The Ozone Café

Thursday, March 15th 2012
Big, Bonza Greek Wedding (contd) 
They all turned, each one pulling the other up from the rugs and soft sand. Huddled around the pair like hungry seagulls, Winifred, Casey, Vincenzo, Rennie, Mandy, and Sandra and a small boy who joined the party, started to kiss the newlyweds.

Con handed them a tub of rice, so that each person held the trickle of grain in their hands.

Throwing the rice high into the air, Winifred yelled, 'Gotcha!'

Despite the hurried goodbye from Dion and Sophia, the group stood with their backs to the cafe, waving and throwing kisses. 'When I first came here,' said Vincenzo. 'I didn't have no wife, no help, just me and Pomadina. You boys are lucky, such a big family to help run the business, hey?'

'It's all hard work.' said Con. 'Now I'm on my own for three weeks.'

'I could help,' said Winifred, who was like a shepherd tending her important flock of two people.

'I'll give that some thought, young girl, as long as you don't hound me about jukeboxes.'

Winifred walked away a few paces and whispered into Casey's ear. 'He'll soon find out his crappy wireless on the ethnic station, will bring him trouble, by you know who!'

'How come you got invited to the wedding?' said Casey, following Winifred back to the rugs and towels.

'Dad's up Gunnedah, so I had to escort mum. Should have seen all the beautiful dresses. Whoohoo! Big girls showing their boosies, as well.'

'What did you like best?'

'I loved the cake. Should have seen it. Ten stories high, you know going up to a peak and the lolley bride and groom on top. I thought when the man brought it out, it would have toppled.'

'What else to you eat?'

'We had fish, chicken in some wobbly jelly. I left that. But hey, guess what I got. Two presents.'

'You did?'

'We all did. I got a notebook. Mum got a small silver pen and then we all got Bon...something.'

'Bonboniere,' said Mandy, chipping in as they raced the girls to the edge of the beach.'

'Don't worry, Casey,' said Sandra. 'I've saved my almonds for you.'

'Ha!' The girls paddled out between the hire boats, guiding their canoe between the hover of seagulls and swimmers.

'Don't be too long,' called Sandra. 'We'll be eating soon!'

Mandy and Sandra sat on the edge of the water, dipping their toes and wiggling them around. They waved to the men, who were still talking to Con, but they didn't take any notice.

'Just hope he doesn't buy back the place,' giggled Sandra. He can't seem to say goodbye to it.'

'No, it's not that, it's Win always on his back about the mural. When's he gonna do this, when's he gonna do that. The poor man is driven crazy by that girl. But he loves her just the same. I think he misses his own daughters, you know. There's only the younger one who writes to him. I see a tear in the corner of his eye after he's put the letter away. I never understood why his wife didn't come to Australia with him.'

'Then you wouldn't be with him, would you?'

'I guess not. He asked me to marry him last night. I think it was all the booze, plus that family was so affectionate, it must have rubbed off. Sophia was radiant, wasn't she?'

'I loved her dress. Especially their names embroidered on the train. I've never seen that before. Very Greek, I expect.'

'I think I danced my feet off.'

'What, in the pig dance?'

'Yeah, did you see the MC dancing around with pork in his mouth. It looked primitive.'

'It seemed to be all about the community donating money to the married couple. It must cost them a bomb. Outfit, present, and then giving again.'

'You know I'm just happy living with Vincenzo. Why would we want to go through all that expense if we got divorced. We know what that's like, don't we?'

'I was going to tell you last night, but the wedding was such a whirlwind. I'm pregnant,' said Sandra.

'You're what?'

'Eight weeks, ha. Wait till Vin finds out!'

The women walked back up the beach. Rennie giving Sandra an extra cuddle, tapping her on her belly.'

'Time to celebrate,' said Rennie, popping the cork of a champagne bottle.

Thursday, March 1st, 2012

Big Bonza Greek Wedding (contd)

“The theme was black and white and seven colours of the rainbow. Sophia (25) wore a crystal-encrusted white dress complete with a wide skirt front and tulle train. It was inspired by Princess Margaret’s wedding dress uncluttered with a silk tulle veil which was satin bound. Except for the famous Poltimore Tiara, a gift from Queen Mary, Sophia’s hair arranged like the Princesses in a huge bun was studded with white crystals and pearls. The seven groomsmen wore stylish black suits each with coloured ties that matched the bridesmaids' gowns. Some of the guests admired the length that the bridal party went to, making Dion & Sophia Lasaridis’ wedding the most talked about and lavish event in Satara Bay. One lady by the name of Jane thought that the wedding was “a bit over the top. When my daughter got married in Oyster Bay last year,’ she said, ‘we didn’t go to all that fuss, we gave the kids the money instead.” Other guests commented on all the colours of the rainbow which highlighted a similar theme at the Ozone Café decorated in streamers and balloons of pink, yellow, blue, purple, green, red and orange. To top it off, some of the 220 guests from Sydney were ferried to and from Palm Beach to attend the wedding. We congratulate the paper’s photographer, Mike Lawford ... blah, blah, blah.”

‘Hey, they never said anything about the Continentals,’ said Vincenzo, picking up the paper and scanning the social pages.

‘Best night ever,’ said Rennie.

They sprawled out on the soft bake of the beach. Sunday, and a light breeze whispered across Satara Bay. Vincenzo and Sandra had organised the food. They'd helped each other, setting out the esky and rugs, so there they sat, close to the corner of the Ozone. It was a celebration of sorts to mark the good fortune of their lives and the café falling into good hands.

Vincenzo leaned back under the shade of the pine trees, cupping his hands behind his head. He felt his eyes close slowly over some of the images from the previous night. His head was still fuzzy with all the gruppa and champagne, but it was all the warm cozy memories that made him smile. He saw himself dancing again with Sandra.

‘Marry me,’ he had said, although a little intoxicated. ‘Um, a kiss then. Umh.’

Slowly he was back in the scene of the wedding, and again he watched the Greek family sway their bodies, arms held high, dancing Zorba the Greek. The men wore slim, elegant three-piece suits, and they sported dark, neatly clipped beards and mustaches. The shadows and shapes of their bodies moved on the makeshift wooden dance floor. Their faces light in their concentration, turning this way and that. They looked like spring water flowing, sashaying smoothly in unison to the tide of shoes that followed in forty-five degree turns. Around and around they went, only their toes and heels lightly trembling in their socks. Men and women in white shirts and shimmering dresses joined in, bumping each other in smug respect.

Vincenzo watched as the pig on the spit, perfected to a sizzling crispness, came towards the main bridal table. Amongst the wildflowers, gladioli, glasses and champagne, the guests placed one and two dollar notes, clapping in a kind of excited commotion, directing their partners back on to the dance floor. Con began to slice into the pig, placing the succulent pieces of pork on plates.

Instead of slouching into his seat, and watching the river of flowing bodies before him, Vincenzo headed to the table. He stood beside Con, who freely passed out the pork to people in a queue. 'We have some too,' he said, handing over a five dollar note.

'You have to dance too, Vincenzo. Money, dance then eat, ha!'

Vincenzo, puzzled by the order of things, handed over another bill. 'I think this covers it, Con. I just take it back to our table, then Mandy and I dance later, okay?'

'Very well, I'll let you off the hook. I wouldn't want to upset my new friends, ha!'

Friday, January 13th 2012
Greek Boys (contd)

'Nah,' said Vincenzo. 'I semi-retired now, too much work and young lady it is much easier for you to go pester those Greek boys and have the mural shining like silk.'

Winifred kicked more water so that a large amount came back on her shorts. 'Shit,' she said. 'Now look at me. Every time I talk about that place it brings me bad luck. Something's going to happen there I know it.'

'Why you worry so much. Don't you have a boyfriend from high school you can go see instead of worrying about the cafe.'

'I hate boys,' said Winifred. 'They fart and stink to high heaven.'

'Anyhow, I go see Rennie. Look there on the sand, the march of the soldier crabs.'

No sooner had Vincenzo mentioned the crabs, Winifred was there bombarding them with wet sand, and by the time he got there, most had scattered into the shallows or into their tiny bunkers.'

'Hey watcha go do that for, they're not harming you. It's not funny, I wanted to watch them.

'Well, I wanted to see their little legs go ten to the dozen.' Winifred washed her hands in the shallows, clapping and flicking some residue on to Vincenzo.

'You crazy.'

'Takes one to know one.'

Vincenzo shook his head and sat down on a grassy ledge. He wiped his forehead and then placed his glasses on the edge of his nose. He unfolded the piece of paper and mumbled to himself. Winifred stood behind him on the grass dune, peering over his shoulder. 'A wedding, hey?'

'A big bonza Greek wedding he said. Oh, the Continentals, I think I've heard of them. Come on, give an old man a hand up. We gotta lot to do.'

'Do you think I could go to the wedding,' asked Winifred.

'If you behave yourself, I just might allow you to come.'

They reached Rennie's house and knocked on the front door. They could hear Sandra inside calling out to go around the back. 'Hey,' said Vincenzo. 'You done more brick work here.' He walked through a paved enclosure, around a fountain, and saw them sitting behind flywire at the back patio.

'This new?' he asked.

'Come and have a beer, Vin,' called Rennie.

Vincenzo nudged Winifred, 'See how good he is, this work is brilliant. A fountain, water pouring from Venus de Milo, and look there's Pan, two angels and Cupid flying in.'

'When you finish the fountain?' asked Vincenzo, sitting down on a cushioned chair. Sandra appeared with a glass of lemonade in one hand and a bowl of potato chips.

'Oh, I've been at it for a few weeks. Just re-directed the bore fittings to flow up through some pipes. It's all recycled and on certain days the lawn gets watered.'

'You want another job?'

'What, you want one too?'
'Nah, those Greek boys up at the cafe need that side wall re-cemented. You want to do it?''As long as they pay.'

'They will, and besides you get to see the Continentals.'

'The Continentals? What have they got to do with it?'

'When the job's finished, they're gonna fix the courtyard and have a big Greek wedding. The young partner, Dion, is getting married. See here.' Vincenzo passed the invitation to Rennie. 'How good is that, hey? Six of us can come and of course dance to the Continentals.'

'I'll go just for them. A mate in Curl Curl used to know Mario who played sax in the band. From what I hear they're the best Jazz band in Sydney.'
* * *
Thursday, January 12th 2012
Greek Boys (contd)

Winifred leant in, inspecting the art work. ‘Some of the shells have fallen off.’

‘We can fix that,’ said Vincenzo, moving his hands over King Neptune and the mermaids. ‘Amazing!’

‘So we don’t have to fix that, but what about this?’ Con pulled out a chunk of cement, dropping it to the ground where several other small pieces crunched under their shoes.

‘I can get my brother to fix this for you,’ said Vincenzo, wriggling a couple of bricks by side. ‘You’ll wait forever for the council. Why don’t I get Rennie to come and give you a quote. He’ll skip the Shire. Bunch of corrupt pigs anyway.’

‘Well if he is cheaper than Sweeney, then he’s got the job.’

‘So.’ Vincenzo rubbed his hands, and turning to face Winifred glared closely into her face. ‘Happy now, my young friend.’

‘I guess. Thanks Mister for keeping the mural. You see King Neptune was our friend Nicolas, and he died last week with Muscular Dystrophy. He just withered away because his mother didn’t feed him properly. But now if you keep him here on the wall, he’ll live forever.’ She gave Con a big smile.

‘That’s okay, young lady. Actually, when the wall’s fixed, we’ll do up this courtyard. People can see these beautiful mermaids and Nicolas. All of my family, as well. You two wait here, I’ll be back in a minute.’

Vincenzo and Winifred sat down on a small retaining wall. They looked once again at the mural, then out to sea. ‘He’s a nice bloke, this Con. Sensible. He’ll make good business here.’

‘Yeah, but they have no customers,’ said Winifred. ‘I told him, didn’t I? If he wants to get us kids back, the Sydneyites, the gangs, then he has to do something. Casey and I are sick of going all the way around to Oyster Bay to Shaft’s milkbar. We have to ride our bikes, and my chain’s always coming off.’

‘We see.’

The door creaked open and Con handed Vincenzo a piece of paper. ‘Ah, my bill.’

‘No, Vincenzo, it’s on the house, mate. This is something you might like.’

Vincenzo unfolded the piece of paper, taking out his glasses from his top pocket. After a few minutes, he said. ‘A wedding. Here, in this beautiful café?’

‘Bring your lady. We’re gonna have the biggest, bonza Greek wedding you’ve ever seen.’

* * *
Thursday, December 29th 2011
Greek Boys (contd)
'No, no,' said Con. 'They're retired, but they did own the Aegean Restaurant in Surry Hills. Our older brother Spiros is running it now.'

Surry Hills, the name seemed to recall a memory in Vincenzo. Did it have something to do with Rennie? Ah! he knew the people on the boat! 'I never been there, just to Curl Curl.'

Vincenzo looked across the table at Winifred who was thinning her lips at him. 'Could we start talking about the mural please, Vincenzo?'

'Ah, yeah. You see this girl here opposite. Her name is Winifred. No relation but we've been good friends since I opened this place.'

Startled looks came from the man beside him. Vincenzo knew that he would have to fill the third owners in on some history of the café. The first story was the one about Maria not coming to Australia, the next about his brother Rennie helping him build the Ozone. While he talked Dion moved into the cubicle with them, sitting next to Winifred who was now being supplied with some jellies. When Vincenzo finally got to the last story about selling the place to the dearly departed Joe Pendlebury, he took a hanky from his pocket and wiped his forehead. The Turkish coffee had worked up a sweat, but had given him a clear path in explaining his current situation, especially the art work outside.

'Yeah, yeah, we noticed it, so you did that?' said Dion.

'I have three children in it, Winifred here, her friend Casey and their friend Nicolas who sadly passed away last week.'

'We don't want you touching it,' said Winifred, a surly and determined look growing on her face.

'We're very sorry we had to cover it up, but we didn't want our customers to see the damaged wall.' The men looked across the table at one another. 'We've got a quote from a builder to fix it, but there seems to be some delay at the Shire,' said Dion.

'Next week they're sending an engineer out. It could cost us, with the Council getting involved.'

'We had a very bad storm back in sixty-five,' said Vincenzo. 'Damage all over the place. My brother lost his roof. And now it appears Joe never did anything about the cement render. He just patched it up. I have to tell you that my brother did a very good job on the foundations of this place. It was compacted correctly.'

'We believe you. Not much you can do if there's liquefaction. Nature, sand in the cement, rain. Guess it’s a weak spot.' The men looked across at one another again, a quiet nodding agreement between the two. 'We need some customers, mate. That's our biggest hurdle.'

Winifred had been sitting quietly munching on lollies, until something deep within her like passion began to work its way up from her big toes. 'You have to get some pinballs, snooker tables, a couple of juke boxes,' she said. 'Fish and chips. Steak and eggs. Burgers. Australian lollies, Smiths crisps, Streets icecreams. Then, what do you think will happen? The holiday people will come back in droves, the kids from the beach will want to come and spend a few bob. The bodgies and the widgees will drink Coke all day and play snooker. It will come alive again, just like when Vincenzo had it.'


Wednesday, December 28th 2011
Greek Boys (contd)
After a long while there was a rattling at the side door. When the bolt was released and bright sunshine straggled through, Winifred peeped around the corner. Her long blonde hair quivering along with her voice. She indicated to Vincenzo that she needed a drink of water, and pointing to the decanter on the table tapped her fingers hard on the tabletop.

'What happened?'

Winifred scoffed down another glass of water. She leaned in, raising her eyebrows several times above her glass as if in secret code. After a few more swigs of water, she said 'Have you seen it?' She folded her two hands around her mouth, and blustered. 'Outside's a mess!'

'Why you come in that way? They don't use it anymore,' said Vincenzo looking around to see if they were alone.

'I wanted to take a look. I couldn't open the gate, so I climbed over. Phew! Talk about this place going to the pack!'

Just at that moment, Con exchanged glances with Vincenzo. He wiped the spilled water, replacing the stainless steel jug. 'You tell this little girl to come in the front door next time, okay?'

'Blimey, you get me into trouble. I want to have a nice, friendly chat with these boys and now maybe they smell a rat.'

'Na.'

Vincenzo discovered that he was listening once again to Winifred's rant about the mural. Today he felt a little dogged and defeated. His heart felt like a lump of coal inside his chest. How many more times did he have to worry about that mural? He knew he couldn't refuse Winifred's pleas to have it repaired, but he felt as if he was under duress. He just wanted to go back home, go to his Port decanter, sit down in the living room with some light Vivaldi.

'So, what do you think?'

Somewhere in Winifred's sentences there had been a paragraph about the removal of the mural. He knew his mind had been elsewhere, he'd just go along with her misguided endeavours. 'I call Con over and we talk, yeah?'

The two men sat side-by-side. Already a new pot of Turkish coffee sat innocently on the tabletop, a tiny fountain of heat. Winifred blew bubbles into her chocolate milkshake, listening intently to the sighs of the two men, their emphasis of home and European roots.


*     *     *

Thursday, December 11th, 2011

Up the Mountain

‘Vin, ask someone over there if they know about the Battersby funeral. It looks like they’ve just finished.’

Vincenzo knew he had to smell the flowers on the biker’s grave before he left. They couldn’t have been any older than two or three days. He came up spluttering. ‘Pooh! what a smell.’ The bouquet was more pungent that the air. Vincenzo held back, thinking to himself, something died in there.

The day had turned from a light mist to spots of rain. The funeral up ahead, looked like a swarm of black petals with black stems. Some people with folded in bodies and umbrellas resembled the tucked-in wings of ravens. Only three people remained, a woman, her body stooped over the mound of earth, while a young man held her shoulder. There was one other, an official looking fellow. Obviously, Vincenzo thought, he works here. ‘Scusa, please, Sir. Could you tell me if Nic Battersby is buried here today?’

The man shrugged, flapped out his umbrella, pointing it to the house. ‘Over there,’ he said. ‘They’ll help you.’

Vincenzo walked back along the loose stone path. He could see people mingling outside the small cottage. He found a bench seat and flopped down. The silence made him feel at peace. He could hear distinct sounds of crows. He watched them balancing on branches, lending the treetops to sway. They muttered, and in an odd way it was like they were fare-welling the dead.

Vincenzo bent over and tightened his shoes laces. He had felt them loosening on the drive up to the mountains. This was part of Satara Bay that he had never entered before. Had it not been for the morning mist and damp, light drips from the overcast day, he might have enjoyed the trip if the sun had touched his face and it had been another day, not as sad as this.

Dressed in a newish black pant-suit and long black boots, Mandy tapped Vincenzo on his snoozing shoulders. ‘I should have checked Vin, and look at you, tired out already.’

‘I…I was up at five and I didn’t sleep thinking about that poor boy.’

‘We are an hour too early. The service is not until 11.00am and the woman in the office said there’s a marker past the car-park to the funeral building. He’s being cremated, not buried.’

‘Can we go there now?’

‘The lady said there’s a foyer we can wait in. You know, I never did like funerals.’

‘Me too, I though Maria was going to put me in box, didn’t you?’

‘She got her comeuppance. I couldn’t get over the look on her face when she saw me in that negligee. She nearly choked on her coffee grains.’

‘It was a good plan. It worked and that was the main thing. Rennie and Sandra didn’t mind. And what did she do for the rest of the time with them? Complained that I left her!’

‘It’s amazing how the aggrieved twist things.’

‘You know what she said to me at the train station, she said she would spit on my grave. Hey, I have a plan to outlive her,’ Vincenzo boasted.

They stood talking to one another for a while, then crunched their shoes further up the path, where it divided into a fork with rose beds on either side. There was a small party gathered on the front steps of a marble building. With its beige rendering and columns it looked like an old Roman coliseum.

‘We wait here,’ said Vincenzo. ‘Maybe until we see someone familiar.’

‘I think that skinny lady in black lace is his mother. Winifred used to talk about her like she was a witch. Casey said she drank like a fish.’

‘I dunno the woman. This funeral’s not good for the kids.’

‘They’re no longer children, Vin. They’re quite the young ladies of town.’

Mandy turned away from Vincenzo, hearing more crunching of stones. Winifred arrived with her mother and father. Two more adults followed. Casey and a young brother shuffled behind. Winifred caught Vincenzo's eyes with the red stained windows of hers. She didn't speak, choosing instead to lower her head to her chest. She waved her parents on, as they followed her into the building.

By now a small group sat in the front row pews. A small contingent of Nicolas’s family made up of seven adults. The rest filed in. Recorded organ music played.

*      *      *

It’s an unusual ceremony at the top of Flat Rock Mountain. Three people stand on a large granite ledge over looking Satara Bay. Winifred clutches a small ceramic teapot that has a chipped lid. For a moment they stand with bowed heads and Winifred unfolds a piece of paper from her pocket. She looks at Vincenzo, and with a slight cough, bends down and places the urn in a solemn fashion in a rock curvature. ‘He would have liked this,’ she said. And taking in a deep breath her words gently meet the breeze.


Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die. 

Vincenzo fluffs out a hanky from his pocket and blows his nose, it's loud like a car horn. Still in ceremony, Casey picks up the teapot and hands it to Winifred.

‘And now a special goodbye to our dear friend Nicolas Battersby,’ says Winifred. ‘He tried very hard to live a good and healthy life, and Casey and I helped him to do that. We pushed him everywhere, down the beach, to the pictures, sometimes to school, although he was in a different class. When the end of year concerts were on, we helped him to the Masonic Hall. He never complained about the night we abandoned him, but that was Nic he always forgave us. We did have one great time when we all got drunk down at the jetty with one of dad’s Tooheys. Lastly, I have to thank this man here (she points towards Vincenzo) who has made Nicolas live forever. I know that whenever I go to the Ozone, see the mural, I will always think of Nic. That grand King Neptune himself.’

And with that Winifred tosses the contents of the urn down the mountain. ‘Sail away Nic.’

In her attempt to free every last piece, a sudden gust of wind blows white powder towards Vincenzo’s face. White powdery shale covers his blue shirt and jacket, some remained like flour on his forehead.

‘What is this, Winny, I thought it was Nic’s ashes?’

‘No. His mother wouldn’t give it to us, so I ground up some shells.’

‘Appropriate, don’t you think,’ says Casey. ‘Shells of the sea, shells we collected lots of times with Nic, and then some of the shells he kept after giving you some of his.’

‘Very nice,’ says Vincenzo, brushing down his clothes.

*      *      *

They walked down the mountain quietly together. Sometimes, the girls waited while Vincenzo climbed over rocks holding them with both hands. When they got to the car, Vincenzo couldn’t resist thanking Winifred for the thoughtful event. 'I very proud to be part of the ceremony, Win, thank you.'

Winifred opened the back door of the car, then suddenly spun around. ‘She starved him to death, I know she did. That horrible, horrible woman. And that’s why on Saturday I’m going to the Greek boys and I’m gonna tell them about Nic and how they’re never, ever, ever, allowed to remove him and us,’ she said, pointing her fingers back and forth from herself to Casey, ‘from the wall.’

*     *     *

Wednesday, April 13th, 2011

Boards on a Café

She wandered slowly through the storm’s debris heading towards Sandy Bay Road. She wanted to run, but couldn’t on a wrecked path. People were out in the gardens, raking, picking up branches, stacking them on the verge. Some were inspecting the damage to their roofs and cars. It was the same pattern throughout all the streets, except the Esplanade was a chaotic inventory of the worst kind. The once neat shoreline, with its small vegetation of lantana and tea-trees that held the soft winds of a landscape, now streaked with the ruined battlements of a hail storm. The radio claimed it the worst for forty years. It had wrecked the beach as a semblance of war. Flailing rubbish had bombarded the shore’s vegetation, piling timber, glass, plastic, battered hulls of boats and sheets of corrugated iron on the once pristine grass.

Further along the Esplanade, she glimpsed people, possibly council workmen, catching the skewered palings of trees, crushing them into a garbage disposal unit. She couldn’t look at the men who were shouting above the machinery. The racket of the place was overpowering along with the putrid stench of the truck. She imagined the conveyor belt taking the café’s broken cane chairs up its incline, along with it that stupid Pendlebod. She laughed to herself, ha, ha!

And then he spoke. She hadn’t wanted to look up in the direction of the voice, a big man briskly walking beside her. ‘Winifred,’ he said, ‘seems like we’re going in the same direction.’ He was smoking a cigarette and the smell made its way into her nostrils, finally dispelling the whiff of garbage.

She blinked and raised her hand over her forehead. Looking up into the man’s face was a viable option. He seemed friendly enough. She knew him from somewhere.

‘Am I right,’ he said. ‘You’re heading home?’

‘Na,’ she said. ‘I’m on an errand.’ She kept staring at the two-dimensional image beside her. There was something stiff in his expression, which made him look artificial at first, but she sensed a look-alike Renato; except this man was thinner, dressed in an immaculate brown suit with neat swept-back hair. She didn’t want to make the mistake of calling someone by their name if it wasn’t them, so she deliberately ran off. When she looked back he had disappeared. She felt it was strange that he knew her, but golly who was he?

She wondered at his quick absence. Then broken buildings loomed ahead and a bobcat ploughed into as if it was eating rubble. The whole corner of Sandy Bay Road was a pile of broken glass, metal and concrete. As she moved in closer she could smell the friction of the machinery, two low-loaders moving in to clear the road. Their robotic arms locked in sections of waste, stamping down units of sheet metal, fibro, glass, timber fences and gates. The tortured metal squealed.

‘Little Winifred.’ It was a man’s melodious voice coming towards her.
Winifred raised her hands above her head to stop the glare from the writhing nest of metal. ‘Vin, boy, am I glad to see you!’

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘You look white like a ghost.’

‘I think I’ve just seen one.’

‘These men here, they tell me an old couple got crushed to death. Their windows shattered and their whole house just crumbled in around them. My god, Winny, this is such a mess.’

‘I was coming to see you about the Café.’

‘Ok, come with me to my place. We’re okay just the sleepout is sagging a bit. Guess we’re lucky. You been up to the Ozone, she okay?’

‘Oh, it’s not the storm,’ she said.

The grinding cacophony gave way to a peaceful silence. Vincenzo brought out drinks under their front porch. Mandy was busy in the backyard cleaning up intruding clothes, towels and odd socks from neighbours’ yards. She waved to Winifred, telling her she would join them as soon as she sorted the jig-saw puzzle of who owned what.

‘I been very lucky with this storm. Rennie not so lucky. He lost his roof.’

‘Dad said it was the worst storm in forty years. Hey, has Rennie lost weight recently?’

‘Uh, he’s put on, why you ask?’

‘Oh, it’s just that a man was walking beside me along the Esplanade. He knew me, but I didn’t know him.’

‘Um, but you tell me now about the café.’

‘Seems a bit…well, what with people dying and... I just got upset, that’s all.’

‘With the new owner.’

‘Yeah. Pendlebod’s got rid of everything, the lot, the jukeboxes, the soccer table, the pinballs, the snooker tables, everything. The place is empty and a waste of time.’

‘This Joe, he do something else.’

‘Yeah, I caught him trying to dismantle the mural. But he said he was doing something else. Pretended he had storm damage, but I could see he’d cut out big chunks and was heading for the mural.’

‘My god.’

‘Vincenzo, your beautiful café is turning into a dump. Of course, the storm didn’t help. A light pole smashed into the front fence, and the courtyard’s history. Ha, his cane chairs are gonza.’

‘I take a look-see tomorrow. Mandy and I can go for a coffee at Joe Pendlebury’s. Pretend we have come to help or some such thing. Don’t you worry, he won’t touch the mural over my dead body.’

‘Say something to him about the stuff. My friends won’t go there now, there’s nothing to do.’

‘I will, I will. Don’t you worry your pretty head about it.’

Vincenzo paused for a moment as if lost for words. ‘You know,’ he said, pulling out a hanky and wiping his face. ‘I will hate to see the old place go to the pack. It took a lot of work. Me and Rennie and then the long nights I worked there by myself. Oh, sometimes with you coming by to help. I never forget than, Winny. The mural should have come with me, but you can’t take it down, its cemented in.’

‘He was trying,’ said Winifred, Dutch slapping her knees. ‘I know!’ She lifted her index finger up in the air. ‘You could ask him to give it to you, since he was about to chisel it out. That way Nic, Casey and I will not be lost forever.’

* * *

They were okay. Music was playing on the radio and ceiling fans spun slowly, giving the place a cool atmosphere. The new owner had repainted the walls a soft blue and in place of the jukeboxes and machines the side wall contained a spread of brown couches. One wall had been painted black where a large screen print hung in white with splash marks in grey, yellow and red. Vincenzo was slightly jealous of the new interior. It was something he imagined at the beginning, now the café had rustic archways to metal tables and chairs. Everything was different.


*     *     *

Monday, January 17th, 2011

Short-Lived (contd)

'Mister Pendlebod! I just put my bike around the side...and... What are you doing?'

In early revolutionary days, everyone knew that the sting and fury of a woman was something to contend with. Even worse was the biting attack of a young girl, named Winifred. Since Vincenzo had sold the café, Winifred kept her little apple-pie face busy looking at everything Joe Pendlebury did in and around the building.

'Go away little girl. There's two men here having an important discussion.'

Winifred slid down the wall of the garage, slapping her crocheted bag in her lap. While Joe flipped open a bottle, Bill lighting yet another cigarette, Winifred continued to grizzle to herself. I can't believe you would go and do that. What are you thinking? 'It's our wall,' she yelled back.

'I'll be off then, looks like you've got a problem here,' said Bill, stubbing out his cigarette in the driveway.

'Thanks for all your help, mate.'

'Anytime, Gov.' Bill pointed to the ocean. 'We must go fishing one day, when me boat's fixed.'

Joe waved back. 'Yeah, like February,' he said, quietly to himself.

He slammed down the bonnet lid and lifting his index finger at Winifred, pulled it through the air, wiggling it further over his left shoulder as he walked. 'Come with me, blabber-mouth.'

Joe lifted the tarpaulin on the side wall and rolled it with its dangling ropes. He pointed to the mural, then to the exposed damage. 'See down there, Vin's mural untouched. Here, here, and here the café cracked because of the storm, and I think there's some other problem. Happy?'

'But there's a big crack above King Neptune.' Winifred ran her hands over the mural, pressing her fingers into the molded shapes of the two mermaids.

'You don't have to worry, nothing's going to happen. I've got it under control. So, there's nothing to blab to Vincenzo about, is there?'

'I think he'll want to know.'

'Listen here, girlie. It's my café now, not his. The mural's also mine, and I sure as hell don't want to see it damaged. We're very lucky most of the structural problem is up the slope, towards the back,' said Joe, rubbing his ginger whiskers. 'If you can call it luck.'

'I thought...'

'Well, you thought wrong. Look, come inside and I'll give you a wafer, for free. How's that?'

Winifred followed Joe into the café. There was an awkward moment of silence between them. Winifred opened the Streets' cabinet and pulled out a twin-pole. She gathered her lips together into a half smile, while Joe nodded his approval. Winifred swivelled around on her bar stool and looked long into the dark cavity of the café. Her eyes met the casual tragedy inside.

Monday, January 10th, 2011

Short-lived (contd)

Couples arrived during the day to inspect the damage to their boats, or chatted about the storm;  a swirling social tide of people frantically raising their voices above each other. Along the foreshore a woman stopped every now and again, shouting for her dog. 'Trixy, Trixy, here girl, here girl!'

The day had been as chaotic as the previous, and now this charmed group was beginning to get on Joe's nerves. Suddenly, they all wanted coffees and company. He left Shirley and the hired help, Vaughan, to attend to their upcoming conversations about lost roofs and fences. Now he had time to work on the hazardous task  of cleaning up glass, metal, wire and a garden of leaves and twisted branches that lay on his front fence. There was a hellish smell coming from underneath. The main thing that was being moved today was the large old hardwood from the front brick wall. A team of SEC workers mingling around in their hardhats, rewired and winched up a new light pole. A bobcat cleared up the debris of the old one.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Short-Lived (contd)

Joe knew he had to clean up the mess before Shirley got up. He stacked the beer bottle on the pile and searched in the shed. He barrowed out some cement, a bucket and a bag of building sand. He figured the remaining materials were leftover from Polamo's mural. It had been a big issue for Vincenzo when he sold the café. Joe promising to never remove the art work, and Winifred, Casey and Nicolas coming by every now and again, spying whether or not he had. He remembered the girl's exact words. You take it down and none of us kids will ever buy from you, or play the pinballs.

He heard himself saying once again, okay, okay. You think I don't know what I've got there. You think my customers tell me it's a wonderful feature, for nothing. I know what I've got, I'm the owner who knows what he's got!

He knew what he had all right. One wall creaking to its knees and the only thing keeping it from splitting all the way through was this concrete mural. Saved. It bugged his mind how the building could become unstable in just one storm. And now he had to quickly repair the mess before Shirley found out, especially about the insurance.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Short-Lived (contd)

In the morning, Joe sat for about ten minutes in front of the café now fully aware of the storm's damage, especially to his ute that looked like a shrunken corpse of itself. He moved from the front brick wall to the courtyard, a large bottle of beer under his arm. Meaningless, he thought. Toby son, where are you, you could help me right now. He put the bottle to his lips. It was his third for the morning. The deck chairs had gone, and the potted palms waved their fronds like tiny split fingers. This was his universe and now it was screwed. The more he looked at the spilled earth on the pave-stones, the more he could see the darkest moment of his life. He knew he should have renewed the insurance and now he was lost, lost to that blackest thing he had fallen into. Shirley would kill him. Then he began thinking about ways to death. He watched himself in the side door's glass lifting the beer bottle to his lips. There was nothing he could do at this moment, except get drunk.

He moved slowly up the path and that's when he noticed it. A type of pendulum swung down from the roof. It was a TV antennae. Something he hadn't known about. Then it struck him, and there were several, some in large chunks and some like dinner plates; loose, flaky and broken pieces of cement were strewn across the path. On the wall, bare bricks once fixed in place, now looked like the work of a novice. Some were cracked and others poked out of their cement. As he moved further along, his bottle pressed to his lips, he could see that the whole side wall leading to the back fence was undermined by the storm. Somehow, the building had shifted down into the slope. He sunk to his knees.

Joe Pendlebury, Owner No. 2

Short-Lived (contd)

As he nosed the ute along Coolibah Road, he realised that getting back to the embracing walls of the café was better than wet socks, stinking of prawns. The sun had disappeared and now a dark swirl of sky mingled with the darkness of Tiger Island.

Great, he thought. It's bloody November. The sky's awash with storm clouds and that means no bloody holiday-makers! How he'd gotten himself into this mess, he didn't know. 'You there, Shirl,' he called. 'Two jewfish and not much bigger than the skin on me knee.'

'Someone from the Shire called on the telephone,' said Shirley. Shirley was a skinny, svelte Rockhampton girl and not much older than Joe. Sydney and the coast, she thought, would make them a fortune, but there was little of that of late.

'Did he give his name?'

'Na, his position.'

'So?'

'It was the Mayor. I thought he must have wanted a table, but no.'

'Did he say what he wanted.'

'He says, 'you the new owners?''

'I says, yeah. We've been here six months.'

'He says, the other man, Polamo, he's gone then?'

'I says, well, gone from here, but still lives in Satara Bay. I says, I can find out where he lives, if you like.'

'No, no, he says, keep up the good work.'

'Strange. Should have offered him a meal of great fish, Shirl, well the frozen kind.'

'Nothing biting, today, then?'

'Nah, it's those fisherman with the nets, drag everything from the bottom, they do.'

'Listen, lovey, when you've had your shower, we have to have a little family talk about the borders.'

'What's up now?'

'Nothing. Go on, off you go, quick as a wink and get cleaned up. I'll heat up the fryers for tonight.'

Joe leaned down from the railing on the stairs and called back, 'There's a storm coming, that'll keep everyone away.'

'We have to re-organise, darl. The likes of the Mayor and his cronies won't come to a place like this with noisy pinballs and jukeboxes.'

The café was quiet, and leaning on the front counter, Shirley continued with her crossword. She loved crossword puzzles, and if you picked up any Woman's Weekly or New Idea from the front seats, there would not be one empty square on the page. The trouble was, Shirley spent quite a bit of time with her head in a magazine. She especially like mail-order catalogues from Anthony Hordens, or David Jones. The orders in the back were just like filling in a crossword puzzle. Name. Address. Item No. Description. Amount. Neat little boxes. The postman called nearly everyday with a package of some shape or form. Inside: a negligee, a shirt, sometimes a blouse, or a skirt. Handbags, cosmetics and jewelery were her specialty. On occasions some new kitchen invention would reach her doors. It was where she stacked all the goodies that began to be a problem in the café.