I’m peculiar!’ She entered the room. ‘Trouble is, if it’s on my side of the bed, that means Clyde’s got to get up – when he’s at home – if he reads later than me, and switch the damn thing off. That’ll irritate him.’
‘Look, who’s this switch for? And how often is Clyde home?’
She pondered a moment. ‘True. To hell with Clyde?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Okay, on my side of the bed, please.’ Then she happened to glance into the bathroom and see the panties. She went in, scooped them up and stuffed them into the laundry basket. On her way back she closed the wardrobe door. ‘Lunch is ready!’ she repeated. ‘Finish the switch afterwards.’
She had gone to some trouble over lunch. Ben fetched another bottle of wine from his saddle-bag. But he ate very little. ‘I had two meat pies in Burraville just before I left,’ he explained.
‘That’s not very good for you – have some more salad, grown with my own fair hands!’ She was thoroughly enjoying herself.
‘Yes, I saw your vegetable garden. Very impressive.’
‘We’re lucky to have enough water for it – it’s a good well. And we swim in the holding reservoir.’
Ben imagined her in a swimsuit. He suggested: ‘Shall we do that, after we’ve finished work?’
‘Why not?’
Great things can happen in a swimming pool after a long boozy lunch. Ben couldn’t wait. At the very least, the prospect of being semi-naked with her in the common caress of cool water was wildly erotic. He said, for something to say:
‘So Clyde’s a Catholic? And Catholics were bad news in Australia?’
‘Oh, in those days, yes. Australia was very provincial when I was a kid, stuck out on the end of the world, and the majority of us are Protestants. Catholics were regarded as blighted with misinformation. Wops were Catholics – Italian immigrants who ran milk bars. As a girl I felt sorry for Catholics. And marry one? Never! It’s different now, of course.’
‘And Jews? How were they regarded?’
Helen hesitated. ‘Well … Jews have always had a hard time, haven’t they? I guess Australia Fair was no exception.’
‘Go on,’ he smiled: ‘say it. Regarded as furtive. Devious. Clannish. Money-grubbing. And too successful.’ He added, regretfully: ‘Present company excepted.’
She felt uncomfortable with this subject. ‘Well, maybe when I was a girl, but it’s quite different now, of course.’
‘Is it? Jack Goodwin evidently doesn’t think so. And that was before I started bargaining.’
‘Forget Jack Goodwin.’ Then she decided to be bold on this touchy point. ‘But why is it that Jews are so successful?’
He grinned. ‘Because they’re superior.’
‘Seriously.’
‘Seriously. Because we believe we’re the Chosen Race. Says so in black and white in the Bible. We’re different from other people, we’re privileged. So, as the Chosen Race, we have to work hard to justify it, and help each other, to maintain our position. We’ve got an Us-against-Them clannishness. So, we’re rather disliked. And we’re generally physically conspicuous, identifiable as Jews; an obvious target for prejudice.’
‘Well, I’m not anti-Semitic.’
‘No … But do you want your daughter to marry one?’
She was taken aback by the bluntness of the question, even though feeling so jolly.
‘I couldn’t care less, provided he’s a good husband!’ But then she added: ‘Well, I suppose every mother hopes her daughter will marry into her own culture. Religion …’ She faltered, then went on a trifle hastily: ‘But do you believe yours is the Chosen Race?’
He sloshed more wine into their glasses. ‘Yep. Learned it at my mother’s knee. And I’ve only got to look around at all my successful Jewish brethren.’ He grinned. ‘Heard a joke in the Burraville pub this morning. I suspect it was told for my benefit. Anyway, what did the Australian Prime Minister say in his telegram to Golda Meir congratulating her on winning the Six Day War? “Now that you’ve got Sinai, can we please have Surfers’ Paradise back?”’
Helen laughed. She’d heard it, but it was funny again coming from a Jew.
‘No, it wasn’t said for your benefit!’ She took a sip of wine, then asked: ‘Did Jack Goodwin know you were buying the puppy for me?’
‘Yes. Why? He asked me what I wanted a puppy for, on a motorbike. I told him about Oscar.’
Helen puckered one corner of her mouth. ‘Hmm. Did the other blokes in the pub know Dundee was for me?’
Ben shrugged. ‘Sure. Why?’
Helen sighed, but said cheerfully: ‘No, it’s okay. But it’ll be all over the Outback on the bush telegraph.’ She shrugged. ‘So what, I’ll say you’re my cousin from New York!’
‘Your cousin? With this nose?’ Ben sat back. ‘I see. It’s a matter of “What’ll the neighbours think?”’
‘To hell with them!’
‘But would Clyde be annoyed?’
She frowned. ‘No, Clyde knows I would never be … silly.’
Silly? That was a dampener. He wished he hadn’t mentioned Clyde – Clyde wasn’t a subject to bring up when nursing ambitions about that swim with his wife. But all he could do was make light of it. ‘To have an affair with me would be silly?’ Then he added: ‘You’re right, of course. So – to hell with the neighbours; I’ll be gone tomorrow, anyway.’
‘Oh Ben, you shouldn’t talk yourself down so! You’re not so …’ She paused, wishing she hadn’t started the sentence that way.
Ben wished she hadn’t started it that way too. ‘… Totally unattractive?’ He smiled.
She tried to avoid grinning, and tried to speak earnestly: ‘You know what I mean … You’ve a very attractive personality, Ben …’ (Oh Gawd, why’d she put it like that?) She waved a hand and blundered on: ‘You’re charming. Amusing. Witty. And I’m delighted to have your company …’ She trailed off, then ended brightly: ‘And beauty is only skin-deep!’ Oh, God, why had she said that?
Ben smiled wanly. ‘But ugliness goes right to the bone?’ His optimism about that swim was going right out the window. He stood up, embarrassed. ‘Well, I’ll finish rigging that switch—’
‘Oh Ben,’ she cried, ‘you’re not ugly! Finish your wine! Let’s have another bottle …’
He grinned. ‘Sure, bring it to the bedroom and talk to me while I finish that switch.’
