Camouflage (5 page)

Besides, he pointed out, we have each attained a degree of efficiency in our respective roles. ‘Isn't that right?' he said to her, alongside.

The pale ironing board in flight reminded me of the loose skin above my mother's elbow. Difficult to send up and over it was more difficult still for Gordon receiving, a matter of manoeuvring desperately to get side-on to the torpedo-shaped thing. At the same time Mr and Mrs Gill stepped out for a night at the theatre or somewhere. By the gate I watched Mrs Gill, fox over one shoulder, although the night was warm, flash my sister a smile. ‘So this is Glenys?' I heard her say. After that she made a point of saying hello, Gordon looking bored, as Mr Gill strode around to open her car door.

To get my sister's attention Gordon sometimes touched her with his foot. Other times, talking to me, he'd drape an elbow over her shoulder. In turn, my sister remained still, no longer jumping about. He subscribed to American magazines and gave her books to read.

Birdcage, oval mirror reflecting the clouds, a perfectly good floral armchair.

The smallest things amused my sister. She had what I would say was a childish delight in small and modest things. It was one of her attractive sides. And yet when I sent over things chosen for her she reacted as if they had dropped from the sky into his lap, as if it had nothing to do with me, on the other side.

I submitted silver coins when I had some to spare. ‘We're down to our last shekels,' I called, the coins shooting across the sky as falling stars.

It was she who pointed them out to him, I could hear her cries. It would have been their appearance amongst the stars that caught her eye, not their value; I can't answer for him. As always Gordon hardly said a word; I mean to me: I could hear him murmuring to her. Mostly you never knew what he was thinking; he never gave much away. Vase of flowers, inner-spring mattress, dustpan and brush. By the time I'd reach their gate he'd still be talking to her, my sister taking in whatever rot he came out with. It had been the same with me. So practised had he become he'd merely extend an arm and take whatever I'd sent over or simply move a step, holding her by the waist, a provocative move.

She was out of my hair, I was no longer tripping over her, a good thing; at the same time, I felt great rushes of irritation at the way she transferred her attention lock, stock and barrel to him, in that trusting way of hers, mouth slightly open. If our mother saw two people with heads together they were ‘as thick as thieves'. And more than once she said, ‘No one likes anyone whispering.'

A large oil painting from our mother's side used to hang in the bedroom, a summer landscape, on canvas. It aquaplaned into multiples of parched hills and fat gum trees. Gordon received it with open arms, my sister helped him lower it to the ground, and listened as he launched into a lecture, pointing out the strengths and weaknesses of the composition. After examining it and wiping it with his handkerchief he pronounced it too fragile to travel, my sister nodded in agreement.

In the way the boomerang came back over the roof it was only a matter of waiting before Our father's expression returned to one of smiling slightly. Mr Limb, next door, used to say, ‘I don't have a hobby or a pastime,' and as he reached retirement, ‘Most of my life has passed, and now just when I need it I don't have a hobby or a pastime.' The subject of early retirement occupied his mind so much he suffered excruciating headaches; he took days off from the work he no longer enjoyed, on medical advice.

Even then I felt sympathy for Mr Limb. I don't know what in the end happened to him. The umbrella jerked open and parachuted down, ironic cheers from Gordon's side, ashtrays were never used in our house, nest of tables, mother's, and our father's tan suitcase opened its mouth and dropped a sock on the telephone wires.

From my side in darkness I would hear Gordon's voice, followed by her laugh. Rolling pin tumbled over, dusted with flour. They would have trouble finding the knives and forks. I no longer bothered rushing around to see how the latest thing was received. We were going through the motions, little more. Only later do we realise something of value has slipped away. Whatever had been worth the effort in the beginning was coming to an end; a feeling I would recognise in later years.

I squatted near the garage, my sister, Gordon at her elbow, rummaging through what little was left.

Embroidered tablecloth, their idea, didn't make the distance; I could have told them that. At any given time there is only a limited number of ideas of value, I wanted to say. And before long we exhaust them as well. I remained squatting, watching them. If one of them went somewhere the other followed. I was left alone, to one side.

That night when my sister came skipping around to my side I thought she was coming around to my way of thinking, whatever that was.

Instead, she had a suggestion, and as I listened I felt my father's grin beginning to run amok; but she was looking away strangely and speaking vaguely.

Thinking the thing she suggested was going to be the last I got to my feet, not at all laboriously, and went inside. I came out with it rolled up.

So many things passed through my hands; nevertheless, I found it necessary to use all my skills with this one, and wondering whether it was her idea or his dispatched, after some difficulties, my sister's favourite party dress. I could follow its progress, walking up our gravel drive. Billowing from the waist it elbowed gently past the chimney. And in its determination, oblivious to me or anybody else, I glimpsed my sister there and in years to come. She would always be determined, always there, her way, while I felt within a heavy casualness, settled and spreading.

Whatever Gordon was expecting it wasn't this. Directly above him the translucent dress began descending, flapping gently at the edges. Not sure whether to grab it with both hands, or perhaps deceived by its slowness, the slow hip and narrow waist movements, he was caught wrong-footed. The white cotton dress smothered him.

I waited for my sister to rush forward and help, as she had all along, but she looked on, not lifting a finger, letting Gordon disentangle himself.

From the gatepost if I glanced across the street I would see Gordon's outline, kicking gravel, my sister discussing something. I had almost forgotten what my sister looked like. The dark bulk of the house now came between her features and me, obscuring aspects of her personality even. Out of habit I hung around near our back door. From inside the kitchen I heard the soft thudding of our mother ironing, occasionally the murmur of our father.

Things at least seemed to be steady there, I remember thinking.

At the sound of her voice, my sister, I stood up. Gordon was one step behind, both hands in his pockets, pursing his lips.

My sister whispered again. Why the whisper? I wanted to ask. Facing her, I noticed a rushed, wide-open expression I hadn't seen before.

Still I didn't say anything. After a while my sister went inside, leaving us. He and I stood there. Gordon glanced at his watch. When she came out in her white party dress he stepped forward.

‘How am I?' she asked in a small voice. She was speaking to me. The gap opened between her teeth as she smiled.

It allowed me to place my hands under her arms. She was much heavier than I imagined, I could feel the soft swell of her breasts. She allowed my hands to remain there; she was my sister.

I looked at her once more. ‘Are you all right?' I was on the point of saying, ‘Is this what you want?' Other questions reached my tongue, but her body had surrendered, and by then I had taken an interest in the whole technical question; I began gathering momentum. In an almighty heave-ho, putting my whole body into it, I let go.

Trust and optimism were always her main characteristics. Now she tilted her chin, and dog-paddled among the stars, then clasped her hands more like an angel than my sister. Putting her trust in me she was now putting her trust in him. I concentrated on the mole near her lip, a point of focus, until it too began diminishing, along with the pale hopes of her body, gap between teeth, fringe, balanced on one foot, listening: all this blotted out by the chimney.

I heard Mr Limb's cough. He was setting out on his evening walk, for health reasons. I felt so much around me slipping, accelerating, beyond my grasp; for I was left with nothing. Running from my side towards the light I began calling my sister's name, to where she had gone.