Dome of Death - 3. Chapter 3 Mad & Family

Friday morning dawned cool, windy and grey. Scattered coastal showers, the forecast had predicted, with the chance of an unseasonable cyclone heading our way in the next few weeks. The cyclone was hard to take seriously, it was at least three months too early and they never came this far south. With a curious lightness of heart, probably related to the fact that Frances had still not returned from her frolicking, I decided to close the gallery for the next five days, reopening for Mad’s show.

I spent the morning painting large, colourful notices informing prospective customers that we had sold out and would be reopening with ‘More, Bigger, Better and Equally Exclusive Art Treasures at five-thirty on Wednesday the Seventh of August’. Artistically draped along the inside of the enormous front windows, they were visible from miles away and a damned good advertisement.

My poor old Holden’s battery had leaked its charge into the moist coastal air and refused to turn over the engine, so I fossicked in Max’s desk and found the keys to his station wagon. Being at the wheel of a Mercedes was tantamount to an exalted encounter with the future. I wasn’t driving; I was whisked along in a magic box experiencing none of the tensions I usually associate with getting from A to B. Except I lost my way. The motorway underpass clearly marked on my map didn’t exist when I arrived there, and it was eleven-twenty before I pulled up outside the Alcona’s house up in the hills overlooking the Coast. A high, creeper-festooned wooden fence hid most of the building’s brick walls and steeply tiled roof, from which protruded three dormer windows. A press on the bell brought Mad’s voice to the tinny loudspeaker embedded in the gatepost.

‘Who is it?’

‘Peter Corringe.’

‘Oh.’

An electronic buzz released the latch, and five wide stone steps led down to a partially opened, heavy wooden door behind which Mad was waiting, tightly wrapped in her eiderdown. The street gate slammed behind me.

‘Ah, Peter,’ she murmured anxiously, with perhaps a hint of panic.

‘Sorry I’m late. I got lost.’

‘Oh, that’s nothing. Everyone does. At least the very few people we invite here.’ She hesitated a few seconds longer than necessary, looking lost and apprehensive until I began to think I’d made a mistake and hadn’t been invited after all.

‘If it’s not convenient, I can come back another time. Or if you’d rather not see me here after all, then you can just bring the frames and mounts to the gallery on Tuesday. Don’t worry about it. I understand. It’s not easy inviting total strangers to your house. I’m exactly the same.’

She looked at me warily, came to a decision and opened the door wider.

‘Come in out of the wind. It’s silly to talk here on the steps.’

I followed her into a small room, over-furnished with two high-backed, heavily carved wooden chairs, an elaborate oval table in polished wood, and an alarming, antique wardrobe encrusted with inquisitive cherubs disporting themselves in an exotic jungle of rampaging vines, leaves and flowers. A full-length mirror, tucked behind four Corinthian columns, appeared to lead directly to the nether world. A yellowish rug - a splash of vomit on the polished wooden floor, did nothing to dispel the gloomy excesses of the wardrobe.

It was not the sort of room I would have associated with the creator of the beautifully restrained drawings nestling in my office. She smiled absentmindedly, sat in one of the chairs and gestured vaguely towards the other. I lowered myself into the monstrous thing, and was stabbed in the back by a gargoyle.

Mad giggled charmingly. ‘Sorry, I should have warned you. The furniture in this room was my mother’s. Classic Gothic horror don’t you think?’

‘And as uncomfortable as it looks.’

‘We spend no time here, so it doesn’t matter.’ She adjusted herself more comfortably, leaned forward slightly and said gently, ‘I realise it’s difficult for you to talk about Max, but he was a good friend to both of us, and… I simply have to talk to someone or I’ll go mad.’

It seemed churlish to refuse so I gave a noncommittal grunt, which she took as permission to continue.

‘Max wasn’t on very intimate terms with his wife, was he? At least that’s what I gathered from things he let drop when he came to visit.’ Her face was a picture of genuine concern. ‘How has Frances taken his death?’

I found the question intrusive and couldn’t think what to say.

‘Come on, Peter,’ she cajoled. ‘Do the rich and leisured feel the same as us? I spend all my time cooped up here drawing, and lose touch with the outside world. What did she say when she saw Max fall?’

Invasion of privacy is an irredeemable vice. I figure if gossips are happy to receive and broadcast rumours about others, they’ll have scant regard for my privacy when I’m out of the room. Were I asked to catalogue the deadly sins, Gossip would head the list.

‘Max’s widow’s state of mind is her own affair,’ I replied coolly. ‘If you’re concerned, why not telephone and offer your condolences? Although I doubt she would appreciate such an intrusion from a stranger.’

‘Not a complete stranger,’ Mad countered with a cheerful smile, impervious to my reaction. ‘I met her once in town, and I’ve drawn her husband - naked.’

‘But not her,’ I snapped.

‘True. But I wonder about his Will. He had plenty of money. Does Frances get it all?’

I stood stiffly, impatient to get the frames and escape from this woman’s curiosity. How, I wondered, could I have been so wrong about Madrilene Alcona. My first impressions are usually pretty accurate.

She leaned back in her chair, pulled a worried frown and smiled gently. ‘How about Max’s parents? They must be taking it hard, losing their son? As a mother myself, I can feel for them. Do they have any other children? You can tell me, Peter, I’m very discreet.’

‘Mrs Alcona,’ I said, not bothering to conceal my contempt, ‘if you’ve invited me here to pry into the affairs of others, then you have wasted both my time and yours. Let me have the frames and mounts and I’ll be on my way. The gallery will communicate with you in due course.’

She smiled sweetly, tucked her legs into the folds of the eiderdown, wrapped her arms around them and giggled softly, ‘But I hoped you’d stay to lunch.’

I was spared a response by the front door bursting open to admit a large, good-looking man, a tall gangling youth, and the two teenagers of the previous afternoon’s station wagon. The man greeted me like an old friend.

‘Hello,’ he boomed, pumping my arm energetically, ‘you must be Peter. I’m Brian. This streak of pump-water is Jeff, and the two clones are Der and Dra. I hope Mad’s invited you to lunch?’

I glared at the four healthy, sane-looking people, wondering what oddities their exteriors concealed.

‘Yes, dear, of course I have,’ Mad answered in the most ordinary of voices.

‘Excellent! We’ll go on up and dismantle ourselves. See you in a few minutes.’ They bustled out.

‘Der and Dra? Dismantle? What’s going on?’ I snapped, determined not to waste energy on anger at what was beginning to look like some sort of stupid family game.

‘Alexander and Alexandra - our twins; dismantle, as in disrobe. A mantle is a type of clothing. It’s a family joke. The children are home early because there’s a half-day holiday for a reason known only to the school.’

I allowed myself to look as irritated as I felt.

‘Peter, I’m sorry. I got cold feet when you arrived. Yesterday I was convinced you were a certain sort of person; an impression confirmed by your reaction to my drawings; especially the portrait of Max. But… when you arrived today I panicked. Our family is odd. At least most people would think so. Of course we don’t. We’re more or less self-contained and need no one else, although Jeff is starting to kick at the traces. I’m worried sick about gossip; it could destroy everything. That’s why I asked you those stupid questions, to see if our privacy was safe with you. I’m paranoid about it. Brian trusts my judgement - I was right about Max, you see, and told him you were just as nice. Just as healthily broad-minded. It was very important that I hadn’t made a mistake about you before admitting you into our family.’

‘I can understand your caution,’ I replied, mollified but unconvinced. ‘However, your family doesn’t seem odd to me.’

‘When Brian says ‘dismantle’, that means no clothes. We like to be naked around the house - always have done, and can’t be bothered with guests who are uncomfortable with that. Der and Dra have odd habits. We have an unusual house-plan, by European standards that is, and an outlook on life which is so much more liberal than anyone else we have ever met, that I wonder sometimes whether we have made a mistake. But I am happy! We are all happy, so it can’t be totally wrong. Anyway, now you have a slight idea about us, are you staying to lunch?’

‘Curiosity will not let me refuse, as long as the rest of the house is warmer than this overdressed cool-store.’

Mad gave a delighted giggle. ‘I guarantee it. I’ll be in the living room when you’re… dismantled.’ Her impish grin remained floating on the air as the inner door closed.

Having discovered the function of the hideous wardrobe and wearing nothing but a sickeningly certainty I was going to be greeted by jeers and laughter from five elegantly dressed Alconas, I pushed through the door into a cosily warm living area. Mad was stirring a pot on the stove, naked except for a frilly apron. She smiled a welcome.

‘I also never wear clothes at home, if it’s warm enough,’ I confided, eyes scanning the enormous room that appeared to occupy the entire ground floor.

‘Take a shower while I finish preparing the meal,’ she offered, pointing to a door in the far wall.

I made good use of toilet and shower, in that order, relieved at being able to ensure I wasn’t going to smell ripe – or worse – at lunch.

Clean and relaxed, I returned to the main room. It was exactly the sort of place I would build for myself if I had the money. A vast, yet cosy space divided into kitchen, dining, lounge, four study areas, and a smaller chat-space. The door opposite the bathroom opened onto a stairwell leading both up and down, and another gave onto a study containing a desk, computer, a TV, and a sofa that looked as though it could be converted into a double bed. The view from the windows of the main room was less interesting than I’d imagined. We were one storey above the ground, but low enough to ensure privacy. Fences and neighbouring roofs and trees obstructed any potential view. An in-ground pool, patio and lawn tennis court bordered by trees and flowers, turned the place into a mini-resort.

Jeff burst in from the stairwell, fronted me with a smile, shook my hand as vigorously as his father, and asked in a surprisingly deep voice, ‘Do you like the house? What do you think of me? Mum says you’re as nice as Max. Are you?’

Innocent effusion makes me laugh. I stepped back and looked him up and down as if making a serious evaluation. Jeff was tall, stringy, blue-eyed and topped by a shock of auburn hair. His muscles would fill out in the next year or so and he’d become physically attractive, but facial bone structures were not prominent and it would take only a thin layer of fat to make his face shapeless and dull.

‘Question one: from what I’ve seen, the house is perfect. Two: your indisputable attractiveness will always depend to a certain extent on your lively character, and you must never get fat. Three: of course I am. How well did you know Max?’

‘Pretty well. He came round whenever he had an hour or so to spare. The last time he was on a high - kept talking about the excellent artist he had booked for his gallery opening, and promised to bring him to visit. But now it’s too late. He’s dead…’ Jeff stopped and stared out the window. ‘I… I can’t get my head around death. Max is the first person I’ve known who’s died. Its so… so final!’ He turned back to me, his eyes moist. ‘I’ll never forget the way he wouldn’t stop talking or keep still, even though Mum was trying to draw him.’ Jeff visibly shook off his mood, grinned and added, ‘Dad says we have to live in the present and be grateful for past experiences.’

‘And good advice too.’

‘Yep. I’m glad I knew Max. He was the most handsome and interesting man I’ve ever met.’

‘Until today.’

‘Naturally.’

‘Our relationship is going to prosper.’

‘Good - I fancy you.’

‘That was quick.’

‘I’m precocious.’

‘I’m twenty-eight.’

‘Maturity becomes a man.’

‘Immaturity’s illegal.’

‘I’m seventeen and legal.’

‘When you’re a fit young man of forty-nine, I’ll be an elderly codger of sixty.’

‘Yuk.’

‘Quite.’

‘I wasn’t considering a life-long attachment.’

‘Unfaithful! And we’ve only just met.’

Jeff burst into laughter and I turned from the window to face Der and Dra who had entered during the exchange. Their almost identical faces, framed by longish, dark-blond straight hair, were serious as they stepped forward extending cautious hands. I had to glance down to see who was who. There was no mistaking Der’s manhood, it outshone Jeff’s and mine by several orders of magnitude. Dra’s breasts looked scarcely different from her well-muscled brother’s pectorals and, despite slightly larger nipples, she emanated an androgynous quality that was equally attractive. Neither would have to rely on character alone.

‘How do you do, Alexander, how do you do, Alexandra,’ I said, attempting to match their seriousness.

‘You may call us Der and Dra.’

‘Thank you. You may call me anything you like, but don’t call me late for dinner.’

They smiled with the politeness of those who have heard such chestnuts before. It was astounding how alike they were. Same slightly square jaws, prominent cheekbones, full lips, olive complexions, deep-set brown eyes under arched eyebrows, strong necks, broad shoulders. Involuntarily, I glanced down again to confirm Dra’s sex. Narrow hips and well-formed legs. She could have been a boy.

‘That’s the first time for ages that Jeff’s been beaten,’ she said earnestly. ‘Did Mum teach you the game?’

‘I didn’t know I was playing one.’

‘Oh,’ said Der dismissively, ‘then it doesn’t count. I thought he gave in too easily.’

‘Gave in?’

‘We go on and on making silly answers till one cracks up - he’s the looser,’ Der explained.

Jeff put his arm around my shoulder, ‘I didn’t give in, I was just being nice to a guest and potential lover.’

‘Does Peter know you have designs on him, Jeff?’ Brian had joined us.

‘He does now.’

Brian looked at me with a half smile to gauge my reaction. He was as tall as Jeff, but solid. A tough and fit looking customer – obviously the twins’ father. Brawny arms, thick chest evenly coated with short brown hair, strong legs and sporting a light, seamless tan. Mad had chosen a solid rock on which to build her family. He must have been at least forty, but looked in his early thirties.

‘Well, I guess forewarned is forearmed,’ I laughed, shamed at my lack of originality.

‘But not fore-skinned,’ interjected Dra quietly peering at my groin with what appeared to be academic interest. ‘Are you Jewish?’

Everyone looked at what was one more reason to hate my parents. I had never been able to forgive them for that infant mutilation. None of my friends had been cut and I remained embarrassed by it. Luckily, it was a neat job.

‘No, just stupid parents. Does it offend you?’

‘Of course not! It’s just that I’ve read about male and female circumcisions and other rites of passage to adulthood, and always thought they sounded grotesque.’ She squatted down for a closer inspection. ‘Yours is the first circumcised penis I’ve seen, and it’s not horrible, it looks neat, clean, and… somehow honest.’ She stood up and smiled at me innocently. ‘That sounds stupid, doesn’t it? What do you think, Mum?’

Mad hung her apron on the back of a chair and joined us. She was thin, but not unhealthily so. The only hair on her body was on her head, a frizzy black confection like a demonic halo. Small breasts and nipples, narrow hips for a woman, shapely legs and a light tan rendered her one of the few mature women I had ever found physically attractive. Standing beside Brian she reached only to his shoulder.

‘What do I think of what, dear?’

‘Peter’s circumcised penis.’

Fearing ridicule, I glanced quickly around but the three men were taking Dra’s observations seriously, and were waiting for Mad’s opinion. It wasn’t a joke; they were genuinely interested. However, the concerted attention of five people was beginning to have its effect. How far did their liberal outlook go? I wondered.

‘I like it,’ was Mad’s considered judgement. ‘It’s… sort of innocent. Nothing concealed.’

‘And what does the prospective lover think?’ Brian asked with a grin, delighting in my discomfiture. The object of everyone’s attention was swelling visibly.

‘I agree with Dra. Innocent, honest and straightforward - like me,’ he replied smugly.

I quelled the urge to cover my erection. If they weren’t embarrassed, why should I be? ‘It only looks innocent beside Der’s magnificent manhood.’

‘You’re joking! I prefer to look like a human, not a horse,’ Jeff scoffed.

‘Yours would look larger if you still had your foreskin,’ consoled Dra earnestly.

‘And consider the aesthetics,’ laughed Mad. ‘You’re the lean, elegant type, Peter. Anything larger would look ridiculous on you.’

‘And it obviously works perfectly,’ added Brian. ‘About thirty percent of Australian men suffer from impotence.’

‘We’d better stop,’ laughed Mad, ‘before it bursts.’

They laughed and I laughed. It was funny and natural, not rude and dirty. I relaxed, they sensed it, and our friendship was sealed.

‘The meal’s ready, so everyone to the table.’ Mad bustled across to the stove.

‘Have you ever worked out the percentage increase in volume, circumference and length of your penis from flaccid to fully erect, Peter?’ asked Der thoughtfully as we moved towards the dining area. ‘I’d say your ratio was much greater than mine. My cock may be larger than yours when soft, but it hardly increases in size when erect. We could compare them with water displacement.’

No one was laughing. They were taking Der’s suggestion quite as seriously as they had Dra’s earlier interest. Mad was right, they were odd. Deliciously so. Odd in the way I’d frequently wished my own family to be. Intelligent, curious, articulate kids with parents equal to the task of rearing them; and having a liberality of spirit to match. Natural creatures savouring their existence, untainted by duplicity and without the slightest hint of lewdness. I was enchanted. Here were Rousseau’s sauvages innocents – except they were educated and eloquent.

‘Can it wait till after lunch?’ asked Mad, placing plates on the table. ‘And perhaps Peter isn’t really interested.’

‘If it proves Der’s monster is no better than mine, I’m all for it. I dislike feeling inadequate.’

‘Don’t we all?’ Jeff concurred.

‘After lunch then,’ adjudicated Brian, turning to me. ‘Red or purple?’

‘Red or purple what?’

‘Towel.’

‘Red.’

He handed me a red towel. ‘We each have our own, ensures clean seats.’

Mad treated us to a delicious meal of game pie, fresh fruit and vegetables, and yoghurt. It was an extended meal as everyone had plenty to say about what they’d been doing and there was discussion on every topic. By the time the dishes were done and the frames and mounts had been sorted and loaded, it was getting late.

‘We’ll have to do the experiment another time, Der. I’m expected for dinner at Max’s parents place and if I leave it any longer I’ll be late.’

‘That’ll be better actually. I’ve thought of a few refinements, so need time to set it up. When are you coming back?’

I shrugged.

He stared at me intently for a second then blurted, ‘Are you the bloke Max was going to bring to visit us?’

‘No idea.’

‘Are you an artist?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Did you exhibit at the opening of Max’s gallery?’

‘Yep.’ Before he could say something I didn’t want to hear, I turned to the others. ‘I’ll see you all at Mad’s opening next Wednesday evening.’

‘You bet,’ said Jeff. We’ll be there.’

‘Naturally. But,’ added Brian seriously, ‘you must feel free to drop in, any time at all.’

I raised an eyebrow.

‘No! I mean that. We’ve enjoyed your company. If you’re feeling a bit low after the funeral, at a loose end… we’d like you to call in. Right, Mad?’

She smiled and nodded.

I wanted to say it had been the best day I’d had for four years, and they were the nicest people I’d met in that time, but if I’d opened my mouth I’d have flooded the room with tears .