Forbidden Fruit (31 page)

Then Jason, who is as strong as a donkey, got out the cleaning things. Goss and I walked to the bank, because we were so tired we were afraid that either of us, alone, might just sit down in the
gutter and cry. I escorted Goss back to the lift, gave her a fifty-dollar bonus, and told her to soak her feet in hot water. That was what I was going to do.

I realised, as I plodded into the bakery again to collect Horatio, that all my shopping, tons of it, would be piled up in my kitchen waiting to be put away, and I quailed. I would at least have to find the things for the freezer before they melted. My ex never put things away. I just couldn’t face it. I was, as Grandpa Chapman would have said when Grandma couldn’t hear him, like Barney’s bull: buggered.

But with my furry assistant I slowly ascended the stairs. Courage, Corinna! My head was thumping and my feet felt like lead. Then I opened the door and found that 1) the shopping had all been put away, 2) there was a hot bath with bath foam already run, and 3) the gorgeous Daniel stood ready to provide me with a large drink, compounded to a secret recipe of his own. He called it a Baker’s Bracer.

I flung myself into his arms and burst into tears. How did I deserve such a gorgeous man?

He detached me long enough to ply me with the drink, which tasted like iced pineapple juice and various other tropical things. Orange, maybe? Coconut milk? I drank it. I bathed in luxury. I was put to bed and I fell asleep instantly, glowing with gratitude.

And I awoke just as grateful. Daniel had gone out, leaving me a note. My feet had recovered. It was four am and time to get my act together for a day which would be as hard as the day before. This time, I boiled an egg for my breakfast. I made sandwiches for Kylie and me. I took the big picnic thermos and filled it with ice and lemon cordial. We were going to be prepared.

Jason seemed little the worse for a day which would have crippled a carthorse. He had been up all night, it appeared,
making muffins and many more Christmas cakes. He wanted me to draft a note which would tell the customers to douse the cake in either good brandy, sherry or orange juice for a couple of days so that it would keep. I did so as the ovens came on and the air conditioning roared. The weather had been stinking now for four days straight. I liked this planet much better before there were people on it. And all the hydrocarbons were in the ground where they belonged.

My plans worked. Now we knew that we were not going to get any respite, we organised to take time off, we ate sandwiches, and we survived much better. We were coining money. This time I escorted Kylie to the bank in case anyone thought we might be worth robbing, because we were. However, the day was free of anyone in a balaclava and we walked back through the heat only exhausted, not partially slain.

I gave Kylie a bonus. She just nodded and got into the lift. Horatio was waiting at the door into my apartment. Jason was not getting on with the cleaning, but putting a series of little patties into the big frying pan.

‘Just want to try these out,’ he said to me. ‘For Sarah’s rehearsal. We’re all invited. I’m making munchies.’

‘What’s in them?’ I asked, not very interested.

‘That textured vegetable protein stuff, mashed potato and spring onions and so on. They ought to be like little fritters and there’s a tomato and chilli sauce. She’s using Rowan’s computer to do a menu.’

‘Right,’ I said, plodding towards the stairs.

‘And she’s expecting us all to come,’ he added.

‘Right,’ I repeated.

Too much to expect the same service as the day before. Daniel was not there. But the makings of a drink were set out on the counter, together with a plate of Uncle Solly’s salt beef
on rye. A Baker’s Bracer, I learnt, was composed of orange and pineapple juice, tonic water, coconut liqueur and Cointreau. Horatio and I washed, lunched, drank, and lay down for a nap. I set the alarm to wake me at six. Tonight, at least, I would like to see Daniel and have dinner. Only two more days of this, and we would stay a whole day in bed, only getting up (possibly) for meals.

When I woke at six Daniel was still not there. I defrosted a serve of something indistinguishable under the ice. One thing I must do when I had time was unload the freezer and retrieve all those labels which hadn’t stuck properly. The dark mass turned out to be a good meaty, creamy beef stroganoff. I ate it with bread as I could not be bothered finding the noodles and cooking them. Jason tapped at the door. He had a tray in his hands.

‘Thought I might bring you some dinner, Cap’n,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Come in,’ I invited. ‘What do you have there? Coke in the fridge,’ I added, confident that there was.

‘I got lots of vegan nibbles,’ he said. ‘Hummus, tzatziki and beetroot dips. Crudités,’ said Jason, pronouncing them correctly. ‘Baked tofu nuggets with crushed nuts. Little vegie meatballs cooked in vegie stock. Corn cakes. Lentil loaf with walnuts. Not them meat patties. They didn’t work properly, so I’m going to make sausage rolls. Bit hard, no cream or eggs, no milk, no gluten—this soy stuff is strange. But have a taste, Captain!’

I had done many things for love, including watching nine hockey games, so I prepared to taste the nibbles and not lie more than was proper.

And actually they were quite tasty. Nothing to object to at all. I suppressed the thought that what the lentil loaf needed was a big slab of blue cheese. Jason watched me narrowly as I ate
one of each category, which was quite enough after all that beef stroganoff (with cream).

‘No, they’re very good,’ I told him.

‘Ace. Knew I could rely on you, Cap’n, even if you are a meat eater. I’m going back now to do the fruit things. And the sausages rolls. Cold’s best for this weather, that’s good.’

‘When is this concert?’

‘Tonight,’ he said. ‘At eight. In the roof garden.’

‘Right,’ I said.

He took his tray and went back to the kitchen. I was at a loose end. Finally I decided I might do my email. And from thence, idly, and then with increasing horror, I googled the words of the little song sung to the tune of ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’.

Haarmann, it appeared, was a murderer. So was Vargas. So was Pearce. He was the convict who walked out into the wilderness with companions and was recaptured alone. Albert Fish was a degenerate who murdered children. Sawney Beane was a (possibly mythical, I really hoped so) bandit who haunted Scotland, had an incestuous tribe of appalling children and grandchildren, and was executed in a style which matched his murders in brutality.

They were all cannibals. Pearce said that he preferred human flesh because it ‘tasted like pork’. And when I found out the meaning of Soylent Green I was out of the apartment on my way to Jason’s apartment with the speed of terror.

Fortunately I was in time. Bunny was flaked out on the couch. Without much argument, Jason handed over the little packets of textured vegetable protein given to him by Janeen. Possibly he, too, an experienced cook, had been uneasy about them. I let him
keep the stuff which came in the box labelled
Tempeh
. I carried my horrible little package home and lodged it, enclosed in three separate plastic bags, in the freezer. After a moment’s thought, I took the parcel out again and stuck on a label which said, simply,
Poison
.

Then I made myself a nice cup of tea, which I deserved. I thought about being sick, decided that I was not so weak, and drank my tea.

When Daniel came in at seven I was quite calm. We ate an omelette with smoked trout and drank a glass or two of white wine. We dressed in garments suitable for a concert in the open air in Australia: my loose boho skirts and blouse and Daniel’s shorts and shirt. We doused ourselves in insect repellent. I made a few preparations of my own, and then we ascended to the roof garden, where all was in readiness for the concert.

Trudi had soaked the garden in her hoarded grey water, then rinsed it in fresh water, so that it smelt divine. The ground steamed slightly. We joined our fellow tenants on wicker chairs set out in a half-circle around the opening of the grotto of the goddess Ceres, which had seats for the musicians and space for the singers. I looked around. Mrs Dawson was present, wearing a dress made apparently of two pieces of ochre cloth, tacked together at shoulder and wrist. It was patterned with dark brown trees rising from the hem. Outrageous and only she could have worn it. The Professor was in attendance upon her. Jason was staring at the spot where Sarah would shortly appear, in rapture. Trudi and Therese were talking about plant fibres. The girls, in skimpy floaty gowns, looked uncomfortable.
Is this going to be boring?
would have been in the thought bubble over their heads. Mrs Pemberthy was sitting in the furthest chair, not speaking to any of us, which was a mercy. Jon and Kepler, an educated audience, were reading the program notes. The Lone Gunmen—Taz,
Rat and Gully—had not come and had not been expected. Mistress Dread, in her ‘Pat’ persona, was wearing a linen walking costume, circa 1912. Meroe was wearing a bright scarlet shawl, which might or might not have been a good sign.

And I was not in a mood to appreciate Vaughan Williams, great composer though he was.

Daniel put an arm around me.

‘What’s afoot, Sherlock?’ he whispered into my ear.

‘You won’t believe it,’ I whispered back. ‘Just come with me when I corral the singers after the concert.’

‘All right,
ketschele
,’ he said agreeably. ‘We have the Vaughan Williams first, to put us in the mood, then carols, then supper.’

I did not reply. I was rehearsing in my head the fine stinging words I had in store for certain young persons to be delivered not two hours hence, and I did not want to let go of my outrage, which was enlivening me.

But when the unsupported tenor began ‘This is the truth sent from above’, I was caught up in the music. The string players were used to playing together and managed well, even in the open air with mosquitos zooming down to bite them in mid-cadenza. The melodies were all familiar, the singing was very competent with only a few minor hiccups, and I was swept away. When the first half finished, I had difficulty dragging myself back to the present.

But I did so, accepting a cup of herbal tea and an almond biscuit and listening to the girls exclaim, ‘It’s all right! Not boring at all! Who’d ha’ thought?’ All around me the audience were smiling. I saw the singers exchange glances of complete relief. It had worked. That was the hard bit. Now there were carols, and they had been singing them for weeks.

We sang ‘Good King Wenceslas’, ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’, ‘In Dulci Jubilo’, ‘God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen’. It was lovely. We clapped and cheered. We got an encore of ‘Past Three O’clock’.

Then it was time for supper, which was to be laid out in the temple. Chairs were shifted, a trestle set up, and Jason and Sarah went down to Rowan’s apartment to fetch the food. I waited until Jason came back and then sent him down to my apartment to bring the makings for sangria which I had left on the bench.

‘So these are all vegetarian?’ asked Mrs Dawson, allowing the Professor to fetch her a small plate with a selection of olives and a slice of lentil bread. Everyone took some of the nibbles. I was watching the singers. Alexander was talking on a mobile phone. Michael was discussing chess with Jon and Kepler and seemed unworried. Bec was talking tulip culture with Trudi and deploring the drought. Janeen looked small and meek, as she always did, but Rowan was sweating more than the weather required and Sarah was alight with excitement. And when I caught Rupert stealthily walking away with the plate of Janeen’s textured protein sausage rolls, I called them to the side.

‘Rowan, Janeen, Sarah, Rupert, might I have a word? In the apartment, if you please. Sorry to take your singers,’ I said to the gathering. ‘Urgent food conference. Come along.’ Daniel squeezed into the stairwell to make sure that no one broke and ran back to the garden. I waited as Rowan opened his door and we all went in, including Rupert and the sausage rolls. He did not know, of course, that I had taken Janeen’s ingredients away.

‘The others are very young and stupid, but I would have expected better of you,’ I exclaimed.

He shifted uneasily, a very embarrassed bear.

‘I wouldn’t have let it happen really,’ he protested. ‘But they were so urgent about it, and …’

‘You wanted to see if they would go through with it,’ I concluded.

‘Well, yes. I mean, it’s the ultimate taboo, isn’t it?’

‘That’s the trouble,’ I told him. ‘Can you imagine what effect your little sideshow might have had on civilised people like the Professor and Mrs Dawson, who aren’t young and might collapse? You stole the human flesh from the operating room disposal bin, didn’t you?’ I demanded of Janeen. ‘And you had such fun tantalising us, singing your little nursery rhyme—“Haarmann, Pearce and Soylent Green, Vargas, Fish and Sawney Beane”. Snickering at the idea that all the stupid mundanes had to do was google the names and they’d know what you were up to.’

‘They deserved it,’ cut in Sarah self-righteously. ‘They eat flesh and wear leather and have no compassion.’

‘Oh, such as the compassion you showed Jason,’ said Daniel. ‘You found out all about him, you know he’s a recovering heroin addict, and you used him to make your filthy sausages.’

‘He’s a boy. He’ll recover,’ she retorted, and Daniel grabbed my hand just in time. I have never wanted to slap a human so much in my whole life.

‘Soylent green,’ I said, as calmly as I could. ‘Harry Harrison story. The world is so short of food that the only available protein is soylent green, and that is made of people.’

‘It’s a solution,’ said Janeen, speaking for the first time.

‘Jonathan Swift in his cruellest satire said the same thing,’ I told her. ‘His Modest Proposal to solve the famine in Ireland was for the Irish to eat their own children.’

‘It’s a way out!’ she said with mounting fervour. ‘What else have we in huge quantities but people? They breed and breed so that the earth cannot support them. They’re protein. It would be better if everyone stopped eating meat, but if they have to eat meat, then they can eat each other! Otherwise we are all going to starve!’