The Hired Man

12

Laura asked if I could recommend a hairdresser. I rubbed my hand over my cropped hair and gave her the address of the salon belonging to Fabjan’s wife. I said, ‘Her husband owns the Zodijak.’

Laura frowned.

‘On the same street as the bakery.’ I couldn’t help it. I asked, ‘What were you doing in there?’

Laura laughed. ‘Is there a law against it?’

‘No, of course there isn’t. I just wondered. I mean, not many women go to the Zodijak.’

‘Oh I see, and you were worried I’d fallen into bad company. It was you who told us about it, don’t you remember? Matthew wanted to use the Internet. We stopped by there yesterday. I met the owner. Wouldn’t think of letting me pay. He was absurdly charming.’

I’d forgotten and now I remembered — the day Matthew had let his exasperation with the holiday show, the day I’d shown them the double rainbow. Yes, the Zodijak had Internet access, one of the first places in town to do so. ‘That’s Fabjan for you,’ I said. Matthew must have been sitting at the back where the computer was, while Fabjan flirted with Laura.

‘Do you think she’d be able to do highlights?’

Laura’s fair hair, when you looked closely, was composed of strands of hair each a slightly different shade from gold, through red to brown. It looked complicated. I remembered my sister Daniela, who trained to be a beautician. She might have known where to go. ‘Maybe Zadar is better,’ I said. ‘The salon here is small. They only know one or two styles.’

‘Oh well.’ Laura picked up a strand of her hair and examined it; she shrugged lightly. ‘I don’t think I want to go all the way back to Zadar for a hair appointment. Maybe I’ll leave it.’

‘Or maybe something simple. I think they could do that.’

‘Do you know what I’ve always wanted? A bob. Neat, short, dark. Chic.’ She flicked the back of her hair and let it fall. ‘My real hair colour is actually much darker than this. I’ve often thought about going back to it.’

‘I believe dark hair would suit you, Laura,’ I said deliberately. ‘It would make you look younger.’

The fountain was almost completely restored. Grace planned some kind of grand opening when we would turn on the water and asked me to help. I ripped out and replaced the pump and added a centrepiece to the fountain: a stone ball resting on a plain dais, which I paid for myself as a gift. In-between I worked on the house and occasionally on the Fićo. I should mention that what happened between Matthew and me in Zadar seemed to have passed: he was respectful, you could even say pleasant. From time to time he offered to help; once he asked if we could go shooting again.

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Any time.’

‘When can we go hunting?’

I still hadn’t decided if I liked him, but I said, ‘The season starts a few weeks from now. If you’re still here we can go.’

‘Awesome,’ said Matthew.

The day was Saturday, the grand opening of the fountain planned for the evening. I’d guessed Grace wanted it to be a surprise so I didn’t say anything to Laura. Mid-morning I found Grace at work in the kitchen baking a cake.

‘For tonight,’ she said. ‘Do you like cake?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Coffee cake especially.’

For some reason this statement made Grace blush and return with a furious vigour to beating her cake mixture into submission.

In town to take coffee earlier that morning I sat outside the Zodijak where I was served by the girl who worked there. Afterwards she went back and sat at the bar, her chin low, her hair hiding her face. She was certainly a great deal less cheerful than she’d been two or three weeks ago. I doubted she would last. Not many people come to Gost and want to stay.

The bar was busy as always at that time on a Saturday. Fabjan’s folk music played. Men drank coffee and rakija. Fabjan was there; the girl sent him looks through her hair. Fabjan ignored her. When he saw me he nodded and redirected his stare to the street. I passed him and had a waft of his odour, which no amount of cologne will disguise: sweat and cooked meats. Fabjan’s fingers are swollen and red. A wedding ring cuts into the flesh of his third finger, like a corset on an obese woman. His lips are virgin pink and shine with saliva. A family of hairs peeps from his nostrils and his ears, while a crowd of hairs seems to strain upwards, out of his open collar, as if they’re trying to catch a glimpse of their upstairs cousins.

If you listen you can hear him breathing.

That day he sat with crossed arms, his mouth set into a down-turned line, his brow dark and low. Fabjan has the ability to sit like that for hours. Watch him and you’ll see that every now and again he frowns, as though bothered by some fly of a thought risen from the swamp of his subconscious. Seeing him like that, I had an impulse to goad him. I said, ‘Did you hear of this thing in K—?’

On the surface of Fabjan’s face nothing stirred, his grunt was non-committal. I left it a few minutes and sipped my coffee. Of course Fabjan would have heard the talk, so would the whole of Gost; they would discuss it just like the pair in the bakery, stopping before they took a step too far and betrayed themselves. I pressed on. ‘They thought he was dead. And then he turns up. They say his daughter was with him. Maybe it was the first time she had been there. I wonder how much he told her.’

Fabjan licked his lips, a slow sweep of the thick tip of his tongue across the top lip in one direction and back the other way across the bottom. He sniffed deeply.

I said, ‘I wonder if they’ll stay.’

Fabjan turned his head slowly in my direction. ‘Do you want something?’ he snapped. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy?’

Back at the blue house I satisfied myself the fountain would do all that was required of it in the evening. Late afternoon I walked the hills with the dogs, counted roe buck and some deer. I thought about Matthew and my promise to take him hunting. I used to take businessmen hunting from time to time, to make a bit of extra money. Some people, when they come to it, can’t bring themselves to pull the trigger. Nothing wrong with that, the hunt teaches you about yourself. They never come again. Others come only wanting to kill; they don’t have any patience for the work of tracking, the long waits and the cold. When the chance comes, they’ll shoot anything, even a doe with a fawn. I’ve seen it happen. Over the years I’ve learned to recognise the type. Now I prefer to hunt alone. But Matthew — I couldn’t imagine a boy like him waiting motionless as dusk fell, not making a sound. And though he had done well enough out with the targets, I still couldn’t see him holding his nerve steady enough to take the final shot.

By eight o’clock I was back at the blue house wearing a fresh shirt. To make more of the occasion I’d strung up some lights which made Grace very happy. There was something strange about her appearance and after a minute or two I put my finger on it. She had pasted a heavy layer of blue eyeshadow onto her eyelids, otherwise her face was bare: no mascara or lipstick. It gave her face a clownish look.

Matthew came down. ‘Hey, man, Grace says there’s going to be a surprise. Do you know what it is?’ He fetched two beers and handed me one. Laura appeared with a glass of wine in her hand; she wore a touch of pale pink lipstick and her lashes were dark with mascara. It seemed strange that she didn’t take her daughter aside and show her how to fix herself properly. When I was young I sometimes watched my sisters transform themselves. Once I’d even sat alone at the dressing table in the room they shared — lair of scents and secrets, where I loved to spy and eavesdrop — and brushed rouge onto my cheeks, found a stub of lipstick and applied it to my lips. I must have been eight or nine. Later I forgot this and when my mother called me for my tea I ran downstairs. ‘Eh, Duro!’ My mother clapped a hand over her mouth. My father looked up from the newspaper and began to laugh. Daniela — she had left school at sixteen and was already training to become a beautician — turned me around in my chair. With her thumb she blended the edges of my eyeshadow, pinched my cheeks and said, ‘There, you look beautiful. Eat your food.’

‘Grace said you were coming,’ said Laura. She came up to me and, for the first time, kissed me on each cheek. She turned those slanted eyes of hers on me and narrowed them so they wrinkled at the corners. The overall effect was extremely attractive. ‘I wonder what it is. But I bet you can keep a secret, Duro. Don’t worry, I shan’t bully you. I love surprises.’

Salad and pizza, made by Grace during her kitchen frenzy. Laura opened a bottle of red wine. In the quiet you could hear the sound of cars on the main road.

‘Something must be going on,’ said Laura.

‘Wedding reception,’ I said. ‘The season has begun. From now every Saturday there will be a big party at the hotel. It will go on late and everyone will be drunk. Then they’ll fight.’

We ate and drank. Coffee cake for dessert. When it was nearly dark I nodded to Grace and she slipped into the house and put on a CD. There was music. ‘Ah,’ smiled Laura. ‘Handel. Now I wonder what that could possibly mean.’ I stood up and threw the switch on the fountain. Water bubbled up and rippled down the sides of the sphere of stone. This part of the display lasted about a minute. Then from the sides of the pool frothy plumes of water shot up into the air, dropped down and rose again. Next I turned on the lights to reveal the mosaic. Underneath the water the fish appeared to move, the weeds ripple. What a spectacle! Cheering and clapping. More drink, we popped a cork and toasted the fountain. Laura allowed Grace a glass and Matthew helped himself freely. Grace sneezed and hiccuped. We sang ‘Jailhouse Rock’, which was being played on the radio a lot for some reason. Our singing subsided into chatter. Grace and Matthew began some kind of guessing game I had no hope of entering, as it seemed to rely on knowing a great deal about famous people. Laura joined in and then withdrew. Grace complained the game couldn’t be played with two people, but somehow she and Matthew carried on. Matthew changed the music. In this way it grew late.

Around midnight a car cruised by. It drove neither fast nor slowly. I watched it pass. Laura sat, her head tilted back, looking at the stars. At the end of the road the beam of headlights swept the field opposite as the driver turned, the fractious whine of the engine, tyres slipping on the gravel, whorls of dust rose in the cones of light. After a pause the car began heading back. Laura noticed nothing, sighed and drew her shawl round her shoulders. The headlights of the car switched to full beam. Now I rose from my chair. The vehicle picked up speed and as it drew parallel to the house slowed. The sound of a woman’s coarse laughter. The driver gunned the engine. A gobbet of spit caught the light as it flew through the air, an obscenity hurled in English was left echoing in the darkness and something else — a glowing arc which landed in the grass in front of the table and exploded with a sharp crack. Laura jumped and screamed. The car drove on.

At first nobody moved. Laura stood, her hands across her mouth. All of us stared in the direction of the car: the tail lights could just be seen dipping in and out of view as the car rounded the bends of the road.

Matthew said, ‘Fucking hell!’

‘Matthew!’ said Laura automatically.

‘Drunks,’ I said. ‘From town, probably looking for somewhere to smoke weed. Nothing to worry about. They’re not coming back.’

‘Why did they shout at us?’ asked Matthew.

‘They saw us sitting out in the evening having a nice time, so they tried to spoil it. Ignore them. It was just a firework. They think they’re being funny.’

‘They told us to go home, in as many words,’ said Matthew.

‘Because they guessed you’re foreigners. Some of the kids, they call themselves nationalists. They have no idea what it means.’

‘They didn’t seem that young,’ said Grace.

‘But still idiots, yes?’

Laura said, ‘I’m sure Duro’s right. We mustn’t take it to heart. Are you two OK?’

Matthew shrugged. ‘I guess.’ Grace nodded, her face pale.

‘Then let’s clear these things up. Come on, everybody carry one thing inside.’

We cleared the table together, after which Matthew said, ‘I’m going to hit the sack, I think.’

‘Me too.’ Grace followed her elder brother.

I said, ‘Goodnight, both of you. Hey, Grace, the fountain is great.’ I gave her a thumbs-up. She gave me a thin smile.

‘Thanks, Duro.’ And she headed up the stairs.

Laura turned off the music, whose beat had accompanied the incident and its aftermath. ‘That’s better. Now, there’s a bit left in the bottle. What do you say to a nightcap? Shall we have a last glass?’

We carried the remainder of a bottle outside, where the air was cool and soft. Laura went back inside and came out with a packet of Malboro Lights. She smoked one, drawing deep lungfuls of smoke. We drank without speaking.

In the silence you could hear, carried across the field from Gost, music.

‘I told you,’ I said. ‘Drunks from a wedding.’

‘Yes, I am sure you’re right.’

‘If you are worried I can sleep here — on the couch.’

‘Now that would be asking too much.’

‘It’s OK.’

‘I’d feel much more relaxed if there was a man in the house. I know I have Matthew but —’

I interrupted her. ‘Laura, it’s no problem.’

I sat on the edge of the couch and wound my father’s watch just as I did every night. Counted the revolutions of the winder between finger and thumb, stopped at ten, same as always. When I was eight my father bought me a watch and that first night he showed me how to wind it. He told me to remember to do so every night and be careful not to overwind it. The best way to do this was by winding the watch at the same time every night and counting the number of turns I gave the winder. Of course, left alone, I wound the watch as far as it would go and broke the spring.

My father looked at the stopped watch. ‘What’s the difference between apes and humans? Apes learn by experience.’ He had the watch fixed and gave it back to me. ‘See if you can make it last longer this time, chief.’

My father’s watch had a black face, a large 6 and 12. The chrome was pitted, the face water-stained. I should have it cleaned, but that would mean opening it up and, since the day I took it from his wrist, I’d never let the watch stop. I held it to my ear, and then in my palm, watched the staccato sweep of the second hand. I laid it on the floor and placed my head on the pillow Laura had brought down for me. I lay still and let the rhythm of my heart join the rhythm of the watch’s ticking. I thought of the three other hearts beating on the floor above me, three different rhythms, the walls of the blue house pulsating with them.

In the night I woke once and listened to the sound of the breeze through the tree tops, the whispers and murmurs of the house: the roof, walls and floors, windows, shifting with the wind, keening with the myriad, minute movements of the earth beneath the foundations. The low hum of the fountain pump. Above it all the water, like a descant sung by a choir. I rolled over on the narrow couch, stood up and went to the window. A waxing moon in an empty sky cast an unwavering light, creating shadows of the deepest blue. The wedding party had finally worn itself out. For a moment I thought I saw the silhouette of a man standing beyond the hedge across the road. I watched, but it was nothing, a sign on a post and a trick of the light.

The next morning was Sunday. The family slept late. I walked to my house to let Kos and Zeka out and returned bringing yoghurt and honey. I picked some wild flowers and put them in a jar of water. Laura was up, sleepy-eyed, she apologised for putting me to trouble. Matthew and Grace appeared and Laura started making breakfast, scrambling eggs and cutting bread for toast. Once she stood behind Matthew’s chair and pressed her nose and lips to the crown of his head. Matthew, who took no notice of these shows of affection, carried on chewing his food. As I watched them casually touching, leaning over or against, nudging and bumping, they reminded me of animals in their lair, treading on each other on their way in and out, or in search of a better position, at night pressing themselves against each other in search of warmth.

I thought how fine it would be to have a son, though perhaps one with a bit more spine than Matthew. A daughter like Grace would be a fine thing. Fabjan had sons, God only knew if he had other children with his girlfriends. Maybe the new girl was already pregnant, maybe that’s why she looked so depressed. Fabjan was the kind who’d press a girl into an abortion. Even Krešimir was married and had a child. As for me, I had my sister and my mother. No one else.

Suddenly I felt like being on my own. I stood up. Thanks and goodbyes. Nobody was asking me to go but on the other hand nor did they beg me to stay. Once home I exercised hard, heaving myself up to the cross bar above the door. Afterwards my muscles ached, but I still felt tense; in the pit of my stomach lay a queasy anticipation, like when I was challenged to a fight at school. I’d wake up after a night of dreaming, I’d have forgotten and then the memory would come back, and my stomach would collapse into my bowels with fear but also a fluttering excitement, knowing there could be no turning back, no choice but to see it through.

I picked up a fork and went to work in the garden turning over the soil in one of the beds. The ground was parched and rock hard, each strike set the fork quivering and shock waves travelled through my arms, my shoulder blades and back down into my guts. Forty minutes passed. When I stood up to wipe the sweat from my eyes I saw Grace coming down the road. She was alone, wearing a dress and the hat she’d bought in Zadar, a plain straw hat with a narrow brim. She smiled, waved. I said, ‘You look smart. Where are you going?’

She smiled shyly. ‘To church. I just came to ask which one is the nicest.’

‘St Mary’s or Annunciation. Both. You need to hurry though.’

‘What about the other one?’

‘Those are the only two.’

‘No, there’s a third. We drive past it all the time.’

‘That’s the Orthodox church,’ I said. ‘There are no longer services held there.’

‘Oh,’ said Grace. ‘Why?’

‘It’s closed down. Come on. I’ll walk you to St Mary’s. My mother’s favourite. Smaller than Annunciation and much more beautiful. They have a big tree outside at Christmas. We can walk along the river.’ The Orthodox church had been beautiful too, with paintings instead of statues, of the saints doing what saints did, painted on the wooden panels of the walls, deep dense colours.

I pulled a shirt on, called the dogs and met Grace at the front of the house. I said, ‘Your mother and brother don’t go to church?’

‘No. Matt thinks it’s dumb. Mum says she doesn’t see why anyone should have to go to church to worship.’

‘And you do?’

‘Not really. I just like it. I like the music and the singing, you know, and the quiet. I don’t know yet if I believe in God. I’m sort of waiting to find out. If I do I’m going to be confirmed. Some of my friends were confirmed last year, but I didn’t do it. Actually, I think they just wanted the presents.’ She marched heavily up the hill. Ahead of us a magpie bounced from tree to road. Zeka lunged sloppily. The bird bounced back up. We reached the bridge.

‘Careful, it’s steep,’ I warned. I ducked under the railing at the near end of the bridge where a rough path led down to the riverside and joined a gravelled path on a high bank. The gravel path was overhung by birch and willow trees and followed the course of the river towards the centre of Gost. The surface of the water shivered beneath a light wind, the clusters of water lilies shook, in the middle of the river were two pontoons used as floats at Christmas and by swimmers in the summer.

Grace followed unsteadily, panting, still talking as though she’d waited all her life in silence for the opportunity. ‘Laura married in church twice. First to my dad and then Conor. That time I was bridesmaid; I wore a yellow dress. The kids at school teased me about her wearing white. I thought it was kind of odd too, actually. Because you’re supposed to be, well you know, a virgin. Anyway. When I was little she used to call herself Aura. She hates anyone mentioning it.’ Grace giggled and bit her bottom lip as though to stop her mouth from opening; her eyes widened in shock at herself, she frowned and said, ‘I shouldn’t have told you that. Don’t say anything, will you?’

I shook my head. ‘Your father, where is he? Is he alive?’

‘Yes, of course he’s alive. He lives on a boat and sails around the world.’

‘Is that true?’

‘No, I made it up. I wish he did. He lives in Edinburgh.’

‘Do you see him?’

‘Not very often.’ She shrugged. ‘I think Matt has an idea about going to live with him, but Conor’s richer and so we live with Mum and Conor. I’m not sure Dad really cares much, though he doesn’t actually say so. Anyway, I like Conor, he’s been around a lot more than our real dad has. It’s just that him and Matt don’t get on. But then Matt doesn’t get on with lots of people.’

‘What about you and your father?’

‘I don’t think he knows I exist.’

I said, ‘That’s sad.’

‘It’s OK. I never really knew him anyway.’

The path swung away from the riverside, behind one of the old grain stores. ‘There’s the church. Up there. One hundred metres.’

‘Thank you,’ said Grace. She kissed me on the cheek. I stood in the shadow of the trees with Kos and Zeka and watched her go.

I remembered the last time I was in St Mary’s Church. How many years ago was it? I’d taken this same path to town without knowing why, I changed my course, walked to St Mary’s and went inside. The church was empty, it was that time of day. I sat in a pew. I didn’t know why I was there, I hadn’t been to church in many years, not since Daniela and my father were buried, except for the funerals that followed, I attended one or two of those, I remember how the services became shorter and shorter as demand on the priest’s time grew. After a while I stood up to leave, and decided at the last moment to light a candle for Daniela and my father. I placed it among the huddle of dead and fluttering flames at the plaster feet of the statue of the Virgin in the small chapel. Of the several statues of her in the church, this had always been my favourite, ever since I was a small boy: her open hands, the slight downward and sideways turn of the head, which on that day made her appear to have noticed me and be listening. I knelt down and pressed my head against the low wooden altar. I thought to say a prayer for the souls of my family members, but I couldn’t bring myself to it. If there was a God, I wouldn’t be lighting candles and praying for them.

Instead I prayed for the one thing I wanted more than anything else. I didn’t care if it was blasphemy and if it was, then God could strike me down. I prayed for the death of Krešimir.