The Knife Sharpener (8)

8.

The road became a wide clean avenue behind the gate. Newly paved. The lines of the nature strip and the positioning of elms straight line geometry. White, pink, and red roses peeked over fences. Artful imported cacti. Huge gothic gates. Neil Diamond’s ‘America’ was playing on Helmut’s cassette. On the boats and on the planes / They’re coming to America.

            As the Toorak Militia had warned him, the avenue tilted upwards steeply. The Toyota panel van groaned. Crawled up the slope. Helmut kept his foot down. He knew the old automobile was going to give up on him soon. It was low fuss serviceable and had served him well. Helmut had got it cheap from a sheriff near the Vermont Wastes. Probably confiscated property from one of the gangs far out east. Some bad stains in the interior initially. Viscous red and oily black. But the engine and wheels were fine. Practical. He would need to head out to another fire auction soon.

            At the top of the hill he arrived at Holdingstock Manor A neo-classical mansion with an immense front garden behind an imposing ornamental wrought iron. The gate opened for Helmut automatically as he drove up. There were flamingos in the garden, wandering between stone bird baths below fairy housing. Fairies with clipped wings and long faces lounging on little porches. The long driveway to the front of the mansion wound around the edges of the garden. The flamingos and fairies watched him passively. Helmut could smell fresh fertilizer washed in lemon bleach.

            He pulled up at the front door. The Toyata panel van’s breaks creaked and the exhaust puttered to a standstill. Helmut exited the vehicle. Slid the stiff side door open to grab his tools. He locked the van and walked to the front door. Pulled up his slacks and scratched at his waist. The archway door was enormous. Heavy and polished burnished gold. He pulled a cord hanging from the ceiling. Heard a resonate gong from deep in the house.

            A brisk, tall lady in lavender velvet opened the door. Her hair was an untidy bow. Makeup smeared slightly to the left. Rose incense wafted out of the front door. Dim candles lit the entry on two tall podiums.

            ‘Yes?’ she asked.

            ‘Geoff sent me.’

            ‘For the knives?’

            ‘Yes.’

            ‘Did he? Marvellous. Such a splendid creature, reserving his most messianic thoughts for his mistress! He had touted the imminent arrival of one like you,’ she said. ‘And, you, kind man? What is your name?’

            ‘Helmut,’ he said.

            ‘Like the headwear!’

            ‘No –’

            ‘Wonderful. The Ministry proclaims that we are but a stackhat away from safety ever on. It is all over the telegraphs,’ she said.

            Helmut itched slightly in the chill mid-afternoon winter air.

            ‘Tell me truly now, dear Helmut. A knife sharpener, you say. A pursuit befitting a contemporary Zeno of our fine de siècle. How is it to resist the clarion call of blacksmithing your own blades to find such obviously sapient pleasure in your enterprise bonded to the final product of another?’

            He needed a cigarette.

            ‘I mean no obscure classist offense. Not at all. I find awe in your stoicism. You must be composed of iron,’ she said, looking Helmut up and down. ‘I do natter! Presumptions upon theories, seated aside guesswork, both gracelessly tottering. It is only that I find your quiet quite assuming, Helmut. For, yes, you assume correctly. My wealth is as honest as the length of a day. I can conceive of your discomfort then. But, rest, please. I am no snaggletoothed slattern given to bugling my significance as though governed by my baser humours. I am a Holdingstock. Carmel, to be more exact. When her finest rum was less than a heeltap staining his crystal, my mother bloviated that we must not blight our elegacies with ill-advised boasting.’

            ‘Where are your knives? I will sharpen,’ said Helmut. There was a slight wind blowing across the porch.

            ‘Straight to the point. Cheeky blackguard. I should have seen such foliage directly through the trees. A smattering of moist lichen amidst cold dry mountains,’ said Carmel. Her eyes remained still. ‘And there I go, getting my metaphors mixed. Honestly, who looks upon a fiergenbeam hardwood of bark and leaf, and muses of “mountains”?’

            Helmut fidgeted. His arm was getting sore from holding his tool box.

            ‘My mother said that there is a great deal of power in reserved, indefatigable men.’

            In the background, there was a sound of a peacock coo. Maybe, a big cat grinding its teeth. Helmut never understood the appeal of these places. Sparse occupants in vast territories. Drove them deranged. Yet, here, the upper crust watched over everyone else.

            Carmel was transfixed for a moment. Mouth slightly open, hands clutched together in front of her breast in a steeple. ‘Please. Enter,’ she said. ‘I will take you through to the galley.’