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.On the wall hung a painting done on glass, an ocean view from a villa.The marble steps, the dark blue of the sea.A garden from a Hollywood musical.Just outside the bathroom, on the wall opposite, was a portrait taken when the family had just arrived in the new house.Lou was still a toddler, a cherub.Tommy was smiling widely, almost beginning a laugh.Artie was handsome, Maria beautiful.Their clothes were ludicrous.Soo-Ling giggled at the flares and pinstripes, the wide unflattering collars.From the hall there was a faint stir of unfamiliar music.She knocked on the door where the sound was coming from.Lou was sitting in the middle of the room, against his bed.The television was on.Silent, a football game.The radio was playing electronic dance music Soo-Ling did not recognise.A cluttered desk with a computer.Lou smiled at her.—Welcome.This is my room.Soo-Ling sat on the bed.The boy’s window opened onto the garden.Artie and the sons were opaque beneath the heavy lace and folds of the curtain.Above Lou’s desk were naked images of Madonna, the Playboy spread.Soo-Ling pointed.—What’s your mother think of that?—She don’t mind that.That’s what freaked her out.Lou pointed above her head.Soo-Ling swung around.Posters, images.Who the fuck are the Sonic Youth? she wondered.She finally caught the offending poster.Torn from a magazine, an AIDS notice.Two boys kissing.—Mum hates that.—What’s that song, on the radio?Lou shrugged.—Some acid house thing, I think.He squizzed at the radio, screwed up his face.No.He hesitated, then nodded.Yeah, I think it’s acid house.—What’s the station?—Triple R.Noncommercial.You don’t ever listen?—No.I’m a bit of a dag, I guess.—Doesn’t Tommy listen to it?—I don’t think so.Lou turned back to the television.—Tommy used to listen to it all the time.That’s how I got into it.Mentioning his brother had reminded Lou of the intimacy of the situation he was in right now.This woman’s long and slim legs.He blushed and fixed on the television screen.The football had dissolved to advertising.—You barrack for anyone?Soo-Ling shook her head.—I guess you Asians aren’t that into football, eh? My mate Vinnie is the same, he can’t stand footy.He’s Vietnamese, not Chinese, the boy added.—Maybe it’s a girl thing with me.The boy grinned.—Nah, can’t get away with that.Heaps of girls like footy.His embarrassment had disappeared.Protesting students.Lou followed the woman’s gaze.Flash back to the newsreader.—Tiananmen? I guess you’re following all that, eh?Soo-Ling smiled at the boy and got up.—I know nothing about that shit.See you.A shape ran from under the bed, it jumped onto Lou’s lap.A small black and white cat, adult, stretched its neck towards the boy.Lou lowered his head and they touched, nose to nose.Soo-Ling laughed.Lou turned to her, a finger to his lips.—Don’t tell anyone, she’s not meant to be inside.The boy stroked the cat, which began purring and clawing his thigh.Lou turned to Soo-Ling.—Mum goes all woggy about animals inside the house.Don’t tell her.—I won’t, promised Soo-Ling.As she was leaving she had a strong urge to play with the boy’s hair.But she didn’t.In the kitchen Maria was making coffee.—You want one? Greek?—I guess.I’ve never had one.I’ll try it.Soo-Ling was to serve the coffee.The tray had gilt edges, an Acropolis scene on a black shiny surface.Four Greek coffees, two Australian.—Is Lou having one?Maria yelled loudly through the house.In Greek.The boy yelled back.—No!The men were sitting on the verandah.Soo-Ling felt the chill.She served the coffee and went inside for her jacket.Tommy sipped at the coffee, there was not enough milk.Eva was breastfeeding the baby and Tommy did not look at her.Dominic whispered loudly in Greek.—Eva, do you have to do it here?Eva gave him a fuck-you sign.—I don’t speak Greek, remember.Artie laughed.—There’s nothing wrong, Dom.And I don’t mind catching a perv of Eva’s tits.Tommy thought his father was a stupid ignorant cunt.Eva ignored the men and ministered to the baby.Soo-Ling joined her, sat next to her on the verandah.—She’s beautiful.—Yeah, she’s good.Eva looked proud.She hardly cries, we’re lucky.Artie sipped at his coffee.—You like yours? he asked Soo-Ling.The coffee tasted harsh, the thick sediment stained her lips.—It’s fine.Artie laughed.—I’ve never been able to drink that shit.—Stop.Said in Greek.Maria was shaking her head.You Australians don’t know anything about coffee, she spat.—I’m part Greek, protested Artie, winking to his sons.—Bullshit you’re part Greek, laughed his wife.You’re one hundred per cent kangarootha.Tommy looked over at Soo-Ling.She was pretty.He hoped everyone could see how pretty she was.—How’s work, Tommy?—Fine, Dad.—They still talking of selling up?—Yep.Tommy didn’t look at Soo-Ling.—Well, you should keep your eye out for other jobs.—It ain’t that easy, Dad.—It was easy for me.Maximum two days and I’d find me a new job.I’d knock at every factory door.And you’ve been to fucking college.You gotta get off your bum.It isn’t that fucking easy any more.Soo-Ling wanted to scream the words.She did not realise it but her fingers uncoiled, they were reaching out for Tommy.Maria was looking at her.—Arto, you’re a malaka, an idiot.There’s a recession on, it’s not like when you and I started.Tommy was thankful for his mother’s intervention.Now shut up.But she turned to him.—Tommy, you need a house.It’s stupid living at the flat, wasting your money on rent.—I’m saving.Tommy was frowning.—How much have you saved? his father asked.—About three thousand.Again, Tommy did not look at Soo-Ling.His savings account now held nine hundred and fifty-seven dollars and twenty-five cents.It was pay week.—That’s fucking nothing, mate.Dominic shut the paper he was reading.Mum’s right, move back here.Everything’s done for you, you’ll save heaps.Don’t listen to him, Tommy, prayed Soo-Ling.—I like the flat.—Why? demanded his mother.—I like the independence.His mother exploded into Greek.Independence! Contempt ate at the word.Fuck you, you bitch.Tommy said nothing.He stood up.—I’ve got to go to the toilet.He deliberately pissed over the seat, splashed on the floor.Then he feverishly sprayed disinfectant, tore paper from the roll, vigorously cleaned up.He felt sick, his stomach was bloated.He had eaten too much.Outside, the talk was of politics.Maria berating the collapse of the socialist government in Greece.For her, Papandreou was a hero.The recent coalition formed between the communists and the conservatives made her furious.—Traitors.—Why do you care, Mama, what’s it to you? The Greeks are fucked, always have been, you say that yourself.Maria turned swiftly to Dominic.—I’m still Greek.—Well, we’re not.Tommy wanted to take back the words as soon as his mother turned her eyes on him.They were fire.—You’re nothing, right.Nothing! The last word Greek.—Okay, okay, we’re nothing.Maria stared hard at her middle son; she was waiting.Tommy was silent.You!She was disgusted.And turned away from him.Soo-Ling had been quiet throughout, angry for Tommy.She waved to him and pointed across the garden [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.On the wall hung a painting done on glass, an ocean view from a villa.The marble steps, the dark blue of the sea.A garden from a Hollywood musical.Just outside the bathroom, on the wall opposite, was a portrait taken when the family had just arrived in the new house.Lou was still a toddler, a cherub.Tommy was smiling widely, almost beginning a laugh.Artie was handsome, Maria beautiful.Their clothes were ludicrous.Soo-Ling giggled at the flares and pinstripes, the wide unflattering collars.From the hall there was a faint stir of unfamiliar music.She knocked on the door where the sound was coming from.Lou was sitting in the middle of the room, against his bed.The television was on.Silent, a football game.The radio was playing electronic dance music Soo-Ling did not recognise.A cluttered desk with a computer.Lou smiled at her.—Welcome.This is my room.Soo-Ling sat on the bed.The boy’s window opened onto the garden.Artie and the sons were opaque beneath the heavy lace and folds of the curtain.Above Lou’s desk were naked images of Madonna, the Playboy spread.Soo-Ling pointed.—What’s your mother think of that?—She don’t mind that.That’s what freaked her out.Lou pointed above her head.Soo-Ling swung around.Posters, images.Who the fuck are the Sonic Youth? she wondered.She finally caught the offending poster.Torn from a magazine, an AIDS notice.Two boys kissing.—Mum hates that.—What’s that song, on the radio?Lou shrugged.—Some acid house thing, I think.He squizzed at the radio, screwed up his face.No.He hesitated, then nodded.Yeah, I think it’s acid house.—What’s the station?—Triple R.Noncommercial.You don’t ever listen?—No.I’m a bit of a dag, I guess.—Doesn’t Tommy listen to it?—I don’t think so.Lou turned back to the television.—Tommy used to listen to it all the time.That’s how I got into it.Mentioning his brother had reminded Lou of the intimacy of the situation he was in right now.This woman’s long and slim legs.He blushed and fixed on the television screen.The football had dissolved to advertising.—You barrack for anyone?Soo-Ling shook her head.—I guess you Asians aren’t that into football, eh? My mate Vinnie is the same, he can’t stand footy.He’s Vietnamese, not Chinese, the boy added.—Maybe it’s a girl thing with me.The boy grinned.—Nah, can’t get away with that.Heaps of girls like footy.His embarrassment had disappeared.Protesting students.Lou followed the woman’s gaze.Flash back to the newsreader.—Tiananmen? I guess you’re following all that, eh?Soo-Ling smiled at the boy and got up.—I know nothing about that shit.See you.A shape ran from under the bed, it jumped onto Lou’s lap.A small black and white cat, adult, stretched its neck towards the boy.Lou lowered his head and they touched, nose to nose.Soo-Ling laughed.Lou turned to her, a finger to his lips.—Don’t tell anyone, she’s not meant to be inside.The boy stroked the cat, which began purring and clawing his thigh.Lou turned to Soo-Ling.—Mum goes all woggy about animals inside the house.Don’t tell her.—I won’t, promised Soo-Ling.As she was leaving she had a strong urge to play with the boy’s hair.But she didn’t.In the kitchen Maria was making coffee.—You want one? Greek?—I guess.I’ve never had one.I’ll try it.Soo-Ling was to serve the coffee.The tray had gilt edges, an Acropolis scene on a black shiny surface.Four Greek coffees, two Australian.—Is Lou having one?Maria yelled loudly through the house.In Greek.The boy yelled back.—No!The men were sitting on the verandah.Soo-Ling felt the chill.She served the coffee and went inside for her jacket.Tommy sipped at the coffee, there was not enough milk.Eva was breastfeeding the baby and Tommy did not look at her.Dominic whispered loudly in Greek.—Eva, do you have to do it here?Eva gave him a fuck-you sign.—I don’t speak Greek, remember.Artie laughed.—There’s nothing wrong, Dom.And I don’t mind catching a perv of Eva’s tits.Tommy thought his father was a stupid ignorant cunt.Eva ignored the men and ministered to the baby.Soo-Ling joined her, sat next to her on the verandah.—She’s beautiful.—Yeah, she’s good.Eva looked proud.She hardly cries, we’re lucky.Artie sipped at his coffee.—You like yours? he asked Soo-Ling.The coffee tasted harsh, the thick sediment stained her lips.—It’s fine.Artie laughed.—I’ve never been able to drink that shit.—Stop.Said in Greek.Maria was shaking her head.You Australians don’t know anything about coffee, she spat.—I’m part Greek, protested Artie, winking to his sons.—Bullshit you’re part Greek, laughed his wife.You’re one hundred per cent kangarootha.Tommy looked over at Soo-Ling.She was pretty.He hoped everyone could see how pretty she was.—How’s work, Tommy?—Fine, Dad.—They still talking of selling up?—Yep.Tommy didn’t look at Soo-Ling.—Well, you should keep your eye out for other jobs.—It ain’t that easy, Dad.—It was easy for me.Maximum two days and I’d find me a new job.I’d knock at every factory door.And you’ve been to fucking college.You gotta get off your bum.It isn’t that fucking easy any more.Soo-Ling wanted to scream the words.She did not realise it but her fingers uncoiled, they were reaching out for Tommy.Maria was looking at her.—Arto, you’re a malaka, an idiot.There’s a recession on, it’s not like when you and I started.Tommy was thankful for his mother’s intervention.Now shut up.But she turned to him.—Tommy, you need a house.It’s stupid living at the flat, wasting your money on rent.—I’m saving.Tommy was frowning.—How much have you saved? his father asked.—About three thousand.Again, Tommy did not look at Soo-Ling.His savings account now held nine hundred and fifty-seven dollars and twenty-five cents.It was pay week.—That’s fucking nothing, mate.Dominic shut the paper he was reading.Mum’s right, move back here.Everything’s done for you, you’ll save heaps.Don’t listen to him, Tommy, prayed Soo-Ling.—I like the flat.—Why? demanded his mother.—I like the independence.His mother exploded into Greek.Independence! Contempt ate at the word.Fuck you, you bitch.Tommy said nothing.He stood up.—I’ve got to go to the toilet.He deliberately pissed over the seat, splashed on the floor.Then he feverishly sprayed disinfectant, tore paper from the roll, vigorously cleaned up.He felt sick, his stomach was bloated.He had eaten too much.Outside, the talk was of politics.Maria berating the collapse of the socialist government in Greece.For her, Papandreou was a hero.The recent coalition formed between the communists and the conservatives made her furious.—Traitors.—Why do you care, Mama, what’s it to you? The Greeks are fucked, always have been, you say that yourself.Maria turned swiftly to Dominic.—I’m still Greek.—Well, we’re not.Tommy wanted to take back the words as soon as his mother turned her eyes on him.They were fire.—You’re nothing, right.Nothing! The last word Greek.—Okay, okay, we’re nothing.Maria stared hard at her middle son; she was waiting.Tommy was silent.You!She was disgusted.And turned away from him.Soo-Ling had been quiet throughout, angry for Tommy.She waved to him and pointed across the garden [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]