Entomology

by Jack Oat
(Melbourne)

‘She kept a journal, you know.’
The phrase stuck in my mind. I could do that.
Having read the last line, he closed the book. Dad leaned over to kiss me good night.
‘ ‘Night, Sweetie – I love you.’
‘ ‘Night, Dad. Me, too.’
I rolled over onto my side. Turning off the light, he closed the door.
‘Sleep tight, Bug.’
We only had each other. It had been the same comfortable routine for both of us for over six years, ever since my mother had died. In that time, we had grown close.
It was a love that both of us had come to: insects. Dad was keen on grasshoppers, locusts, crickets, and such; and for me, butterflies. We’d often drive out into the country to see what we could find, bringing specimens home in glass jars to create a collection. We categorised, labelled, and pinned them up on display boards. It was only a small assortment of seventy-three bugs so far, but was something we two enjoyed doing together. Dad’s story made me discover I could keep that satisfaction going by keeping a journal of where we’d been and what we’d found.
One night at dinner, he had a funny look on his face.
‘What’s up, man?’
‘That obvious, eh?’
I put my left hand on my hip and just looked at him.
‘You read me like a book, don’t you, Bug?’
‘Yep. Give.’
‘I don’t know how to say this. I’ve met someone.’
‘As in . . .’
‘Yeah. It’s been a long time. You’ll like her.’
I doubt it.
‘Da-aa-ad, what’s wrong with the way things have been? Don’t you want me anymore?’
‘Of course I do, Diana. I love you. You know that.’
‘Then, why do you need to have somebody else besides me?’
‘It’s just that, uh, um, ya know, a man gets lonely and . . .’
‘You want sex.’
He looked at me with those warm, brown, puppy-dog eyes and blinked. I think I shocked him.
‘Uh-h-h, Diana – uhh . . .’
‘Alright, I’ll meet the Wicked Witch – for your sake. But, I’m not making any promises.’
He put his arm around me and kissed me on the forehead, as always. ‘Thanks, Bug.’
I sometimes wondered who was the child and who was the parent in our relationship. But, there was someone I wanted to introduce to my dad, too – Leon, a boy I knew from school.
He arranged to take us ‘women’ out to eat at a fancy restaurant in Mont Worland: D’Angelo’s. I guess he thought that I was less likely to make a stink if we had to meet some place in public, where manners were expected.
‘Diana, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Caruthers.’ He turned his attention to the witch. ‘Marlene, this is my exceptional daughter, Diana.’
She held out her hand and, reluctantly, I put out mine. With a brainwave of inspiration, I suddenly squeezed hers as hard as possible. To my surprise, it wasn’t as cold and slippery as a fish as I expected.
‘Hello, Diana.’ The woman didn’t seem to notice my vice grip. ‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Your Father has told me so much about you.’

Finally? How long had my dad been seeing this, uh, person?
‘Hi. Dad hasn’t mentioned you at all, not until a couple of nights ago.’ I looked at him and asked, ‘Did you say – ‘Mrs’?’
The witch answered. ‘Yes, my husband died almost eighteen months ago . . . of leukemia.’
I was a bit taken aback. ‘Oh – I’m sorry. I didn’t know. That must be hard for you.’
‘Yes and no. I’m sorry that Bill got so sick and died. But, we were pretty rocky in our relationship. If he hadn’t become ill, we probably would have been well-and-truly divorced by now.’
‘Um-m, glass of wine, Marlene? What would you like, Bug . . . Diana? Lemonade?’
‘Uh, yeah, Dad. Tha’d be fine. Mrs. Carut . . .’
‘Please – call me Marlene. I want us to be friends.’ She smiled like week-old shashliks.
‘Uh-h, okay . . . Marlene.’
‘You’re a lovely, young lady. Besides – I don’t want any of us to have secrets from one another. Okay?’
‘Sure. I’ve never had an adult talk to me like this.’ She cocked her head a little sideways, questioningly. ‘You know – about personal things. Like I wasn’t a kid, or something.’
‘You’re almost thirteen, aren’t you? You’re hardly a child.’
‘Cool.’ I chewed a bite of my chicken, watching the woman, taking her in. Could she be trusted?
The rest of the meal was not at all what I had been expecting. I actually sort of liked Marlene. She laughed at things Dad said and smiled directly into my eyes lots of times, like she didn’t have anything to hide. She was trying to include me in their relationship. And once, when she lent over to whisper something to me as a private joke to disinclude Dad, I smelled her hair. M-m-m-m, it reminded me of my mother. I felt an inner conflict there, but it didn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. Six years is a long time.
She started hanging around at our place. Ya know, dinners, movies, TV, ping-pong; we even went out together for a bar-be-que, as a ‘family’. It felt sort of right; I found myself wanting to have someone step into that ‘mother’ role. Still . . . I wasn’t quite sure it was Marlene. Unfortunately, she wasn’t into insects. However, there was something about the woman that bugged me. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. But I needed to find out, before it was too late. For my dad’s sake.
Finally, the day I had really been dreading came around; Marlene was moving in. Leon had come by to inspect the witch. He found a book had fallen out of a box in her crammed SUV and motioned me over. My eyes lit up.
‘Dad – a word, please.’
He baulked. ‘How did you find out her husband didn’t die, after all?’
‘She kept a journal, you know.’