Visitors And Fish

By

Elizabeth M Thompson

The tourists, with the exception of a few wandering elderly citizens and grey nomads, had mostly left the village. The inhabitants could once again find parking where they wished, jay walk across the empty streets and saunter the isles of the shops. Even stopping for a chat here and there along the paths became possible once more without fear of being trampled by children or their parents as they barrelled along seemingly oblivious to where their feet were taking them.

During the summer, so many visitors appeared to wander along with their eyes permanently fixed on the hills surrounding the town.

Even the one-way street signs were once again being observed by the majority of motorists. The gentleman who lived at the end of Helen’s road and drove a large Mercedes on a restricted license was perhaps one exception, as were a few cyclists who held the opinion they were allowed to ignore road signs and knock over elderly ladies at will.

As usual, many of the locals had entertained visitors to their homes and for most this was an added pleasure, which living in such a picturesque place brought.

However Helen had learned it could be anything but a delightful experience.

While overseas during the southern winter, she had met a couple from Europe who expressed the urge to take part in an adventure holiday. She is of a generous and hospitable nature but confessed to her friend Del, as they sat chatting over a cup of coffee, that after having had time to reflect, she was most probably also under the influence of a very good red wine when she issued them an open invitation to come and stay with her.

She discovered to her chagrin that meeting and getting along with people in a hotel, could be a very different experience to having them under one’s roof.

The complaints began soon after their arrival. How untidy the bushland looked, how noisy the birds were, how the shops didn’t stock the right sort of food. She noted however they didn’t offer to do any cooking.

When faced with the reality of going into the wilder areas of the mountains, the idea of visiting such remote places where there were few people and little emergency help appeared to frighten the life out of them. It was patently obvious to her that any idea of an adventure trip could be completely thrown out of her ideas pool.

She could understand the culture shock someone who had spent their whole life in a large city could suffer when confronted with Australia’s great outdoors. Many possibly found them greater and less inviting in reality than on film.

For instance the wildlife all around had certainly not been trained to think it should stay well away from tourists. So when a brown snake about a metre and half long sidled past as they strolled along a bush track, the terrified couple refused to venture out again unless they were shielded in a vehicle. The snake Helen assured Del was going about its business entirely oblivious to the panicking couple. She surmised it had probably already enjoyed a meal and was simply trying find a warm spot in which it could take its afternoon nap.

Her temper began to really unravel when the complaints became more personal and hurtful.

She had grown up in her large rambling home. The house grew each time her family grew and her father built it section by section. She admitted that the plumbing had never really been changed and it was known to have idiosyncrasies which took some time getting used to. It could on occasion make a body feel as if it was a lobster about to be boiled or a pack of peas being deep frozen. They complained bitterly of these occasional spasms.

The neighbours came to visit. Being ordinary not very well educated folk with less than perfect grammar but possessing hearts of marshmallow, they tried to welcome her guests to their home for a traditional barbeque. The offer was met with disdain and the conversation gradually petered out.

It was about this time she remembered an old saying of her mother’s. One she had never fully understood until now.

Following each of the dreaded visits by her father’s unruly and enormous family, her mother would survey her usually neat and dusted living rooms which had been left by the guests looking as if they had been refurbished by an army of wombats, and mutter quietly.

Outside, her eyes would harden as she gazed at her carefully tended garden, now beaten by children who had thrashed about with cricket bats and flattened the herbaceous borders while searching for lost balls. The muttering would become audible and voiced with great emotion. ‘After a week, visitors and fish begin to smell the same.’

Helen’s patience had dried up along with her housekeeping money. With nerves twanging she watched them do as they had done each morning while drinking coffee through pursed lips. The cups would hover in the air and they would look into the liquid as if suspecting her of adding a pinch of foxglove or hemlock to the coffee beans. It was she had mused, not an unwelcome idea to her.

The days dragged on a little longer while she racked her brain trying to make the signals plain it was time they moved on……..preferably a long way on.

She decided to ask them to leave. It seemed the only sensible solution. It was after all, her own fault they were there at all.

Full of resolve, she planned to give them a pleasant day and after they returned home ask them to depart, begone, farewell, whichever word sprang to her lips first or if her resolve dissolved and she became the vacillating coward she now believed herself to be, think of a sick relative she needed to visit, without delay.

They left after breakfast for a local deer farm with magnificent gardens, views and a top class restaurant. A few miles out of town they passed an elderly gentleman walking along the rough gravel side of the bitumen road. He was a well known old ‘Bushy’ and lived in a shack in the hills. His plumbing for all anyone knew was non-existent and he was best conversed with upwind and from a distance. He shared his shack with his dogs and they probably shared their fleas with him. But he was known to be a dear old gentleman who had lived a very hard life.

It had been a particularly trying few days for Helen. The stifling heat made the effort to cook appetizing meals irksome and she swigged at her indigestion medication while she tossed salads and sizzled steaks; poking them savagely and too often in an attempt to ease her frustrations.

As they passed the old chap a brilliant idea occurred to her. She pulled up quickly, throwing her shocked backseat passengers forward in their seat belts with a jolt. While her guests straightened their hair and clothing she executed a quick three point turn and drove back to the stoic figure as he steadily crunched along the gravel in boots which seemed to be ill-fitting and filthy.

“Hello Arthur’ she called, hoping her bright manner would give her a positive response, ‘would you like a lift this morning, I see you are limping a little?’

A lift was a rare treat for Arthur because most people knew it took a good week and a can of air freshener and insect repellent to rid the inside of a car with the evidence of his presence.

His cracked lips spread out under about five days of bristle on his leathery face. The few yellow teeth he had left went up and down with pleasure.

“Would I Helen? You’re an angel, you bet I would!” He opened the back door, smiled happily at the appalled couple sitting in the rear. ‘Well, move over.’ he grinned at them, breathing heavily in his haste to make himself comfortable and filled the car with his special aroma.

They moved over, pressing against one another as they tried to avoid making any actual physical contact with Arthur. Helen observing their reactions in her rear vision mirror surmised with satisfaction that they appeared not to have entertained anyone like him in their vehicle at home.

The following day after much frantic repacking of their immaculate clothing into their immaculate and expensive suitcases they made very insincere farewells to her and she expressed the most insincere disappointment at the thought of them leaving.

After telling Del her tale she giggled girlishly, “I must take Arthur some scones next week, and wrap up some bones for his dogs.’

Del, smiled and suspected Helen hadn’t done very much for the tourist trade but felt it wouldn’t weigh on her conscience very much either.

THE END.