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“I have a direct line to the mayor and we all know council amalgamation is a big issue for the state government. We’re not averse to taking our complaints higher if we don’t get what we want.”
“You’d complain to the state government about one homeless man?”
“You’re deliberately missing the point, Natalie. This is not about one man, this is about residents, rate payers’ rights.”
Drum had heard enough. Two petitions; one against his right to stay in the cave, one for it. And for this group he was nothing more than a symbol of some other agenda they wanted attention for. He backed off, let them have their protest in the sun, their picture in the paper. He bet they’d be off to their designer homes, coffee makers and televisions before the afternoon rolled around, and it’d be safe for him to go home too.
He turned to walk towards Fat Barney’s; Paul had promised him work revarnishing the outdoor tables, and came face to face with a woman.
“I’ve seen you before,” she said.
He’d seen her before too. Out wandering the sculptures like he’d done. He gave her a nod and stepped around her.
“Are you him? Are you Drum? Are you the man who lives in the cave?”
She’d spoken loudly, this woman in a skimpy top and a floaty long skirt. He remembered the clothing, the bright colours she’d worn. He kept walking. At Fat Barney’s he got stuck into the varnishing.
He wasn’t sure Foley would come. She’d done her job, was finished with him. She had no more reason to care, except he was still a controversy, a poke in her ribs she could do without. He didn’t want her to come. But when Paul offered him food to go, he chose the chicken Caesar salad and took a jumbo portion, and on the way back to the cave he bartered with Tony. Tomorrow he’d mop the storeroom at Fruitopia if tonight he could take two mangoes, two peaches, two plums, a bunch of green grapes and a bottle of sparkling mineral water.
So he did think she was coming and he didn’t know whether to be angry or elated about that. But he’d over-catered either way.
He’d had a lot of time to think since frightening Foley, and he’d chosen deliberately not to think about her. But she was there just the same, under his eyelids, embedded in his fingernails, hidden between his ribs. She was brighter than the sun, cleaner than the air, more vibrant than the sky on the clearest blue sky day. He’d made her afraid and yet she didn’t back down. She tried to joke. She tried to touch him. And he’d wanted that, wanted her slaps, her wasp sting punches or the shy graze or her fingertips. Any of it. All of it. But that night at the bent tree, if he’d taken her hand when she offered, he might never have let her go.
If she came now, he wouldn’t shout at her, he wouldn’t scare her. He’d try to show her he was still human, still capable of reasoning. And the least he could do was feed her.
It was late into the sunset, its pale pinks and golds, when she came. He heard her call, a shouted whisper. Not his name. His name was obviously common knowledge now. Anyone could know it now, not just the people he did work for; the ones he trusted. Now dog walkers, kite flyers and tai-chi doers, men in big straw hats with comb-overs thought they knew what was best for him one way or another.
It was hard to believe he’d given everything away only to have this problem again, the problem of uncertain fame. But he couldn’t very well ditch this name as well. This one he was stuck with.
She called, “You better not be home,” and it made him smile.
He met her on the top ledge like the very first time. “I’ve disappointed you.”
She tried to look angry but delight leaked into her eyes and animated the shake of her head. “Do you want to come to the park?”
He was already on his way up and over to go back to the cave. “No, have you eaten?” He looked over his shoulder at her, caught another head shake. “Come, let me feed you.”
She came without protest, but he knew it was only on pause. When she hit the cave floor she said, “What do you mean feed me? Why did you come back? It’s not all over. How long have you been back? Did you really go, or did you just pull a swifty on me? Is that a smile? Are you smiling at me, you terrible scary hermit squatter cav
eman?”
“Are you finished?”
She made a sound like gah, like a cartoon character, her mouth open, her brows raised in surprise.
“Yes, that was a smile. I can do it. I haven’t forgotten how.” He tried it out on her again and she gave a short bark of laughter and spun a cartoonish circle with her hand to her forehead as though she might faint.
“I knew you’d come back,” she said, trying to sound annoyed, failing beautifully.
He smiled at her again. He almost laughed at her. “One petition neutralises the other.”
“No.” She shook her head. “There are now twice the amount of people with an opinion about you.”
And not one of them knew the truth. “Opinions are cheap.”
She put her hands to her hips. “Are you having a dig at me?”
“Sure sounds like it. Would you like to eat? I don’t have a table anymore so you’ll need your lap, but I have a chicken salad and fruit and mineral water. Plastic crockery and cutlery, so you can trust me with a knife.”
