Tina said that Nan-Nan had made snow come on the telly and that she shouldn’t be given the remote because she always stuffed it up and it took Greg and Greg’s mate Darren ages to sort it out last time and it was a wonder just how good with his hands Greg was. He could be an engineer one day.

  Sharon opened the window, rescued the remote from Vi and switched to the news and said why wouldn’t they ever stop fighting and it’s nothing but death and violence these days on the telly.

  Myra said not to forget the video pornographics, too, as she took the remote from Sharon and put it up on the bookcase. She put half a mug of tea in Vi’s hands in the hope that Vi might forget the missing remote.

  Sharon said what time should Nan-Nan go to bed and Tina must be ever so quiet when she came in at twelve so as not to wake the old girl.

  Tina said she might be just the teensiest bit later because after the social all the guys and all the girls, too, thought they’d just have a looksee in this new club, Shakes, down town.

  Sharon said, quite firmly, midnight my girl and nothing stronger than Coke and at the age of fifteen clubs were not the place for anyone respectable and Hazel was only just saying.

  Tina said nearly sixteen and that there was nothing wrong with a glass of Markay View and it was all right because Greg didn’t drink except for just a beer now and then with his mates because a guy had to and that he had given up smoking at fourteen for his health’s sake and now only ever had just one cigarette after er… er…

  Myra said after what, and lifted her eyebrows.

  Tina said after er… rugby practice.

  Myra said that this was surely a strange time to have one.

  Sharon said she thought she might ring Greg’s mum, not that she had ever met her.

  Tina said this was not a good idea and that Greg was one thousand per cent trustworthy.

  Vi snored.

  Myra snorted and then said she didn’t know what she would have done if Sharon hadn’t offered to have Nan-Nan for the night and she and Bert had looked forward to Betty and Bob’s thirty-fifth for just ages and not to forget to remind her to get Nan-Nan’s waterproofs from out of the car.

  Vi woke up and hunted around the sides of her chair for the telly remote.

  Sharon said to Tina to put the kettle on and that Nan-Nan wanted another cuppa before Nan went to get out the bikkies, the chockie ones at the back that she had been keeping.

  Myra said no more tea for Nan-Nan and that it was past her cut-off and that Nan-Nan leaked like a dripping tap all night if you weren’t careful and why on earth didn’t Sharon buy at Pak ’n’ Save where these biscuits were three cents cheaper and that wasn’t all. Pak ’n’ Save had it all over the others these days.

  Sharon said it would cost five bucks at least to get the gas to get over to Pak ’n’ Save and did Nan have one Halcion or two at bedtime.

  Myra said to give her two if you wanted a decent night’s sleep and that it wouldn’t hurt her one little bit at her age regardless of what they said.

  Sharon said it didn’t really matter because she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep until Tina was home safe and sound.

  Tina said she had changed her mind and her new black stretch T-shirt with the little sprigs of flowers that came just under her boobs was perfect and she had forgotten how Greg had said it suited her when she first tried it on and he just loved what it did for her.

  Myra asked what Greg thought it did for her.

  Vi hooked her walking stick over the telly
remote up on the bookcase and pulled it down. At the same time she pulled down three books and a nice little ashtray in the shape of a rabbit that Tina had once given her mother and that Sharon no longer used.

  Myra said that her mother would be the death of her and that it was beddy-byes soon.

  Sharon asked if Nan-Nan could take her Halcion earlier.

  Tina said, very very softly, that Nan-Nan was a bloody old menace and should be in a home and that was what they done to Greg’s grandma and then they were all happier.

  Myra said to her granddaughter that she would be old one day herself and not to forget it.

  Tina said that that would be the day.

  Myra asked her mother what she had done with her teeth. Vi said nothing, smiled gummily and settled back down to working on the remote.

  Tina removed the magenta nail polish with some cotton wool dipped in nail polish remover.

  Sharon said that Nan-Nan’s teeth must be around somewhere. She searched down and around the sides of her grandmother’s armchair.

  Tina tried a soft blush-pink polish and nodded approvingly to herself and said that Greg would just have to put up with it and it wouldn’t hurt him even though he liked her cherry-ripe one best of all.

  Sharon said she was feeling sorry for herself and it was Saturday night and she was the only one, really, not counting Nan-Nan, who was not out for a night on the town.

  Myra sniffed and said it was only once in a blue moon and that Bob and Betty’s next thirty-fifth would be a long time in coming and that if Sharon begrudged.

  Sharon said she was only joking and not to take it personal.

  Tina said never in her whole life did she ever want to be home on a Saturday night and it just said huge things about you as a real person and Greg always said the same.

  Vi poked and jabbed the telly remote, said nothing and switched to a programme on olden days All Blacks and their rugby-playing histories. She jabbed rather furiously at the remote in an effort to give the picture a bit of colour.

  Myra said that Nan-Nan was happy, bless her, and that she was like a kid with a toy.

  Tina said, very very softly, that it was not Nan’s bloody telly that was getting stuffed up good and proper.

  Sharon asked, somewhat quickly, if her mum would like another cuppa.

  Myra said that that girl was riding for a fall, little miss that she was. A father would have straightened her up and how about a sherry.

  Sharon said that she better not and that her mum was driving and the cops are just about everywhere Hazel was just saying.

  Myra said that you only live once and this was going to be her big night.

  Tina held up her fingers and examined the frosted pink of her nails and said to everyone that she was going to do her hair now.

  Myra said that Tina was riding for a fall if ever anyone was.

  Vi belched softly and snored again.

  Sharon said that her daughter had her head screwed on all right and that just this month she had talked to her about being careful and she found out to her surprise that Tina knew more than she did.

  Myra said that Tina was riding for a fall sooner or later and that it was written all over her.

  Sharon said nothing and slipped the remote from her grandmother’s slack grasp, killed the sound and returned the old All Blacks to their natural grey.

  * * *

  Myra said her head was splitting and it was a good thing Betty and Bob weren’t likely to be around for another thirty-five years and Bert was feeling even worse and that she was sure Nan-Nan had been no trouble whatsoever.

  Sharon said Nan-Nan was still sleeping and had snored like a log all night which was more than she had done and she hadn’t caught a wink of sleep until well after three.

  Myra asked why.

  Sharon said to ask Tina, the little madam.

  Myra said ho ho ho, as if she had needed to ask.

  Tina said that her head was splitting, too, and that she thought someone had slipped something into her one glass of Markay View at least this was what Darren said and it wasn’t her fault if Darren’s car had broken down.

  Myra asked about Greg.

  Tina said not to mention his rat name not ever again and that Greg was a slimebag and that Angie was a slimebag and worse and a right tart, too. Just scum the both of them and if it hadn’t been for Darren, who was just so so so cool.

  Myra said ho ho ho again and enquired if there was any Disprin in the house.

  Sharon sniffed quite loudly as she plugged in the kettle, rattled the coffee mugs and turned up the radio volume on a non-stop music FM station.

  Mrs Peters

  ‘SHE’LL NEVER MAKE IT,’ my wife said as the car bumped across the wrong part of the kerb.

  ‘It’s the mail-box that worries me. It’s only been up a week.’

  The car, battle-scarred and small, did make it, and reached a stone-scattering halt part way up our drive. An old woman got out.

  ‘I’ve come about the vacuum cleaner – it’s in the evening paper.’

  ‘Good Lord! It can’t be out already.’

  ‘It’s not gone is it?’ Anxious.

  ‘The paper,’ said my wife. ‘It’s only two-thirty.’

  ‘I waited at their office for it. Have you still got it? Ten dollars it says.’

  A little face. Old. Stooped back and threadbare coat. A worn look about body and clothing. When her eyes – dark, bright and alert – rested from their unceasing scrutiny of the kitchen they showed a concern peculiar only to the very young and the very old. They didn’t rest for long.

  ‘You see,’ she explained, ‘I’ve got a little flat and I’m furnishing it and I want everything to be nice.’

  A vacuum cleaner at ten dollars was no guarantee of this. ‘It’s pretty old,’ I said.

  ‘But it’s got good suction,’ my wife quickly explained.

  This was our first customer. The overflow from a more spacious rented home was on the block now that we had made the move to the concrete constriction of normal, mortgaged suburbia.

  ‘Could I see it?’

  ‘Of course, I’ll get it for you.’ My wife left the room.

  ‘You’ve got a flat?’ It seemed the only thing to say.

  ‘Yes. It’s small but I do want it to be nice for whoever takes it.’

  ‘Oh I see, you’re letting a flat?’

  The eyes flickered. ‘It brings me a little… ’ She paused, looked tired and bent.

  ‘Of course. Do sit down.’ I drew out a stool. ‘Mary won’t be a moment. We’re still sorting things out a bit and there’s a real mess of stuff in the spare room.’

  ‘I see you’ve got some other things for sale?’

  The cleaner was brought in. ‘All here,’ said Mary. ‘Just the main pipe a bit bent, that’s all. We’ve bought a new one – smaller – for this place.’

  The old lady came to life and with expert ease assembled, took apart, prodded and poked at the machine. Her fingers became as active as her eyes.

  ‘Could you turn it on for me?’

  Mary obliged. ‘You can’t expect much for ten dollars Mrs, er…’

  ‘Mrs Peters.’ She nervously fingered a battered leather handbag.

  ‘Mrs Peters. It’s done us for seven years and still goes strong.’ The noise of the cleaner fought against the walls, filled the room and proved her words. Mrs Peters looked doubtful.

  ‘It does go.’ She sounded surprised and continued to finger her purse. Would anyone else want the thing?

  ‘Make it eight dollars,’ I said. ‘You’ll probably pick up a spare pipe in a secondhand mart or electrical repair shop. Mind you, it’s always gone okay with that one.’

  ‘Good suction,’ said Mary.

  ‘I’ll take it.’ The chin tilted and suddenly she looked decisive. She sat down again, I thought to count out the cash, but took from the pocket of her coat the clipping of our advertisement. ‘I see you’ve got one or two other things?’

  I shared
a glance with Mary. ‘Er… yes. But they’re a little more expensive.’

  The eyes looked old; they flickered and dropped.

  ‘Could I see the table?’

  ‘It’s a nice wood-grain formica. Just too big for our dining-room. It’s through here, Mrs Peters. Come with me and have a look at it.’ Mary smiled at her. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Without waiting for an answer, a glance towards kettle, teapot and me settled the issue. I made the tea while Mrs Peters rummaged and Mary hovered.

  ‘Mrs Peters will take the table,’ said Mary. ‘I said eighty-five because of that wonky chair. You don’t mind do you dear?’

  I looked doubtfully towards the old handbag. Mrs Peters accepted her tea without comment. She stared at the floor for a while and suddenly smiled. ‘I sold an old suite just like yours in there only two months ago. I didn’t know what to ask for it.’

  ‘We’re only selling the armchairs,’ said Mary. ‘They’ve got nice loose-covers but it’s the same old story; they’re just too big. We’re only asking twenty dollars for them.’

  ‘For the two?’

  ‘Each. They’re in good order. People just don’t seem to want them these days. Too big for modern houses.’

  Mrs Peters looked at her. ‘I only got thirty dollars for my whole suite and it was in lovely order. I didn’t know what to ask. I wanted my son to take it. My grandchildren did love playing on it, but their mother didn’t want it. It was really lovely. Uncut moquette.’

  We sat and sipped in near silence.

  ‘How much did you want for them?’ she asked.

  ‘They’re awfully big,’ said Mary. ‘Are you sure you’ve enough…’

  ‘Was it twenty dollars?’ The eyes darted again. ‘I wish I hadn’t sold mine. I didn’t know…’

  ‘Twenty dollars each,’ reminded Mary.