Brutal Critiques welcome. Nit Picks encouraged.
The Old Man
This chink, my daughters fiancé was on his way for dinner and to spend the night. Kate had called my wife a week ago. She travelled Europe with him and he preposed in Paris. This afternoon they left Auckland in his car and would be here before dinner at seven. I killed a lamb last week, hung it up and Paula had put the first hind roast in the oven. I had nothing to do these days, not since I retired. Today I read the paper, the sport and business, then tore it up and lit the fire with it.
“They’re here.” Paula called from the Kitchen. I eyed the car through the blinds, a small, green, Jap model. There was a knock at the door. I placed my glasses on a low coffee table in the small lounge and walked to the entrance. Kate hugged Paula for a while; then she shuffled past and wrapped her arms around my neck. The chink hugged my wife, and then he stepped toward me, grinned and stretched out his hand. I took his hand and shook it. His thin eyes stared into mine and his grip was firm. He was smooth and shaven and across his forehead, his flat black fringe was swept. He said his name was Ung-So. I said mine was Tom. He smelt like a woman, perhaps it came from my daughter.
Kate put her notebook computer on the dinner table whilst I carved the meat. She was showing my wife photographs of her trip. The chink leaned over the back of my daughter’s seat licking his lips and laughing at his photos like a dope.
“All ready,” I called from the Kitchen, “You want to start serving up dear?”Paula loaded up four plates and placed them on the table. I sat down and reached for the gravy. Paula as swift as a lioness batted my hand away.
“You know you can’t have gravy not with your cholesterol.” I grimaced. The Chink gobbled down the entire meal as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks.
“You can eat boy.”
“Oh- ahh thanks.”Kate and Paula threw me looks. “This is a lovely house you have Mr Donald.”
“I built most of it myself.”
“Oh that’s interesting, Kate mentioned you’re a jack of all trades.”
“Well I wouldn’t go as far-“
“Don’t be modest Tom,” My wife interrupted “You know he did most of the electrical fittings and plumbing himself too.”
“Oh wow that’s amazing.” The chink exaggerated.
“So where are you from?”
“I moved over to New Zealand when I was nine and I grew up in Wellington.”
“OK, but where were you from?” The girls stopped eating for a moment, they both gave me sharp ‘drop – it’ looks.
“Originally, Taiwan.”
“Taiwan,” I thought a moment and continued, “And what brought you to our great country?” His gaze shifted to my daughter.
“Umm just work opportunities for my parents, plus better wages.”
“Oh well I haven’t been to Asia since the Vietnam War, so I wouldn’t know.”Kate dropped her knife and fork and stared at me.
“Who wants pudding?” my wife asked as she swiftly stood up, forcing her seat into a loud slide.
We sat in silence and when Paula returned from the kitchen, she carried bowls and spoons. She left again and this time returned with a large glass dish of steaming apple crumble. She served it up and everyone heaps on whipped cream except for me. Paula and the chink talked about his work and his trip with my daughter. Kate pushed me with questions about retired life and my brothers and sisters. Again he gobbled down the food much faster than anyone else.
“That was a delicious pudding Mrs Donald, and the Dinner was amazing. Kate mentioned you get a few lambs each season, was tonight’s roast home kill?”
“Yeah, killed it last week.”
“And most of the veges are from the garden” my wife added. She then dashed around collecting the plates and offered my daughter and the chink a glass of wine. Kate asked “Red or white?”
“Either dear”
“I’ll have a red, Merlot if you have it? Do you want a glass of water hun?”
“Yeah I will have a water if you don’t mind?”
“Not a problem Ung-so.” My wife answered and enter the kitchen.
Conversation continued at the dinner table for a short while longer. I added my thoughts occasionally but something seemed to irritate me about this guy. My wife threw back her head in a snort of laughter whenever he said a joke and each time I neglected to laugh my daughter stared at me as though a huge hideous slug was moving along the ridge of my nose. The conversation halted when my wife insisted it was time for her and Kate to clean up. They carried the plates into the Kitchen and my wife called “Why don’t you two make yourself more comfortable by the fire in the lounge or Tom perhaps you could show Ung-So around the house?”
I stood up. “Come on then.” He looked confused for a moment then stood and followed me. I went to the entrance and picked up my daughter’s suitcase, he picked up his own. He followed me through the lower level of the house. I showed him the small lounge, the lounge with the television, the guest bedroom, the guest ensuite, the games room (which was once Kate’s nursery), the down stairs bathroom, then we climbed the stairs. I showed him the door to our room but not inside. I showed him Kate’s room, the one she had from age three to 19. It still had pictures of shirtless men from magazines. Her bookshelf library so small yet so deep, with fiction intended for an audience well beyond her teenage years. Her vanity mirror. Photographs from her high school balls, being head girl she attended several. Tied together and strung up on a hook above her double bed were her ballet shoes. The most recent addition to her walls was a photo of me and my wife ten years ago with our little girl’s blonde head jammed beneath my shoulder holding in one arm a framed degree and in the other her mother.
I showed him the upstairs deck, looking out over the farm. I pointed out the pine trees tucked away in the corner of the farm barely visible on the moonless night. I lead him back down stairs and the girls were sipping tea at the dinner table. My wife eyed me for a moment then jerked her head toward the small lounge. I lead him through the dining room into the small lounge.
“Have a seat.” He fell into my chair and stared at the open fire. I slid the grill across and eased myself down on one knee to stoke it up. The grill squealed closed and I walked to the vintage side board and poured my self a neat whiskey.
“You want a whiskey boy?” He stiffly jerked his head toward me and smiled weakly.
“No thanks I don’t drink.”I resisted a wince before lowering myself onto the vacant Seat. The lights were out and the fire created tall dancing shadows on the walls. The boys face appeared ominous in the light.
“Can I ask you about the war?” He began. I swallowed a mouthful of whiskey and nodded. “Did you -” he paused and looked down a moment then continued, “Did you lose any friends?” before I could sip I lowered the drink from my lips. My heart picked up and the cool glass trembled softly in my hand. I sat it between my thighs.
“No.” I lied then inhaled a full chest of air. He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and leaned forward pressing his palms onto his knees. Something small and silver slipped from his shirt and hung from a thin chain. He quickly placed it back in his shirt. “What was that?” I demanded.
He glanced at me for a second then back to the flames. He pulled the necklace back from his shirt and on it hung a crucifix.
“It was my mothers.”
“Was she a Christian?”
“Yeah, she died when I was young but before she did she instilled faith into me, one of my last memories of her was her asking me to pray everyday. She said if I do eventually good things will happen, she made me promise.”
I stared at the necklace. My own crucifix hung around my neck and one day it will hang from my daughter's neck. I sat and sipped my whiskey and together we stared into the flames.
"Did you keep it, the promise?"
"Yeah, I did."
“Do you love Kate?”
“Yeah, I do”
I blinked out a tear and stood up to pour myself another whiskey. I downed the entire thing in one gulp and walked behind the boy in my seat. The tears were building and sat ready to drip down my cheek. I placed one hand on his shoulder.
“ Good night son.”
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