Christos Tsiolkas - Merciless Gods

‘My apologies. That’s a much better name.’ 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 arm 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.’

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 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 past three decades, and also to the constant stream of local and international tourists who passed through on their way south to Byron Bay. The locals obviously assumed that 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, they would have had to do with what a middle-aged man like him 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 had wrinkled ruddy skin and thin wisps of silver-yellow hair, and all wore open-necked white shirts that accentuated the burnt V of their necks.

Saverio looked around the bar as he waited for the beers. He wondered if his brother had spent much time there; 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 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 an accent, Leo at his most queenie, cruelly caricaturing other gay men. ‘They’re playing “I Will Survive”, Brooce! They’re playing “I Will Survive”!’ She was wiggling in such a close approximation of Leo’s stilted dancing style that Saverio couldn’t help laughing.