Read Dead Dog in the Still of the Night Online
Authors: Archimede Fusillo
Tags: #Children's Books, #Growing Up & Facts of Life, #Family Life, #Friendship; Social Skills & School Life, #Emotions & Feelings, #Children's eBooks
Dead Dog in the Still of the Night (5 page)
Primo lifted his father by the armpits, taking the weight on his shoulders as he parcelled the frail man into the front seat. Tucking the almost useless legs one over the other, Primo pushed the seat belt into place.
‘You should let me drive,’ the old man announced in his native Italian. ‘Everyone knows I’m a good driver.’
‘You are a good driver, but not today. Today I’ll drive.’
Primo looked at his mother. She stood by the driver’s side door, a thin smile on her face. She looked drawn and tired, Primo thought with a pang of guilt.
‘I a good driver,’ his father repeated in English. ‘I be drive since I was little boy. I good driver.’
‘I could drive,’ Primo offered and bent to put the wheelchair into the boot.
‘Maybe next time,’ his mother said. She nodded toward their passenger. ‘He sometimes grabs the steering wheel.’
Primo drew a breath. It was pretty much what he expected.
From the back seat, Primo stared between his parents out at the familiar streetscape of renovated single-fronted terrace houses, drab red-brick three-storey flats, and the occasional patch of weathered parkland that led home. The sickening sameness of it all struck Primo every time he rode through it. If it were a human being, Primo thought as they sped past Tone’s father’s pizza shop, the entire suburb would be forced into a nursing home to die a passive, unremarkable death.
The only saving grace for the neighbourhood and surrounds was that his beloved Carlton football team’s spiritual home ground was nestled a few blocks away on leafy, broad Royal Parade. As for the rest, it was just boringly ordinary as far as Primo was concerned.
The thought made Primo wince and he dropped his gaze. When he looked up again, his father was slumped against the window, his left shoulder against the door, watching the passing façade of same-same houses and retail and light industry blocks with their protective grills and twists of barbed wire.
‘Exciting, eh, Dad?’ Primo muttered. ‘Doesn’t it make you wish you were dead?’
‘Primo!’ His mother caught his grin in the rearvision mirror and frowned.
He stared blankly back at her. Her knuckles were white, and her neck was rigid.
Primo took a deep breath. What if Tone was right? Maybe his mum did have a nest egg put away, some cash she could spare as a loan.
‘What would you guys say if I asked to borrow some money?’ he said, looking at the back of his father’s balding head where short strands of white hair stood electrified. ‘For that trip I mentioned to you, Papa, remember?’
His father didn’t reply.
Primo wasn’t surprised. Of course the old man didn’t remember.
‘I’d pay it all back. Eventually.’
Primo’s father started to hum loudly, melodically. He looked toward the driver’s side and began to sing in the low, resonant voice Primo knew so well from long distant family gatherings. His father had a beautiful singing voice, even if Primo never fully understood or particularly liked what he sang.
‘You don’t want me packing and sorting boxes all my life do you, Dad?’ he prodded. ‘You want me to find a good job. A career maybe, right? So, I’m thinking of taking time out to think about what I really want to do with my life. Good idea, right, Dad?’
But his father didn’t answer, caught up now in crooning the words to an Italian pop song from the Swinging 60s. A song Primo had heard hundreds of times before.
‘It’s the perfect time,’ Primo pressed. ‘Think about it, Mum. You won’t be alone because I can’t see Adrian going anywhere anytime soon. And Santo’s thinking of cutting back on his travels, so he’ll be around more. Kath’s just a few blocks away.’
His father’s voice went up considerably and Primo sighed loudly.
Up ahead the road narrowed into a tight bend that swung under the cool of the railway overpass, where Primo had often sat with Tone during long boring summer days when the rest of the street was holidaying somewhere.
Primo touched his father’s shoulder lightly. ‘You always said I needed to get out into the real world, like you did when you were my age,’ he said hopefully. ‘I mean, you even came out to Australia on your own, right? And, let’s be honest, if you look around this place, does it look like the real world to you? I mean, check it out, where’s the culture, the history, the …’ Primo leaned forward and whispered, ‘Where’s the sense in sacrificing your life for us kids unless we get to do some of the stuff you guys never did?’
The lack of response from either of his parents was starting to bite at Primo. He slouched back in his seat.
‘Your father came out to Australia because of necessity,’ his mother snapped. ‘He didn’t go on some adventure holiday.’
Primo knew there was no point trying to argue. The family saga had been indoctrinated into him whenever his father had had too much to drink, or felt like playing the self-pity hand. Blah, blah and blah! The hard-working Southern Italian had gone to work on a tobacco farm and met the attractive daughter of the town’s Irish baker. They had courted for less than six months before she’d fallen pregnant.
‘I bet both of youse would of done things differently, eh, given half the chance,’ Primo said defiantly
‘I need to have shit,’ his father said suddenly, and squirmed in his seat. ‘Take me to toilet.’ He reached for the steering wheel with both hands. ‘Mary. Mary, you hear me?’
The car accelerated, drifted to the left and, more from luck than skill, avoided sideswiping a parked motorbike.
‘You really are nuts!’ Primo barked.
‘Primo!’ his mother snapped.
‘I think the shit is coming, Mary,’ Primo’s father announced firmly in Italian, and turned to look at Primo, his eyes half closed in concentration. ‘She wants to kill me,’ he said.
A moment later, Primo’s father was staring out the window in silence, as if nothing had been said.
Primo saw his mother tilt her head back as though she were swallowing a tablet without water. Her hands had shifted on the wheel, settling close together in two tight fists at twelve o’clock.
‘This is a perfect time is it, Primo?’ she said softly, pain evident in her voice. ‘For who is it a good time? Tell me.’ There was a pause, then she added, ‘There is no “good time”, Primo. None!’
Primo was taken aback by his mother’s outburst and for a few moments sat in silence, staring fixedly at the back of her head.
‘Ever since your father promised me a life of never wanting for anything, Primo, I’ve waited for that good time to arrive!’ his mother whispered sourly. She lifted her eyes from the road to look at Primo in the rear-view mirror.
The words slammed into Primo. He opened his mouth to say something, but his mother got in first.
‘He needs me.’ She answered the question Primo didn’t ask, but which he realised she’d anticipated, maybe even brooded over for a long time. He looked away sheepishly.
The silence that followed was painful, as though it were a cutting, slashing thing that drew blood.
From the back seat Primo stared at a dot in the far distance beyond the windscreen, his thoughts in flux.
‘Sorry, Primo,’ his mother said without looking at him. Her voice betrayed something beyond exhaustion, something closer to resignation, almost hopelessness. ‘I’m sorry for barking at you like that,’ she continued. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault. I’m just ...’ She shook her head resolutely. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked the man sitting quietly next to her.
He nodded, then said, ‘The shit is coming.’
‘The shit is always here,’ Primo’s mother uttered. ‘Always.’
When his mother reached across and touched his father gently on the hand, Primo had to look away. This was a moment between two people he didn’t really know, engaged in a life he didn’t understand, and it disoriented him.
‘You always seem to miss out, Primo,’ his mother muttered after a few moments. ‘And I’m not talking about money. No. No, it’s more than that.’
‘It’s okay, Mum.’ Primo surrendered and immediately felt repulsion at his capitulation. And yet, it was always like this, he thought. He couldn’t bear to see his mum searching for explanations she couldn’t deliver with genuine resolve. Not about his father’s womanising. Not about their lack of money. Not even about why the workshop or Bambino couldn’t be sold.
It was better to ignore the whole matter like a festering wound no one wanted to see, and so no one bothered to treat it fully, not enough to stop it spitting up rancour and poison every now and then.
Primo pulled himself forward and touched his mother on the shoulder. He felt her tense.
‘It’s okay, really, Mum,’ he offered. ‘Maddie is going with her girlfriends anyway. I’d just be tagging along like some Neanderthal.’
His father gave out a loud howl and punched a fist into the left side of Primo’s face, snapping his head back.
Instinctively Primo balled his fists and jumped forward. ‘Prick!’
‘Primo!’
There was a honking of horns, a screech of rubber against asphalt and then silence as the car came to a stop, passenger side tyres up on the nature strip.
‘What
is
your problem?’ Primo spat at his father, his face reddening. ‘Screw you!’ He touched his cheek, felt it throb.
‘Primo! Please. He doesn’t … ’ His mother’s eyes pleaded for compassion.
‘Look at yourself,’ Primo hissed at his father, ‘you’ve become a pathetic bag of bones. You can’t even shit without needing someone there to wipe your arse. So much for all of your so-called plans! They were never going to happen, even if I hadn’t come along and stuffed them up. You know that. Mum knows that. Don’t you, Mum? He was never going to take you around Australia. He was just buying time to do what he wanted. Well, look at you now, old man, you’re completely messed up.’
The old man was cowering, his hands over his face, trembling under the barrage, muttering quietly.
‘Be still, Primo. Don’t make it any worse. He didn’t mean it.’
Primo turned on his mother. ‘You should never of taken the crap he dished out, ever,’ he seethed. ‘He didn’t deserve a second chance, let alone a third one.’ Then to his whimpering father, ‘Did you? You were always going to be a loser, but you had to drag Mum and me and everyone down with you!’
‘Get out!’ his mother said sharply. ‘We don’t deserve this. Get out!’
Primo fell back, stunned. She was looking at him, her face hard, cold. But her lips were trembling. Primo knew the look. He’d seen it so many times before when she felt the obligation to put up the wall of protection.
‘Who exactly are you protecting?’ Primo asked under his breath as he pushed the door open.
‘You can walk from here,’ his mother said as Primo eased himself out of the car. ‘Clear that head of yours.’
Primo heard his father mumble a curse, and watched as his mother reached across and patted her husband gently on the hands that lay palm up on a wasted lap.
No, she doesn’t want to kill you, Primo thought. But you might just end up killing her.
‘Get in,’ Tone said.
Primo looked up from coughing long spindles of saliva and snot into the gutter. Tone had the hearse pulled over and the passenger side door open.
Tone floored the big car and did a long sweeping U-turn that brought a barrage of abuse from other drivers. Tone stuck his middle finger out the driver’s window.
Primo sat in silence, catching his breath in quick gasps. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand noisily.
‘Here, eat this,’ Tone offered, nudging a cardboard pizza box at Primo. ‘Go on, eat it. It’s good for you. Really. You ever hear bad things about garlic, ever? The old Romans marched to war on garlic, mate. They did, I swear.’
Primo offered up a thin grin.
‘See, even the thought of garlic makes a bloke feel better,’ Tone said. ‘I’ve seen people who are really pissed off come into the restaurant, munch down on a garlic pizza, and walk out feeling like king shit.’ Tone crossed himself. ‘On my nonno’s grave, Prims.’
‘Your grandfathers are both still alive.’
‘Yeah, but if they were dead, you know.’
Primo took a slice of pizza and folded it into a calzone, shoving half of it into his mouth. Chewing made his cheek ache but he didn’t stop until he’d finished the entire slice.
When he winced and touched his cheek, Tone leaned over and took a good look at the red blemish that had come up.
‘So? You going to fill me in or what?’ Tone asked. ‘What gives?’
‘Nothing,’ Primo mumbled. ‘The old man. Lucky slap. Lost his mind there for a second.’
Tone snorted. ‘And that’s it? The old man took a cheap shot.’
Primo grabbed a second slice of pizza. ‘Guess I got him worked up,’ he whispered. ‘Should of known when to back off.’
In the driver’s seat Tone shifted his weight uneasily. ‘Not the first time though, Prims, eh? Seems to me that maybe you should of seen it coming.’
Primo drew a long shallow breath. ‘He does my head in sometimes, Tone. It’s like he just blanks out, shuts off. And then, bang, he’s back, but not really ... I can’t explain it, Tone. It’s weird. Scary.’
Tone nodded.
‘It’s gonna come up nice and raw, eh?’ Primo said, touching his cheek with just the tips his fingers. ‘For an old bloke, he’s got a decent hook on him.’
‘Yeah,’ was all Tone said.
Primo suddenly noticed an odd tarry stench in the hearse. ‘What
is
that?’ he asked screwing up his face.
‘You don’t want to know, trust me,’ Tone replied and turned into a very long, narrow driveway, the hearse brushing against overhanging tree limbs all the way up to a paved courtyard.
‘That is really off.’ Primo peered into the rear cavity.
‘I ran over it yesterday. Accidentally,’ Tone admitted. ‘I was backing out of an apartment block where I’d just dropped off an order and …’ He pulled the hearse up beside two luxury cars and, reaching around, lifted a black tarp.
Primo stopped chewing in stupefied surprise at the mangled remains of a large brown dog, gobs of bleached yellow flesh poking through broken, ruptured skin. There was a clog of congealed blood and body fluids on the floor of the hearse. He almost gagged.
‘I thought I’d drop it off somewhere when I get the chance tonight.’ Tone shook his head and added, ‘Bloody good timing too.’ Tone looked at Primo. ‘Alison’s agreed to come for a drive, but I can’t expect her to sit in this putrid stench, can I?’
Primo looked out at the house in the near distance, the circular driveway spread out before it. Sick was rising in his throat.
‘Yeah, yeah, I should’ve got rid of it last night,’ Tone said. He pulled the tarp back over the dog. ‘I just freaked when I ran right over the top of it.’ He clicked his fingers sharply. ‘It was dead straight up.’
‘You’ve got a dead dog in the back of a car you deliver pizzas in, Tone,’ Primo managed. ‘You didn’t think to just dump it on the side of the road somewhere? Come on, Tone, get real.’
Tone rolled his shoulders. ‘So I’m an animal lover,’ he said through a tight grin. ‘I got a bit drunk last night. Guess I forgot. I got caught up with Alison, and talking her into coming out in the Stiff Master. Things just got away from me, Prims.’
Primo laughed. But it was not at the dead dog in the back of the hearse. His laugh was a black phlegm of anger.
‘It’s not funny, mate,’ Tone said sheepishly. ‘I could’ve just dumped the thing in a laneway, right. But I like dogs and shit, so I couldn’t. And now my car is going to stink of death.’ Tone burst out laughing as well, but his was a bubbling, carefree laughter. ‘Hey, the hearse is meant to carry dead things. It’s sort of just doing its job. The pizzas are the odd bods here, mate.’
‘Yeah, the pizzas,’ Primo said and reached for the open bottle of pre-mix Tone had nestled between the seats. He took a long slow gulp, smacked his lips in sharp pleasure and looked into the back of the hearse again.
‘Cheers!’ he said to the corpse in mock salutation and took a second gulp.
They finished the deliveries and pulled up at the rear of Bits and Pizzas, in the narrow laneway that ran off the main strip.
‘So, you want to talk about anything?’ Tone asked without looking at Primo.
Primo shifted uncomfortably. ‘Yeah, how about we focus on the fact you have a dead dog in the back here. That seems a pretty significant topic, Tone.’
‘Yeah, well, I’ve explained that,’ Tone replied. ‘I got mugged once, by a short-arsed, one-armed clown, out the back here. I didn’t want to talk about it either, it was so humiliating. Gave me a bruise up the side of my head not unlike the one you got happening there, Prims.’
‘I told you, it was a lucky punch. Never saw it coming. If I had …’ Primo said.
‘More like a bitch slap,’ Tone said to break the tension. He turned Primo’s face so he could take a closer look at the red mark. ‘A slap or a girl punch.’
For a moment Primo didn’t answer, then said shortly, ‘Something like that.’
Tone pulled a bottle of Smirnoff from under the driver’s seat, took a long swig and passed it to Primo. ‘Yeah, Prims, there’s the oldies, and then there’s women, mate. Both of them will send you spare in the head.’
Primo’s mobile went off. He pulled it from his pocket, checked the number and ignored the call.
‘Maddie?’ Tone asked.
‘Adrian,’ Primo answered and punched into the message bank. As he listened to the three missed calls he alternatively pulled faces and jerked his right hand.
‘Problems?’ Tone asked.
‘Wondering where I am. Why I’m not home by now. Dinner spoilt. Mum worried. The usual hysterics.’ Primo took back the bottle of vodka, siphoned out the last dregs, then tossed the empty bottle into the back where it rolled and came to rest against the tarp covering the dog.
‘Take it easy!’ Tone’s voice rose sharply. ‘This isn’t a tip.’ He grabbed the discarded bottle and, without getting out of the car, lobbed it into the skip that was already spilling over with refuse from the pizza shop.
‘You could always dump the dog in there,’ Primo suggested. ‘Who’d know it was you?’
‘You right in the head there, Prims?’
A figure appeared at the rear back door, slapping the flyscreen open with purpose.
‘It’s my old man,’ Tone said under his breath. ‘Quick, get out of the car. I don’t want him seeing the dog.’
‘Smelling it more like,’ Primo replied and got out, popping the mint lolly Tone had tossed his way.
Tone walked to his father waiting at the door.
From where Primo stood beside the hearse, he caught most of what Tone’s father said, a lot of it to do with when Tone might actually get back inside and pick up the next load of deliveries.
‘Don’t learn bad habits from this one, Primo!’ the older man called with a brisk wave in Primo’s direction.
‘I’ll keep my wits about me, no worries,’ Primo said, lifting a hand in greeting. He liked Tone’s dad, despite all the rumours that had circulated about him even before he’d gone to prison for his part in a tax dodging scam.
‘You want to take him off my hands?’ Tone asked, nodding toward his father’s retreating back. ‘I’ll trade you.’
Primo ignored the offer. It wasn’t the first time Tone had made it.
‘One day, when the whole place is mine, I’m going to turn it into a pole-dancing club. Stuff the pizzas and pastas and Italian-wog bloody gelato,’ Tone declared as he hoisted the last of the pizza satchels into the back of the hearse and nodded for Primo to get in.
Primo grinned. ‘Yeah, of course you will, Tone. You know you love the place,’ he said when they were out on the road again. ‘It keeps you off the streets at night, and it helps your old man buy units and land in Queensland for your retirement.’
‘What would you know!’ Tone snapped. ‘Every night, including weekends, I have to deliver this shit.’ He punched the steering wheel and the horn gave a blast, echoing in the cabin.
‘Get a real job then,’ Primo countered. ‘Isn’t that what you told your old man you’d do if he let you leave school?’
For a moment Tone didn’t answer. Then he said, ‘Doing what? Driving dead people to their graves?’
Primo rubbed his cheek. The pain was a faint sting now, but the skin was hot to his touch.
‘You know your old man secretly loves it that you want to take over the family business, Tone,’ he said.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Tone replied. ‘He couldn’t contain his joy that I opted out of school at the start of Year 12. Him and Mum, both.’
Primo looked out of the windscreen. Tone had a lot to prove to his old man. They both knew that.
‘Think I know where we can bury Rover,’ Primo announced suddenly. ‘You got a shovel?’
‘No, I was thinking of using my hands. What do you reckon? I put one in the back this morning.’ He slapped the steering wheel lightly. ‘So, where to,
paesan
?’
‘The garden out front of the Home could do with a little nutrition,’ Primo answered. ‘Those roses are looking pretty ordinary.’
‘That is just so totally screwed, Prims,’ Tone roared with delight. ‘But why not, eh? Why not!’
By the time Primo got home his father was asleep, his mother absorbed with cutting the pattern for a wedding dress she was sewing for a family friend’s daughter, and Adrian was nowhere to be seen.
It suited Primo to have the house to himself. He was tired and felt grubby from his share of the digging.
He was under the shower when the door opened.
‘Occupied!’ he called out. ‘Can’t you hear the water running?’
‘So, did you talk to Tone about my problem?’ Adrian came in and closed the door.
‘I’m taking a shower,’ Primo said. ‘Piss off.’
‘I’ve seen you naked before, dickhead,’ his brother answered and leant back against the basin. ‘I’m serious, Primo. I made a mistake is all. Doesn’t mean I have to lose my family over it, does it?’
Under the hot water Primo shut his eyes and turned his face to the powerful stream.
You’ve lived your life making mistakes, Primo thought. Getting married at twenty-one while still studying, with no real career prospects. Like, that was the move of a mental genius.
‘Go away, Ad,’ he said. ‘You need to go away somewhere and just get your head together.’
Primo heard the sound of bottles being moved and Adrian whining on. He pressed the palms of his hands into his eye sockets and, as he had done so many times as a little kid when his parents had argued in front of him, he started to hum in an effort to drown out his brother’s voice.
But it was no use. Adrian banged on the shower screen and waited until Primo opened his eyes and turned the water off.
Primo felt simultaneously ridiculous and vulnerable as he reached for his towel.
Adrian started juggling two aftershave bottles unsteadily.
‘It was all just a misunderstanding,’ he said. ‘I swore I’d never do what Dad did ...’ He stopped suddenly.
Primo looked at his brother. Their eyes met momentarily.
‘Crystal’s going to ruin my life,’ Adrian whispered and slapped one of the bottles on the vanity. ‘Tell Tone that we all know his family knows people, Primo. You tell Tone he has to help out a mate. Tell him I just need someone to talk some sense into the bitch. She won’t listen to me, you know.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m not going to let it happen again. A woman screwing up my life. This needs to be taken care of, Prims.’