Published: 14 Nov 2016
In the corner of the school yard, directly across the road from the Brody house and Esca’s bedroom window, was a park made separate from the school by a low cyclone wire fence and set up for children to use after school hours. The park also included a public toilet and barbeque, frequented by the numerous grey nomads that visited the town in search of antiques.
Being at the junction of two major highways the town had become famous for its antique shops, five in all but now failing because of the price of petrol and the weakening economy, adding the fact that the latest generation had lost interest in what were often called dust collectors.
The small park also had playground equipment contained within an enclosure, protected from the sun by a large sail. Here it was a daily occurrence for travelling families to utilize the park and its facilities.
Often up to half a dozen vans would be parked along the street at a time, while joyful children dashed about the enclosure.
The park’s toilet block was also the very place Luke met George but since receiving that information, Esca, to his relief, had not once chanced upon Luke in the park. Back in the city Esca became acquainted with many who found necessity and excitement in such practice, including Ian who would do so most days on his way home from work or going to Marilyn’s. ‘Checking the traps,’ Ian called his habit and after such antics he still had more than enough drive to score again at the bar. As for Esca he would rather not set the so called traps in the first place to need to check them but didn’t condemn the practice, finding it unnecessary to participate. The thought of Luke hanging around such a convenience, almost outside his bedroom window, did concern him but Luke apparently had outgrown the need.
Beyond the park in the opposing street was one such Antique Shop, or more to fact, old wares as most items offered for sale lacked enough age to be considered to be antique. The shop was once Saunders’ Saddlery but since the demise of the stock horse it firstly became a Truck Stop Cafe, then a residence and since Esca had been away, an Antique Shop, run by two brothers from the south.
Bill and Ben the flower-pot men, most people cheekily called the brothers behind their backs, as their garden consisted of nothing but plants in pots of numerous colours and sizes, mostly brought from their previous place of residence, all struggling with the change in climatic conditions.
Graham and Richard declared they were brothers but other than having different family names, two more unlikely brothers had never been encountered, making it most difficult to believe there was any blood connection between them at all. Graham the eldest was aged somewhere between sixty and seventy while Richard was a good ten years younger. Graham had skinny legs and arms but much overweighted in the gut department and almost bald, with a horse-shoe of greying hair running from ear to ear, while Richard was stout of leg and arm, having a good head of short pepper and salt hair, while his torso appeared more apple shaped.
Graham had a fancy for European Cars having a somewhat ancient and pretentious British Rover sedan, lovingly cared for from its powder blue paintwork to its red leather seats. When they toured, Richard, who never learnt to drive and had a phobia for dirt roads, sat himself behind the driver, giving one more reason for folk to make fun of the two. If by chance they had to travel some short distance along a country track, or extended unsurfaced drive while visiting friends, Richard would close his eyes and hold his breath until turning quite red in the face, or clinging white knuckled to the leather hand strap, while uttering strange panic stricken sounds. Why he had such a phobia of unmade roads was a mystery and when challenged on the subject he just shrugged his shoulders without answering.
Esca hadn’t reason to walk the Antique shop’s side of the school so had never met the brothers, until deciding to take an alternate route to the shops. His memory of the establishment was as a lad but it was vacant then.
After Saunders had closed down his Saddlery business, Esca was often found sneaking into the empty shop and residence pretending it was his hide away, a virtual Aladdin’s Cave, marvelling at the things he discovered from ancient canisters, to leather strapping and piles of books and magazines.
There he had also found a magazine containing a multitude of nude pictures of women. After perusing the magazine he wondered why men become so excited with women, as they didn’t have interesting equipment, while appearing to be top heavy and in fear of toppling onto their painted faces. Yet he kept one magazine with its many rude photographs, mainly for bragging rights, until it was discovered beneath his mattress by his mother and he was punished by his father. Oddly in recent days while searching through his father’s shed he came across that very issue, much worse for wear, concealed in a pile of car magazines.
Passing the shop Esca found Richard ensconced within a tattered cane chair by the front door, while Graham blocked the door way, rolling a cigarette. Richard smiled, nodded his head but didn’t speak.
“Morning,” Esca greeted on passing.
“G’day,” Graham roughly approached from the doorway, licked the cigarette paper before placing the thin wrapping of tobacco into his mouth. It quivered as he spoke.
“Are you new in town?” Graham enquired. He lit his cigarette, coughing profusely on inhaling, his voice rough, most probably caused by excessive cigarette smoking, while Richard waved away the plume of blue smoke that chanced by him on the slight breeze.
Esca explained his belonging and absence from town in as few words as possible, while Graham related their business woes. It became apparent they had opened on the cusp of the town’s demise. The first year found customers almost every hour, now business was so bad, some days after a half dozen browsers they may have sold nothing at all. Time killers, Richard called them. After hours of road travel they needed stimulation before approaching the next leg of their journey. So pausing for a toilet break and sandwich they would cross from the park for visual entertainment.
“Do you like antiques?” Graham asked inviting Esca in to view their wares. Richard followed behind.
“Don’t really know much about them.” Esca answered his eyes everywhere in amazement. Wall to wall glitz, Bric-a-brac scanning an entire century of English civilization lay before him. All dusted and polished to perfection. Crockery settings he had seen on his Grandmother’s table, clocks ticking their incorrect time upon the shop walls among a scattering of nondescript paintings; dark and sooty depicting romantic scenes from countries he knew nothing about and heads of people who once were someone’s family but now only decoration. He had never before entered such a shop. He stood in wonder as Richard took the floor explaining the purpose and age of each object, while Graham stood by boasting this one or that only cost a dollar.
“I’ve never seen so many old things in one place.” Esca declared.
“This is nothing, just the junk we sell to the tourists looking for nostalgia. The best stuff in the house.” Graham bragged, leading Esca through a doorway blocked by a curtain of beads.
Once beyond the shop Esca entered into a world of colours and shapes. Plates with names he could not pronounce or remember and the size of small bicycle wheels, vases of blue and white called Wedgwood, sterling silver spoons, knives forks, gleaming back from an ancient gate-leg table of finest English Oak. Esca was lost for words but Richard had many, as two hundred years or more of collected history unfolded. Some items had been handed down from his grandparents from their grandparents, others purchased at exorbitant price from southern dealers, or for a song from some deceased estate back when people weren’t interest in the past and of course their was always Graham’s repeated declaration that it only cost a dollar.
“Coffee,” Richard offered leading Esca through their private museum to the kitchen at the rear. Instead he received tea and the obligatory biscuit.
“You’re not originally from around here?” Graham asked.
“Sure am and born at home just across the park.”
Richard accepted Esca’s birthright without further interest as he was still smarting from an issue over an incident with June Davies from the post office earlier that morning, when she disallowed his collection of an article addressed to Graham.
“I thought country people were supposed to be friendly?” Richard gruffly declared after a second biscuit, his thoughts remaining on his postal issue.
“Tell me about it, they can’t wait to get rid of me.” Esca sighed before relating his father’s demise and how he wore the blame by leaving.
Sympathy flowed from both brothers with Graham explaining how he felt when his mother had taken her own life. It was during this bout of empathy from Graham when Esca perceived the brother’s true relationship. Why he couldn’t say. Maybe a misplaced word, a hand gesture or glance, or the fact that Graham’s loss of mother didn’t appear to relate to Richard. They appeared to be more than business partners and most defiantly not brothers.
No sooner had Esca returned home placing his shopping onto the kitchen table, his mind back with the antiques and the brothers, when there was a knocking at his door. He answered it to be confronted by the elder partner of the Wallace Estate Agency with Elsie Blackburn from Edgar Street by his side. In a business acquired manner the agent offered his hand. Esca reluctantly accepted the man’s insincere weak greeting.
“I believe my son has already spoken to you about the house going onto the market?” The Agent declared; his voice bubbling with anticipation. “I think you know Mrs. Blackburn, she is interested in purchasing the property.” The short fat man with the badly fitting hairpiece concluded.
Elsie Blackburn remained silent during the Agent’s introduction, then with permission to view the premises she most rudely pushed past Esca and into the house. After a few minutes she was satisfied and both left without further speaking to Esca and by the woman’s attitude, lacking real interest in the property. It was the same three more times that week, always early morning, the agent would arrive with a potential buyer; they would view the property then leave. It soon became apparent some of the town’s folk were playing a game, most probably instigated by like likes of Fraser, Kenny and others in an attempt to harass him into leaving town. This became even more obvious as another potential buyer happened to be the wife of Bill Fraser the Newsagent, even if she appeared to be doing so under duress, while the last was a close friend to Len Kenny from the Supermarket. A farce could not be played on a better stage but instead of encouraging Esca to leave it only made him more steadfast.
Each time Esca would cheerfully answer the door, greet the caller, stepping aside allowing them to play their game. One visit was even earlier than usual so Esca intentionally answered the door wearing nothing but his under pants. Oddly that time it was a possible buyer from out of town who later settled on a more impressive property further along the street. Possibly put off by his almost naked state.
Soon after the visits stoped, evidently their game wasn’t working and as there were many houses in town of finer quality for sale, the Brody house obviously didn’t rate very high to authentic buyers, especially seeing Esca had let what was left of the garden return to the sun baked red soil. Even the front gate had fallen from its squeaky rusted hinges to lie amongst the weeds. As for the Agent’s billboard, it had received damage from a recent storm, to lean precariously towards the footpath while hindering pedestrian traffic.
If it were not for the persistence of the fake buyers and the attitude of Wallace, Esca would have straightened the sign. Instead he left it to the elements. Eventually it did fall fully blocking the walkway, taking with it on its descent a number of white pickets from the fence.
Three days passed before a member of the council left notice for the sign to be removed, which Esca immediately delivered under the door of the Wallace Agency, deciding the sign belonged to Wallace so he could attend to it. Another day and the billboard was removed from the footpath and righted but not the fence pickets. They were thrown into the weeds beside the fallen gate. Esca left the pickets where the workman dumped them.
Some days later after the billboard had been replaced Henry Wallace came by to inspect the Brody property; he noticed the pickets and the rusting gate as they lay among the weeds but did nothing about their restoration. He also perceived Esca standing at the open front door but went on his way without acknowledging the lad’s exaggerated wave and somewhat mordant greeting.
“Good morning Mr. Wallace.” Esca called as the man climbed back into his vehicle. Grinning broadly as Wallace’s head clipped the door frame of the car on entry, causing his ill fitting toupee to fall to the road surface. Wallace regained his composure before driving away, while his hairpiece sat sideways on his otherwise bald crown.
After the incident with the sign, visits from bogus interest in the property ceased. There was still the occasional inspection by potential house hunters, mostly from out of town in search of cheap investments but few even entered the house, the view of the garden and gate were enough to send them looking elsewhere.
Gary would appreciate your thoughts on his story. Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net
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