‘You know,’ said Linus, ‘there’s this old saying: “There is no way to get into an orange after your mother is dead.” I don’t know who said it. Some Chinese fellah. Pretty smart, though.’ He smiled up at the sky.
A whistler circled high above them, called and landed in the box trees, which shed leaves and flycatchers like a shoal of black fish. Frank gave up the fight to understand what Linus was on about and sucked on his beer. It was beautiful again. Just breeze enough to blow away the mosquitoes. Clouds blended orange on a blue horizon. Frogs barked under the veranda.
‘I talked with your grandfather once.’
Frank turned to look at him.
‘I’d a job with the grocers — ’fore all this Bi-Lo racket. He had this standing order, before your grandmummy came out, it was a monthly deal — not much, really, just big box of matches, some kero. Few cans. Not what you’d want to live on. Anyways, I’d worked as a delivery boy maybe three months ’fore I ever saw the bloke. He’d jus’ leave money on the table an’ I’d leave the box for him. But one time he was around an I said g’day, an’ he was a friendly enough bloke. We had a chat.’
‘About what?’
‘Nothin’ much. Just got the sense he was lonely that day. Asked him about himself, but he didn’t tell me much. Asked how old I was. I’m guessing I was about the same age as your old man was then. Asked if I’d had to go to war. I told him too young, and he nodded and shook my hand. Asked me if I had a wife, an’ when I said no he said, “Best way.” He said, “Best way, might be another war yet.” An’ he told me he hoped I’d have a plenty good life. An’ that was it. I told him I’d see him around but I never did. I think he’d just popped up that day because he was lonely.’
‘You remember it pretty well. Long time ago.’
Linus smiled again out into the blue air. He inhaled and took a long swallow of beer, pulled his lips over his teeth and looked at the bottle in his hand. ‘Made a bit of an impression I’d say. Never did get married. There was another war. And I see his point. I see his point well.’
‘He didn’t mention my father? Or my grandmother?’
‘Nup. When she turned up was first we knew of that.’
There was something soft about the old man suddenly. Something in the way his teeth worried his bottom lip. ‘Beaudy lady. We used to talk.’
His lips were wet and Frank imagined him as a young man. He would have been good-looking, the bones of him dark with heavy shadows.
Linus stifled a burp, which seemed to knock him out of his thoughts. ‘She was all interested in where I come from. Not something I was used to, people wanting to know about that. I suppose she bin told to go suck by her country too. Don’t think it suited her that well, being out here all on her own just with him. She said was like something had a hold on your poppy. Guess he went through it in the war or something.’ He bit his bottom lip with his white teeth, squinted his eyes. ‘Your grandmummy she loved him, but. She had to stay with him. Loved ’im.’ Frank wanted to say something, but he couldn’t think for the image of young Linus and his grandmother, the sugar figure in the wedding dress.
‘When your olds turned up after they’d disappeared, I showed them around the place a bit. Nice bloke, your old man was, terrified about your mummy being pregnant. That woulda bin you, I suppose?’
Frank got up. His legs were heavy. He stood at the fridge a moment letting his breath settle. He wanted to ask questions but he was scared his voice would wobble with the beat of his heart. He brought another beer for them both and when he sat down again Linus continued, ‘Plenty of people I knew had gone off to war, plenty. Plenty didn’t come back. Fuckin’ I bin in a war, I done that, I seen some bad things, we all did.’ Linus shrugged. ‘That’s war tho’, mate. Isn’it?’
Frank nodded.
‘Maybe it’s somethin’ to do with you Europeans, you haven’t seen much colour before an’ so when you seen the blood, it’s a shock? I dunno. But.’ Linus’s words hung in the air. Strange to be thought of as European.
‘Either way. One day, telegram man arrived, found no one in. No one in the next day or the next. Car in front of the house. Cold box cleaned out, shoes under the bed. There was a bunch of clothes on the beach and no more Mr and Mrs.’
‘They died in a car accident out at the turn-off. A road train.’
Linus looked at Frank, his eyes bright in the dark. ‘Nah, mate. Nah, they didn’t. You should talk to your old man about that. He’d know the story.’
‘He’s dead,’ said Frank without thinking. Dead was easier. A closed case.
Linus looked at him. ‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that.’ A mosquito landed under Linus’s eye and he pressed his finger to it, rolled it against his cheekbone.
‘What did you talk about with my grandmother?’
‘Tole her about me. She wanted to know. We talked about the old people. Important to do that. You gotta know what you can ’bout ’em. See my dad’s mum was sent to the hospital islands. They reckoned she was a sick one, so what they did is they sent her there to die. ’Parently she might have been pregnant. Never come back any more.’ His voice changed, it sounded old. ‘Dad ’members she was taken off in chains, long string of black fellas all with bracelets round their necks. For their own good, y’understand. I don’t know if you know much about it over there. Anyways. You went, you didn’t come back any more.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Wasn’t you.’ Linus laughed. ‘Was it? ’N’way, my mum she was a white lady — that’s how come I wasn’t taken away. Got me reading and writing early on too. Helps a black fella, that.’ Frank nodded.
‘I member you too, you know. I remember the funeral.’
Frank moved his chair a little forward, then back again. ‘Funeral?’
‘Your mother’s. Sat up on those rocks and watched it.’ He pointed towards where the sea was, like they could both see it.
‘That’s weird, Linus. That makes me feel weird.’
‘It probably would.’
Frank squeezed his beer bottle.
‘Sad business,’ Linus carried on. ‘There’s a sad business in men being left alone.’ He inhaled to say more, but held it. A butcher-bird yodelled and Linus let the breath out. ‘Your mum seemed a lot like your grandmummy.’
‘My grandmother was my father’s mother. They weren’t blood relations.’
‘But they were both married to the same blood.’
‘Suppose. You reckon that makes a difference?’
Linus didn’t answer for a long time. The air had changed a little, it was thinner or cooler or something. More drink.
Linus spoke, with a voice from a long time ago, and the words sounded rehearsed, like he’d heard them or said them over and over way back. ‘Some fellas, they make the women lonely. Maybe it doesn’t apply to you, mate, but maybe that’s why you’re here all on your tod?’
It would be nice if Linus were gone, it occurred to Frank. The soles of his feet felt hot and uncomfortable on the wood of the veranda, as though he’d walked a long way barefoot. ‘How old were you when my grandparents came here?’
‘Old enough.’
There was a long pause, one which didn’t seem to have any effect on Linus, who stood and smoked and squinted as if the sun were still in the sky.
‘So what am I supposed to do with that?’ Frank asked finally.
‘Do?’ Linus turned round to look at him like he’d forgotten he was there. ‘I dunno, mate, you do what you want. Like I said, I’m no spiritualist. I’m just an’ old bloke, an I thought you might like a chew of advice. Give this place a bit of acknowledgement, mate. Just a bit of respect or understanding or something — that’s all you need. If you’re waking up at night with the ground coming alive and trying to eat you or whatever.’