Chapter 26
A day on the dole is a 24-hour stint of life that has been paid for by a begrudging society. The stigma of being a ‘dole bludger’ coats the psyche with a taint of decay, an insidious blemish that corrodes the very nature of the unemployed. Frank resented being resented. Fuck the pressboard cubicles and those boorish interviewers! No employer was interested in a globetrotter who had run out of steam. No one wanted the outsider.
‘We both know I’m getting nowhere here.’
‘You have said that before, Frank.’ sighed Marit, ‘I hear it every time we pack our bags and move to another nowhere.’
‘Jesus!’ Frank had not smiled all morning. ‘Every Greek, Turk, Italian and fuck knows who else; they all smile and say ‘yeah yeah’ when I tell them I’m an Aussie.’
‘Je’s ‘n Afrikaner kerel, eh?’
‘I’ll always be an Aussie, sweetheart.’ Frank smiled with warmth.
*
The chips went cold in Juno’s throat. Her hands pushed her lunch out of reach as she snapped at her father, ‘And what about your best mate and his kids?’
‘Max knows.’
‘And us?’ Juno resisted the urge to scream. ‘Did you ask us?’
‘Ask you?’ Frank stopped smiling momentarily as he sought his wife’s accomplice. It never arrived. He continued lamely, ‘Since when have I to ask you?’
‘Frank! Sies man! There is no need ... ’ and then Marit told her daughter, ‘Leave the room, please, I want to talk with your father ... ’
‘You piss off if you want privacy, Mum. I was here first. You two barged in on my privacy!’
‘Juno!’ Marit stood and brandished her will. ‘You will never reach my heart with the language of your father.’
‘Sorry, Mum.’ Juno said quickly, ‘ but ... ’
Marit’s eyes bore into Juno’s and created havoc in the girl’s mind.
Frank had moved to the open window. His face and hands worked together in a pantomime of worry. Then he suddenly shook his head as if someone outside had whispered to him. He poked his head through the window frame and tried to see into the adjacent flat. Then he smiled and recognised the déjà vu. He turned and listened to his wife use up her words.
*
Frank had come to the wooden house by the cliff. Max was sitting on his verandah with a knife and a melon in his hands. His beard dripped with juice and seeds, his eyes like broken Jaffas. They had talked of their children with sombre words and there was a sag to the day.
A wren settled onto a flimsy branch of wisteria and Frank watched it as it wrestled with a feather. Beyond the verandah with the sounds of far away a guitar strummed a Spanish melody. It was New Year’s Eve and the heat made everything droop. There was not a cloud in the sky. Nor was there breeze. Conversation had halted as a litany of wounds cried out for relief and two minds whirred to the task of making amends.
‘We had an impact.’ Max said at last.
‘Didn’t we!’ Frank wet his mouth with a cold beer.
Then again the obmutescence as they pondered the effects their families had upon each other. That punch which had begun from a point near the ground and which had been driven by the biggest set of shoulders Frank had ever seen, was still hurtling as its jarring note reverberated through their lives.
Then Max laughed. Frank could never understand the laughter of a bereaved man. His friend sat on the verandah with his jaw on the floor, his dervish eyes dancing in his head. The huge fingers clawed at each other, trying to grasp reality.
‘I got a comatose cripple trussed up in a laboratory they call a hospital. I got a little girl mummifyin’ in the fuckin’ ground, and I got a lifetime of fuckin’ watchin’ over me fuckin’ shoulder for the fuckin’ Greek avengers. And ya off to fuckin’ adventure! Why the fuck, Frank?’
‘It’s not easy being a hero, Max.’ Frank smiled.
‘Nuh! It ain’t, mate, it ain’t!’ Max retorted savagely and suddenly he smiled. ‘The fuckin’ Shadow got lost once and ran into fuckin’ Diana Palmer and the fuckin’ Phantom, well, the bastard got all fuckin’ jealous!’
Frank let out his breath easily and slowly. It made the only noise for the moment. Even the birds were resting for lunch. Max raised his thick eyebrows and uttered a mirthless laugh. Then the breeze came upon them like an ancient blessing and carried off the incubus of Dali’s death.
