I Am the Messenger (32 page)

A week treads past.

In the cab of that night, from Cabramatta Road, Auburn, Marv had just sat there, bleeding onto my passenger seat. He touched his mouth and his lip opened up, and the blood came sliding out, seeping. When it stained the seat, I told him off, of course.

He said one thing to that.

“Thanks, Ed.”

I think he was glad to still be treated the same—even though he and I would never be friends like we once were. We had this in our memories now.

As I pull out of the Vacant Taxis lot one morning, I’m stopped by Marge. She comes hurrying out, waving me down. Once I’ve stopped and wound the window down, she hauls in her breath and says, “Glad I caught you—there’s a job got called in for you last night, Ed. It sounded personal.” I notice today that Marge has a lot of wrinkles. Somehow, they add to her friendliness. “I didn’t want to broadcast it on the radio later on….”

“Where is it?” I ask.

“It was a woman, Ed, or a girl, and she requested you specifically. Twelve o’clock today.”

I feel and know it.

“Cabramatta Road?” I ask. “Auburn?”

Marge nods.

I thank her and Marge gives me a “No worries, love,” and my first instinct is to call Marv straightaway and tell him. I don’t. The customer has to come first. I
am
a professional, after all. No, instead I drive past where he’s been working lately, at a new subdivision out close to Glory Road. His father’s truck’s there, and that’s all I need to know. I drive on.

At noon, I pull up outside Suzanne Boyd’s abode in Auburn. She comes out promptly with her daughter and a special car seat.

We pause a moment.

Suzanne has long hair like honey and coffee eyes, though much darker than mine. No milk in them. She’s skinny. Her daughter’s got the same color hair but still fairly short. It curls around her ears, and she smiles at me.

“This is Ed Kennedy,” her mother says to her. “Say hello, sweetheart.”

“Hello, Ed Kennedy,” the girl says.

I crouch down. “And what’s your name?” It was Marv who got her in the eyes.

“Melinda Boyd.” The kid has a prize smile.

“She’s great,” I tell Suzanne.

“Thanks.”

She opens the back door and straps her in. It hits me hard that Suzanne really is a mother. I look on as her hands make sure Melinda’s safely in the seat. She’s as pretty as she always was.

Suzanne works part-time. She hates her father. She hates herself for never fighting. She regrets everything.

“But I love Melinda,” she says. “She’s the one piece of beauty among all this ugly.” Suzanne sits next to her daughter and catches me in the mirror. “She makes me worth it, you know?”

I start the car and drive.

Only the engine sound fills the car while Melinda Boyd sleeps, but when she wakes up, she plays and talks and dances with her hands.

“Do you hate me, Ed?” Suzanne asks as we approach town. I recall Audrey asking me the same question.

I only look back in the mirror and say, “Why should I?”

“For what I’ve done to Marv.”

The words that come to me are actually quite succinct. Maybe I’d rehearsed them subconsciously. I simply say, “You were a kid, Suzie. Marv was a kid…. And your father was your father…. In a way,” I tell her, “I feel for him. He’s pretty hurt.”

“Yes, but what I did to Marv was unforgivable.”

“You’re in this cab, aren’t you?” I look at her in back again.

After some thought, Suzanne Boyd gives me an acknowledging look and says, “You know, Ed?” Her head shakes. “No one’s ever spoken to my father the way you did.”

“Or faced him like Marv.”

She nods her agreement.

I tell her I can take her to where Marv’s working, but she asks me to stop at a nearby playground.

“Good thinking,” I reply, and she waits.

There’s a gap in Marv’s hammering at the site. He’s up high, with a few nails in his mouth. I take the chance, calling up. “I think you’d better come with me, Marv.”

He sees the intent in my expression, pauses, spits the nails, drops his tool belt, and comes toward me. In the car, I think he’s more nervous than the other night.

When we make it to the playground, we both get out. “They’re waiting,” I tell him, but I don’t think he hears. I sit on the hood of my cab, and Marv walks hesitantly on.

The grass is dry and yellow and not maintained. It’s an old playground. A nice old one, with a big iron slippery dip, swings with chains, and a splinter-arse seesaw—just as it should be. No plastic vomit anywhere.

A slight wind taps the grass.

When Marv turns to look at me, I see the fear crouch down in his eyes. He walks slowly to the play equipment, where Suzanne Boyd waits. Melinda sits on one of the swings.

Marv looks so big.

His walk and hands and his worry.

I hear nothing, but I can see they’re talking, and Marv’s giant-looking hand shakes that of his daughter. I can see he wants to hold her, hug her, squeeze her, but he doesn’t.

Melinda jumps back on the swing, and after looking at Suzanne for permission, Marv gently, gently pushes his daughter into the air.

After a few minutes, Suzanne quietly escapes and comes back to stand with me.

“He’s good with her,” she softly says.

“He is.” I smile for my friend.

We hear Melinda’s shrill voice now. “Higher, Marvin Harris! Higher, please!”

He gradually pushes harder. He touches his daughter’s back with both hands, and she laughs loud and pure into the sky.

When she’s had enough, Marv stops the swing. The girl climbs off and grabs his hand and walks her father back toward us. Even from far away, I can see that Marv has tears on his face as clear as glass.

Marv’s smile and the giant glass tears on his face are two of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

I don’t sleep that night—the day of the swings.

With each passing moment, I see Marv pushing that girl into the air, or I see him walking back with her, hand in hand. Close to midnight, I hear Marv’s voice at the door. When I open it, he stands there, looking exactly how he feels.

“Come out,” he says, and when I do, my friend Marvin Harris hugs me. He hugs me so hard that I can smell him and taste the joy that leaks from inside him.

So Ritchie and Marv are done. I’ve delivered those messages as best I can.

Now there’s only one left.

Audrey.

I don’t want to waste time. I’ve come so far since the holdup. I’ve plowed through eleven messages, and this is the last of them. The most important one.

The next night I go straight to Audrey’s place and watch. For a while, I expect Daryl and Keith to show up again, but they don’t. I know what I’m doing, and whenever that’s the case, I seem to be left alone.

I don’t sit exactly across from Audrey’s place, but in a small park a bit further down her street. It’s a new playground. All plastic and small. The grass is trimmed and neat.

Her town house is in one of those complexes with about eight or nine other places. They all seem stapled together. The cars are parked out front in rows.

I go there three nights. Each time, Simon shows up, but he never sees me camped out in the park. He has his mind firmly on Audrey and what they’re going to do. Even from the distance of the park, I can see the desire on him as he drives in.

Once he’s inside, I walk closer, to the letter boxes, and look.

They eat.

They have sex.

They drink.

They have more sex.

The sound of it slides under the door as I stand there, remembering the conversation I had with Simon at Christmas when he picked me up at Milla’s.

I know what I have to give to Audrey.

Audrey doesn’t love anyone.

She refuses.

But she loves me.

She loves me, and for one moment in time, she needs to allow it. She needs to hold it. Know it completely. Just once.

All three nights, I stay till morning. Simon leaves before the sun comes up. He must be rostered on for early morning in the city.

On the third night, I think it.

Tomorrow
.

Yes.

I’ll do it tomorrow
.

Just before I head over to Audrey’s place the next night, Marv’s at my front door again, this time with a question.

I walk out, and he refuses to follow me.

From the porch, he says, “Do you still need that money, Ed?” He looks at me, concerned. “I’m sorry—I forgot all about it.”

“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “I don’t think I’ll be needing it after all.”

I’ve got an old derelict cassette player under my arm with a tape inside it.

As I walk, Marv throws his voice out and ropes me back to face him.

He looks at me thoughtfully and says, “Did you ever need it?”

I walk closer.

“No.” I shake my head. “No, Marv, I didn’t.”

“Then why”—he comes down the steps to face me properly—“then why did you say—”

“I kept that card I got in the mail, Marv.” If Ritchie deserved the truth, so does Marv. I explain it to him. All of it. “Marv, I’ve been through diamonds, clubs, spades, and I’ve got one more heart to go.”

“Was that where I—”

“Yes, Marv,” I answer. “You were in hearts.”

Quiet.

Perplexed.

Marv stands on my front lawn and has no idea what to say—but he looks happy.

When I’m nearly gone, he calls out, “Is the last one Audrey?”

I turn and look at him, walking backward.

“Well, good luck!” he answers.

This time I smile and wave.