The Punjabi Pappadum Page 3

  “Wardrobe!” he screamed.

  It was hard to get good help nowadays.

  Dusting himself off, Dexter soon discovered the reason for the lack of interest in his well-being. Sitting in the gutter, holding her elbow, was Uncle Ravi’s daughter, Indira. As he walked over, Dexter felt the tinge in his right ankle crawl up his body and explode in a dizzy head rush. Up dose Indira was beautiful, breathtakingly so, nothing at all like Veejay had described. His heartbeat went psycho and thumped a crazy drum solo, just like it did when Travis’s mum, during her stint as canteen supervisor, had a win over the ladies auxiliary and put steamed dim sims on the lunchtime menu. But this was far more serious. Indira was exotic — a princess from some childhood fairytale. Jet-black hair, gathered in a pony-tail, hung like a snake down her right shoulder. Her bright orange sari hit you between the eyes, as if she’d stepped into a brilliant sunset. And it was the little things too, like the jewelled stud in her nose and the small scar above her right eye. One of her front teeth was crooked and angled slightly over the other, so white against her dark skin.

  I wonder if she speaks any English, thought Dexter.

  “S o r r y … a b o u t … t h a t,” he mouthed slowly. “A r e … y o u … o k a y?”

  ‘I’ll be fine.” She grimaced. “I think it’s only a bruise.”

  “Oh, you speak English, then?”

  “Yeah,” said Indira. “Do you speak Hindi?”

  “Can’t say I do, but I am a qualified first aider. Perhaps a triangular sling for the elbow?”

  “No thanks.”

  As the entourage helped her up, four sets of angry eyes shot daggers into Dexter’s blackened face.

  “You’re lucky you didn’t really hurt someone with that stunt, Dexter,” said Mrs Singh.

  “It’s all right, Aunty,” said Indira. “I’m okay, honest.”

  “I was a lot better at practice this morning,” Dexter explained sheepishly. “How about I try it again without the turban?”

  “You’ve done enough already,” barked Mr Singh, pushing past with the family.

  “Hang on, I’ve got a couple of paragraphs on the history of the Pappadum before you go in.”

  “Knock it off, Dexter, and get the bags.”

  Quickly, Dexter loaded up and shuffled past Mr Singh who was holding the door ajar.

  “After you, knucklehead,” he whispered.

  Mr Singh cleared his throat.

  “Welcome to the …”

  For a moment everyone stood open-mouthed, taking in the brightly lit dining area. Veejay and Travis had gone into hiding.

  “Cool, huh?” said Dexter. “Wait till you see the dishes we’ve added to the menu. The Truckers’ Tandoori Chicken Burger is my idea, by the way.”

  Mrs Singh let out little whimpering noises as she spotted the huge eucalyptus arrangements placed strategically around the room.

  “Australiana, Mrs ‘S’,” explained Dexter. “Unfortunately I can’t take credit for that one. That’s Veejay’s brainwave. Brilliant hey?”

  The first to shatter the silence was Mr Singh.

  “Veejay!” he roared. “Get out here on the double.”

  “He always was a bit headstrong that boy of yours,” said Uncle Ravi, disapprovingly. “A firm hand was what he needed. It’s a bit late now, I suppose.”

  According to the plan, this was the bit where Veejay and Travis burst into the dining area with balloons and party whistles.

  “Could I draw your attention to the native fauna nailed to the wall over here,” said Dexter, pointing out the kookaburra to the new arrivals.

  This time Mr Singh meant business.

  “Veejay!”

  Alone, in the hot seat, Dexter sensed an almighty ear bashing brewing. He stood completely still, useless, like a party sparkler that had lost its fizz and died. Not having a Plan B to fall back on, Dexter did the next best thing.

  “Umm, Mr Singh, I think you’ll find what you’re looking for down behind the counter.”

  GOST ROGAN JOSH .......... $13.75

  Spiced mutton curry cooked with tomatoes.

  Mr Carmody liked to start off low-key for the first gig on the Christmas list and this year was no exception. Veejay, Dexter and Travis sat at the back of the minibus, their minds on things other than carols.

  “You can’t give her six woks,” said Travis. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I devised the wok system,” barked Dexter, “and I can give her six woks if I want. She’s beautiful.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought you said that this wok system of yours went up to five. Doesn’t five woks mean exceptional?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ll that’s the limit then — five. You can’t go any higher than five. The sixth wok doesn’t count. It’s null and void, it doesn’t mean anything.”

  Dexter replayed their first meeting in his mind and pictured Indira’s wicked, killer smile.

  “What about five and a half then?”

  “Tell him, will you, Veejay,” said Travis. “You can’t have any more than five, can you?”

  From the window seat Veejay turned to face them. His eyes were faraway and worried. Suddenly Travis and Dexter felt ashamed. The Pappadum was running at a loss now. Each new day nibbled away at the small amount of money the Singhs had managed to save over the years. The restaurant business was all they knew.

  “Huh?” mumbled Veejay.

  “Tell him he can’t give Indira six woks,” said Travis.

  “I wouldn’t get too excited about Indira,” said Veejay. “You don’t know her like I do. She’s trouble.”

  The words made Dexter stiffen. A sharp pain pricked his chest as if Veejay had jabbed him with something sharp and pointy.

  “Yeah, but you’re related. Indira and I have a totally different relationship.”

  “What relationship? You pole-axed her wearing my dad’s Y-fronts remember?”

  Sour grapes, thought Dexter. He’s emotional, I’ll let it slide.

  Finally the minibus pulled up outside the Happy Valley Nursing Home. A small welcoming committee, at different stages of mobility, were gathered at the front doors. Full of Christmas spirit they were. Those with wheelchairs, frames or walking sticks had decorated them with tinsel and a select few wore red hats with white pompoms.

  “I’d like you all to remember what today is about, gents,” hollered Mr Carmody. “ ‘A Day with the Grey’ is more than just Christmas carols. Some of these folk don’t have grandchildren and some have no family at all. You’ve all been paired up with someone for morning tea. There’s a list in the foyer. After that we’ll take to the stage. Any questions?”

  Grant Thompson had one.

  “Who are the people with cameras?”

  “Ah, the press,” beamed Mr Carmody, clawing his way through the boys to the front. “What a surprise.”

  He ran a comb quickly through his thinning hair then composed himself with a couple of deep breaths. With a whoosh, the doors of the minibus opened and out leapt Mr Carmody and his happy smiling face.

  “Good morning, everyone. Baldwin Carmody at your service.”

  With name-tags pinned securely to their chests, the Regional Boys Choir made their way into the activities room to locate their “buddies” for morning tea.

  Veejay found Ron near a big glass window catching some early sun.

  “Good morning, Ron,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m Veejay Singh, your buddy.”

  “You’re no buddy of mine, son,” grumbled Ron. “I’m dying of thirst over here. Make yourself useful and get me a cup of tea. White with one. And I’ll have one of those lamingtons while you’re at it.”

  Travis located Elsie, asleep in a recliner. He wiped dribble from her chin with a hand towel then gently tapped her arm.

  “Hi Elsie, I’m Travis.”

  At first her look was vacant, then something seemed to click.

  “Cecil!” she roared. “It’s Monday morning. Have yo
u put the milk bottles out?”

  “I’m not Cecil, Elsie. My name’s Travis.”

  “Last time that fool left them in the sun. I won’t have warm milk, Cecil.”

  A nurse appeared at his side.

  “Cecil was her husband,” she explained.

  It turned out that Dexter’s buddy, Charlie, was on holiday at the Gold Coast with his family, so he decided to join, Veejay.

  “Hi, I’m Dexter,” he announced, pulling up a seat next to Veejay and Ron. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Bloody terrific,” moaned Ron. “How come I’m the poor bludger that gets two? Hope you can make a better cuppa than your mate here.”

  Early as it was, a ‘Day with the Grey’ was already proving a great success. The photographers milled around capturing magic moments between allocated buddies for their respective papers. Busy in the background, jostling for a photo opportunity, was Mr Carmody.

  “I suppose the whole idea came to me when I was visiting my own gran,” he sprouted. “Dear old soul. A Day with the Grey gives those in their twilight years a bit of companionship before they … How should I put it — Cross the finishing line?”

  “Where’d you find that moron?” asked Ron, into his third cup of tea.

  “He kind of found us, I’m afraid,” replied Dexter.

  “Lucky you.”

  Slowly, Ron placed his empty cup on a side table and fixed his eyes on Veejay. Again, Veejay was out beyond the window, somewhere far away. His teeth began to grind, making the muscles in his jaw twitch and ripple. Before Dexter could explain, Ron lifted a finger over his lips. Something in him seemed to soften.

  “I thought you two were supposed to be cheering me up,” he said.

  Veejay turned to face them, confused.

  “What’s up, son?” asked Ron.

  “Huh?”

  “Come on now. I may look like a silly old fool but I’ve been around, you know.”

  And that was it — so simple. It was like turning on a tap. First Veejay told Ron about his mum and dad and their dream of owning a restaurant. It gushed out. Then he went into details about the Pappadum and Burger Barn and how everything had turned sour. New details too, ones he’d kept secret, like the visit from the health inspector and a Licensing Commission representative. Ron took it all in, even the part about Uncle Ravi and the Curry Kid, until Veejay ran himself dry and slumped exhausted in his chair.

  Ron took a moment and licked his lips.

  “Cup of tea, Ron?”

  “Thanks, Dexter.”

  In a flash Dexter had the tea sorted, white with one, and was back with his buddies.

  “You’re getting squeezed,” said Ron, looking over his shoulder.

  “Squeezed?” asked Veejay.

  “Trust me, I used to be a detective in my day. Fraud squad mainly. I’ve seen this sort of thing before. I’m willing to bet that this Burger Barn mob are trying to squeeze you out.”

  “But what about the letters in the local paper and the health inspector and the licensing representative.”

  “They’re trying to hurt the Pappadum, Veejay. By the sounds of it, you and your family are the only serious competition in town. There’s dirty money going up the line and I’ve got a fair idea where it’s headed.”

  “Are you saying that someone’s being paid off?” asked Dexter.

  “You better believe it.”

  “But who?” asked Veejay.

  Ron glanced over his left shoulder then swung a look right.

  “I’ve got a good nose for these things, fellas, and I’m smelling something fishy down at the local council. We’ll start there, I think.”

  “What do you mean, we?”

  “I can help you with this, Veejay, it’s what I do.”

  “You mean, used to do?”

  “Come on, fellas, I’ll go nuts if I don’t get out of here and do something. What d’ya say?”

  “We’ll need a plan of course, Ron,” said Dexter.

  “Of course.”

  “Veejay, what about it?”

  A huge smile flashed across his face.

  “Are you, by any chance, familiar with the Commando Manual, Ron?”

  “Rusty, I’m afraid.”

  In all the excitement, the boys had forgotten Travis. They called him over and introduced him to Ron, then bunched up tight. A weathered hand covered in sun-spots hit the table. The others followed Ron’s lead, one on top of the other, palms down. They were more than buddies now. They were a team, preparing for combat, unafraid of the dangers that lay ahead. The boys waited while Ron licked his lips.

  “White with one, please Travis, there’s a good lad.”

  FULL $16.95

  TANDOORI CHICKEN .......... HALF $8.95

  Spring chicken, marinated in yoghurt, ginger, garlic, lemon juice and fresh spices, cooked in the clay oven.

  Next morning, Dexter was up early chomping into a bowl of cereal. His older brother, Hugo, shuffled into the kitchen half asleep, all bed hair and bad breath.

  “Who put the Cornflakes in the fridge?” he asked, wiping sleep from his eyes.

  “Sorry,” said Dexter.

  “Geez, you’re acting weird lately. What’s got into you?”

  School was over for Hugo — no more Longwood High. A long, cruisey summer lay ahead, then, hopefully, university. He wanted to be an architect or something. Whereas life always seemed to be a struggle for Dexter, Hugo seemed to breeze through it. Good at everything, he was. And girls! His latest girlfriend, Sally Bradthorn, was a stunner. “Horny Thorny” he called her.

  “How’s Sal?” asked Dexter.

  “She’s good,” he replied. “Why?”

  “No reason.”

  Pouring some milk, Hugo twigged, then smiled. He was cluey, no question.

  “You’re tuning, aren’t you?”

  “Tuning?” asked Dexter, confused.

  “Yeah. Tuning in on some girl. You know, like when you’re mucking around with the dial on a ghetto blaster, zeroing in on a radio station. You’re tuning, am I right?”

  “Well, um, not exactly. I’d like to be though. It’s just that I’m not sure how to go about it.”

  “Brother, have you come to the right place.”

  Running through the dos and don’ts of modern-day tuning, Hugo slid his chair in next to Dexter.

  “Don’t look so worried,” he said. “I’m giving you the simplified version. It’ll only get you in the front door. What you need now are some basic moves. I’ll let you in on a couple of my favourites. Don’t be fancy, Dexter, just keep it simple, okay?”

  “Simple, gotcha.”

  Hugo moved closer still.

  “Now, let’s pretend that I’m you.”

  Dexter winced. “Do we have to do this?”

  “We do, I’m afraid … And you are?”

  “Indira?” replied Dexter.

  “Good.”

  Upstairs their mum and dad stirred.

  “Don’t you think we’re jumping the gun a bit here?” asked Dexter uncomfortably.

  “Ssshhh!”

  Sipping his tea, Dexter felt something soft and sticky on his leg.

  “See that,” said Hugo proudly. “Nice and subtle, hey?”

  “It feels disgusting,” replied Dexter. “What’s on your hand? Is that marmalade?”

  “Sorry. Let’s try another one. Pretend you’re reaching for the vegemite over there.”

  Before Dexter had touched the jar, Hugo’s hand was on top of his. He cupped it gently and gave it a squeeze.

  “Wow,” said Dexter. “I like that one.”

  A cough from behind startled them. It was their dad.

  “Listen, if you boys want some privacy, your mother and I can go for a walk or something.”

  “Thanks Dad,” said Hugo, “but I’m just showing Dexter a couple of moves.”

  “Yeah? Well why didn’t you say so. Shove over. Have you shown him the ‘over the shoulder’ manoeuvre yet?”

  “You’re
kidding, aren’t you? That’s ancient history.”

  “Ancient history? Don’t listen to him, Dexter. I was pretty handy in my time. Do you know what the girls at Longwood High used to call me?”

  “No idea.”

  “The Octopus.”

  Behind them on the kitchen wall the telephone rang. Hugo pounced.

  “It’s for you, Octopus,” he said, handing over the cordless.

  Not far into the conversation, the boys could tell it was serious. Normally their dad was a talker — one of those weirdos who’d rather switch the telly off for an evening and have a good old family chinwag. Right now, however, he was standing next to the fridge scratching his head and dropping one-worders into the receiver.

  “When? How? Cripes!”

  “Right,” he finished off. “I’ll be down there in a sec.”

  Replacing the phone, he turned, deep in thought.

  “Something up, Dad?” asked Dexter.

  “That was Jim Sweeney, President of the Citrus Growers’ Association. Someone’s just done over the Association office. They’ve cleared the safe, the bludgers.”

  “You’re kidding? What’d they get?”

  “Jim wouldn’t say over the phone, but I’m guessing it was a fair whack. They had the money in the safe, all ready to pay for The Big Valencia and souvenir shop. The builders wanted cash up-front when they started Monday morning.”

  “So that’s it?” asked Dexter. “No more Big Valencia?”

  “It doesn’t look good, fellas. The builders won’t start without the money. Pity though, it would have done a lot for tourism around here. Imagine a giant orange on the side of the highway? Twice as big as that Big Banana, you know. We would have had people coming from overseas, I reckon.”