‘O.K.,’ he said to Vishnabarnu. ‘It’s her.’
Vish picked up the phone and cradled it between his big smooth chin and yellow cotton shoulder.
‘Hi, Gran.’ He continued to ladle out the Sweet and Sour tofu. He passed the plate to Ramesvara and then began to fill a blender with banana and milk, yoghurt, cinnamon, honey.
‘Vish,’ Gran Catchprice said, ‘I need you out here.’
‘Oh no, Gran,’ Vish said. ‘I’m sorry. One sec.’ He turned on the blender and mouthed to Govinda-dasa: ‘It’s O.K.’
‘I don’t think there’s too much I can do about Benny any more, Gran,’ he said as he poured the smoothies into their tall green glasses. ‘I think he needs to see a doctor.’
‘I’m the doctor,’ Gran said.
‘Good luck, Gran.’ He smiled. He handed the glasses to Govinda-dasa who added the mint sprig and placed them on the counter top for Ramesvara.
‘You’re the doctor,’ she corrected.
‘No way, José.’
‘But I’m going to follow your prescription – let the business go to hell, wasn’t that it?’
‘Gran I can’t come back now. I’ve gone now. I’ve gone for ever. I’m sorry.’
Govinda-dasa turned his back and began to dish some stuffed eggplant. But if Govinda-dasa understood Vish perfectly, Granny Catchprice would not.
‘Isn’t that what you told me?’ she said. ‘Let the business go to hell?’
‘It is hell,’ Vish said. ‘That’s the truth.’
‘I think so too,’ she said.
Vish shut his eyes, puffed up his cheeks, blew out air.
Govinda-dasa made a sign with his finger, like a record going round. He meant: don’t enter into argument or discussion, just keep repeating it – I – AM – NOT – COMING – BACK.
‘Gran, I’m not coming back.’
‘Not even to get your brother out of his hole?’
‘I’m not coming back.’
‘You don’t care what happens to your brother?’
‘Gran,’ Vish turned back towards the wall and the painting of Lord Nara Sinha, ‘he’s sawn off Grand-dad’s shot gun. He’s suffering from delusions. The best thing you can do is keep away from him. Don’t go down there.’
‘I’m not going to go down there. I’m not going to even talk to him.’
‘Well, I’m not either. Gran, there’s nothing anyone can do.’
‘Oh yes there is.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t say on the phone.’
Vish grinned and turned back to look at Govinda-dasa who was making the record sign – I – AM – NOT – COMING – BACK. ‘This is not Dorrigo,’ he said. ‘There’s no operator listening to the call.’
‘I know it’s not Dorrigo,’ she said. ‘Do you really think I don’t know that? I’m going to wind this business up. It makes me sick myself.’
He said nothing.
‘It makes me ill in my stomach just looking out of the window. I feel like such a fool …’
He did not ask her what she felt a fool about. He smiled at Govinda-dasa and played the record: ‘Just the same, Gran – I can’t come.’
‘You never want to see it again?’ She was persistent, like a salesman. ‘As long as you live?’
‘Gran. I can’t come.’
‘You don’t want to see it, but it’s always there. It won’t go away. It just goes on and on like some bad dream …’
He did not answer her. He nodded.
‘If you could wave a magic wand and make it go …’
‘A magic wand …’ he laughed. ‘Sure, Gran.’
‘Well, yes or no?’
Govinda-dasa was all the way over at table 14 but he saw what was happening. He walked rapidly back towards the counter, making circular motions with his index finger.
‘Did you hear me?’ she said.
‘Yes I heard.’
There was a long silence on the phone while Vishnabarnu felt the cool dry wall against his cheek.
‘I’m not talking to my father,’ he said.
52
Jack Catchprice was scared and amazed by what he had brought off. The thing happened so fast. Really, he was just enquiring – could he do it? He was testing his strength – did he know the guy who knew the guy? Did he have the clout with the first guy to get him to use his clout with the second guy? Did he have enough in the favour bank to get this investigation stopped? The truth was – he was flirting with it. But then he was in the deep end and suddenly he was in a very dark place and it was, like, you want it or not, yes or no, shit or get off the can. ‘Sure,’ he said. What the fuck else could he say?
Thirty minutes after she left the Bilgola house, without her knowing anything had changed, Catchprice Motors was no longer a part of Maria Takis’s professional life.
Jack had not been able to achieve it in two steps, but in three, and the steps were dirty and the connections dangerous. He was now joined to things he would rather not be joined to.
He wanted to ring Maria, straightaway, and tell her what he had done. But it was like ringing to check that a dozen long-stemmed roses had arrived – you could not do it. You had to wait to be thanked.
For Jack who had made his impatience into something like a professional virtue, waiting was difficult. But he did it. He had no choice. He told Bea he would take any calls from Maria Takis, and any call from any female who did not seem inclined to give a name.
He had a meeting with the dopey architect who had wilfully ignored his brief and now wanted to give the Circular Quay land to the city for a park in return for the right to put two towers in the water where the ferries came in. It was like a giant π, a gateway to the city with a ballroom, a fucking ballroom, across the top. It was wrong to call him dopey. The guy was right in everything he said. He was trying to make a proper gateway for the city. He said the Cahill Expressway was like the Berlin Wall. He was a fucking genius, but he did not see that Jack could not sell a ballroom, and he did not have the resources to fight ten years to build in the water at Circular Quay. But he could not bear a gifted man like this to dislike him – he asked him to take his drawings to another stage.
After that, he called all the troops in for the Lend Lease meeting – three hours later than scheduled but Lend Lease still bought the whole Woolloomooloo package and when they went out of the door he opened a couple of magnums of Moët for the staff to celebrate.
There was still no call. He started to worry the connection had fucked up, that the case had not been stopped. He went back into his office. He picked up the phone, put it down, picked it up, put it down again.
Then he buzzed Bea and had her book a table for two at Darcy’s for that evening, just in case.
‘You’re not going to Darcy’s,’ Bea said. ‘You’ve got dinner at Corky Missenden’s.’
‘Then I’ll cancel Corky. Get me Corky.’
‘Good luck,’ Bea said.
But of course there was no way Corky was going to excuse him.
‘All right,’ Jack said. ‘Well, if I have to come, I’m going to have to bring someone.’
‘Jack, don’t do this to me.’
‘Corky, I don’t want to. I have to.’
‘You’re a shit, Jack. This dinner has been planned for weeks. You don’t know what a tricky placement this is. Who is this person? Is she anyone I know? Does she do anything?’
Jack thought it best not to reveal her occupation. ‘You’ll like her,’ he said, ‘she’s a friend of Daniel Makeveitch. You’ll love her.’
But there was still no call from Maria.
Jack was tight and twitchy in the legs and at the back of his fingers. He had lunch at Beppi’s with Larry Auerbach and took his cellular phone to the table like some nerd from the Parramatta Road. When Larry went for a piss, he rang Catchprice Motors, but the phone wasn’t even answered.