Page 67 of I Am the Messenger

"Milk and sugar?"

"Yes, please."

"How many sugars?"

I'm a bit embarrassed about this. "Four."

"Four sugars! What are you, David Helfgott?"

"Who the hell's that?"

"You know--piano player, half crazy." He's astounded I don't know. "He used to have about a dozen cups of coffee a day with ten spoons of sugar in each."

"Was he good?"

"Well, yes." He puts the kettle on. "Crazy but good." His glassy eyes are of kindness now. A giant kindness. "Are you crazy but good, too, Ed Kennedy?"

"I don't know," I say, and the priest laughs, more to himself than anyone else.

When the coffee's ready, the father brings it over and sits down with me. Before he takes his first sip, he asks, "You get hassled for smokes and money out there?" He jerks his head back toward the street.

"Yeah, and one guy keeps asking me for my jacket."

"Really?" He shakes his head. "God knows why. No taste, I suppose." He drinks.

I look down at my arms. "Is it really that bad?"

"Nah." He speaks earnestly now. "I'm only messing with you, son."

I examine the sleeves again and the material next to the zipper. The black suede is almost worn through.

An uneasy quiet gets between us. It tells me it's time to get down to business. I think maybe the father can feel it, too, and the expression on his face is of curiosity, yet patience.

I'm about to speak when an argument breaks out in one of the neighboring houses.

A plate smashes.

Screams jump over the fence.

The fighting intensifies, voices slam, and doors shout shut.

The father notices my concern and says, "Just hang on a sec, Ed." He walks to the window and opens it wider. He yells. "Can you two do me a favor and calm down!" He persists. "Hey, Clem!"

A murmuring crawls to the window now, followed by a voice. "Yes, Father?"

"What's going on over there today?"

The voice answers. "She's getting on my nerves again, Father!"

"Well, that's obvious, Clem, but what about--"

Another voice arrives. A woman's. "He's been up at the pub again, Father. Drinking and doing all that gambling!"

The father's voice becomes reverend. Honorable and firm. "That true, Clem?"

"Well, yeah, but--"

"But nothing, Clem. Stay in tonight, okay? Hold hands and watch television."