Postcards to America (5 page)

The white car – with its lights on and windscreen wipers working despite the day being bright and dry – turned slowly into the street and parked outside the large shed that bore the legend. “QUALITY VEHICLES”. The sound of banging coming from the interior of the shed drowned out the sound of the vehicle’s engine. The middle-aged woman driver hooted the horn and wound down the window of the car.

Bobby Byrnes emerged from the interior of the shed, his face wreathed in a smile. ‘How are you this morning?’ Bobby spoke as if he meant what he said.

‘I am not happy. I am not happy at all,’ the middle-aged woman replied. ‘As I told you in our telephone conversation last evening when I made this appointment to see you, I paid you good money for this car and it’s not working properly. I have done a hundred and twenty miles since I bought this car from you and the mileage gauge has not moved. Are you sure the mileage shown on this gauge is correct?’

Bobby’s face displayed deep concern that such a question could even be formulated. ‘Of course the mileage shown is correct. I stake my honour on it. Bobby reached through the open window and tapped the gauge. The needle did not move.

As Bobby tapped the gauge a black car pulled into the kerb a few feet behind the white vehicle. The driver of the black car kept the engine running.

‘If you don’t fix my car to my complete satisfaction then I am going to go to the newspapers.’

‘No “saner” said than done.’ The sound of the word “newspapers” made Bobby say “saner” instead of “sooner”. Anyway, the events of the next few minutes would make her forget all about the newspapers.

‘Bring the car back in the morning and my mechanic will fix the problem for you. The gauge should only take a few minutes to put right. We are fully booked up today; otherwise, I would look at it straight away.’ Privately he reminded himself to give the mechanic a telling off for not setting the gauge properly.

The middle-aged woman did not look happy but she said, ‘I will be here at nine in the morning.’

Checking her seat belt, the middle aged woman drove away from the kerb. Behind her the black car pulled away from the sidewalk and drew alongside the white car just as the white car entered the traffic lane. With a crunch the white car slammed into the door of the black car.

The young man exited the black car and began shouting. ‘Call the police! Call the police!’

The middle-aged woman did not move. She was in a state of shock.

Bobby stepped forward and intervened. ‘No need to involve the police. We can settle this like adults. Is that what you want to do?’ He asked the shocked woman through the still opened window.’

The woman nodded assent.

‘Come in and I will make you a nice cup of tea. It will calm your nerves. My mechanic will move the cars off the road. No need to involve the law.’

Bobby directed the woman into the small office. ‘Now you are not to worry about anything. My man will have your car as good as new in no time at all. And I will sort out the other man’s car as well. No one will ever know you were involved in an accident. You must inform your insurance company of course. You can leave the details to me.’

Bobby handed the woman a cup of tea, which she held with trembling hands. She began to cry softly.

‘Must go out and sort out that other man.’ Bobby pointed to the door with his head. ‘Let me know when you are ready to go home and I will ring you a taxi.’

Outside, the young man waited patiently for payment. Bobby fished in his pocket and handed him fifty.

*

With time to spare, Liam popped in to see Bobby. Liam smiled again at the legend over the office door, “A Hundred Cars Always in Stock”. Liam never saw more than two cars on the premises and none worth driving. Adjoining Bobby’s shed lay an unused municipal lot. In the centre of the lot, a remnant of a vehicle lay balanced on four concrete blocks.

‘How’s business doing?’ Liam asked the question out of courtesy. Business with Bobby always appeared to be bad. Yet he drove a high powered car and seemed to have plenty of money.

Liam first met Bobby when he considered buying a car. He changed his mind when he saw what Bobby tried to sell him. None of the vehicles could be considered roadworthy. Despite entreaties from Bobby that would nearly make you weep, Liam resisted the platter and decided that he would be better off without a car. Despite refusing to buy a car from him, Bobby and Liam became friends.

‘Two spoons as usual.’ Bobby shovelled two spoons of sugar into Liam’s coloured mug and passed with the sugar himself. Both pulled up chairs.

‘These look like tax disks. Are these tax disks?’ Liam lifted what appeared to be a pile of tax disks from the table.

‘Very good aren’t they?’ Bobby sipped his tea. ‘They are nearly as good as the real thing. A new promotional offer on every car sold. Free road tax for six months.’

Liam laughed. ‘Free counterfeit road tax for six months.’

Liam knew that Bobby sometimes bent the rules. He knew that Bobby would probably end up serving time in jail. He avoided paying taxes and ran the social service system ragged. Liam also knew that Bobby supported an extended family, two of which members were handicapped.

‘So the family are OK?’

‘They are all still with us.’

‘How’s your love life? Before Liam could answer, Bobby continued, ‘She is a nice girl, that Mary. Good looking too.’

Liam agreed.

The sound of loud banging interrupted their conversation. Both men rose and finished their teas then stepped outside to the work area.

A bodybuilder hammered away at a wing oblivious to the two men watching. Finishing his hammering the worker began mixing the paste to apply to the car body. As he mixed, he scooped iron filing from a large can and mixed those with the paste.

‘Why is he using iron filings?’ asked Liam innocently.

‘Years ago you could fill half a car with paste and get away with it. I’m afraid that is no longer the case. Now people bring magnets to check the body of the car for fillers. By using iron filings that the magnet can adhere to, you can overcome that.’

‘Ingenious,’ thought Liam.

Over the months, Bobby divulged to Liam a range of tricks used by sections of the trade. A punter buys a car with new tyres; when the person comes back to collect the car, the new tyres have been replaced with old painted tyres. Dirty steering wheel covers and worn pedal covers can tell a potential buyer a lot about the way a previous owner looked after his vehicle. Replacing those dirty or worn parts will create a good first impression observed Bobby.

Just then Bobby’s mobile phone rang and Liam made his excuses.

‘It was time for him to set out for the big house.’

And Bobby knew what he meant.

I hate this place Liam thought as he walked between the ornate gates towards the Victorian era building. The drive curved before him and mature trees screened some of the adjoining land from view. Pollen from newly cut grass made his nose itch and he rubbed the bottom of his nose with a finger.

Liam passed a spot where the trees thinned. A well-dressed man, legs bent at the knees, gave Liam the keep silent gesture. Liam stood still. Suddenly the man pounced, swinging one hand as if it held a net. Looking down at his empty hands the man let out a cry of exultation. ‘Isn’t it a beauty and the only one of its kind in the country’? Liam walked on.

Nearer the house, a young man in jeans collected scraps of paper blown about by the wind. He picked the pieces of paper up, licked them and deposited them in a brown paper bag.

Directly outside the building, a spanking new white car lay parked. The sunlight caught the clean door glass and scattered beams of light in all directions. At the rear of the car - where the fuel cap protruded – a man, dressed in pyjamas, urinated onto the vehicle. He grinned as Liam passed.

Liam passed through the heavy open doors and made his way up the wide twisting stairs. Large old paintings of long forgotten benefactors lined the walls well out of reach of the patients.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Liam turned into a long corridor. The “day room” he required lay at the end.

Liam entered the rectangular shaped “day room”. About twenty patients, some sitting and the remainder standing were scattered around the room. Liam’s father occupied his usual place near a window. Liam approached and sat down. His father gave no hint of recognition.

‘Dad! Dad! It is your son Liam.’

His father did not respond. The man’s eyes were unfocused. A drop of spittle dropped onto his father’s chin so Liam reached in his jacket pocket and removed a tissue. Leaning forward, he wiped the spittle from his father’s chin.

Suddenly his father began shaking his arms and calling, ‘Trisha. He kept on calling Trisha.

Liam knew that nothing he could do or say would help his father. The nurses told him that sometimes his father kept calling for hours. He did have lucid periods but they were getting more infrequent and shorter in duration.

Liam looked through the window onto the lawns where visitors and patients walked and talked. His thoughts drifted….

Liam, the younger of two brothers grew up in the shadow of his elder sibling. His parents doted on his elder brother and pushed him to excel. Growing up, Liam had to settle for second best. At first, Liam resented this treatment, but gradually came to accept the situation. One day his parents sat both boys and told them that they loved their sons equally. Liam’s brother would be put through university and then it would be Liam’s turn.

Both of Liam’s parents were hard workers. Still, university fees are not low and the family skimped and saved to send his brother through to his degree. Eventually his brother graduated and no one celebrated as much as Liam. Then his brother entered the long process needed to fulfil the requirements of his chosen profession. This process also entailed more pennies pinching by his parents. Luxuries were unheard of and a holiday non-existent.

At last, the big day arrived. The whole street celebrated long into the night. Liam never saw his parents so happy or proud. All the long years of work and toil had paid off. His brother looked contented and well and Liam wished him well several times.

Shortly after his brother moved away to follow his career, Liam’s mother came down with an illness. Something to do with her blood vessels the doctors said. The family were advised that the prescribed medication should keep her alive for years.

Liam never did get the opportunity to go to university.

Then, unexpectedly, his brother arrived home and confessed that he was leaving his chosen career and striking out on a new path. Explanations were vague and reluctantly given.

The news broke his mother’s heart. Her health rapidly deteriorated and in months, she died. Liam’s brother took to spending long hours alone meditating. Initially Liam blamed him for his mother’s death but gradually the anger left him. Anger always hurts the person being angry.

‘If I knew the pain that it would cause then I would have chosen some other path.’ Both brothers were sitting at home after the funeral. Liam could see the absolute pain in his eyes. ‘She put in so much effort on my behalf and now she is gone before I could repay her properly….’ His words trailed off. ‘Can you and your father forgive me?’

Liam stood and put his hands around his brother’s shoulders and said nothing.

Six months after the death of his mother, Liam’s father developed signs of mental disease. Doctors were divided as to the cause. Some doctors were of the opinion that his mother’s death did not contribute to his father’s condition and others said it could be a contributing factor. The brothers reluctantly bowed to medical advice and allowed their father to be institutionalised.

After his father moved into the mental hospital, Liam left the family home and moved into a room. His brother still lived at the house and told Liam that there would always be a bed for him there.

Liam turned away from the window. His father had fallen silent while Liam’s thoughts were elsewhere. Another tissue wiped a bead of sweat from his father’s forehead.

In the centre of the room, a portly man sat at a table. On the other side of the table a queue formed. A small empty box stood in the centre of the table. As Liam watched, the young man he observed earlier picking pieces of paper from the ground, walked to the table and emptied the contents of the brown bag into the box.

The portly man started removing scraps of paper one at a time from the box. He would lay the scrap of paper flat and make a stamping motion with his clenched fist. Then he would hand the scrap of paper to the next person in the queue who would take the scrap of paper and stand by the wall. This continued until eight people were standing by the wall.

‘What’s going on?’ Liam asked a passing nurse, nodding at the group.

The nurse smiled. ‘The portly man sitting at the table used to be a railway tickets clerk. I believe he spent thirty years or more in the job. The scraps of paper he is handing out are making - believe tickets. The people standing by the wall are waiting for a train that will never come.’

‘Just like real life,’ Liam replied.

Liam left his eyes wander around the rest of the “day room”. At the far end of the room, a man painted the wall a bright blue with an imaginary brush and paint. Under a religious picture a middle aged woman rocked back and forth. In her hands, she clutched a large doll and she crooned softly as she moved. Her voice, sweet, pure, and haunting, echoed off the walls.

Liam decided to end his visit. Anyway, his brother dealt with these situations better than he ever could. In fact, his brother visited twice as often as he did.

‘I am off, Dad. See you the day after tomorrow.’ No response came from his father. Liam did not even know if he heard him.

On the way out Liam handed the bag of soft drinks and confectionery bought earlier to the nurse.

On the drive, Liam spotted the butterfly hunter flying a kite. No mean achievement this as he held no kite and no breeze stirred the leaves on the trees.