I Am the Messenger (22 page)

I’m eating ravioli in the kitchen that same night when a van pulls up in front of the shack. The engine growls to a halt, and I hear the car doors slam. Next I hear the sound of little fists on my front door.

The Doorman barks for a change, but I calm him down and open up.

Standing there are Lua, Marie, and every kid from that family.

“Hi, Ed,” says Lua, and the rest of them echo him. He continues. “We looked you up in the local phone book but you weren’t in it, so we rang all the other Kennedys around here. Your mother gave us the address.”

There’s quiet now as I wonder what Ma might have told them. Marie breaks it.

“Come with us,” she says.

Riding in the van, squashed between all the kids, I sit there, and for the first time with this family, everyone’s quiet. This, as you can imagine, makes me considerably uneasy. The streetlamps flick past, like pages of light, each coming toward me and then turning away. Closing. When I look forward, I catch Lua looking at me in the rearview mirror.

We arrive at the house within five or ten minutes.

Marie takes charge.

“Right, inside, kids.”

She goes with them, and this leaves Lua and me in the van together.

Again he looks in the mirror and lets his eyes reflect back ward to mine.

“Ready?” he asks.

“For what?”

He only shakes his head. “Don’t give me that, Ed.” He gets out and rams the door shut. “Well, come on,” he calls in through the window. “Get out, boy.”

Boy.

I didn’t like the way he said that. Kind of foreboding. My big fear is that I’ve insulted him with the new lights. He might be taking it as a sign that he can’t provide properly for his own family. He might think I’m saying,
This poor, inadequate fool can’t even get a full set of lights to work properly
. I don’t dare to look at the house as I follow him to where he stands at the edge of the road, looking back. It’s dark there. Very dark.

We stand.

Lua watches me.

I watch the ground.

The next thing I hear is the sound of the flyscreen door opening and slamming several times. The kids come sprinting toward us, followed by Marie at a fast walk.

When I count the kids, I realize one of them’s missing.

Jessie.

I search all the faces before looking again at the ground. The loud call of Lua’s voice almost makes me jump.

“Okay, Jess!” he shouts.

A few seconds collect and fall, and when I look up, the old fibro house is lit up. The lights are so beautiful that they appear almost to hold the house up by themselves. The faces of the kids, Lua, and Marie are splashed with red, blue, yellow, and green. I can feel a red light shining over my own face and my own relieved smile. The kids are cheering and clapping and saying this will be the best Christmas ever. The girls start dancing together, holding hands. That’s when Jessie comes running from the house to have a look.

“He insisted on turning the power on,” Lua tells me, and when I look at him, Jessie’s smile is the biggest and the best. The most alive.
This is his moment,
I think,
and Lua and Marie’s
. “When we got those new lights, Jessie said he wanted you to be here when we turned them on. So what else could we do?”

I shake my head, looking into the colors shining across the yard.

They swim through my eyes.

To myself I say,
The power and the glory.

As the kids dance around the front yard under the night sky and the lights, I see something.

Lua and Marie are holding hands.

They look like they’re so happy, just inside this moment, watching the kids and the lights on their old fibro house.

Lua kisses her.

Just softly on the lips.

And she kisses back.

Sometimes people are beautiful.

Not in looks.

Not in what they say.

Just in what they are.

Marie makes me come in for a cup of coffee. At first I knock it back, but she insists. “You have to, Ed.”

I give in, and we go inside and drink and talk.

It’s all comfortable for quite a while, until Marie’s words stop and stand in the middle of the conversation. She stirs her coffee and says, “Thank you, Ed.” The wrinkles around her eyes become a little unsettled and her eyes seem filled with sparks. “Thank you so much.”

“For what?”

She shakes her head. “Don’t make me say it, Ed. We know it was you—Jessie couldn’t keep a secret if we glued his mouth shut. We know it was you.”

I surrender completely. “You deserved it.”

She’s still not satisfied. “But why? Why us?”

“That,” I tell her the truth, “I have no idea about.” I sip the coffee. “This is all very long and almost unexplainable. All I know is that I was standing outside this old house and the rest just happened.”

Now Lua walks in among the words and pushes them forward. He says, “You know, Ed, we’ve been living here close to a year now, and nobody—absolutely nobody—has ever lifted a finger to help us or make us feel welcome.” He drinks. “We expect no more these days. People have enough trouble getting by on their own….” His eyes hold on to mine for just a second. “But then you come along, out of nowhere. We just don’t get it.”

That’s when a moment of clarity takes shape in front of me.

I say, “Don’t even try—I don’t understand it myself.”

Marie accepts my statement but still takes it a little further. She says, “Fair enough, Ed, but we
do
want to thank you.”

“Yes,” says Lua.

Marie nods to him and he stands up and walks over to the fridge. Stuck to it with a magnet is an envelope. The name
Ed Kennedy
is on it, and he comes back and hands it to me.

“We don’t have much,” he says, “but this is the best we can do to thank you.” He places it in my hands. “Somehow, I think you’ll like it. Just a feeling.”

Inside is a homemade Christmas card. All the kids have drawn on it. Christmas trees, bright lights, and kids playing. Some of the drawings are shockers, but still excellent. Inside are the words, also written by one of the kids:

Dear Ed,

have a happy cristmas! we hope you also have some beautiful lights like the ones you gave us.

From all the Tatupu family

It makes me smile and I stand up and go into the lounge room, where the kids are all sprawled out, watching the telly.

“Hey, thanks for the card,” I say to them.

They all answer me, but it’s Jessie who speaks loudest. “It’s the least we could do, Ed.” And within a few seconds they’re all focused on the TV again. It’s a video. One of those animal adventure things. They’re all glued to a cat going down a stream in a cardboard box.

“See you all later,” I say, but none of them hears. I only look contentedly at the pictures again and head back to the kitchen.

When I get there, the presentation isn’t over.

Lua’s standing there with a small dark stone that has a pattern on it like a cross.

He says, “A friend once gave this to me, Ed—it’s for luck.” He holds it out to me. “I want you to have it.”

At first, we all look down at it, not speaking.

My voice takes me by surprise.

“No,” I say. “I can’t take it, Lua.”

His quiet, gentle words are calm but urgent. His eyes are wild with sincerity. “No, Ed—you have to. You’ve given us so much. More than you’ll ever know.” He holds out the stone again and goes to the extent of putting it in my palm and closing my hand to hold it firmly. He holds my hand in both of his. “It’s yours.”

“Not only for luck,” Marie tells me. “Also for remembering.”

Now I accept the stone and look at it. “Thank you,” I say to both of them. “I’ll look after it.”

Lua places his hand on my shoulder. “I know.”

The three of us stand in the kitchen together.

When I leave, Marie kisses me on the cheek and we say goodbye.

“Remember,” she says. “Come back anytime. You’re always welcome here.”

“Thank you,” I reply, and head out the front door.

Lua wants to drive me home, but I refuse, mainly because I really do feel like walking tonight. We shake hands, Lua crushing me once again.

He walks me out to the edge of the front lawn and wants an answer to one final question.

“Let me ask you something, Ed.” We’re a few steps apart.

“Of course.”

He moves a little further away as we stand in the dark. Behind us, the lights still glow proudly in the night. This is the moment of truth.

Lua says, “You never lived in our house, Ed. Did you?”

There’s no hiding it now. No way out.

“No,” I answer. “I didn’t.”

We observe each other, and I can see there are many things that Lua wants to know. He’s about to ask when I see him pull back. He prefers not to ruin things with any more questions.

What it is is what it is.

“Bye, Ed.”

“Goodbye, Lua.”

We shake hands and walk in our different directions.

At the end of the road, just before I go around the corner, I turn one last time to see the lights.

It’s the hottest day of the year, and I’ve got a day shift in the city. The cab has air-conditioning, but it breaks down, much to the disgust of everyone I pick up. I warn them every time they get in, but only one gets back out. It’s a man who still has his last lungful of a Winfield in his mouth.

“Bloody hopeless,” he tells me.

“I know.” I only shrug and agree.

The stone that Lua Tatupu gave me is in my left pocket. It makes me happy in the festering city traffic, even when the lights are green and all the cars remain still.

Not long after I return the cab to base, Audrey pulls into the lot. She winds her window down to talk to me.

“Sweating like crazy in here,” she says.

I imagine the sweat on her and how I’d like to taste it. With blank expression, I slide down into the visual details.

“Ed?”

Her hair’s greasy but great. Lovely blond, like hay. I see the three or four spots of sun thrown across her face. Again she speaks. “Ed?”

“Sorry,” I say, “I was thinking of something.” I look back to where the boyfriend stands, expecting her. “He’s waiting for you.” When I return to Audrey’s face, I miss it and catch a glimpse of her fingers on the wheel. They’re relaxed and coated with light. And they’re lovely.
Does
he
notice those small things?
I wonder, but I don’t speak it to Audrey. I only say, “Have a good night,” and step back from the car.

“You, too, Ed.” She drives on.

Even later, as the sun goes down and I walk into town and onto Clown Street, I see all of Audrey. I see her arms and bony legs. I see her smiling as she talks and eats with the boyfriend. I imagine him feeding her food from his fingers in her kitchen, and she eats it, allowing enough of her lips to smudge him with her beauty.

The Doorman’s with me.

My faithful companion.

Along the way I buy us some hot chips with lots of salt and vinegar. It’s old-style, all wrapped in the racing section of today’s newspaper. The hot tip is a two-year-old mare called Bacon Rashers. I wonder how she went. The Doorman, on the other hand, cares little. He can smell the chips.

When we make it to 23 Clown Street, we discover that it’s a restaurant. It’s tiny, and it’s called Melusso’s. Italian. It’s in a little shopping village and follows the small-restaurant ritual of being dimly lit. It smells good.

There’s a park bench across the road and we sit there, eating the chips. My hand reaches down inside the package, through the sweaty, greasy paper. I love every minute of it. Each time I throw the Doorman a chip, he lets it hit the ground, leans over it, and licks it up. He turns nothing down, this dog. I don’t think he cares too much about his cholesterol.

Nothing tonight.

Or the next.

In fact, time is wasting away.

It’s a tradition now. Clown Street. Chips. The Doorman and me.

The owner is old and dignified, and I’m quite sure it isn’t him I’m here to see. I can tell. Something’s coming.

On Friday night, after standing outside the restaurant and going home after closing, I find Audrey sitting on my porch, waiting. She’s wearing board shorts and a light shirt without a bra. She isn’t big up there, Audrey, but she’s nice. I stop for a moment, hesitate, and continue. The Doorman loves her and throws himself into a trot.

“Hey, Doorman,” she says. She crouches down warmly to greet him. They’re good friends, those two. “Hi, Ed.”

“Hi, Audrey.”

I open the door and she follows me in.

We sit.

In the kitchen.

“So where were you this time?” she asks. It’s almost laughable because usually that question is asked with contempt to unreliable-bastard husbands.

“Clown Street,” I answer.

“
Clown
Street?”

I nod. “Some restaurant there.”

“There’s actually a street called Clown Street?”

“I know.”

“Anything happen there yet?”

“No.”

“I see.”

As she looks away I make my mind up. I say, “So why are you here, Audrey?”

She looks down.

Away.

When she finally answers, she says, “I guess I missed you, Ed.” Her eyes are pale green and wet. I want to tell her it’s barely been a week since we last got together, but I think I know what she means. “I feel like you’re slipping away somehow. You’ve become different since all this started.”

“Different?”

I ask it, but I know it. I am.

I stand up and look into her.

“Yes.” She confirms it. “You used to just be.” She explains this like she doesn’t really want to hear it. It’s more a case that she
has
to say it. “Now you’re
somebody,
Ed. I don’t know everything about what you’ve done and what you’ve been through, but I don’t know—you seem further away now.”

It’s ironic, don’t you think? All I’ve ever wanted was to get closer to her. I’ve tried desperately.

She concludes. “You’re better.”

It’s with those words that I see things from Audrey’s perspective. She liked me being
just Ed.
It was safer that way. Stable. Now I’ve changed things. I’ve left my own fingerprints on the world, no matter how small, and it’s upset the equilibrium of us—Audrey and me. Maybe she’s afraid that if I can’t have her, I won’t want her.

Like this.

Like we used to be.

She doesn’t want to love me, but she doesn’t want to lose me either.

She wants us to stay okay. Like before.

But it’s not as certain anymore.

We will,
I try to promise.

I hope I’m right.

Still in the kitchen, my fingers feel the stone from Lua in my pocket again. I think about what Audrey’s been telling me. Maybe I truly am shedding the old Ed Kennedy for this new person who’s full of purpose rather than incompetence. Maybe one morning I’ll wake up and step outside of myself to look back at the old me lying dead among the sheets.

It’s a good thing, I know.

But how can a good thing suddenly feel so sad?

I’ve wanted this from the beginning.

I head back to the fridge and get more to drink. I’ve come to the conclusion that we have to get drunk. Audrey agrees.

“So what were you doing,” I ask later on the couch, “while I was at Clown Street?”

I see her thoughts swivel.

She’s drunk enough to tell me, at least in a coy kind of way.

“You know,” she embarrasses.

“No.” I mock her a little. “I don’t.”

“I was with Simon at my place and we…for a few hours.”

“A few
hours
.” I’m hurt but keep it out of my voice. “How’d you manage the strength to get over here?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “He went home and I felt empty.”

So you came here,
I think, but I’m not bitter. Not at this moment. I rationalize that none of the physical things matter so much. Audrey needs me now, and for old times’ sake, that’s good enough.

She wakes me a bit later. We’re still on the couch. A small crowd of bottles is assembled on the table. They sit there like onlookers. Like observers at an accident.

Audrey looks me hard in the face, wavers, then hands me a question.

“Do you hate me, Ed?”

Still stupid with bubbles and vodka in my stomach, I answer. Very seriously.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I do.”

We both smack the sudden silence with laughter. When it returns, we hit it again. The laughter spins in front of us and we keep hitting it.

When it calms completely, Audrey whispers, “I don’t blame you.”

The next time I’m woken, it’s by a cracking at the door.

I stammer there, open it, and there in front of me is the guy who jumped my cab. That feels like an eternity ago.

He looks annoyed.

As usual.

He holds his hand up for me to be quiet and says, “Just”—he waits, for effect—“shut up and listen.” He actually sounds a touch more than annoyed as he continues. “Look, Ed.” The yellow-rimmed eyes scratch me. “It’s three in the morning. It’s still humid as hell, and here we are.”

“Yes,” I agree. A cloud of drunkenness hangs over me. I almost expect rain. “Here we are.”

“Now don’t you mock me, boy.”

I reel back. “I’m sorry. What is it?”

He pauses, and the air sounds violent between us. He speaks.

“Tomorrow. Eight p.m. sharp. Melusso’s.” He walks away before remembering something. “And do me a favor, will you?”

“Of course.”

“Cut down on the chips, for Christ’s sake. You’re making me sick.” Now he points at me, threatening. “And hurry up with all this shit. You might think I don’t have better things to do, but as it happens, I do, all right?”

“All right. It’s only fair.” In my stupor, I try for something extra. I call out, “Who’s sending you?”

The young man with the gold-rimmed eyes, black suit of clothes, and brutal disposition returns up the porch steps. He says, “How the hell would I know, Kennedy?” He even laughs and shakes his head. “You might not be the only one getting aces in the mail. Did you ever think of that?”

He lingers a little longer, turns, and trudges off, dissolving into the darkness. Blending in.

Audrey’s behind me at the door now, and I’ve got something to think about.

I write down what he told me about Melusso’s.

Eight p.m. tomorrow night. I have to be there.

After sticking the note to the fridge, I go to bed, and Audrey comes with me. She sleeps with her leg across me, and I love the feel of her breath on my throat.

After perhaps ten minutes, she says, “Tell me, Ed. Tell me about where you’ve been.”

I’ve told her once before about the Ace of Diamonds messages, but not in any detail. I’m so tired now, but I do tell her.

About Milla. Beautiful Milla. As I speak, I see her pleading face as she begged me that she did right by her Jimmy.