Limestone Man (20 page)

How do you manage? she had asked.

Suppose I don't, he said. Trust the spin dryer to do the job. And generally look crumpled.

Typical, the girl said. I know for certain Glan's never ironed a single thing.

Why is he in bed so long?

Oh, you know…

Yeah, I know. The weather doesn't help. Can't tell if it's day or night. Never used to be like this.

You were born here? she asked.

Yes. And did the usual. Worked in the fairground. Sold tickets for The Kingdom of Evil. Cleared glasses at The Cat. Then holiday jobs at The Works. Despite my old man.

Oh?

He hated the idea of The Works. Of thousands of men all clocking on at the same time. Shift patterns. Bit of an individualist is Dad.

Still around, is he?

Just about. Read the riot act a few times if he thought there was any likelihood of me joining the wage
-
slave crowd.

So you became a teacher?

Don't sneer. Teachers are the best people. They believe in life chances, in …
improvement.

But you're back where you started?

Nothing wrong with that.

But this place … the girl said. The Caib's become …
notorious.

The word surprised Parry.

We're always on the telly these days, she added. She might have said ‘famous'.

He looked at Serene, a pale child with a purple rinse that needed attention. Hippy chick without the music. Silver stud in her nose. Fish hook in her eyebrow.

She should have an Incredible String Band album under her arm, Parry considered. But that had been another time. Another world.

In fact, maybe Serene looked like Licorice from the Incredibles might have done, thirty or forty years previously. Another winsome child. Yes, long lost Likki, who had vanished off the planet. Blame drugs or booze or scientology. Something was going to get you.

Like others, Parry had researched the missing Licorice. The lack of information had proved depressing. Yet perhaps also exciting. The Caib was a place, he'd always known, where people disappeared.

But that was true of life, he reasoned. As he became older, he understood better those who didn't want to be reminded of their pasts.

He'd watched a recording of Little Likki McKechnie during the Incredibles' Woodstock performance. So overawed, so unutterably bad, it was the reason their part of the film was axed. Another lyric soul howled off by the uncomprehending.

He had even told Lulu to watch Licorice on YouTube. Lulu who had never ironed in her life.

Now he watched Serene place a purple sleeve on the board.

Yeah, everybody vanishes, Parry told her. Whether they want to or not. We should all know about the glorious departed. And realise by the time they disappear, most people are unrecognisable. Especially to themselves.

You were an art teacher. Weren't you?

Saw a job advertised in Adelaide. Amazed myself by getting it. The idea was, this high school course would tell students about the British artists who'd come over since the nineteen hundreds.

In reality it was everything except that. I ended up teaching paint, creative writing, colonial history. All sorts.

Clever, aren't you?

No. I thought I was filling in until the proper job started. Then, too late, I realised that was the proper job. But that's teaching for you.

Parry watched Serene unbutton a blouse.

You're good at that.

Thanks. I like ironing. My mam taught me. You should learn. Ironing's a skill. Can't stay creased all your life.

My mother used to say my school shirts were like sunflowers, smiled Parry. Because sunflowers explode slowly into blossom. Uncrumpling themselves along the way. Until they're perfect and miraculous.

Perfect and…?

Next time you see a sunflower, pay attention.

Serene shook out a purple shirt.

You look good in that, said Parry. I'll say.

Glan likes it best of all my clothes. It's quite…

Daring? asked Parry. Kind of see through. Perfect for summer. But beautiful material. It was great when you wore it last week. I could see you shivering.

We were finding out where everything is in the shop. How the till works. How to cash up. So when we actually start work… Anyway, I was getting ready to look presentable.

That's right. Treat this as a real job. Which it is. As a chance…

Glan said the money was okay. Considering.

It'll have to be, laughed Parry. Considering. It's real money. And for that I'm expecting real work.

Glan said everything you told him sounded like an interview.

Too true. Life's one long interview.

I don't think Glan's ever had a real job, confessed Serene. He dropped out of the schemes.

Yeah. That's clear. But you're better prepared. Aren't you?

Maybe. I'm two years older than Glan.

And you can iron.

I can do loads of things.

Cook and sew and make flowers grow?

Is that a quote? Mina says you're always using quotations. She said some women would hate that. It might make them feel stupid. But she doesn't care. Now excuse me, sir. Have to do this.

Serene was wearing black leggings. She peeled them off and placed them on the ironing board.

Her legs were sturdier than Parry imagined. Thighs whey
-
pale.

Nothing worse than wrinkly leggings, she laughed, sprinkling water from a bowl over the material. I hate that. Don't you?

And don't worry, they are clean. I'll wear them tonight before they go in the wash.

Look, you and Glan can come with us to the Paradise Club. That's what we called it in the past. Glass of wine. Or juice. Get to know the locals.

Well, if you're buying. I like that.

Like what?

A man who spends his money. There's nothing worse in this world than a mean man. And maybe that's a quote for you Mr Teacher, and maybe it's not.

And Serene smiled at Parry then, a look of mischievous radiance. His eyes lingered on the blue tattoo on her belly that disappeared under the elastic of her knickers. Yes, good figure, he thought.

Okay, she said. We'll come. If I can wake Glan, we'll come. So get your money ready. As long as your date doesn't mind.

Mina's not a date, he laughed. Whatever that means these days. What should the valiant middle aged do? Surrender to the fog? There's plenty who do that on The Caib.

Outside the flat was a flare of white sodium light. Every second lamp in Caib Street had been turned off. The road was deserted.

Then the door opened and Mina came in, smacking her new lipstick. When she saw Serene she gave Parry a wry smile.

Quick work, she said. Five minutes and the kid is down to her scanties.

Serene scowled but Parry noticed she hung another shirt over the ironing board, and positioned herself behind it.

She stood under the wrecked ship, which he knew was
The Vainquer.
There were hundreds of wrecks around The Caib. And an incalculable host of the drowned.

FOURTEEN

I

Never known mist like this week, said Nia across the bar. It's killed trade. What there was of it.

Oh, I've seen it before, said Fflint. Remember the cricket?

Parry thought back. Failed to find a reference.

We were all there. Up at The Horns. The tide was as far out as it gets. And that little bastard, Severin, had the idea we should play cricket. Yes, cricket. Remember?

Not sure, said Parry.

I swear you were there, Fflint insisted. You have to remember. Already had the ball. The bat was a piece of driftwood, wickets scratches in the sand. And you had this idea to field on the boundary. So it was impossible to see you. Remember that?

Trying, said Parry.

You'd have thought it ironic, of course. Sev was bowling, I was batting, the girls were fielding close in. Everybody else was lost in the mist. Like ghosts we were. That's what you called us.

Me? asked Parry.

Yes, friend. You called us the invisibles. By then the sea was so far out it just seemed like an idea of the sea. That afternoon the mist was so thick you'd need to be in the sea to know there was any sea at all.

Ironic? wondered Mina.

Oh, heavily into irony, weren't you? accused Fflint. So chummy here has to put himself at long on. Or third man. Or whatever it was. To make his ironic point.

No, said Parry. I was always slip. That was my specialty. And bowling leg spin, of course. I played once in Oz in my teaching days. Before the shop. And yes, I confess I was terrible that day. I never promised to bowl, did I? I was seriously out of practice, that day over there. Thirty off the over, as I recall. Against one of the suburb teams.

Cricket in the mist, said Fflint. But it wasn't as thick as this week. And no salt in the air. You must remember.

The memory seemed important to Fflint.

Maybe, said Parry.

And then it lifted. In a minute the mist was gone. Just blowing away. A white cloud, then rags of it, disappearing over The Horns. You could see it … disintegrating.

And yeah, when the sun came out it was hot in seconds. So we stopped playing because the girls wanted to go in the sea. That's your mum, Nia. Leading the mutiny.

Yeah, Sian and Lizzy. Waste of time really, as there was absolutely no surf. But the boys agreed because they wanted to see what cozzies the girls were wearing. Or more especially, Lizzy and Branwen.

Not my mum, then? Who's still gorgeous. But that Lizzy who died? My dad told me about her.

Lizzy Jeffs, said Mina. She was just blossoming. Coming out of a quiet time. You know, when a kid can go one way or the other. Stay introverted and cramped by shyness. Or just start dazzling. And Lizzy was beginning to dazzle. Before her illness.

Meningitis, agreed Parry. I'd had it too.

You had that as well? asked Fflint.

As well as what?

As well as this other bloody thing. Whatever's brought you back to the cold and the mist.

You accusing me of being a hypochondriac?

No. Of being ill. Twice, soothed Mina. Being ill isn't a crime. But I didn't know you'd had meningitis.

I think I was in a wood, said Parry. With my father. Wasn't the type of place where I'd expect to find Jack. Now my mother was different. Somehow, she belonged amongst trees. Anyway, I don't know what we were doing, but I felt this headache starting. Really quickly it was, like a steel band around my skull. Then tightening all the time.

By that afternoon I was delirious. They sent me in an ambulance to the old isolation hospital. But I can still remember the headache. And the dreams. All these dream animals, parading as if they were taking turns in a circus.

First the dream lions. Then the birds of paradise with impossible feathers. Yeah, a dream circus.

Serene told me about your dreams, said Nia. Seems you woke up your young lodgers a couple of nights ago. Scared them too.

Not sure about that, said Parry. But I do remember the lions. And the fantastic birds.

People pay good money for things like that, said Fflint. You know, not so long after the cricket in the mist, that bloody Severin gave me one of his little red tablets.
Depth charges
they used to call them. Took me a week to come back. To come down. So I've stayed strictly booze from then on.

Parry smiled into his wine. It's the dream time, isn't it? At least for me. We all go through The Dreaming. In our own ways.

At least that's what I picked up from talking to Lulu and her mates. But those aboriginal kids were confused by it all. By The Dreaming.

So coming from The Caib, as I do, I think I'm a sand dreamer. But you know, I've sometimes dreamed of jellyfish. Maybe my life is part of jellyfish dreaming.

Mina looked at him and proposed another drink.

Hey, shouted Nia, and everyone looked up.
Jellyfish Dreaming
could be the band's name. We could announce it at the gig. With an electric fanfare. Or you could all write a special song. Yes, jellyfish music! I like my idea.

Now she had returned to The Caib Nia seemed determined to make a success of the Clwb. As far as Parry knew, there was no partner. Nia had wedded the language she rarely spoke at home. Neither of her parents was fluent, although Sian Vine still took lessons.

Same all over, he had often thought. In Goolwa, Lulu had been completely ignorant of her native speech. Maybe her grandmother would have spoken a few words. Now here was Nia Vine trying to turn back the tide.

II