Time's Long Ruin (53 page)

‘What now?' And then he remembered, looking at the appointment time he'd written on his hand and exclaiming, ‘Christ, I forgot all about it.'

I stalked down the hallway and watched from behind the arch. Mum threw her keys and purse on the bench and stood with her hands on her hips. ‘Yet again,' she said.

Yet again. She'd had enough. Just like sports day, she said. I came, Dad replied, and she shook her head, Yes, as they were packing up. And what about that working bee, and what's his teacher's name, and what grade's he in?

And there was more. Why didn't he help with the shopping, she asked. Or mow the lawns or spray the weeds or stay home to babysit so she could go out occasionally? What about Con and Rosa, Dad replied. It's not their job, she screamed. It's yours. What about mopping the bathroom or hanging out the washing or paying a bill? All the time, just think about yourself!

‘Myself? Who pays for all this?'

She shoved a mop in his hand. ‘Good. You do it and I'll get a job.'

‘As what?'

‘A doctor.'

‘A doctor?'

‘Six years at uni. I got the marks. You've just gotta support me, and watch Henry.'

‘You're joking?'

‘Am I?'

Dad saw his job as more than just work. It was helping people out, holding the community together, it was a touch of Superman in the suburbs, it was about being there for people who relied on him, to find out who killed their husband or stole their kids. This, he thought, is what you just don't understand, Ellen.

‘You want to know what his teacher said?' she continued, stepping into the hallway and taking me around the shoulder. ‘He said he's top of the class in English grammar and composition. Did you know that?'

Dad looked at me and smiled. ‘Good on you, Henry.'

Bill stood up. ‘I'll see yers later then.'

‘Don't go,' Dad pleaded, sliding his beer in front of him.

‘No, gotta see how Liz is.'

And then he stood up and shuffled off.

‘Teacher says he's been giving him three or four certificates a week,' Mum said, looking at me. ‘Where are they, Henry?'

‘In my drawer.'

‘Why?'

‘I guessed everyone was too busy.'

Mum turned back to Dad. ‘See.'

Dad knelt down in front of me. ‘I'm never too busy. Go get them and show us.'

I returned to my room, pretending to search for the certificates I knew I'd already thrown away. I could still hear them going their hardest in the kitchen. ‘It's the job,' Dad said. ‘Criminals don't keep regular hours.'

‘So? I reckon you prefer it to being here.'

‘Grow up.'

‘If I'm just here to cook, I'll go. I swear, I'll go.'

‘You will not.'

‘Try me.'

Stand-off. It was the first time I'd ever heard her mention this.

‘I could set myself up. I could study. I could get a good job. I could do something with my life.'

Dad sounded half-shocked, half-angry. ‘All because I missed parent/teacher night?'

‘No, that's just the start of it.'

‘Please, Ellen.'

Silence again.

‘If you want to discuss this,' he continued, ‘we'll do it later.'

‘I'm sick of washin' your socks.'

‘Later.'

By now I'd retrieved the certificates from my bin and was sticky-taping them back together. I didn't know what to do next.

Dad was right, she wasn't an easy woman to love.

Chapter Eight

On the evening of the tenth of May we sat in front of the telly watching images of a man who looked like a bank manager, standing with his hands behind his back, adjusting his glasses. He wore business pants and a white shirt and it looked like he hadn't shaved for days.

He was the real thing. He was no air-conditioner mechanic. When Adolf Eichmann looked at the camera it was enough to make you hide behind the curtains. He had no expression – no hate, no anger, no pity. The Israeli Secret Service had caught him getting off a bus, walking home, lighting up a cigarette and whistling, smelling roses in a Rio de Janiero front yard, exchanging greetings with neighbours who'd lent him tools and baking soda.

‘It just goes to show,' Dad said, thinking, ‘people can turn it on and off.'

‘What?' I asked.

‘Whatever it is that . . .' He stopped. ‘Evil' was a word tainted by Hollywood villains, cheap and nasty crime novels and the Bible. But that's what he meant, I suppose. Evil: the man in the blue bathers, watching the Rileys, approaching them, playing with them, dressing them and walking them to his car. And later that night, arriving home to his own wife and children. ‘Did you have a good day, kids? So-and-so, what did you do to your arm? Come here, let me take a look at it.'

‘What will they do with him now?' I asked.

Mum nearly laughed. ‘What do you think?'

‘Execute him?'

Dad was looking intently at Eichmann's face. ‘And to think, he nearly got away with it. If not for a bit of bad luck.'

An informant, a neighbour, a car hire receipt or a chance sighting, all the things Dad had been hoping for. His only consolation was that if it took fifteen years to find Eichmann, maybe he just needed to be patient.

We were interrupted by a knock at the door. Mum got up and answered it and showed Mr Eckert into our lounge room.

‘You'll never guess,' Don said, looking at Dad, warming his hands in the change-pocket of his apron.

‘They got Eichmann,' Dad replied, indicating.

‘I know. You'll never guess, Bob.'

‘What?'

‘They smashed my front window.'

Dad looked up. ‘Who?'

‘Those Arthurson kids.'

‘You sure?'

‘Hundred per cent. I saw 'em riding past. The girl takes a rock and hurls it. Glass everywhere. Over me fruit and veg. I'll have to throw the whole lot out.'

‘You sure it was them?'

‘Who else would it be?'

‘That's not what I asked.'

‘Yes, I'm sure. I had to duck, or else it would've been all over me. I'm gonna have to empty the shelves and clean the whole place out.'

Dad stared at images of Auschwitz, Birkenau and Dachau, of SS officers celebrating in their mess. ‘Call the police, Don.'

‘You want me to?'

‘Yes.'

‘Okay.' He turned to leave, but stopped and pinched the tip of my nose. ‘How's school?' I told him it was still there. Then he showed himself out.

‘Christ!' Dad exclaimed, pulling on his shoes and tying them.

‘What?' Mum asked.

‘I'll help with the dishes after.'

‘Let him call the police.'

But Dad just shook his head. ‘Talk about bloody Eichmann.' He stood up and walked into the hall. ‘I'll be back in a minute.'

‘Bob,' Mum harped.

‘A few words and it's solved,' he replied, tripping over the rug and stumbling out the front door.

‘Bob.' She slammed the door after him and stormed down the hallway into the kitchen. ‘Henry, come and help,' she called, but I was already on the front porch, setting out after Dad.

Don and Dad were standing together examining a penny-sized hole in the glass when I approached them. Dad had already teased the truth out of Don, that he hadn't been in the shop at the time but out back listening to the trots. He'd heard the glass break and rushed out to see the back of two shadowy figures riding down Day Terrace. He'd rushed out and called after them, ‘There's no point running,' and the two cyclists had stopped, looked back and wondered what the hell he was talking about.

Dad looked at the hole in the glass and said, ‘It's like a bullet, eh?'

‘No, I found the stone,' Don corrected.

‘I didn't actually mean it was, Don.'

‘Eh?'

Dad smiled. ‘Well, I reckon you call your insurance company.' And with that Dad turned and headed home, waving a single finger for me to follow. Don stood under yellow light, his mouth open, a few moths buzzing around his head.

The next morning, as sunlight warmed the air, and Mr Hessian raked leaves from his lawn and threw them back over Con and Rosa's fence, I sat behind the overgrown golden diosma beside our driveway. It was the same spot we'd sold lemonade that day, and I could see the rise in the road where we'd put the stumps for cricket. I could see Janice, drawing in chalk on the pavement.

He was looking for you
, I said.

Who was?
she asked, noticing me, blowing chalk dust from her fingers.

That German fella
, I replied.
Stumpf, or something like that.

He was a clairvoyant. Your mum's old boss paid for him to come
from Germany. She showed him around your house, and bedroom,
and even out here, where we played cricket.

Janice continued drawing.
What a load of bullshit
, she said.

That's what your dad said,
I told her.
He wouldn't have a
bar of it.

Stumpf, Liz and her old boss, a Greek who'd made his fortune building blocks of flats, had walked around the garden. Stumpf was a tall, heavy-set man in a suit that was too small for him.

‘And here, the children often played here?' he had asked.

‘Yes,' Liz replied. ‘With Henry.'

‘Ah, yes, I can see the four of them, playing together. Henry, what games did you play?'

‘Cricket, chasey.'

‘
Sehr gut.
Your spirit's drawn them here, Henry. They want to play with you.'

‘Do they?'

‘Yes. I can see them. There, Janice, looking shy, and Gavin, hiding around the corner. Anna is laughing at me. No, no, dear, I'm a friend.'

Stumpf passed on and I thought, fake. Bill came out and looked at me and said, ‘Don't take any notice, Henry. Now the sharks are circling.'

‘The sharks?'

‘Luckily he's flying out tomorrow.' And what he couldn't say, It's a pity that Liz got sucked in but it's understandable. There's nothing left to hope for anymore. Nothing.

I watched Janice drawing, licking her fingers and then spitting.

They took him to Semaphore
, I said to her,
and he saw you
playing on the beach
.

I can't believe Mum fell for that.

She misses you.

I know, but that just makes it worse.

Then they drove along the esplanade
, I explained,
and the
Kraut says, ‘Stop!' He gets out and runs into a salvage yard and
says, ‘I feel them here'
.

Janice was looking up, smiling.
What a prick.

‘Ve must dig here!' he says.

And your mum asks, ‘Where?' ‘Here!' he replies. And he points
to where he's standing.

So?

So your mum's old boss hires an excavator and they dig down
twenty feet.

And did they find us?

‘No,' the Fritz says, ‘Perhaps to the right', so off they go again.
This goes on for a week. Meanwhile, Stumpf has flown back to
Germany.

What was Mum thinking?

She saw him off at the airport. Gave him a fur purse made
from kangaroo and said, ‘I wish I could pay you.'

‘You have insulted me!' he replies. Ach, Seig heil!

Janice laughed so hard she rolled on the footpath, covering her clothes with red, yellow and blue chalk dust.

It was crazy
, I explained.
They had reporters and cameras
following them everywhere. I think, afterwards, your mum felt let
down. Your dad was on the news.

‘We have a police force to deal with these things', he'd said. ‘I am
glad, and I will say it again, that I don't believe in clairvoyancy'.

It's a pity you can't say something
, I said to her, knowing it was against the rules of our game. She just shrugged, looked up at me and said,
He can't see me. No one can, except you. And
you won't tell, will you?

No.

What else?

Ever been to a house at Malvern?
I asked.

No.

A few weeks ago an old woman came forward and said she saw
you in a deserted house.