Prochownik's Dream (20 page)

Toni wondered, suddenly, if their father had broken his silence with Roy. ‘Did Dad ever tell you about his childhood in Poland? The war? The labour camp? All that stuff?' He loved his brother achingly, hopelessly, but they had never shared the same reality. He would have liked to say,
My brother!
But it was too deep. Too lost. He knew now there would never be a time when he would know his brother. It was almost as if his brother had been denied a full reality. He would do his portrait. It would be difficult but he would love doing it. He would visit his brother's room in St Kilda and paint him there. They would get to know each other a little. He would do it soon. When the island show was out of the way. He would do portraits of everyone. That was what he would do. He could feel his capacity for it. Teresa's mum and dad too. Why shouldn't they get their picture of themselves?

Roy said, ‘When Dad used to come out to the prison to see me, we'd spend the whole of visiting time talking about you and your drawing. You were still at Nott Street Primary with Andy in those days.' He stood looking fondly at Toni. ‘He'd bring a batch of your drawings and your little watercolours to show me. You were his beacon of hope. You became mine, too. I had your drawings on the walls out there. You had a following with the boys. You were famous. They used to ask me how you were getting on. The truth was never enough for them.' He laughed. ‘I invented stuff about you. I invented this other kid who was your rival, so they'd barrack for you against him. They'd ask me,
How's that brother of yours
doing these days?
And they'd hang around and wait to hear the next instalment of your life. Dad used to say,
Toni belongs to the
new world.
He relied on the fact that you were born here. He felt it made you safe.'

‘You were born here too,' Toni reminded him, but he knew it was not the same.

‘Yeah. I was born here.' Roy looked into the distance. ‘Dad lit up when he was talking about you. He wasn't worried about me. He knew about prisons. He and Mum knew what was happening to me out there. They knew where I was. It wasn't mysterious for them. Dad used to say,
prison is prison, it doesn't
matter where you are
. We understood each other. We understood that. It helped me that they knew what was happening to me.' Roy fell silent, thinking back. ‘You should get Andy to put on a show of Dad's pictures one of these days.'

‘That wasn't what he wanted. Anyway, I don't think Mum would let them out of her sight, would she?'

‘He wanted it. We all want it. Don't make out Dad was different from the rest of us. He was a man, like you and me. He wanted what we all want. That big old suitcase under their bed? That's his suitcase from the old days. Did you know that? I'd get home at two in the morning and he'd still be sitting up at the table. I'd see the light on in the kitchen as I was coming across the court. My old man up there doing his painting!' He fell silent. ‘That one he did of Mum's ironing board with her teacup sitting on the end of it. You remember that? It looked as if she'd stepped out and would be stepping back in again any second.' Roy studied Toni for a long moment. ‘Anyone looks at that picture, they see our mother. We had it pinned to the wall above the sink for years. You remember that picture?'

‘Of course I remember it. Dad used to say all art is portraiture.'

‘
Self
-portraiture. That's what he said. You can't escape yourself.' Roy set Marina's sketchbook aside and picked up the book that Toni was using. He flipped the pages, studying the drawings. He paused at a drawing of the half-naked old man sitting on a chair. ‘Who's this?'

Toni looked over his shoulder. ‘Robert's dad. Theo.'

‘He sit for you like that?'

‘No.'

‘You do these from memory?'

‘Partly from memory, partly from life. Sometimes photos. Drawings. Whatever. What are we talking about, Roy? Why was Teresa upset?'

Roy stood gazing at the drawing of Theo. ‘We're going to look like this. You and me. That's how Dad looked towards the end. He was exhausted. I'd come in and he'd be sitting naked on the edge of the bath with that empty look in his eyes. It would be the end of another shift at the plant. The bath water would have that grey scum around it from the tyre dust. I've seen all kinds of looks in men's eyes, men who'd lost their lives. But nothing ever affected me like that. The way Dad looked.' He fell silent. ‘I used to watch his memories moving behind his eyes. Those old nightmares were still living in him and there was nothing I could do to help him. When I was young I used to think you forget things in time. But one life's not long enough to forget some things. Dad
wanted
to tell you. He wanted you to know. But he couldn't. He'd try talking to me about those things sometimes but he'd choke up. He couldn't get the words out. I'd tell him it didn't matter. I'd say I didn't want to hear about it. When I'd walk in on him in the bathroom I always felt shocked and I'd stand a while, then I'd ask him if there was something I could get for him. When I spoke he'd come out of his daze and he'd reach for me and pull me down to him and kiss the top of my head.
No, son
, he'd say.
I've got everything I need. I've got your mother's love
and I've got you boys. If there is something else we must have, then tell me
what it is
.' Roy looked at Toni steadily.

Toni closed the drawer of the plan press. ‘I dreamed about him the other night. Do you ever dream about him?'

‘Remember the way he talked? As if our fates had been decided in some other place and time. He told me once he didn't feel betrayed by his old God, he just learned his God was merciless. What a thing to say. Can you imagine saying something like that? What must have been behind that for him to actually come out and say it?
You get the lot that falls to
you
, he always said.' He looked again at Toni's drawing of Theo. ‘I let them down, Antoni. Badly. I paid for what I did to that guy, but there's no way to ever pay for what I did to Mum and Dad. I should have stepped away that day. It would have been better if I'd taken a beating.'

‘But not if you'd let Dad take a beating,' Toni said softly. ‘You did it for him. I was there. Remember? It was just bad luck the guy died. Another time he would have got up and walked away.'

Roy closed the sketchbook. He was silent a long while. ‘There was an old Spaniard in there with us. Roncales. A little guy with bandy legs. He had a face like a stone that's been used to pound grain for a hundred years. We called him Pony. He was a horseman in a previous life. A real horseman. A horse master. That's all he knew. Horses. He used to paint these enormous blue and red acrylics of rearing horses. He told us the Spaniards had this saying: ‘
The man who dreams of the perfect
horse or the perfect woman never finds contentment in the saddle or in bed.
'

‘So you're telling me to be content with what I've got?'

‘I don't know what I'm telling you. I just thought of Pony. We hear what we want to hear. Discontent is a disease. That's something I do know. Am I giving you advice on how to live your life? You've got a beautiful wife and a daughter and this house and your gift. You don't need advice from someone like me. That's obvious.'

‘In the dream he gave me the go-ahead to be an artist.'

‘Don't throw it away. That's what I'm saying. I'd hate to see you throw all this away. I'd give anything to go back and step around that situation now.'

‘But you wouldn't step around it if you went back. You'd do the same for Dad today as you did on that day.'

Roy reached out and pulled Toni towards him and kissed the top of his head. ‘That's from me and Dad. We love you. Remember that!' There were tears in his eyes. He gestured around at the pictures and drawings. ‘Has Mum been over to see this?' He waved at the portrait of their mother. ‘You've got her picture up. She's still beautiful, eh? You captured her beauty.'

‘I'll invite her to the opening on the island.'

‘I'll bring her with me. We'll come together.'

They stood looking at the portrait of their mother leaning on the balcony at the flats, looking out at them.

‘I suppose Teresa rang you?' Toni said. ‘I don't suppose you just happened to come over?'

‘She's worried things are slipping away for you two.'

‘I know.'

Roy said, ‘I'm not asking you to tell me anything.' He gestured at the oil painting of Marina asleep on the island. ‘This picture . . .'

‘What about it?'

‘Teresa says it's erotic. And she's right. There's nothing crude about it, I'm not saying that, but it's suggestive. Wouldn't you say? It's a great picture. She asked me what I thought of it.' Roy examined him. ‘She said it's a picture of a woman lying there waiting for it.'

Toni asked tightly, ‘And what did you say?'

‘
You see what you want to see
, I said.
Maybe what you're afraid of
seeing. It's a picture
, I told her.
Antoni is an artist. This is what he does.
'

Toni looked at his painting of Marina asleep on the island. He had loved doing it. He had painted it from his drawing and from his memory and from the wonderful feeling of their day on the island.

‘Teresa believes in family. That's where she sees the strength in things. She believes if families stick together everything comes out all right in the end. She asked me if I thought she was becoming a jealous woman for no reason.'

‘So?'

‘So she's your wife and I'm your brother.
That
so. Sometimes you behave like the baby of the family. Maybe that's a habit with you too. People treat us the way we want to be treated. I'm not asking you if Teresa has a reason to be jealous. You get one shot. Don't blow it. That's all I'm saying. She asked me to talk to you, so I'm talking to you. She doesn't want to interfere with your work. She's scared she's going to stuff things up for you now that you've finally got going at last.'

‘It's not that simple.'

‘She's trying to be cool about it, but she's not sure what you're getting up to with this woman and it's driving her crazy.' Roy looked at him. ‘She loves you.'

‘I know that.'

‘I love you too.'

‘Yeah, I know.'

‘She feels as if you've started keeping your life a secret from her. And for a woman there can only be one reason for her man to be doing that.'

‘She said that to you? That's crazy!'

‘Is it?'

‘You said you're not asking me?'

‘I'm asking you.'

‘It's difficult to explain this project to her.'

‘Have you tried?'

Toni shifted uncomfortably. He resented the interrogation. He just wanted to be working on his new painting.

‘Why don't you try explaining it to her? That's all she's looking for. She hates being closed out.'

‘Closed out! You two must have had some talk before I got here.' Toni looked at Roy. ‘My work's not something I can
explain
. I'd
like
to explain. Okay?' He gestured at the room. ‘But you give someone a reason for this and you know that's not what it is. You know that's not the reason. You try to explain this and you start lying. Most of the time I don't
know
what I'm doing.'

Roy said calmly, ‘Whatever you say.'

‘Did I ever have to explain myself to Dad?'

Roy considered this. ‘It's a point.'

‘You know it's true. Between me and Dad there was never a need for explanations or reasons or why or whatever about what we were doing. We just did what we did. We loved doing it. We both loved doing it. That was it. That was our reason. Love. Dad was my inspiration. And maybe I was his inspiration. It wasn't just me keeping Dad going. We kept each other going. That's why I stopped painting when he died. I just couldn't do it. For a time I hated it.' He waited for Roy's attention. ‘I don't need to explain myself to Marina. Okay?'

‘Okay.'

‘Marina and Robert know what I'm doing the way Dad knew what I was doing. They are artists too.'

Roy said, ‘It's not Robert Teresa's worried about.'

‘We all get our energy from somewhere.'

‘It's a touchy business.'

‘Don't talk like that. Be straight with me.'

Roy pointed to the corner opposite the door. ‘Dad's suit. You did something I would never have done. I've always been glad you did it.' He looked at the dark three-piece draped on the rack. ‘I can see him walking down Bay Street holding your hand when you were a kid and he's taking you to the beach wearing that suit. Every other kid's dad's wearing a T-shirt and runners.' Roy turned to him. ‘What did you mean, he gave you the go-ahead to be an artist?'

‘It was as if he wasn't dead. It was like I'd woken up and his death had turned out to be a mistake. In the dream I knew he was still alive somewhere. Not here. But somewhere. He handed me a small canvas. He said,
Here's your painting, son
. It was his voice. I almost felt the touch of his hand.'

They stood silently thinking about their father.

Roy said with feeling, ‘I never met anyone with the courage he had.'

‘Dad would know why I can't do this without Marina.'

‘I guess you'll do what you have to do.'

‘It's not what you think between me and Marina.'

‘What do I think?'

‘I know what you think.'

‘She's a beautiful woman. It's what Teresa thinks, not what I think that matters.' Roy stepped across to the window and lifted the drop sheet, holding it up and looking across the courtyard to the house. ‘She thinks you put this here to stop her looking in and seeing what you two were getting up to.'