Blood, Sweat and Tears (or, possibly, 'The Thousandth Prospect')

Vladimir stepped off the cool, air-conditioned bus into the heat. He squinted into the sun and swatted away several flies that buzzed around his head, attracted to the sweat already globuling on his bald pate.

He was the only one to disembark, and as he watched the bus leave he caught sight of his fellow travellers, those on the door side, looking down at him through the window.

‘Probably wondering what I’m doing here,’ he thought.

He sighed heavily and looked down at his scuffed, worn shoes and battered suitcase. He took a deep breath.

“Me too,” he said.

When he raised his head he noticed the town sign. It informed him that the population of this godforsaken place in the red dirt was 1,001.

A hearse, ferrying a coffin, crawled by.

Without knowing why Vladimir reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a black marker pen. He popped the top off the pen, reached up and turned the second ‘one’ on the sign into a zero. He stepped back and blankly looked at his handiwork. Then he replaced the pen in his pocket and picked up the heavy suitcase.

The small country town opened up in front of him; a main street of perhaps twenty shops. At this end he could see a butcher, a haberdashery, a grocer, a barber and a pub. His throat parched, he licked his lips and set off in the direction of the latter.

As he entered the pub the bar man and his two bearded dusty customers stopped talking and stared at him.

“A VB,” Vladimir said as he ignored the gaze of the men (he was used to it) and scanned the otherwise empty establishment. He nestled his suitcase by the bar then marched straight to the dunnies.

When he returned he found his beer waiting, sweating the glass and dampening the green coaster.

“Will ya be wanting a room?” the barman asked, not entirely hospitably.

Vladimir raised his glass and sipped. He shook his head.

“I don’t think so. But if I change my mind I’ll come back later.”

He downed his beer and paid before more questions could be asked.

Janelle placed the large kitchen knife onto the Zig Zag Railway tea towel her son, Leyton, had brought back for her from one of his trips. She watched the bloodied water drain away, turned on the tap and mopped up any residue of red from the sink.

“Think. Think!” she said to herself as she searched for her smokes. She found them on the coffee table, next to the newspaper open at the article on sexual abuse within marriage. She stared at the headline - could it really be as many as one-in-six? - as she fumbled with the matches. She was one of the statistics. Was one of the statistics. Past tense. Not now.

The doorbell rang, its ridiculously jaunty tune rolling in waves of panic that assaulted her almost as violently as Larry did. She shook, the unlit cigarette falling from her mouth. The doorbell was pressed a second time.

Janelle stepped towards the door.

“Who is it?” she stammered.

Janelle glanced back towards the kitchen. Horrified, she could see Larry’s lower leg visible on the floor, poking out from behind the kitchen bench.

The doorbell rang again.

“Wait a second,” she shouted as she ran to the kitchen. Without pause she picked up Larry’s leg and twisted it away so it couldn’t be seen from the living room. Then she hurried towards the door, subconsciously fixing her hair.

A tall, bald stranger, dressed in a cheap gray suit and wearing a loud tie, filled the doorway. He smiled at her. It was a nice smile, she noticed.

“Good afternoon, madam. I’m Vladimir Boriskov from MeanClean. We have a special on our revolutionary vacuum cleaners. If you’ll allow me to demonstrate, I can give you a really good price.” He presented his card.

“Now’s not a good time,” Janelle blurted out before shutting the door on him. She was surprised when the door didn’t close, but soon realised Vladimir had wedged his foot over the threshold.

“Please, lady,” he said. “You haven’t seen clean until you’ve seen MeanClean.”

Janelle thought she recognised a familiar note of desperation in his voice.

“Take your foot away,” she commanded.

He obeyed. She slammed the door shut.

On one side of the door she breathed heavily, relieved to be rid of an inconvenient interruption that could have so derailed her…what? Plans? She didn’t have any plans she suddenly realised. The panic flooded back.

On the other side of the door Vladimir closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the central panel.

“Please, madam. I really need a sale. At least let me give you a demonstration. Wouldn’t you like a clean floor today? I can vacuum, mop--”

“It’ll take more than a vacuum to clean my mess,” Janelle said. Then a thought hit her.

“May I have a glass of water at least?” Vladimir asked. “It’s so hot out here.”

“Wait there,” Janelle heard herself say.

She ran to the kitchen. Strangely, she felt a sense of calm as she retrieved a glass from a cupboard and stepped over Larry’s body to get to the sink. Not even the pool of blood that had gathered on the lino, that she had to step carefully over, could throw her. She filled the glass with water. On her way to the door she picked up her cigarettes and matches.

She opened the door, handed Vladimir the glass and pulled the door to behind her. Then she sat down on the veranda and lit up. She puffed heavily on the cigarette as Vladimir sat down beside her.

“Nice to meet you…?” he enquired.

She looked at his perspiring face; his kind eyes a hypnotic blue-gray.

“Janelle,” she said, accepting his hand and shaking it.

“May I have one of those?” Vladimir asked, eyeing her cigarette.

Janelle gave him the packet. He took one as she stubbed hers out. As he lit his she grabbed another. She held it in her mouth and pointed it at him. He cradled the match as she drew on the cigarette until the orange flame took hold of the tobacco. Their eyes met, and lingered on each other’s.

“So you’re a travelling vacuum salesman, huh?” she said.

Vladimir nodded.

“How’s business?” she asked as she blew out smoke.

“Terrible,” Vladimir answered, looking depressed. “I shouldn’t say this, I know. I should tell you my sales patter, impress on you how important it is to have two vacuum cleaners, in case your old one breaks. Bamboozle you with the technical specs…”

His voice trailed off.

“So why don’t you, then?” Janelle asked, pleasantly surprised that this humdrum conversation about vacuum cleaners was taking her away from the horrors that had happened in her kitchen not twenty minutes ago. “Give me your pitch. See if it works.”

Vladimir sucked on his cigarette and loosened his tie. He looked Janelle in the face. Those eyes of his.

“You look like a nice lady. But you also look as if you have other things on your mind. I don’t want to bother you with…” He gestured with his arm towards the case. “This rubbish.”

Janelle laughed. “You’re not much of a salesman, are you? Fancy calling your own products ‘rubbish’”.

Vladimir got to his feet.

“Thanks for the water, lady. And for the cigarette,” he said as he reached for his case.

“It’s Janelle,” she said. ‘Why don’t you have another one? Sit with me a while,” she said. “I could use the company.”

Vladimir sat down.

“What’s your accent? You sound like you’re a long way from home.“

“I’m from Ukraine,” Vladimir said.

“And how long have you been in Australia?” Janelle asked.

“Nearly five years,” Vladimir told her as he puffed out smoke from another purloined cigarette.

“Are you married?” she asked.

He glanced at her and swallowed hard.

“I was. But she left me.”

“Sorry,” Janelle said.

Vladimir wiped his brow. Janelle could see that the wound of betrayal was still raw.

“Was this recently?”

“Two years,” Vladimir said, his voice raspy.

There was a silence between them for a few moments.

“What about you? Are you married?” Vladimir asked.

Janelle paused. She took a drag on her cigarette. “Yeah, but my good-for-nothing husband has deserted me too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Vladimir said.

“I’m not,” Janelle shot back. “He went off out west, to look for work in the mines. Haven’t heard a word of him for…two years,” she lied. “And I don’t expect him to come back either.”

She glanced at Vladimir. His eyes were on her. She suddenly felt a shift in their relationship; a complicity, an empathy. It might have been founded falsely on her part, but she felt it was real on his.

“Vladimir,” she said. “I can call you Vladimir, can’t I?”

“Sure.”

“I’d like to ask you a favour…”

“You want me to dig you a trench?”

“Yes, for these gorgeous apple trees I’m getting delivered tomorrow. They grow quite big so the trench needs to be deep, for their roots. The man was supposed to come round this morning but the bastard was a no-show. You can’t rely on tradies these days.”

“Oh, Janelle. I’d love to help but I really need to get going. I’ve got to try to get a sale.”

“I’ll pay you,” Janelle said, playing with the top button of her dress. “You look big and strong, and God knows I need a proper man around the place. How much is your vacuum cleaner anyway?”

“Three hundred dollars. But that’s with the Magic Mop thrown in too, as a special. Whatever you spill on your floor, Magic Mop will get rid off. It’ll be like it never happened. No evidence.”

“No kidding?” Janelle replied.

“Can I give you a demonstration? You really need to see how it works.”

“Does that mean you’ll dig my trench? I’ll throw in supper.”

Vladimir hesitated. He looked to the sun then gazed at his watch.

“You know, Janelle. There’s an old Ukrainian saying, ‘For a job we need time’…”

“Please,” Janelle said.

Vladimir shrugged and nodded.

“Wait there,” Janelle said. “Help yourself to the smokes.”

Janelle closed the door on Vladimir, paused a second to think, and darted to the kitchen. She stood over Larry and gazed at that shocked expression of his.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said as she stepped over his corpse to the pantry. She opened the pantry door, wedged it open with a large tin of cooking oil and returned to Larry. She bent down, grabbed an arm and started pulling.

“Shit! You’re a heavy bastard,” she cursed. She looked up towards the front door. Through one of the glass panels she saw smoke drifting skywards. She resumed tugging.

She had Larry halfway in the pantry when she heard knocking.

“Janelle?”

She poked her head out and yelled.

“I’ll be just a minute.” Then with one monumental heave she pulled Larry inside and closed the pantry door.

She opened the front door to Vladimir. He saw that she was breathless and sweating.

“Are you okay?”

“Never better. Just needed to do some tidying up. So, are you ready to do your demo?”

Janelle ushered Vladimir into the living room.

“You’re right, it does a mean clean,” she said after Vladimir had given a competent - if long - demonstration.

Vladimir reached into his suitcase and pulled out the Magic Mop.

“Now the kitchen.”

“Oh! Don’t worry about that,” Janelle said. “I can see it’s a mop. I’m fine operating one of those.”

“Still,” Vladimir said, “there’s a knack.”

“How about my trench?” Janelle asked, leaning forward and showing some cleavage. I really need that trench ready for tomorrow.”

Vladimir sighed.

“I’ve got beer,” Janelle said.

Vladimir smiled.

“And supper,” Janelle smiled back.

Janelle led Vladimir back outside via the front door, explaining that she had some more tidying up to do in the kitchen and that, if he didn’t mind, she’d use his Magic Mop while he got on with digging the trench. She pointed at the shed at end of the large garden.

“The spade’s in there. I’ll get you a beer.”

Janelle brought Vladimir his beer and showed him a spot towards the back of the garden where she wanted him to dig.

“Did you say apple trees? The climate’s too hot for those.”

“Apple? Did I? I meant fig. Big fig trees. As big as…well, big. And I want them from here to here.” She paced out an area roughly just over six feet long.

“That’s a big trench,” Vladimir said.

“Don’t forget to dig deep. Big roots,” Janelle said, before offering an encouraging smile.

When she got back inside the house Janelle blew out her cheeks, raised her eyes to the heavens and whispered a silent prayer. Then she got to work mopping up all Larry’s blood. When she was finished, she went outside again to check on Vladimir.

She found him shirtless and sweaty. She handed him a beer and nodded appreciatively at the hole.

“You’re a fast worker.”

Vladimir rested on his spade as he sipped.

“I’m actually finding this physical work liberating,” he said.

The sun was setting as Janelle and Vladimir sat down to a dinner of steak, potatoes and veg. Janelle faced the pantry.

“This is really delicious,” Vladimir said, looking up at Janelle as he wolfed down the food. “Are you okay? Janelle? You seem distracted.”

Janelle peeled her eyes away from the pantry. She smiled.

“You’re very kind,” she said.

Vladimir reached across the table and stroked Janelle’s hand.

“No. You’re the kind one.”

After supper and several beers, Janelle and Vladimir were back on the veranda sharing a smoke.

“Are you cold?” she asked, as she saw Vladimir’s shoulders quiver.

He gulped. “No,” he said, and wiped his face.

“You’re crying. What’s the matter?”

Vladimir turned to her.

“It’s been a long time since a woman has been nice to me. Since Eva ran away I’ve been so lonely. Australia is so far away…”

Janelle shuffled close and wrapped her arms around him.

“Shush,” she said. “It’s all right.”

She held him in her arms for a long time as he gave release to his emotions. Silently, she shed a few tears herself.

When eventually Vladimir looked up at her, they kissed.

Janelle was reading the paper, coffee on the stove, when Vladimir came down the stairs and wandered into the kitchen. Janelle smiled warmly at him. Vladimir’s thin smile was more awkward as he stole a glance at the pantry.

“Good morning, my gentle giant,” she said as she came over to kiss and hug him. “Sleep well? Can I make you breakfast?”

Vladimir hesitated as he looked again at the pantry.

“No, I must go,” he said.

Janelle smiled sadly.

“Janelle. Do you need help? With the fig trees?” he asked as he glanced again at the pantry. Janelle followed his gaze. Not for the first time since they met their eyes held each other’s for a long time.

“No,” she said. “That’s something I need to do on my own.”

It was another hot, sunny morning as Vladimir stood on Janelle’s veranda. His suitcase was at his feet as he sparked up a cigarette.

“Here,” Janelle said, pushing a handful of banknotes into his hand. “For the trench. It’s not much but…”

Vladimir stared at the bundle of notes, two hundred dollars he estimated.

“I can’t take this,” he said. “It was a favour. For a friend.”

Janelle wiped a hair from her eyes and smiled.

“Take it,” she said, closing her hand around his, making him crumple the notes even more. “Will you come back round these parts?” she asked.

He looked at her. “It depends,” he said.

“I can’t afford to buy your vacuum cleaner today, but if you promise me you’ll come back, I’ll buy it next time.”

“You can have this one,” he said, tapping the suitcase with his foot.

“That’s your demonstration model. Won’t you need it?” she asked.

Vladimir shrugged. “I think I want to work as a gardener,” he said.

They looked at each other. Janelle reached up and caressed his cheek. They kissed. It was a long kiss full of affection, appreciation and understanding. Then Vladimir strolled away.

Janelle watched him go. When he was gone she took a deep breath before going inside.

Vladimir stood at the bus stop. He was the only one waiting. When he saw the dust herald its approach in the distance he reached into his suit pocket and pulled out his marker pen. He reached up to the town sign and struck a line through the population number he had amended the day before. Underneath it he wrote ‘999’. Then he pocketed his pen, stuck his hand out for the bus and boarded with a smile.

As he took a seat Vladimir heard Janelle’s voice yelling “Stop! Stop!” The bus’s pneumatic brakes hissed as the driver stopped the bus and opened the doors. Janelle, flush with running, darted up the stairs and scanned the bus for Vladimir. She held a newspaper in her hand.

“Just a moment,” she said to the driver, breathless. She moved towards Vladimir and held out the paper to him.

“Don’t go,” she said. “I need help with the fig trees.”

Vladimir saw she had circled an advertisement in the newspaper for a gardening franchise. He looked up at her.

Janelle led Vladimir off the bus. The driver honked his horn as he drove off. Janelle pulled at Vladimir’s hand.

“Wait,” he said, as he got out his marker pen. Janelle looked at him quizzically as he reached up and amended the town sign to read, ‘Population: 1,000’.