I venture out, nevertheless, in order to open the stinking dustbin, tear up the letter and toss the pieces into the rotting garbage.
7
I had to go and see Dad and make him those pancakes, seeing I'd blabbed about them to Mum. That was a fantastic performance. I really managed to tug her heartstrings. The thought of me taking care of my poor ailing dad, who left us in the shit. I haven't been to see him for at least a month. The last time was in hospital with Mum.
It took me a long time to find some clobber to put on, 'cos when I'm visiting Dad I have to wear something that wouldn't be an affront to decent people. The trouble is I didn't have anything that wouldn't make Dad go spare. If I put on some ordinary Levis he'd start going on about the cost of them and telling me not to buy things like that when I'm not earning and he has to pay maintenance for me. But my old jeans had three ginormous holes in them and I was afraid he wouldn't survive the shock. In the end I got out an old dress I made myself when I was about twelve. It was impossibly crude and the colour of dog shit, in fact it looked
like an upside-down trash can without a bottom, but it wouldn't be an affront to decent people.
Dad was the last person I fancied seeing.
I never liked visiting him even when I was forced to every week, which was something they dreamt up at some stupid court or other. Dad was fairly OK when he was living with us. I remember him calling me Jankie-pankie and bringing me Mole colouring books. And he'd tell me how we'd fly to Mars in a rocket ship. I thought he was talking about the chocolate bar. Why not if the moon can be made of cheese?
Dad said he learnt tidiness when he was doing military service. And he was really proud of being better at folding his blankets and clothes than any of the other cretins. He'd really knock me out when he demonstrated to me how to stack clothes.
And he used to take me to the planetarium and the observatory. He had some pals there. Stars were his big thing. Most of all he wanted to shock me with Saturn's rings, the moons around Jupiter, the black holes and the Big Bang. He loved the Big Bang 'cos that's how everything is supposed to have started. He used to tell me how in the beginning all there was was a tiny little marble, smaller than a tomato but ever so heavy 'cos it contained all the stars we can see and even those we can't. A real pain. And that poor guy believed it and I bet he even told those morons in his school about it. And they'd have to repeat it after him: the stars we can see and even those we can't. That was his favourite: repeat after me. Repeat after me: I am not to laugh at the teachers! Repeat after me: before dinner well-mannered people wash their hands! Repeat after me: only louts fail to greet older people! And I used to repeat it otherwise I'd immediately get a clout and ever since then I've hated washing my hands and now and again I shout to some poor old pensioner: Ciao! or Hi!
Mum didn't have to repeat things after him, but even so she was more scared of Dad than I was. If she was a quarter of an hour late with lunch on a Sunday, Dad would look at his watch and say the
time out loud. 'It's five past twelve. . it's ten past twelve' and on and on. And Mum would apologize and be full of excuses, such as the meat was tough, instead of telling him to get lost or go to the pub.
Dad also explained to me that everything we can see, as well as what we can't see, just happened. It wasn't created by some god, 'cos he'd have to be so big he wouldn't fit into heaven and he'd have to be so incredibly old that he wouldn't be even able to survive it himself. I didn't understand that bit anyway. Sometimes I used to go to church with Mum's Eva. I quite enjoyed it, especially the singing and the saints with their eyes rolled upwards as if they'd been chewing loads of dope or had seen something that totally knocked them out. Maybe they were looking at the tiny little marble that made the Big Bang. And also I didn't understand why angels needed to have wings like geese or swans, when they could fly just like that, like when I dream about flying; that's why they're angels, after all. There was also a ginger-haired server I fancied.
Whenever we went out for the day, Dad always used to be testing our knowledge of flowers and trees and songbirds, not to mention the battles that were fought in that particular spot. That's a pasqueflower, that's an alpine currant, that's a cinquefoil and that's a wood warbler. Can you hear it singing tweet-tweet? Well I certainly couldn't hear it, but Mum made an effort and said, 'Oh, yes, tweet-tweet. You're great, Karel. How do you manage to remember all those things?' And I think she might have really meant it. And he believed her, 'cos the next thing he said was, 'Well you had to memorize the human anatomy.' Horrendous.
Mum was really nuts about him. I realized that, and even though he looked old enough to be her father she must have really loved him 'cos she still thinks about him all the time even though she pretends she couldn't give a toss about him. She really takes it to heart that he's in such a bad way.
Then when I was at least in third year they started to fight like total loonies. They'd always shut themselves in the bedroom or the kitchen and yell at each other as if I couldn't hear. At first I thought it was because of me, because Dad thought I was disobedient, untidy and lazy and that I would come to a sticky end, but then Dad stopped coming home in time for dinner and soon he didn't come home at all; and Mum would sit with the TV on and cry her eyes out, even when Camera Capers was on. I'd wake up sometimes in the night and she'd be sitting in the kitchen reading or just staring at the wall and I realized they'd probably get divorced.
Dad moved in with some bird who worked in a bank. She was tall and lanky and totally flat-chested. She had really ugly teeth, a bit like a vampire; perhaps she was one, 'cos Dad became really ill and whenever she said anything to me it was obvious that she was totally brain-dead. I don't know what Dad saw in her; maybe he just ran away from me because I started to get bolshie. And he also caught me with a ciggie, but they were already getting divorced by then anyway
Dad has the sort of eyes that put fear into people. He can stand and look at someone for ages without blinking. I never knew why he stared like that. I just knew he wasn't pleased with me and that I'd done something wrong and I could expect some punishment. He was a real genius at dreaming up punishments. If I didn't finish my lunch, for instance, Mum would have to cook me the same thing for the rest of the week. One time I didn't want to wear this vile flowery frock that Grandma must have found on a rubbish tip somewhere or dug out of Auntie Lida's things. Mum split on me so Dad gave me a good hiding and then I had to wear that frock to school every day until I managed to pour some tomato soup with noodles down the front of it in the school canteen.
When he left us, he wasn't able to punish me any more. I expect he didn't feel like it any more; he wasn't bothered, he was already soppy about his beanpole. He just kept on trying to
explain that it wasn't his fault but Mum's 'cos she hadn't looked after him properly and was always having those black moods of hers that he just couldn't cope with. And on top of that she smoked. He told me he needed a bit of peace, fresh air and some enjoyment out of life. And at least a hint of attention. We both needed it, he explained, but my mother would often leave us in the lurch and go off with some pals after surgery instead of coming home. Apparently he used to have to cook me something for dinner at the last minute, but I was too young to remember, according to him. He said Mum had no sense of order and he couldn't understand how someone like that could repair people's teeth properly. Apart from that their interests were completely different. Mum didn't even enjoy tennis or skiing — surely I must have noticed how she was like an elephant on skis — and she wasn't interested in history. He's told me loads of times that it wasn't a home but a place of weeping and wailing. 'Her hysteria even started to rub off on me and you were being affected too. In fact you're going to spend your life trying to recover from it.'