Les Grands Chantiers (Wattys 2022)

19. Waste Management 101

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Adrian slowed down as the paved road ran out and turned to dirt. Gravel pinged on the undercarriage of the car. The late afternoon sun was low on the horizon, and a peachy glow was creeping into the bottom half of the blue sky.

"Well, it's where they were living the last time I saw them. Even if they've moved we should be able to get directions." Brendan's reply offered no assurance. Adrian thought about the subdivision of apartment blocks they had just left. He wondered if there were any observant old ladies on the higher floors who had seen them passing by who would be able to give the police directions like in those Nordic detective novels. He wondered if it was a normal occurence.

The road finally ended. There was a wooden post signposting the start of a path, barely visible in between the thick scrub.

They were somewhere lost in the greenbelt that surrounded the inner suburbs of Corviston, in a patch of land under the shadows of the Ring Road. Most of the vegetation was invasive species: Japanese knotweed choked with dodder, and other stuff Adrian was sure was not native.

They got out of the car. Adrian locked it, just to be sure. He sure hoped those observant old ladies had gotten a good look at them.

"Well, I did my work experience in the waste management sector," Brendan had explained earlier.

"What, like the Sopranos?"

"Well, not exactly. There's a lot of dangerous rubbish and it has to go somewhere. Although, if you think of it, there are a lot of parallels with organised crime. We're a lot more anal about our waste, though. Gotta make it disappear. And you know what some of the dirtiest places are? Waterways."

They followed the thin path beaten into the ground further and further into the thick bush. The vegetation thinned out into gravel under the sprawling concrete tendrils of the stack interchange where the M1 met the Ring Road, which stood above them on massive concrete pylons, dripping water down onto the barren ground. A short distance away, the railway mainline to Wythaven passed on a shallow embankment. In between was a concrete lined creek widened into a wide, deep pool, behind a weir.

The concrete banks of the creek were coated in a mix of graffiti and pigeon shit. There was a massive mural of a mermaid sprayed onto the embankment, its eyes seemingly trained on them. In the middle of the pool was an overturned shopping trolley, covered in the battle-scars from countless flash floods prior. On top was affixed a cardboard sign with the words MERMAN EMBASSY spray-painted on the side. Typical fishfolk humour.

A train roared past. Pigeons squawked in their roosts in the overpass above. Bits of dislodged matter from above rippled the water.

There was a recess in the sloped concrete of the bank where a stormwater drain flowed in. It was but a trickle now that there had been no rain for nearly a week. Brendan stepped down into it, as if it was natural to him. Adrian followed hesitantly, careful not to stain his clothes. He watched as Brendan approached the half-submerged shopping trolley and rapped on it three times.

For a few seconds nothing happened. Then Adrian gave a start. There was something moving in the water.

It was a person's face and upper body, attached to the long, slimy tapering mottled grey posterior of a catfish.

To his surprise, Brendan held out a hand to greet the newcomer. "Long time no see, brother. How you doing? This is a bit of a downgrade compared to the place I saw you last."

"Only on outer appearances," the merman retorted. It's lovely. It's got shelter, no cops are ever going to come here. The rogues camped out in the bushes make sure of that." He gestured towards the railway fence. Brendan noticed the tents nestled in the shrubbery for the first time.