‘No, no, that’s fine. Thanks—it’s kind of you.’
Saverio was not frightened of Leo’s ghost. They had that in common, brothers in their rationalism and atheism, their father’s sons.
Julian walked around the bed and started flicking through the canvases against the wall.
‘I’ll have to sort through all of these before I head back to Sydney. Leo’s named me executor of his estate.’ Julian’s voice had dropped to an anxious whisper.
‘That’s how it should be.’
Saverio glimpsed a corner of a painting, the strokes thick, the colours warm, fiery. A lavender-veined penis pushing through a glory hole. Julian let the canvases drop. He seemed to be searching the walls of the room and his gaze lighted on a small, vivid colour Polaroid. It was of a beaming Filipino woman holding a chuckling naked boy. Julian’s features, his smile, his mischievous eyes, were unmistakable. Julian unpinned the Polaroid and put it in his shirt pocket.
‘Leo was always meant to give that back. It’s the only photo I have of me and Mum back in Manila.’
Saverio felt as if he were sinking. He had hoped that it would be cooler up in the hills but he had forgotten that it was impossible to escape the humidity in this part of the world. He wanted to be back in Melbourne, in less intense light, where he didn’t feel that every corner and spare inch of space was illuminated. He didn’t want to be sipping red wine. He wanted a beer. He didn’t know how to make conversation with these people, even Julian who had always been kind to him and Rachel. There was the sound of smashing glass on the verandah and peals of laughter.
‘It’s probably going to be like this all night.’
Saverio searched his pockets, clasped the car keys. ‘I’m going to go into town. Do we need anything?’
Julian, surprised, shook his head.
‘I’ll see you in a hour or two.’
‘Sav, will you deliver a eulogy tomorrow?’
He felt snookered. No, he did not want to deliver a eulogy. There was absolutely nothing to say.
With a toss of his chin, Julian indicated the world outside. ‘We’d all appreciate it.’
I thought you didn’t believe in family. I thought you believed it was a patriarchal capitalist construct. But maybe they did now. Maybe now they believed in family and shares and television and parliamentary democracy. He just wanted to leave the room, the house, the unbearable heat. He nodded and Julian smiled.
Saverio almost ran to the verandah.
An old lime Volkswagen Beetle was coming up the drive. There was a noisy crunching of the gears, and then a small shudder before it came to a halt. Saverio looked through the flyscreen door to see everyone jump off the verandah and cluster around the white-haired woman who climbed out of the car. She wore faded bermuda shorts and a yellow singlet. A much younger woman stepped out from the driver’s side. She looked like she was still shedding adolescence. She was wearing a pink see-through shirt and even from behind the screen Saverio could see the outline of the black bra beneath. Julian pushed past him through the door and Saverio almost fell out onto the verandah.
Everyone was talking, calling out, hugging and kissing the older woman. Only the young woman looked up, and smiled ruefully, as if to acknowledge him. She was not dressed for the weather at all. She had on a tight black miniskirt with embroidered white stockings. Her thick-soled black boots laced up past her ankles. Her hair was dyed a platinum blonde, set in curls that fell to her shoulders, and her face was heavily made-up with rouge, thick black eyeliner and scarlet lipstick. She reminded him of a young Marilyn Monroe. She seemed to know everyone, greeting them with kisses. Julian had placed a protective arm around her and was beckoning Saverio to come down. The older woman looked up as he descended the steps. He recognised her face—Margaret Cannon was a well-regarded fiction writer; Rachel had read all her books. Saverio had no recollection of meeting her before. But her smile was warm, inviting, and her grip tight as she shook his hand.
‘It’s Stephen, isn’t it?’
‘Saverio.’
‘My apologies. That’s a much better name, isn’t it?’ She turned to the younger woman. ‘This is Leo’s brother, Saverio. And this is Anna, my daughter and Leo’s goddaughter.’
The young woman’s hand was moist. She winced apologetically.
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sweaty.’
‘Of course you are, Anna. Look at what you’re wearing.’
Anna’s laugh was loud and deep-throated. ‘You’re a bitch, Dawn.’
‘Yeah, shut up.’ Julian’s grip tightened around Anna’s shoulders. ‘I think you look gorgeous.’
‘Thank you, Jules, so do you.’
Saverio now found himself at the edge of the circle. He jiggled the car keys in his pocket.
‘I’m going into town. Anyone need anything?’
‘Do we need more grog?’
‘There’s plenty. Even for us.’
Dawn wasn’t satisfied. ‘Is there whisky?’
Julian rubbed at his chin. ‘I can go and have a look . . .’
‘Get us a bottle of scotch,’ she interrupted.
Give us some money, thought Saverio sourly.
But it was Anna who answered. ‘Jesus, Dawn, what did your last slave die of?’
Dawn didn’t miss a beat. ‘Laziness.’
He couldn’t help it, even he had to laugh. They were so fast, so sophisticated, so smart. He nodded and moved towards his car. He was surprised to find Anna following him.
She turned back to her mother. ‘I’m going into town as well.’
‘We just got here!’
Anna ignored her. She was waiting for Saverio to unlock the doors. She smiled across at him. ‘It’s alright with you, isn’t it?’
‘Of course.’
As they turned onto the Pacific Highway Anna let out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you. That was a bit too much.’
‘What was?’
‘Seeing everyone en masse. You know, that old libertarian femo crowd. They’re lovely but it will be all the same stories, who slept with Germaine Greer, who sucked off Robert Hughes while they were all on acid.’ She reminded Saverio of Adelaide, the affectation in her outburst. They were both young women, trying out accents, tones, registers. He wasn’t at all shocked by her language. It just reminded him of how young she was.
‘Tom looks awful.’
He didn’t reply.
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I guess that’s because of all the antiretroviral drugs he’s on. And because he’s a drunk.’
‘He’s always been an alcoholic.’
He felt her gaze fix on him. ‘I didn’t know Leo had a brother.’
‘I didn’t know he had a godchild.’
‘He’s got two. But Danny is in England or Poland or somewhere like that.’
They fell into silence. But something she’d said had made him curious. He couldn’t help it. He felt a little embarrassed asking but ask he did: ‘Who did Germaine Greer fuck?’
Anna grinned mischievously. ‘Probably all of them.’ She was searching through the glove box and underneath her seat. ‘Do you have any music?’
‘No. It’s a hire car.’
She was examining the stereo unit. ‘I should have brought along my iPod. There’s a jack.’ She turned to him eagerly. ‘Do you have one?’
So that was what that attachment on the stereo was for. She, like his own kids, seemed to have a second sense for technology. He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I left mine back at the house.’
Disappointed, she turned the radio on instead. She kept punching buttons, rapid sprays of music, country and western, pop, snatches of talkback. She settled on a familiar strained melancholic voice singing above a jangling melodious electric guitar.
‘Do you like U2?’
They were a favourite, one of the few passions he shared with Matthew. ‘I think I have every album,’ he announced proudly.
‘They’re alright.’ She sounded uncertain. Then with a derisive sniff, ‘But that Bono is a sanctimonious cunt. He makes me want to hate them.’ She was flicking through her purse and she placed a cigarette to her lips.
‘This is a non-smoking car.’
‘I thought you lot were all anarchists?’
‘I’m not part of that lot and I don’t want you to smoke in the car.’
She made a face, but returned the cigarette to its packet. Her fingers started tapping on the dashboard. ‘How come I’ve never met you before?’
‘Leo and I haven’t seen each other for a while.’
‘What’s a while?’
‘Eleven years.’
‘Fuck!’ There was awe as well as shock in her exclamation. ‘You must be feeling awful.’
She was right. Probably not in the way she thought, but she was right nonetheless. He did feel awful. He was furious at himself. He had been cold and unfeeling for days and this was not the moment to experience the sting of tears in his eyes. He did not dare look at her.
‘I’m sorry.’ For the first time her voice had lost its brazen inflection. It sounded young and frightened. He did turn to her. She was looking out of the window at the lush landscape falling away from them. She continued to speak in that shy childlike tone. ‘I loved Leo. He was amazing, wonderful. But he could be so mean.’
In town, she followed him confidently into the pub, as if they had known each other for years. The Demons Creek Hotel was a three-storey Victorian building with an ugly, box-like extension attached to the side of it which functioned as a bottleshop. It was blessedly cool inside the double-bricked walls of the building. All heads turned to look at them as they walked into the bar, then just as quickly everyone went back to contemplating their drinks. It was far from crowded. A few tradesmen who’d just knocked off work, two ferals with dreads, some elderly National Party types propped up on stools at the bar. The pub obviously catered with egalitarian ease to the long-established farmers, to the hippies and children of hippies who had laid claim to the hills over the last three decades, and also to the constant stream of local and international tourists who came through on their way south to Byron Bay. It was evident that they assumed Anna and Saverio were part of the latter group. No eyebrow was raised at Anna’s aggressively urban attire. Saverio was conscious that if their entry had aroused any suspicions it had to do with what a middle-aged man like himself was doing in the company of such a young woman. She’s my brother’s goddaughter, he wanted to call out. She’s got nothing to do with me. Instead he asked her if she wanted a beer and she said yes.
The three elderly blokes at the bar fell silent as he approached. He nodded to them and received a gruff ‘g’day’ in response. They all shared wrinkled ruddy skin and thin wisps of silver-yellow hair, and all wore open-necked white shirts that accentuated the burnt redness of their necks. Saverio looked around the bar as he waited for the beers to be poured. He wondered if his brother had spent much time in this pub; he couldn’t really imagine Leo discussing Marxism with the farmers or anonymous gay sex with the hippies. He took a glass in each hand, nodded again to the old men, and found Anna at the rear of the pub. As part of the more recent extensions a small square dance area had been constructed against the back wall. On three sides mirrors ran from floor to ceiling reflecting the bar beyond. Anna was gazing at her reflection. A mirror ball hung from the ceiling Some of the shingles of glass were missing.
‘I guess this is where you come if you want to go clubbing.’
She laughed again, a deep resonant sound that came all the way up from her belly. ‘I can see Leo here, he loved a bit of a dance.’ She put on a mock accent, Leo at his most queenie, cruelly caricaturing other gay men. ‘They’re playing “I Will Survive”, Brooce! They’re playing “I Will Survive”.’ At the same time Anna was wiggling in such a close approximation of Leo’s stilted dancing style that Saverio couldn’t help laughing. Anna took the beer and indicated a door with a handwritten scrawl taped to it:
To the beer garden.
‘Am I allowed to smoke out there?’
I’m not your father, he almost snapped at her. Instead he opened the door for her and followed her out to the courtyard.
It was a stunning view. The gently sloping hill was immaculately mowed, with tall grey-limbed gum trees throwing shade on the tables and chairs set around the lawn. There were no fences and the ground disappeared abruptly to give way to the jutting tops of thick forest trees. Beyond the greenery and as far as the eye could see was the curve of the mighty Pacific Ocean. The garden was empty except for a blonde woman sitting on a bench at the end of the lawn, looking out over the view. She did not turn at the sound of their voices.
‘So why did you and Leo stop talking to each other?’
He wished he had said nothing to her in the car. Tomorrow was the funeral and after that he would return to Melbourne. Then it was all over.
He took a mouthful of beer. ‘It really doesn’t matter now.’
She was searching his face again, her eyes inquisitive and excited. She drew ravenously on her cigarette.
‘Your father was a fascist, wasn’t he?’
He banged the beer glass on the table. ‘That’s nonsense. Did Leo tell you that?’
Anna was not at all perturbed. ‘Yep. He said that your father supported Mussolini . . .’
‘My father did not support Mussolini!’ Saverio drew breath and looked out at the view. She was a child, she wasn’t to blame. ‘My father hated the Blackshirts, thought them thugs and criminals, but he respected some of what Mussolini was able to achieve for Italy and for poor people in Italy. He was not alone in that. Millions of Italian peasants were in agreement.’
‘He did beat your mother, though, didn’t he?’
And how the fuck is that your business? Saverio searched out to the horizon again. The sky and sea offered no assistance. The setting sun still had heat in it and he wished he had remembered his sunglasses.
‘I think Leo might have exaggerated some of what occurred.’ It was impossible to explain further. Yes, he had hit their mother, not very often, never bashed her, but yes, he hit her, three, possibly four times that he could recall, in front of him and Leo—smacks, slaps, always out of exasperation, driven almost senseless by her whining, her hypochondria, her almost bovine submissiveness. How to explain any of this to a young woman coming into adulthood at the dawn of this digital century? How to explain the behaviour of men and women from the end of a feudal millennium?