Sunday in Suburbia.

“So, what brings you on this auspicious journey?” asked the woman seated opposite Steve.

“Apart form the opportunity to become one of the world’s last true pioneers?” he chuckled in reference to the promotional material.

“I’m Dita, by the way, and this is my partner Norah”

Polite and stilted conversations had begun after the captain informed passengers they could remove phase one of their elaborate safety apparatus. They slid band 1 out of clip A before lowering band 2 in order to reach clip B which upon release gave access to clip C…

“It started one sunny Sunday,” began Steve, and Dita certainly didn’t object to a longwinded story on this seemingly interminable journey.

“Varna kicked it off, her Huskie barking his lungs out at 6am and that was the end of the sleep in.”

“Any idea why he was barking?”

“Probably protesting about the tropical heat and humidity.”

“We won’t be meeting a huskie or Varna where we’re going,” said Dita confidently.

“Then Victor fired up his lawnmower for a few hours. He loves cutting grass.”

“At least he was cutting his own grass this time,” added Steve’s wife Patty.

“That’s not fair,” Steve chided her politely, “you don’t know that for sure.”

“Oh yes I do, I caught the pretty young thing scurrying down the side passage with a guilty grin on her face on more than one occasion.”

“Did you tell the wife?” asked Norah

“Absolutely not,” declared Patty,” I don’t like to be nosy.”

“Plus, not our concern anymore. Not where we’re going.”

“Very true – but is that the only reason? I mean, it was an arduous application process,” to which the new friends rolled their eyes in sync.

“What about that one question – Can you list 10 delicious and nutritious recipes featuring potato, silverbeet and cabbage?” and they laughed concomitantly.

“But actually, there were more reasons”

“Mack owns the weekender across the road and spends his weekends working on D I Y projects with his Mackita.

“Mackita?” enquired Dita.

“Mrs Mack,” explained Patty. “One of Steve’s hilarious jokes I’m afraid.”

“Well she is Mexican – he’s Mack so she’s Mackita,” he stated proudly.

“Meanwhile, Marcel went to war with his garden and that chainsaw left horrific wounds on every living organism in sight – I bet he’s STILL going.”

“At the same time, Ozito launched into another renovation. I guess he has to justify that garage full of tools and add-ons”

Patty was required to explain again.

“More champagne comedy,” she said sarcastically. “Ozito is our patriotic nextdoor neighbour. Raises and lowers the Aussie flag every morning and evening without fail.

“So, I guess you can say we’ve come all this way for some peace and quiet,” surmised Steve.

As the journey entered its final hour, passengers were ordered to begin strapping themselves back into their safety apparatus. The vessel shook and shuddered in anger.

Finally, the captain uttered the words they had waited so long to hear.

“Welcome to the moon.”

Image: Greg Evans

Cut

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Donny heard it again.

“He was cut, Donny was cut,” they repeated, before sheepishly averting their eyes from him.

Donny needed air, and squeezed his way through the whispering crowd to the church yard.

Left out of his father’s will? Donny didn’t understand.

Giuliana felt her husband’s mood swing from grief to anxiety and beyond, and she tenderly stroked the trembling hand which held the weathered pages of the eulogy.

“Quit worrying so much about the eulogy,” she counselled, “just speak from the heart,”

Donny genuflected and ascended the altar.

“Pa was a giant of a man, a king, a legend,” the dutiful son recounted to the hordes filling the church beyond capacity.

“He was a father to all of us,” he affirmed, and for many the tears began anew.

Then, suddenly he stopped. His voice wavered between sorrow and anger and he spoke from the heart.

“I can’t do this. I ain’t gonna pretend. Why was I cut from the will? Why me? I loved Pa more any o’ you lot. Me and Pa saved the family business when the Russians moved in. Me and Pa took on the Bosco twins, it weren’t none o’ you,” and the congregation sat in bemused silence.

“Paulie, Alfonso!” he shouted in accusatory tones at his cousins.

“Where were you when times was tough, hey? Playin’ backjack in Atlantic City, hey Paulie? and what about you Alfonso, hiding out at a titty bar in Vegas?”

Donny’s resentful gaze landed upon Alfonso’s wife and he saw the whites of her eyes beaming from under her black mourner’s veil.

“And you Little Tony, you ain’t done nuthin’ None of you lowlife bloodsuckin’ maggots ain’t never done half o’ what I did for Pa. You disgust me. Pretendin’ to pay respect, but You ain’t here for that. You all came for your piece of the pie isn’t it…”

White hot anger propelled Donny’s words and they ricocheted off walls more accustomed to sombre prayers and hymns.

“Well it looks like I ain’t getting’ my piece o’ the pie, so you can all get…” but before Donny could hurl the final insult, he sensed the approach of the priest, and either through decorum or fearful respect, he vacated the pulpit and stormed out of the church.

Donny’s mother motioned to Roberto, and he set off after his brother.

“Donny, what was that?” asked Roberto, exasperated.

“They cut me out Bobbie, out of the will,” Donny sprayed, his anger not yet quelled.

“What are ya saying?”

“Before the service Bobbie, everybody was sayin’ real quiet and suspicious like… Donny was cut, Donny was cut”

“That’s how he died”

“What? It was a heart attack”

“No, it weren’t, we just got the autopsy results this mornin’, when you was out here reading that paper over and over. The Bosco twins got him, Pa was cut real discreet, he died real slow” and Roberto blessed himself again.

Donny slumped, dejected.

Donilo Scarpone Sr.

Rest in Peace

Image: Mayron Oliveira