barrage of stares

8/14/2019 Barrage of Stares

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BARRAGE OF

STARES

Adlade Eleanor Dupont

in this form 2010 text copyright 2008


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Agnetha Lowy stood in the pew of the Szent Istvan church. She

was in the front row on the brides side, with her parents. There

were her sister and her sisters boyfriend, and her brother and his

wife. They were singing hymns for the happy couple.

Actually, Agnetha and her parents had been almost late to Szent

Istvan, the church that had stood in the community for more than

fifty years. There had been a barrage of traffic, which Agnetha

imagined her parents liked no more than she did. Her father

would occasionally react as if the car in the front was a personal

insult. He was one who tended to keep his anger in, all in.

Agnetha had had to be pinned in for everything. It was the day

before, and her mother still hadnt finished the sewing. They had

bought a fancy machine ten years ago, with all the computer

patterns, and still hadnt the opportunity to do more with it.

Some of the mothers Agnetha knew loved to scrapbook their

memories and their days. But they never seemed to have enough


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room or sharp enough scissors or sticky enough glue. Agnetha

thought that would be lovely to give the bride and groom a

present.

At least she had been able to avoid giving out the programmes,

though not avoid referring to the grey and pink flowers

constantly. The paper was white vellum good paper that could

wrinkle and get damaged if a person set her fingerprints on it.

They stood up and sat, as the hymns told them to do. There was a

lot of reading, as well. Mainly the priest read from the Bible.

Agnetha suddenly got terrible vertigo and wanted to sit down.

She closed her eyes. That way she would think she was respecting

God. What if she lost her balance or twisted her ankle? She had

been standing so long, it seemed, without a break or interruption.

Thank goodness that she did not have eyes in the back of her head.

Nicholas was talking pictures with his camera. Sometimes he

would show them to her when there was a lull. Agnetha adjusted


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her scarf. Her coat was fine. It was the heaviest, lumpiest thing

she owned made out of shapeless pleather. She had worn it over

winter, and it still came up to her thighs, like the girls school

uniforms. Agnetha put her eyes up to the priest. She did not like

to think she was not paying attention. But there was a buzz in her

head and ears, and she had felt her legs buckle.

The other special piece of clothing or footwear Agnetha was

wearing were her black calf-high boots. The laces were almost

endless. Agnetha had only learnt to tie them the month before.

They were somehow thinner and slipperier than her sneaker lace,

so her mother went to the store and added grips as a

precautionary measure and to help Agnetha out. She had Agnetha

could wear them as long as she had a matching pair of tights she

did not approve of girls going bare-legged in church or anywhere

people might see them.


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Also it was deathly cold. Szent Istvan was a small church; it

could not fit more than a hundred and fifty comfortably without

some spilling out into the door or on to the floor. There were

about five or six to a pew, allowing for some wide spaces.

At the front of the church, there were pink and white flowers,

as well as orange ones. The orchid and the tiger lily were the most

prominent. If you liked showy flowers, then these stood out and

grabbed your eye. Agnetha also liked the gerberas, which were

orange and stuck around the inside of the arrangement. There

were other, more innocent and straightforward, pink and white

lilies. They were mainly white with a pink or purple stripe.

Also there were candles white and gold. They were long and

stood there for display. Szent Istvan itself was full of light from the

stain glass windows, which showed scenes of history and glory, as

well as some plain ones. The windows told a story from tower to


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chapel. Agnetha wondered if the bride and groom looked at the

stories, or if they knew them so well, without being told. The

story she liked best was one about a fair lady, a knight and a

dragon. She liked it best, because it was adventurous and even a

little bit scary.

Nicholas had told her a story about a bishop and his money. It

came form a blue book and had a lot of illustrations in it. Agnetha

looked more at the pictures and listened to the words that

Nicholas was saying.

The giddiness had gone now, she hoped. She didnt want to

miss the exciting part of the service. Fiona and Piers would swear,

from this day forth, to have and to hold, in sickness and in

health, to love each other forever. Until they got old and died,

like her grandmother and grandfather.

Agnetha would stay with her grandparents during the evening

reception. Her jolly, merry Aunt, her mothers sister Ruth Is


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she your elder or younger sister, Mother? Agnetha had asked,

though she knew that it was not in years that the distinction

between mother and Ruth lay would also be there. Ruth had

never been married, and Ruth was the last.

And, no, she could not have Babette over to stay as well.

Babette was the nearest thing Agnetha had to a great friend. She

was two years older, and was a great story teller.

Like Walter Mitty? said Nicholas, who studied civil

engineering because he liked it, and not because he didnt get the

marks for law or medicine.

Who? her father had asked.

Like Jeffrey Archer, Nicholas said. He also liked to stir the

possum.

Now it was Agnethas turn to say, Who?

I wouldnt let you read him yet, because hes full of sex,

religion and politics all things you try not to mention at the


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dinner table, Nicholas said, but I also wouldnt mention it to

Babette.

Why not? Agnetha said.

Because, Nicholas said, shell get a swollen head.

Agnetha tried to imagine Babette with a sore head. She wasnt

like any of the other girls in school. Well, they were all different,

but Babette was special. Super sparkly special, like glitter and

stickers and stars. Probably especially stars.

Babette had wavy brown hair that was almost up to her waist

and was the colour of an autumn leaf. It seemed to have natural

highlights in the sun. She also had freckles and a strong chin and

pointing ears like an elf. Someone had painted it out to her more

than once, unflatteringly. But she was the right height and the

right weight and clothes seemed to fit her.

She looked everyone in the eye and had a firm handshake. She

was polite, pleasant and friendly, even when something was


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ticking her off. This reminded Agnetha of her father. Babette did

not seem to chew your ear off, either in person or on the phone.

Yet she was bright and always had something appropriate to say.

Every girl, even those who didnt like her and they were

legion, even those who Agnetha would never have heard of in a

million years had their own favourite Babett-ism to share. They

even stole her words, which made Agnetha see red. If the words

had power at all, it was because Babette said them.

She would just have to be lonely and stay with Grandmother

and Ruth. She could lie down and think and dream.

Grandmothers house was quiet, and she always had some project

or scheme on the go. Like knitting for African babies. She could

tell stories of children in Mozambique, who had flies rushing all

around them and sniffly noses. Or the children in Zimbabwe, who

stayed in camps until they could find a home away from their

cruel leader. All the scarves would be collected into blankets and


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sewn up there. Of course, they could be here, for the children

who had to be in hospital a long time for operations.

Agnetha knew all about being in hospital. People thought she

had a weak heart. Often it would beat too fast or too slow after

exercising, or for any reason. Her beat was erratic, the doctor had

said. She liked her doctor. She had had to sit out most sports and

help on the sidelines. The good thing was that she never had to

shower in front of the others. Everyone would compare their

parts, and it would be like a meat market.

Agnetha would have stayed in hospital two or three days out of

every month. She had grown used to filling the long hours. She

would watch childrens television, with bright and colourful

characters. Now that was often fun. She would look out into the

window, especially if she was on a top floor and there was a

balcony with some cheering flowers like pansies and forget-me-

nots. She would play Patience. She would even do her homework


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and work on problems or assignments that she had been set. Some

of the girls she knew had been homeschooled, or they even did

their schoolwork on the Internet, and had it marked and graded

there by their virtual teacher. Agnetha didnt like sitting near a

computer all day, but that was because she didnt get a chance to

be near one. Even then, she didnt dream of computers. She liked

to be outdoors, painting or climbing trees.

There was one friendly tree, which seemed to be hallowed

ground for fairies. It was somewhere in the city, near where Fiona

and Piers were going to have the official wedding photographs.

The bridesmaids were looking splendid in their pink, which

reminded Agnetha of the colour of her pastels that ran into several

tints if they were mixed well. Some of the dresses were long,

some were shorter. Now that Agnetha had the chance to look at

the dresses, she almost forgot about the tree.


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Her parents understandably were distracted and strained.

After months of intense preparation, they were parting with their

eldest daughter.

Fiona and Piers are so happy, look, said Agnetha. It was hard

to find her voice again after it had been silent so long. There had

been singing, but Agnetha couldnt hold a tune, which made the

lie out of any speculation that she was called after Agnetha, the

reclusive blonde from the Swedish supergroup ABBA. Girls could

be very mean about names, and Babette told her to tell anyone

who asked that it was the European (Dont ever, dont ever, tell

anyone its Hungarian, she said in a horrified whisper.) form of

Agnes. A perfectly respectable Catholic name; even if her mother

and father did like to put trimmings on it. All right, so it wasnt

Emily or Elizabeth or Isabella or Sophie or Astrid, but it would do

for the rest of her life, and it went well with Lowy, which meant

lion or lioness. She tried to feel as strong and as brave as one.


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She also tried to catch Fis eye. She didnt know what her

parents, in particular, her father, would say. Fi was getting the

stares. Her friends and acquaintances were right behind them.

Agnetha looked at the flower girl and the ring bearer. It had

mostly been a small family wedding, on the part of the Lowys,

and these smaller people were her cousins. Actually, the flower

girl was her niece, Abigail. Abigail or Gayle looked like a

rose. She liked to twirl her skirts on any dance or church floor

ever seen. It had a nice ruffly feeling, even though her mother was

embarrassed.

It must be nice to have a mother care about your clothes,

Agnetha thought. Not in the sense of spending tens and hundreds

on a credit card or in notes or vouchers, but to make them

yourself. Roberta Levy did try, but while Mr Levy and Agnetha

were watching the football, there was a lot of distraction. As it

was a cloudy day, the light was not good, and Roberta had had to


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work under a hundred-watt lamp. It was a powerful lamp, the

globe wasnt covered at all. Then Roberta could see the stitches

better. Agnetha had had to have her sleeves taken up as her arms

were too short. That meant nearly wrecking the Laura Ashley

shirt they had brought from a direct factory outlet. Thank

goodness that there was quiet.

Mr Lowy had been too immersed in the games tactics and

strategies to care. It was simple for him: beg, borrow or steal a

suit that represented his status in the community and didnt

crumple up when he made the toast and the speeches about Fi.

Fis dress was very modern. She was wearing a pearl necklace

and the hairdresser had moussed and teased her corn-coloured

hair That could not be natural, a gadfly type had the

insouciance to point out and all the rest of you are so dark.

Actually, Nicholas had light brown hair, which was quite thin and


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inconspicuous. Gayle also had brunette hair. It was Agnetha who

was the dark one, in hair and skin and mostly in the way she acted.

She and her parents were surprised that they did not call

Agnetha a gypsy queen. Perhaps that was because she was dressed

in black pants, and black everything, including a black skivvy,

where every other female was showing skin light, dark,

chemically enhanced or otherwise. At least, the ones under fifty.

Nicholas joked, I bet those grandmothers could shimmy in the

moonlight.

If Nicholas wasnt so much older he was past thirty and if he

wasnt married with a child Mrs Lowy would think such

horseplay would be a bad example to her precious Abigail and if

he didnt have such a quirky sense of humour which, many

considered, consisted of sayingpreciselythe wrong thing at the

wrong time and place to a person who ought not to partake, or at

the very least, you wouldnt think would be likely, because of her


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youth or age or impairment Humour doesnt discriminiate in

that regard, Miss Edmunds, was a Nicholas quote and finally

and most important of all, if she didnt love him so much,

Agnetha would have hit him. Instead, Agnetha was torn between

chuckling uproariously and insisting with her dignity torn that she

did not care what grandmothers did in the moonlight, as long as

they did not drink too much and embarrass themselves, their

grandchildren and their neighbourhood. Unlike some

grandmothers the Lowy family had the pleasure of knowing

intimately, but did not lay claim to them in the outside world.

Especially this grandmother, who from a distance looked like a

relict of some forgotten tribe And I dont mean the twelve

tribes of Israel, Nicholas said.

Perhaps you mean the tribes of rugby. Mr Lowy said.


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Agnetha thought it might be more like pixies or elves or fairies,

if there were such things outside of story books. Or maybe

something out of history, like the lost queen.

Isnt it funny, that out of all the queens I know, their names are

both Elizabeth? Agnetha asked.

I lived in the time of Queen Mary, said this fascinating

creature. Now, mind your manners, please.

Yes, Agnetha said, with a gulp in her throat. Unlike her other

grandmother, she only saw this woman once a year, if that.

Mrs Lowy made a motion to tell Agnetha without words that

she should stand up straight, even though she dreaded looking into

the yes of this blue-rinsed Amazon, to show her how much she

had grown. Agnetha had now grown quite tall, so she would be

able to stand up to Mr Lowy, who was considered a beanstalk of

nature.


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Shooting straight from the hip, the grandmother said, Well,

whoever you got the height from, you didnt get it from me.

Nicholas and Mr Lowy winked conspiratorially, as if to say,

Women and Agnetha had to admit that was true. Mr Lowys

mothers side of the family were not all beanpoles. In fact, some

of them had had to starve during uprisings and revolution. And

some of the genes for tallness just didnt pan out.

Agnetha thanked goodness that she lived in a country where she

could eat as much as she liked, as long as she stopped when she

was full and minded her manners so that she didnt appear like a

piggy as Grandmother was always telling Ruth. Or was Ruth

looking less like a piggy these days? Either way, it was hard to tell.

So, Bubby, what did you think of the service? said Nicholas.

When he had been at the Student Representative Council many

years ago, he was famous for cutting off toes of young ones who

wished to speak, and in general, breaking every rule of


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parliamentary etiquette, including many that had been unwritten

to that point. I wasnt cut out to be a politician student or

otherwise and student politics in particular is a bundle of

insufferable wankery, he had said after a chocolate drive went

wrong.

Anyone else but Bubby might have been put off, but she went

on. Like the Titanic Babette would have said. Frankly, you have

been listening to too many Celine Dion songs, their teacher had

said when Agnetha, Babette and the rest of the class had been

doing the Titanic in a school reading which they had been set. All

the students had known was the movie, of which they had snuck

various looks at during a sleep-over. The booty of womanhood,

Nicholas joked.

Not that Agnetha and Babette and the others didnt admit that

good learning was not always distillable into three-minute love

songs or in the case of My Heart Will Go On, five minutes.


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They could pay attention and concentrate a lot longer than that,

and actually produce some work when their minds were not

distracted with friendships and boys and the million demands of

the busy day.

So Agnetha could acquit herself well when Bubby asked her

about the lessons that Ms Gregory gave to the students, and the

activities and carnivals she had been chosen for during the last year

or so. She was able to talk about her new friend Ellen. Ellen was a

bit giggly and inclined to act as if she had drunken red cordial, but

that was, as Roberta Levy, in her other life as a paediatrician,

within range, and she was otherwise a fun companion who never

went into funks nor furies. Of course she did get sad or angry,

when there were things to be sad or angry about, but she was

passionate. She liked to go shopping and bike-riding, and even

horse-riding on her familys farm.


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Agnetha had been invited to Ellens tenth birthday, only because

Ellens mum came from a kinder, gentler universe where every

girl in the class was invited to parties if they showed virtues and

character consistent with a certain ethos. So it was inclusive and

exclusive at the same time. This meant that Agnetha had to face

the ordeal of going to the party alone, among girls who neither

liked nor disliked her but were indifferent to her.

Still, parties, especially of this kinder and gentler universe, were

essentially all about the host. So Agnetha, for the first time of

going to parties for people she hated, people she couldnt give a

lab rats tosser for another Nicholas quote parties she was just

too shy for, running out into tears and traffic Babette would

add that she really, really enjoyed this party. And she found

herself arranging that she and Ellen could stay with Bubby. She

felt quite sure that they would like each other. They shared the

same grounded nature. They werent swept off their feet when


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people said or did odd things, preferring to accept it all as part of

lifes tapestry.

It wasnt often that they could get Bubby to take an interest in

the outside world. In that respect, she was like Agnetha. They

didnt need the hustle and bustle of the newspapers to make them

happy. Just as Grandmother was interested in craft, Bubby was

interested in animals.

Mrs Lowy Roberta, not Megan, Nicholass wife had told

Agnetha and Babette a sad but interesting story about a woman

who had all her china or porcelain animals and a limp in her leg.

The story had just enough emotion to appeal to these intelligent

girls. It was shown through the eyes of the sensitive brother, who

felt himself a failure in life. And then, in the story, one by one,

the animals smashed, especially the swan.

The girls had different pictures in their heads. Babette imagined

a shop with divine, sparkling Swavorski crystal, and Agnetha


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imagined Bubbys homely and disorganized cabinet. Her animals

did not even take up all of it, but Agnetha liked to think that the

stories associated with each animal or bird did. Bubby, out of all

the animal kingdom, was especially fascinated with birds,

butterflies and frogs. They had some life or property, apart from

their beauty, that made them special and irreplaceable. Every bird

seemed to be there, from the seagull

Jonathan Livingstone Seagull, of course. Remember when I

told you that story? Roberta was speaking to the group, some of

whom would have heard her amazing motivational speeches.

Yeah, is he meant to be archetypal- Daniel thought he was

such a big shot because he was a poet like Ted Hughes or a

unique seagull- but was really a boy from the streets who dressed

like a goth, or an emo, whatever they were. Anyway, Agnetha

knew she was not allowed near Robertas black eyeliner for any

reason. And who knew what was in Dans heart? Perhaps he had


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had a heartbreak? Perhaps he had been cuckolded? Perhaps, like

Mr Lowy said about Papa Hemingway Agnetha had asked at that

point, Is he our new-old Paris great-grand-daddy that we dont

know about? he was blustering his way through with a bull and

a red rag? But if Dan wanted to write cool poems and show his

creative side, fine. Just dont scare the hell out of my children or

anyone else.

I just want to share the love, man, Dan replied, making a

statement, that, if not excluding the dominant half of the

population, revealed a sense of appropriateness. This was a

wedding, after all. But the phrase came off like one of the set

shots in football.

Megan tsk-tsked in her shoes. They were black platforms,

unlike some of the lighter and looser and more colourful things on

other peoples feet. Some were various shades of metal or pastel,

and one person decided to go the va-va-voom way and carry the


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full red shoe effect. Agnetha was impressed. She loved her own

boots, which it had taken a whole terms pocket money to save

for and get. Then her father, showing the Lowy perspicacity

around money matters, told her not to touch it for six months.

At least, one half of the couple would be solvent pending the

pre-nuptial agreement. That was Mr Lowys doing as well he

put his hands on it. The couple had a house in the city, in which

there had been a midnightpotlatch and lifting of various gifts and

products. Agnetha had been so tired.

The Lowys mother, father and daughter loaded themselves

and their coats into the car. Thgey would spend the afternoon at a

relatives house, which had enough room for the brood to sit and

eat and talk. It was a classic brick fabricated house with chintz

furniture and a big pantry and kitchen where most people could

congregate and bring whatever they wanted to drink. Food would

be supplied, mostly in the form of nibbles like vegetables and


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meats from the delicatessen. Then Agnetha would be taken to

Ruth and Grandmother.

Even in the kitchen, there were something like thirty to fifty

people, and each had their own place in relation to everyone else.

You had to squick a chair before the others got it, if you wanted to

sit down. The only place that Agnetha could remember being this

busy was Grandmothers fiftieth anniversary. Then there had been

the funeral. But she didnt like to think of the funeral, not because

her grandfather had died, but because something very rude had

been said about her Aunt Ruth. It was absolutely off the pale the

kind of thing the children said at school.

Roberta had asked her to repeat it. In a whisper, so that those

who werent in the conversation couldnt hear.

She said: Its like raising a twenty-five-year-old child.

Roberta bowed her head to her daughter, as if she were facing a

terrible truth.


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You and Nick and Fi will always be my children, no matter

what you do or how old you get. And I think Ruth is taking as

much care of Grandmother as Grandmother is of her. So dont

you listen to your other aunties, said Roberta to Agnetha.

Ruth and Grandmother loved Grandfather, said Nicholas. He

was the main male presence in their lives at the moment,

especially on his days off. Agnetha felt sorry that she had been too

young to know Grandfather as the loving and caring man he

undoubtedly was. He had made the Lowy name very well-known

in the world of banking and high finance. Well maybe not such

high finance, Mr Lowy had to admit one day. Were

comfortable and were happy. That is what matters, Roberta

added.

That was a very motherly thing to say. And it wasnt especially

to her. Agnetha hated being singled out. Fi and Nicholas so often

had been. They were the children of the family that didnt speak


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English. Mr Lowy and the company had been under some

squeezing scrutiny at time time, so naturally whatever was passed

on to the children would be serious. The general feeling had been

Economic migrants, tut-tut though there had been more to

it than that.

By the time some twenty years later Roberta had had her

third child, she had learnt more or less to ride with the

punches from all sides. It made her strong, but it didnt mean that

she didnt occasionally go through the existential equivalent of

Why me? The realquestion, as she saw it, was: What point is

normality in an abnormal situation? And she hoped her children

would have courage to ask it in all fields of their endeavour.

One particularly hard punch for herself, her sisters and her

parents As well as for Ruth herself, said Fi and Nicholas, as

they gained insight was Ruth. Specifically, like other young

women, she began to dance and sneak out, putting herself in


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danger. To the children, as well as her husband, she would

rationalize it Of course, Ruth was always a good dancer. Her

dream was to go to dance school. but as Ruths increasing

needs began to conflict with the needs of Agnetha, something in

Roberta began to revolt. No, she could not be mother, carer and

sister at the same time. Something would have to give. And if Mr

Lowy began to think of paying off the situation yes, he could be

obtuse that way, and no, it was not the way he was brought up

whatever that had been then something serious would have to

be done.

Corporate social responsibility the triple bottom line had

not been talked much about, much less made part of the culture.

Lowy was in those days more of a mouse than a lion, in his grey

elephant suits. A little faster and a little further he might have

developed some backbone, in his personal as well as his

professional life. He was decent and moderate, on the credit side


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of the ledger, he knew where he stood, if he did not always have a

sharp sense of where he was going. Who would, in his position

and in those times? Very few. This was an exceptional situation.

Exceptional, that is, until and unless you were in it. Then it

became routine. Roberta had perhaps more unfulfilled and

certainly unresolved (then) ambition than her husband.

Certainly more than her mother and two elder sisters, who were

content with their respective status quo. They had settled on dry

ground, that did not yet shake, did not break. And yet the fault

line was there, which brought with it death, danger and

deprivation.

The deprivation was of the tangible and intangible kind. In those

times the markets were erratic and based heavily on speculation

and commodities. This was before ordinary people could get into

shares. Roberta then began to read through the lines.


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Now, anyone seeing the Lowys would think they were a run-of-

the-mill family, no better and no worse than they were five years

ago. There were no seismic changes. Apart from the death of the

Lowy grandfather and the Lowy father gaining more

responsibility, there were no essential changes.

Fiona certainly thought so. She was now thirty-three and a

geologist by trade. She had an affinity with rocks and the earth,

and a gregariousness which broke out at unexpected times. One

would look at her and say, yes, she led a charmed life. Before her

studies in geology and earth science, she had worked in bakeries,

music teaching and librarianship. She had a light footstep.

But in many of her closest personal relationships she did not

always tread carefully. Perhaps when she was on a carpet rather

than an unmade track, she forgot what Bubby called her manners.

Piers and Roberta in particular knew this more than anyone. She

could be charming and then abusive by turns. She once did a


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graphic art course depending on who you asked for a whim

Piers or to fill up the coffers Nicholas, who had to overrule

her many requests for money when she maxed out her golden

credit card and got Roberta to do the assignments, for that kind

of analytical writing was not her strength, and Roberta was then a

soft touch, in part because of hormones and in part because she

knew the stresses of academic life, or what pretended to be it in

these quasi-vocational courses.

Mind you, Mr Lowy said he never ever used a colloquial

expression in a language still not entirely his own, there will

always be a demand for graphic artists and printers. He said this

while he was grueling over an annual report.

And good copy-writers. Nicholas quipped. In those times he

was an ambulance boy.

Those most of all, his father concluded. Without words, what

are we?


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Grunting animals? Nicholas said. Trust him to spread the limit

to a rhetorical question the more silly, the better.

Meanwhile, in the present, the girls Agnetha called the Glitter

Twins so called because, together, they would wear the most

ostentatious couture seen on a child would creep their brattish

way between the next soliticious adult and the backyard. In her

experience, such girls and they always were girls were bullies.

On this occasion, they were wearing golden dresses made out of

expensive material. Not what ninety percent of the mothers in the

world would call playclothes. The idea of a clothing allowance

was strange to the Lowys.

Fortunately, the Glitter Twins were avoiding her.

Unfortunately, they seemed to point and laugh at everything at

sight range. It was as well they didnt do that at things out of

sight, because then they would have driven everyone else into

hell.


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Agnetha steeled herself up. They were like animals or birds

with a sting. Just ignore them and they wouldnt hurt you. In the

case of the bees, they were going after the sweet stuff, and it

helped humans in the long run. And hopefully the Glitter Twins

had half a brain each.

Meanwhile, some young or perhaps not so young person

had let out the family tortoise. This particular aunt, Marian, was

the one who kept reptiles and also guinea pigs and rabbits, who in

the main, got on well with each other and with people. They had

their own special personalities and created a lot of joy for Marian

and her family.

Aunt Marian was seldom available in the sense of Ill be there

when in a little tick. But when it was something big and

social, you could rely on her to make it as comfortable as possible.

Agnetha had fun with the tortoise, while some of the boys teased


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it by poking it with a straw or their fingers. Some of those fingers

were chubby, so made a dent in Lightnings shell.

She was probably the one of Robertas sisters that Agnetha felt

that she knew the least. She probably had nothing in her

experience of relatives to relate or compare. Perhaps none of the

four was so outwardly respectable. At any rate, there were so few

stories about her. Nor did you see Marian through her husband or

her children, neither of which were the Glitter Twins.

Perhaps, Agnetha thought, the animals were the clue. Babette

always said so. She said that everyone had an animal spirit. Miss

Guthrie wondered where she had come out with that remark. She

remembered that reptiles were cold-blooded, whereas rabbits and

guinea pigs, like humans, were warm-blooded. And how else

could Agnetha have picked it up? It was whispered and screamed

across the discourse blood made you a great deal of who you

were. When Roberta denied that was true, after her younger


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daughter had come across it in a certain anime, Agnetha had the

guts to disagree with her for once. Perhapos both her mother and

Marion were hiding something.

Agnetha told her blood idea to Dan, and he seemed to

understand. More importantly, he did not laugh it off. Probably it

hit into his scene. She was hanging around his literary crowd. Six

were sitting around an afternoon fire, and Lightning was

wandering between them. She learnt, from them, that literature

was as arbitrary as football or finance, but it certainly wasnt

arcane. These guys lived and breathed it. Maybe not necessarily in

the traditional way her mother and father and teachers knew

but, hey, these guys were being taught and trained in how poems

and stories worked in the 21st century. Certainly the imagery

wasnt all puppies and kittens and whatever was thought suitable.

But as much as Agnetha was fascinated with blood, she didnt

think she could tolerate gore. When there were gross-outs, she


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could only go so far. These boys no, these men in the minds of

boys went far, and they loved to top each other in exploit after

exploit. Everyone said that there was nothing Dan loved so much

to do as push the boundaries of whatever he was doing. He had

never really grown out of it, and how it was his full-time

occupation. For how long, though?

Dan was glad that he had friends to care about him, and about

whom he cared, perhaps for the first time in his life. He wouldnt

do anything silly at least, for the sake of being silly. Besides,

what were they but ants? Industrious, harmless things, but

otherwise? He had reached a state of calm and content.

For the last fricking how harsh was that, to lose your control

in front of a little girl for the last fricking time, I am not an

emo. Where do you hear these things? Youre as bad as Marian, as

Bertha.


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Bertha was the eldest sister, Dans mother. What she had had to

wear through the years. No wonder Dan had had to leave home as

soon as possible. No, throw out, in her words. No respectable

young man acted like a starving artist when he didnt have to.

Yes, every time I have an idea, Mummy calls me to the table.

Agnetha faced the heckler he was directly opposite her and

said, It hasnt got that bad yet. Without food, how can I practice

my still lives?

What about the surrealist painter I showed you Salvador

Dali?

Remember when you got told off for photographing your sister

with her clothes off? said the heckler. Your itty bitty sister?

That was the final straw, Dan said authoritatively.

Keeping it in the family, the heckler said.

I mean it. Agnes, said Dan, how is your still life going?

Im getting better at the curves of bananas, she said proudly.


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Dan made a sign to the heckler to shut up.

And the oranges are so ripe and round.

Do you know how to mix grey to give your fruit volume?

She nodded and added, But I really like printmaking best.

Dan wasnt really a joke teller but he did attempt one.

I didnt think Lowys would be into printmaking.

Oh, but I am. Why dontyou think so? She had to tease out the

absurdity.

Its full of stereotypes. And the crowd busted themselves

laughing.

Very dry wit, Daniel, Roberta said. Im so grateful for the

interest you take in my daughters art. Though you need to work

on your joke-telling. She stopped herself censuring Dans friends

outr sense of humour. They had laughed at much more and much

worse, and she wondered: How much was contagion? Certainly,


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in this lot and others like them. Not that you could generalize

these days.

She pointed out to Agnetha that A sense of humour is more

than whats required to make your friends laugh. And Agnetha

pointed out Mummy, I dont have any friends with more pout

than pain and then Roberta said, Tell Dan from me that if your

grandmother the non-Lowy variety didnt save so carefully the

potatoes, where does he think prints come from? and Agnetha

answered, From Jenny on the Block.

When Roberta paused, Agnetha continued. Well, thats whatson his I-Pod. She did not tell Roberta that Dan had been cuttinglectures to look at the pictures on his I-Pod. It would probablygive her a cardiac arrest.

barrage of stares

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