Chapter 5
McLuhan was numb from yesterday’s marijuana and beer, yet his mind itched to rage with his wealth, to celebrate! He left the house to its silence and, hunched against the drizzle, carefully let himself into the driver’s seat of the van. Inside the glove box there was a motor manual and a purse with twenty cent coins for the bridge toll, and, forgotten in a night of intoxication, a small cardboard box of marijuana. McLuhan drummed the engine moderately then reversed down the slippery drive to the muddy track outside.
Dali, luxuriating in the warmth of the bath, vaguely heard the van drive off. Otherwise she remained oblivious of everything.
Max cursed his son from within his slumber and Rane realised their transport was gone. A day at home again!
Breakfast was eggs and toast and coffee poured many times into their cups. The embers of the old fire glowed heatless beneath the final log in the ash. Max grunted with the effort to rekindle the damned thing and eventually gave up the struggle. He sat in his chair within the bookcase with his food on his lap and fiddled with his cutlery as he considered his adopted son.
The boy had discovered a new aspect of his remarkable powers and Max was uncertain of how Rane would cope with it. That the lot of them had ended up at the tables was not his concern; he himself had adopted The Cross when he was fifteen. But Rane was different. He had that indefinable magic of the very few, and his psyche may be too sensitive to the vileness which gnaws at The Cross.
Dali had completed her breakfast and, after taking her plate to the sink, switched on the music. The air was restful now with Mendelssohn lovely in the background.
Rane had returned from the kitchen with an orange in his hand and he was peeling the skin with his thumb. His face had the innocence of a small boy and he sucked at the fruit with his eyes opened wide. He sat and looked at his Dad watching him.
‘You know,’ Max began, ‘years ago when the clubs were spread thin and The Cross was in the hands of people who were good to me, there was this wol. He was a psychopath. Still is. A really demented bastard. One night he walked up the stairs of this fuckin’ daggy joint, ya know, where the sluts suck cock under the tables, and in front of everybody there pulled out his revolver and blasted the shit out of a bloke’s head.’
Max paused and searched the back of his brain.
‘Ya know, no one did a bloody thing! He simply strolled over to the bar like King fuckin’ Louie and gulped down this other bloke’s fuckin’ beer and walked back down the stairs and back to work. He’s still on the force. And, he still runs around The Cross like a mad hood, swingin’ any poor mug into the back of the van for a bashin’.’
Mendelssohn hovered on his final note and died with the hiss of the tape: ‘ ... thwap thwap thwap thwap ... ’
‘Want it changed, Daddy?’ asked Dali.
‘Yeah, sweetheart, put on somethin’ for the mood.’
‘Did you know the bloke, Dad?’ asked Rane.
‘Yeah!’ was all Max said. He then arose and moved to the verandah and gazed through the sight zones. He caught sight of his neighbour walking along the track.
‘You’re still crook at me for winning all that dough, aren’t you, Dad?’ Rane had followed his father and had assumed a similar stance against the railing. The neighbour was now distant along the track.
‘Son, it’s not that.’ Max replied. ‘We’ve got the brass and we’ll spend it like fools and have a bloody great time. I mean, don’t take me wrong, Rane. I wouldn’t try and change what’s happened for all the tea in China.
‘But if ya think where the bugs came from in the first place, well ... whose was it before you got it, hey? You have ta realise it was in someone else’s pocket. Now you’ve got it. That mug who owns the club ... ya reckon he’s feelin’ like he’s had a good night? Hey Waddya reckon, son? He’s fuckin’ fifteen grand down the fuckin’ drain.’
The neighbour was gone. Max had seen him on few occasions. They had not met. His arrival had been a strange and irregular bunch of visits with furniture and belongings almost secreted from a small white van into the house next door.
‘You keep clear of that garbage, Rane. Don’t fuck with The Cross. Don’t fuck up that sensitive head of yours. The bugs aren’t worth it. Simple as that!
‘Don’t spoil the way you are. Once ya do somethin’ that’s worth the applause of ya mates but what annoys someone else, you become part of that someone else. Ya become a sort of point for his concentration.’
‘A focal point!’ Dali interjected neatly.
‘Yeah! A fuckin’ focal point! When the rough blokes are concentratin’ on ya, son, then you become the gold-toothed dinosaur, and he’s been fucked for years. Ya know what I mean?’
*
The grey of the day was changing as the sun rose along its low arc in the sky. The lounge warmed as the heated rays swept the floor very slowly. The tamari matting showed its age in the spotlight of the day; dust showed as a solid clump between the fibres. From the ceiling hung objects of art, a cultural history of the children’s awakening on display.
The sun took its time moving toward the hills. The lake was a mystical shimmer in the distance. Cockatoos squawked from gum trees. It was a winter’s afternoon in a cathedral of birdsong and their conversation had become light and witty as they succumbed with smiles to the charm of the changing day.
From the verandah where they sat in comfort the sounds of Miles Davis’ Sketches of Spain gave an intense expectancy to the setting. The hills seemed to quieten their ambient noise, like the hush-hush-hush-hush before a concert performance.
Suddenly the colour was gone. The mist thickened and Aranjuez was a plaintive background to the footsteps up the stairs. They moved through the mist quietly, softly, appearing at the trapdoor in overcoats and smiles.
‘Thought you might be into something ... ’ Lamont said easily. His eyes immediately sought Dali who moved to greet him.
‘What you got in mind?’ asked Rane.
‘Well, I wouldn’t mind jumping back into yesterday.’ Juno smiled.
She had discovered that Australia was a more evenly tempered country than the ones she’d lived in. She had now realised that her initial perception of boredom was mistaken. ‘Frankly, Monty and I haven’t had so much fun since we helped Dad smuggle shit out of Zambia.’
Max looked across at Juno as if she had squashed his pet lizard.
‘Talking of shit ... anyone for a joint?’ Lamont produced a stiff thin cigarette from his hip pocket.
‘I’ll give it a miss, kids. You blokes give the arvo a burl, hey?’ said Max as he returned to somewhere deep in the house.
‘Dad’s telling us he’s got worms in the brain and he needs time to sort them out. Alone!’ Dali laughed as she took amateur tugs at the joint. She didn’t inhale. It pleased her to be among their smiles.
