Purple Mountain - Part 4

 

‘I made a stew for our lunch but I’m afraid we’re going to have to take it to grandma and grandpa’s now.’

 

‘Oh really?’ Arty glanced over at Dill. ‘Are you ready for this?’

 

‘For what?’ she shrugged.

 

‘I thought they were coming here, Mum.’

 

Sara was dressed in a blue apron as she carefully ladled dark coloured stew from a saucepan into a tupperware container. She shook her head and tutted. ‘Well, they’ve changed their minds. You know what they’re like.’

 

Arty smiled and mouthed to Dill, ‘They’re a bit…’

 

She shrugged, ‘A bit what?’

 

‘Apparently Great Nan has been awake on and off all morning and she wants to see you and become acquainted with your girlfriend.’

 

Dill looked shocked. ‘You have a great grandparent?’

 

‘Yes…she’s a tortoise.’ he whispered, shaking his head.

 

‘A…tortoise,’ Dill began to laugh hysterically, clutching her stomach so that the soft fabric of her white dress crumpled at the waist.

 

Trey came into the room looking stressed. ‘I’m ready whenever you are. You two are coming along aren’t you or have you already had your lunch?’

 

Arty shook his head, ‘No..’

 

‘We went to the ice cream shop,’ said Dill.

 

Sara looked up. ‘Oh did you see Ha…’

 

‘Should we take anything,’ Arty interrupted loudly, ‘to Grandpa and Grandma’s? I mean I know you’ve got lunch sorted but should Dill and I take anything. We didn’t get flowers or anything like…’

 

‘No,’ Trey sounded irritated, ‘let's just get going. I know they get stressed when we turn up late.’

 

The grandparents' home was a twelve minute drive away, through the village, past the small supermarket and a large abandoned compound which caught Dill’s eye. She craned her neck to see more as the car drove by. ‘What’s that?’

 

‘It used to be the sausage factory,’ said Trey, ‘that’s where everyone worked. I was there for a few years.’

 

‘Then it was a community centre,’ said Sara.

 

‘But it was too big, it just didn’t work,’ Trey flicked out his hand dismissively.

 

‘I remember when part of it was a small nightclub, Gemini Nights. Remember my nights out there Mum?’

 

‘I do, Arty. I remember waiting up for you to come home.’

 

‘It was terrible, soulless. All you could do was get off your face and ride it out.’

 

Dill began to imagine her boyfriend living a sad, desperate youth, hanging out on the streets, getting dressed up for Gemini Nights and drinking himself into oblivion. It made her cringe but then she remembered her own, there were more places to go, more people to mingle with but did that make it superior? She wasn’t sure.

 

The old sausage factory marked the boundary of the village. Buildings disappeared, the road began to slope upwards with a pine forest and some sort of logging operation on one side. Dill wondered if that was where Stammer had lost his finger. She wanted to ask but feared it would sound as if she had an inappropriate fascination with his missing digit, perhaps she did.

 

The road turned into a single track, flanked by some greenery which looked a bit more managed, at least once, a garden gone wild. They rode on another two or three hundred meters before the property came into view. It was a wide bungalow which looked as if it had undergone a few extensions over the years and stood in the middle of a large plot of land. Several cars lay on the driveway in front in various states of decay.

 

Trey looked uncomfortable as they got out of the car. ‘They only use the gold one,’ he said to Dill, pointing at an old gold estate car, ‘the rest are only there because they’re attached to them, emotionally attached. And they think the metal might be worth something in the future.’

 

The front door flew open and an old red dog trotted out, wagging his tail. ‘Hello Orzo, don’t knock me over, I’m holding onto lunch here.’

 

As Dill stood at the front door waiting for the grandparents to appear, she began to feel a familiar sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. It was something she experienced whenever she spent too much time with people who are closely related, either to herself or to each other. 

 

She hadn’t expected to experience it with Arty’s family since it was normally confined to being among her own relatives but she had a name for it; Homogenous Crushing and she felt it, in her guts, in her emotions. It just felt too close, cloying, depressing and it made her want to escape, run away and find some fresh air, far away from all these similarities. It was like being inside a hall of mirrors and also the reason why she kept her own family gatherings to a minimum.

 

As Arty’s grandfather came to the door, she felt it more acutely. He had the same nose as her boyfriend and there was something about his smile and the way he moved his arms, holding out his hand for her to shake it that was stirring in its familiarity. It was as if she was seeing Arty from the future and it made her sense her own life draining away in a single memory. 

 

‘We were just wondering where you’d got to. Hello, you must be Dilly,’ he said, his voice grainy.

 

‘Dill,’ she said smiling and taking his hand which was surprisingly soft and slightly moist, like he’d just applied hand cream.

 

‘Dill!’ he stared into her eyes, ‘I’m Laury. What a lovely dress! Come in, come in one and all,’ he gestured sharply with his hand for everyone to follow him inside. ‘Sorry, we’ve got the curtains shut for the houseplants. The sun shines straight into this room in the middle of the day.’

 

‘The calatheas don’t like it,’ said a tiny woman standing at the sink. She turned around and took off her rubber gloves. ‘Hello, welcome to our home. You are Dill?’

 

‘Yes,’

 

‘And I am Mani.’

 

Dill forgot both of their names instantly. There was too much to look at for her brain to also process words. The bright sunlight trying to push through the orange curtains, the plethora of green foliage spilling out of dusty ceramic pots and then the art on the walls; brightly coloured creations, thick with texture, depicting flowers and people.

 

‘I like your art,’ said Dill, looking around.

 

‘Oh, thank you. I only started in my seventies.’

 

‘Wow, you did these. You’re very talented.’

 

‘Oh, I just use a lot of colour, thick paint and have a lot of audacity. Laury has been trying to get me to do an exhibition but I’m not sure people would be interested.’

 

‘People are always interested,’ said Dill, causing the others to stop and stare at her, ‘in art,’ she concluded.

 

There was a pause until Sara began crashing pans around, heating up the stew and setting the table. The room was hot and stuffy and Orzo the dog had a vile smell about him. The idea of eating stew wasn’t particularly appealing to Dill. She didn’t mind visiting the grandparents but she wished they’d got some nice foody stuff in the supermarket and eaten at his parents’ house.

 

The tablecloth was stained. It felt mean to judge. Sara and Laury were in their eighties and had a large property, a dog and grounds to look after. The stew was indecipherable dark matter but it smelled good, lightly spiced and layered with flavour.

 

‘This is interesting, what is it?’

 

Sara looked up at Dill and dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin. ‘It’s black stew,’ she said.

 

Laury tapped his chest, ‘That’ll put hairs on your chest!’

 

‘I heard you lead our Arty into the hollowlands,’ said Mani.

 

Dill looked confused. Arty placed his hand on her wrist. ‘If you’re talking about the site of Purple Mountain, yes we walked there but Dill didn’t lead me. We just sort of wandered, we wandered a bit too far and got into trouble but it’s all fine now.’

 

Laury looked very serious. ‘You shouldn’t have gone. You should’ve known better.’

 

Dill wasn’t really too bothered about their attempts to shame her. ‘It just looked like a nice place that’s all' she shrugged, 'I’m not acquainted with disappearing mountains, it’s not something I’ve ever heard of.’