Free Prochownik's Dream by Alex Miller

The terrible sense of his dad’s vulnerability in that suit. His oddity and isolation. His own agony, longing for his dad to be like the other fathers and at the same time loving him for not being like them. He looked down at himself and tugged at the lapels, just the way his dad used to tug at them, the little smile his dad would give him, a secret between them with this sign, the gods of fire and vengeance placated once again. His father’s morbid fear that his nightmares might once again invade the day.
    Toni was seeing his father in his mind’s eye so clearly he could have drawn his likeness from the memory. He possessed no likenesses of his father, no drawings, no paintings, no photographs. All he possessed of his father was in his memory, but at this moment it was sufficient, a vivid recollection of the expression in his father’s eyes. He turned around and faced the door.
    Teresa was standing in the rain on the other side of the barricade watching him. She was clasping Nada to her and holding a coat over them both. The rain blowing against them, her dark hair drifted across her face. Nada was clutching Snoopy Dog, her expression shuttered and unhappy.
    â€˜Why didn’t you pick her up?’ Teresa yelled, shouting over the noise of the rain.
    â€˜I forgot. I’m sorry!’ He spread his arms in a gesture of helpless contrition.
    She stared at him, flinching from the driving rain. ‘We thought you must have had an accident! What are you doing?’ She was angry and offended, demanding a convincing explanation for his behaviour.
    â€˜It’s okay. I’m just looking for my old Macedon sketchbook,’ he yelled back.
    The thunder of the rain on the tin roof.
    â€˜What Macedon sketchbook?’ she shouted.
    â€˜Don’t worry about it. It was before your time.’
    She stood clutching Nada, cringing away from the vicious slap of the rain, the slap of his words.
    He yelled, ‘Sorry, darling!’
    Teresa was a big woman. She was physically strong and sure of herself. He knew her to be a willing, generous, forgiving, loving and emotional woman. And she was loyal. That above everything. Loyalty was the big thing with Teresa. She was hard-working and loyal. And she was beautiful.
    The rain drove into the doorway with redoubled force, lashing them. Nada started crying.
    Teresa yelled, ‘You forgot her!’
    â€˜We got caught up.’
    â€˜What do you mean, you got caught up ?’
    â€˜I’m sorry.’
    â€˜You’re a shit, Toni Powlett!’
    â€˜Sorry.’
    â€˜I was in conference with these people! They want to do bulk travel. Don’t you care? You and I had an agreement! What happened to our agreement? How am I supposed to keep this thing going for us?’
    â€˜Sorry.’
    She shouted fiercely, ‘You don’t give a shit!’ Nada was struggling in her arms, the rain sweeping in, gusting against them, Teresa ducking away from it. She yelled, ‘All I do is work!’ She flung the word work at him like a stone through his window and turned and ran for the house.
    He stood looking out across the barricade through the grey downpour. He should follow her and apologise. He was thinking, suddenly, of the night they met. She was still teaching then. It was at one of Andy’s famous parties in the biscuit factory. Teresa arrived with an older man, a friend of Andy’s, a Chinese painter who was the art teacher at the school where she was working. There was a band and people were yelling and drinking and dancing, and there was a lot of dope and other stuff going around. He did not remember what he and Teresa said to each other, but in the early hours she was walking him home through the empty streets and they were holding hands. They did not make love that night—she told him, We have the rest of our lives —but lay naked beside each other on her bed. She was very calm and sure of what had happened between