Mr Romanov's Garden in the Sky Page 9

I was stalling. I looked down at the brown-skinned figure in my hand, at his strange crumpled forehead.

  ‘Do we really need Worf?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, we do,’ said Davey.

  ‘But technically you were only supposed to bring one thing.’

  ‘Put him up, Lexie. I mean it.’

  Reluctantly, I reached up to the dash and pretended to push down on Worf’s head.

  ‘He’s not sticking,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t make me come into the front, Lexie.’

  I never understood the whole Star Trek thing. One night, when I was flicking through the channels on the TV, I came across an old re-run by chance. I thought it was a comedy at first, some alien spoof about a band of freaky misfits in outer space. I didn’t get it then and I certainly didn’t get it now but the more I thought about it, the more I began to realise that Davey’s obsession with the hideous Worf was no more peculiar than talking to a smiley face on a wall. And maybe that was the point. Maybe everyone needed something to help them through.

  Stalling was pointless. I was never going to win, so I reached for the dash again and pressed down on Worf’s shoulders.

  ‘Happy now?’

  I glanced at Davey in the back and he threw me a smile then launched into what I presumed to be a Worf-like voice.

  ‘I am not a merry man.’

  ‘Fair enough too,’ I said. ‘By the looks of him, Old Worfie hasn’t got a lot to be merry about.’

  Sydney Road, the other way, was a crawl into town. In some ways it reminded me of Brunswick Street with its rows of cafes and single-fronted shops. But Coburg had a different, more relaxed kind of feel.

  We were making good progress heading north until we got stuck behind a tram and the car behind us began to honk its horn in frustration. Mr Romanov hadn’t spoken for a while and when I looked his way he seemed a little frazzled. I reached a hand out and gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

  ‘You’re doing well,’ I said. ‘Slow and steady.’

  ‘Slow and steady is right,’ said Davey. ‘It’d be nice if we got this thing out of second gear.’

  Half an hour later Sydney Road became the Hume Highway, State Route 55.

  ‘At last,’ said Davey. ‘The mighty Hume. I’d like to draw your attention to the itinerary, people, and the blue cross coming up.’

  ‘Breakfast,’ I said. ‘How long?’

  ‘I’m thinking we should get clear of the traffic. Sixty, seventy kilometres, I reckon. Maybe a roadhouse somewhere? How’s the fuel, Mr Romanov?’

  Mr Romanov raised himself up a little and looked at the petrol gauge on the dashboard in front of him.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We need fuel.’

  ‘Excellent. We can fill up and eat at the same time. And that should take us all the way to our first green cross, an extended lunch stop in Beechworth.’

  I shifted in my seat and angled my head to the back.

  ‘Extended?’ I asked.

  Davey looked up from the itinerary in his lap.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You said extended lunch stop,’ I said.

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yeah. What does that mean?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It must mean something. Otherwise you would have just said lunch stop.’

  ‘Okay, I meant lunch stop, then. God, can you stop nagging?’

  We were an hour into our trip and Davey had the sulks. I couldn’t be bothered with that so I turned around and faced the front. As my legs flew off the seat, my foot hit the handle on the glove box and the little door fell open in front of me. Inside was an old-style music cassette. I reached a hand in and read the name on the front.

  ‘Johann Sebastian Bach.’

  Mr Romanov turned his head and smiled.

  ‘Is he any good?’ I asked.

  ‘You do not know Bach?’

  ‘No, well, I’ve heard of him, sure, but . . .’

  ‘He was German,’ said Davey. ‘Born in 1685 and died in 1750. Died of a stroke, they reckon, or pneumonia.’

  ‘He is Izabella’s favourite,’ said Mr Romanov. ‘Always Bach . . . Bach, Bach, Bach. I will tell her you found it. And Nika too, although she prefers Rachmaninoff.’

  ‘What do you mean, you’ll tell them?’ said Davey. ‘I thought you said they were . . .’

  ‘Davey.’

  I glanced over my shoulder and after throwing Davey a look I turned back to the front and pointed to the stereo in the middle of the dash.

  ‘Do you mind if I put it on?’ I asked. ‘Some music might be good.’

  ‘Of course, cowgirl. There is never a bad time for Bach.’

  After a few failed attempts, I managed to figure things out and when I slid the cassette into the stereo, I turned up the volume and sat back in my seat. The glorious sound of a violin gave me goosebumps.

  Bach was amazing. I’d never listened to classical music before, not properly, anyway. My father always said that a good frontman or woman was everything in rock and roll. He said whenever you heard a great tune on the radio, it was always the singer you pictured in your head. But it was different with Bach. There was no singer belting it out at the front of the stage, there was only music. It was hard to listen to at first, without words. I wasn’t sure where to focus or which of the instruments I ought to follow but when I closed my eyes and rested my head against the seat, the different sounds began to merge into something bigger, something sweeter than they were before. I could have listened like that for hours but of course Davey had to go and spoil things.

  ‘So, these Russians, Mr Romanov . . .’

  I felt drowsy when I opened my eyes. Listening to Bach with your eyes closed was like being in a dream.

  ‘The ones in East St Kilda,’ continued Davey. ‘The ones you’re going to call if Gordo doesn’t pull his head in. They’re bad, right?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t know? I thought you knew them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, you don’t know them, or no, they’re not bad?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  When I glanced over my shoulder and looked at Davey, he rolled his eyes.

  ‘Okay, so let me ask you something else,’ he said. ‘Do you know where we’re going now?’

  Finally, it seemed to be a question he knew. Mr Romanov wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel then turned to me and smiled.

  ‘Leningrad,’ he said.

  Davey dropped the itinerary onto the seat beside him.

  ‘Change of plans,’ he said. ‘Next decent roadhouse, we’ll pull in for breakfast.’

  Half an hour later, Mr Romanov steered the Merc off the highway and found a park in front of the Pit Stop Cafe. He edged the Merc slowly forward and when the tyres kissed the safety barrier in front, he killed the engine and the three of us gathered up a few things before getting out.

  The diner was what you’d expect a diner to be. A teenage girl in a blue and yellow uniform stood behind a steaming bain-marie, mouthing words to the cheesy pop song blaring through the stereo speakers.

  As we threaded our way through the tables and chairs, a few people glanced our way. A beefy trucker in a faded blue singlet took a liking to my hat and tapped a finger against the peak of his baseball cap as we passed.

  ‘Howdy, cowboy,’ he said.

  The dodgy tattoos on his arms spelled a warning so I kept walking and followed the others to a booth beside the window. The drive had taken its toll on Mr Romanov. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet so I dived into the seat and he dumped himself down beside me. Davey sat on the other side of the table and as he scanned the menu, Mr Romanov dug a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills. He opened the lid and after tipping one into his palm he popped it into his mouth and swallowed. I don’t know why I was lost for words. I tried to think of something to say, but luckily Davey beat me to it.

  ‘Are you okay, Mr Romanov?’

  I got the feeling M
r Romanov was hiding something. He waved Davey off as if it was no big deal then tucked the pills back into his pocket.

  ‘Do you mind if I ask what they’re for?’ said Davey. ‘The pills, I mean.’

  ‘I have a little problem,’ he said. ‘With my angina.’

  I’m not sure what happened next. All of a sudden, Davey began to choke on the slug of water he’d taken from his plastic bottle a few seconds before. When he raised a hand up to his mouth he began to cough and the water seeped through his fingers and trickled down his forearm. He reached his free hand across the table and as he wiped himself down with a handful of napkins, Mr Romanov slid out from the booth and headed for the toilets beside the drinks fridge. When he disappeared through the doorway, Davey coughed the last of the water up and took a breath.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Don’t make me say it, Lexie. You heard what he said. You heard as well as I did.’

  ‘What are you on about, Davey?’

  ‘The pills.’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘What about them? You think that’s normal, do you?’

  ‘Well, I suppose so. I don’t know much about it but I know that old people take pills for all sorts of things.’

  ‘Lexie, I know he’s like your best mate and all, but he’s delusional. He shouldn’t be driving.’

  ‘Come on, Davey, he’s a bit forgetful at times, I agree, but I think delusional is a bit over the top.’

  ‘Lexie, he thinks we’re going to Leningrad. He thinks . . .’

  ‘He thinks what?’ I asked

  Davey was acting weird. He glanced around the cafe then leaned in as if what he was about to say was secret.

  ‘He thinks he has a vagina,’ he said.

  ‘Oh God!’ I lifted the menu up in front of my face and hid behind it. ‘Are you completely mental?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Davey. ‘Why are you covering your face like that?’

  ‘Because you’re an idiot, that’s why. I can’t even look at you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Angina, Davey. The pills are for his angina not his vagina. Oh God, I can’t sit next to you. Why would you even think that?’

  ‘I thought that’s what he said.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t. Why would he say that, anyway?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just thought he did. The music’s too loud.’

  ‘You’re a sex maniac.’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘You are. It’s like you wanted to hear it.’

  ‘I did not, Lexie. I misheard, that’s all. I know what they are, but angina and vagina sound the same.’

  ‘Stop saying it, will you? And stop saying my name. You’re freaking me out.’

  Mr Romanov couldn’t have come back at a better time. He placed a hand onto the table and slid back into the booth beside me.

  ‘So what do you think?’ said Davey. ‘Is it too early for fries?’

  I tried everything I could think of to take my mind off the angina incident. I rested my head against the seat and listened to Bach, I thought back to the commission and tried matching the different residents to their respective apartment numbers, but nothing I did seemed to help. I didn’t know much about angina other than that it had something to do with a person’s heart and although I was keen to forget about Davey’s so-called honest mistake, it seemed kind of rude not to acknowledge it. After all, like Davey had said, Mr Romanov was my friend.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ I asked. ‘The angina, I mean.’

  I gave the word some extra oomph just in case Davey was listening in the back.

  ‘Not so much,’ said Mr Romanov.

  ‘So you’re okay, then?’

  ‘Yes. If I take the pills, I am okay.’

  I reached a hand up to lucky travel things on the dash and gave Delilah a gentle tap.

  ‘So, tell me about Leningrad,’ I said.

  Mr Romanov seemed surprised. It was as if he’d forgotten about the conversation we’d had in the car before we stopped for breakfast.

  ‘Why do you ask, cowgirl?’ he said.

  ‘You mentioned it before, that’s all. I thought it might be somewhere special. But if you’d rather not, I . . .’

  ‘It is where I met Izabella,’ he said softly. ‘She was a dancer, a ballerina.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. One night at the Kirov Theatre I saw her dance. Of course, everyone went to see Nureyev but I saw only Izabella. She was like an angel.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘When the ballet finished I waited in the snow outside. For two hours I waited.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘I was frozen. I had ice on my nose.’

  ‘And the rest is history?’

  ‘Yes, history. Some things I do not remember, cowgirl. Some things have gone forever, but I remember that night.’

  ‘No wonder. It sounds like a fairytale. Sort of like Cinderella in reverse.’

  Davey made a huffing sound in the back.

  ‘It’s nothing like Cinderella,’ he said. ‘For a start Cinderella wasn’t a dancer. And I’m pretty sure Izabella didn’t have any ugly stepsisters.’

  I still wasn’t able to look at Davey properly, so I angled my head and spoke from the corner of my mouth.

  ‘No one’s asking you, sicko. Anyway, I said it was sort of like Cinderella in reverse. There was an angel and there was a soldier with ice on his nose.’

  ‘It’s still nothing like . . .’

  ‘Can you be quiet? Seriously, I’ll chuck Worf out the window if you don’t shut up. What’s got into you, Davey?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  I turned my head and snatched a quick look at him in the back.

  ‘Rubbish, Davey. You’ve been sulking and carrying on ever since we got out of the city. What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later.’

  ‘Why not tell me now?’

  ‘Because if I tell you now, it won’t come true.’

  ‘What won’t come true?’

  ‘The wish,’ said Davey. ‘The wish I made when I planted the first thing in the garden.’

  Something in Davey’s voice made me turn. When I looked at him, he seemed embarrassed.

  ‘It’s stupid, right?’

  ‘Not at all,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, it is. Little kids make wishes. I’m thirteen years old.’

  ‘A wish isn’t stupid, Davey. A Worf doll is stupid.’

  Davey ran his fingers through his mop of crazy brown hair.

  ‘I’ll tell you when we get to Beechworth,’ he said. ‘When we stop for lunch.’

  Davey was different to the other boys at school. While they spent most of their time trying to impress each other with various point-scoring activities, Davey seemed happy to go it alone. He knew way too many facts for a thirteen-year-old. He was goofy and smart and while those things often singled him out for unwanted attention, they were the very things I liked about him the most. But something wasn’t right. For some reason, he seemed kind of spooked and while I understood the secrecy that went with wish-making, I wondered if maybe he had asked for something he was never going to get.

  I didn’t have a clue where Beechworth was or how long it would take us to get there so I left Davey alone and let him stew on his own in the back. It was kind of nice to just sit there quietly with no one talking. Mr Romanov seemed happy and alert behind the wheel so I removed my hat, leaned against the side door and gave in to the gentle rocking of the car.

  I was lost without the grey walls. When I opened my eyes I saw miles of open space, rolling green paddocks dotted with cows and sheep. The sun felt warm against my face so I stayed where I was, angled to the window and watched the colours flashing by. Slowly my senses returned and Davey’s muffled, underwater voice became clearer. I wasn’t ready for his chatter, not yet, so I closed my eyes and listened in.

  ‘I don’t know where,’ he said. ‘
I think it was somewhere north of Sydney. No one knows exactly, though. He had depression, apparently. Some people think he did it on purpose, but I reckon he fell asleep because there were no tyre marks on the road. I mean, he was her dad. Why would he have done it on purpose?’

  ‘You are young,’ said Mr Romanov.

  ‘So? Doesn’t mean I don’t know anything.’

  ‘That is true. But like the flowers in our garden, some people grow to be strong and others do not.’

  ‘So that’s supposed to be a metaphor, is it?’ said Davey. ‘About life?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Romanov. ‘Sometimes the flowers will not grow no matter how much we tend.’

  ‘Okay, but we’re talking about Lexie, Mr Romanov. If she’s not worth living for, then I don’t know who is. Her dad should have been strong, for her.’

  All of a sudden my face began to burn.

  ‘And her mum’s not great,’ continued Davey. ‘You know she’s a junkie, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Romanov. ‘I have seen her at night.’

  ‘That’s bad stuff, heroin. They put all sorts of stuff in it. I’ve never said anything of course, to Lexie, I mean, but it’s only a matter of time before something happens. And what then?’

  It was strange to hear Davey talk like that. Just like his father, we’d never spoken about my mother before, never even acknowledged she had a problem. But that’s the way it was with everyone. It was as if my mother had ceased to exist. She’d become this thing, the half-dead zombie from 16B and, like everyone said, it was only a matter of time.

  I didn’t want to hear any more so I faked a yawn then wiped my mouth and did my best to look drowsy.

  ‘Now that was a nap,’ I said, arching my back. ‘God, I haven’t slept like that for ages.’

  I made some noises with my mouth and straightened up in the seat.

  ‘So then, where are we, fellas?’

  No one answered, so I peered through the front window and spotted a large green signpost in the distance. The list of towns were a blur but as we got closer I read the first name and quickly swung myself around.

  ‘Beechworth, Davey. Five kilometres, it says. We’re nearly there.’

  ‘Yes, Lexie, I know.’

  ‘So why didn’t you wake me up?’

  ‘Because I knew you’d carry on, that’s why.’