The Slow Natives by Thea Astley Read Free Book Online Page A

of Mr Varga’s week-ender blazed like cracker-night and the sight of his denounced mum slumped there beside deceived dad choked him for a moment while his father, with outward calm, waited. Sneakily Keith kept sliding his eyes towards his mother who had become the whip-lash of the dirty joke.
    â€œThe beach,” he replied, without looking.
    â€œBut
what
beach? Where? Did you go with anyone?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œQuite sure,” he said, and gave the clear-eyed look that liars by omission can always give.
    â€œWhere were you then? I want to know exactly. Where did you spend last night?”
    â€œI walked in to town. I mean I went over on the ferry and walked about a bit.”
    â€œThat would hardly have taken all night. Where did you go in town? You’re lucky the police didn’t pick you up.”
    â€œOh, be your age, Bernard.” Keith smiled. In the other room sad Geoghegan replaced the phone and came sombrely to the kitchen door where he unobtrusively and joyfully inspected the boy.
    â€œHe sat on a railway-station platform,” he suggested. “The foolish lad. A filthy squalid urine-stinking station littered with trash bins and lolly wrappers and dog pee. Ask him! He’ll tell you. That was it exactly.”
    Keith reeled within. The pompous old windbag! Clued up, forsooth! He wanted to shock them.
    â€œNo. That wasn’t it,” he said. “It wasn’t like that at all.”
    Geoghegan huffed and lit his pipe.
    â€œI picked up a girl.” Keith hesitated. “A woman,” he said, trying not to look at his mother.
    â€œI hate liars.” Geoghegan stated abruptly and blew smoke over the lot of them.
    Bernard put one exhausted hand across his eyes.
    â€œYou mean she picked you up?” he asked.
    â€œYes,” Keith agreed, warming to it. “She asked me home.”
    Iris’s gasp hissed out into the silence. Keith almost laughed and even this new hatred of his mother had its revenge.
    â€œHe’s lying, of course,” Geoghegan insisted. “The little fool had no money, had you? Had you? And what did she look like, anyway, this street woman of yours?”
    â€œJust like anyone’s mother,” Keith said brilliantly.
    â€œOh, for God’s sake!” Bernard had to shake his head to clear it, and instantly room detail magnified with the same sharp-edged clarity as the garden, cake bins with “cake” in black cursive; the stove revealed chips, stains, streaks, five ebony power keys studded with a sparkler of a screw. He said, “And today? You’ve been gone all day.”
    â€œI told you.”
    â€œNot really. I want to know where, please.”
    â€œSurfers,” Keith said. “Oh, this was proper.” His guilt raged. “Relax, everyone. I was with a responsible adult like yourselves.”
    â€œAnd who,” Bernard asked, letting it ride, “was this?”
    â€œIt was Mr Varga.”
    â€œHad he asked you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid he mind your coming?”
    No indeedie, he thought, and said, “I don’t think so.”
    â€œYou realize I can check on this.”
    â€œCheck away.”
    â€œIs it the truth?” his mother asked. Keith did not, could not, answer.
    â€œAnswer your mother,” Bernard ordered. The boy turned his head from the light and the light came at him still from behind and ripped.
    â€œI’m tired,” Keith said. “If you people don’t mind, I’d like to go to bed.”
    â€œ
Answer
her!” Bernard shouted.
    â€œNo,” Keith said very firmly. “No.” He pushed his chair back, having this quorum by the throat, and said to no one in particular, “Never again. Not once again. Neither her, nor your Professor Geoghegan, nor any adult.”
    â€œDon’t!” Bernard said suddenly as Iris half opened her unpainted lips and went to him. “Leave