Bequest

Chapter 9

Sarah loathed the customers who came in just before 5pm. She still had airlines to fax, accommodation to confirm and that particularly tricky travel insurance problem to sort out for one of her regulars. She was especially annoyed by the pre-five p.m. customer when it looked as though that person was going to waste her time, as this man did. He looked too old to travel anywhere, and he was strange: his arms were completely tattooed, even his fingers had strange marks on them, cross hatches and dots, like he should have been a Maori or something.

He placed his heavy body on the only empty chair in the shop, and it had to be hers. She scraped together her professional smile. 'Where are you hoping to go?' she asked.

'Japan,' he said.

'Business? Pleasure?'

'Both. I'm wanting to donate my skin to a museum over there. A tattoo museum.'

Sarah took her eyes away from her computer screen for a moment. 'Right,' she said, hovering her gaze over him like a flying saucer reluctant to land. 'How soon do you want to go and for how long?'

'As soon as I can and for at least two weeks. But it depends. I may even have to become a resident. Do you know how I go about getting residency? I don't know if they take foreigners' skins.' He rolled one shirtsleeve up further, as if to prove his point, exposing strange portraits, doves and a twist of ivy. Sarah's boyfriend had a tattoo, a spread-eagled hawk across his muscular back; she clung to it when they made love. But this old man's skin was ugly, and the tattoos seemed old fashioned. His skin was saggy and he had weeping scabs around his wrist. She could see red flowers in the v-line of his shirt on his chest. They couldn't be ANZAC poppies, surely?

'Residency? You'd have to talk to their immigration people. I can't help you with that. We only book flights. Okay, so you're wanting to leave as soon as possible, like next week?'

'Or the week after. I'm flexible. I'm retired. I used to be a school teacher. These tattoos, they're by a very important Australian artist. If you're not into art, you probably haven't heard of her, but if you know anything about Australian art, you know X. Did you do VCE Art?'

'No,' Sarah said.

'Well, that's probably why you work somewhere unimaginative like here. I could have either been an art teacher or a history teacher . . . and for some reason I fell into teaching history and I could never get back to art. Now, I know it's close to five o'clock and you want to knock off, and you probably have a boyfriend to see and a Friday night to get ready for, but I'm hoping you'll tell me what flights you have.'

'But you haven't said when.'

'Whenever you have them.'

'We have them all the time. You'll have to be more specific.'

'But I'm flexible. What about getting residency, are they strict?'

'As I said, I don't know anything about that. Perhaps you'd like to talk to immigration before you book a flight? I could get their number for you?'

'That would be very helpful. Thank you. But I'd also like you to tell me about flights, how much and when they go.'

Sarah logged into the booking system. She knew this guy was not going to buy a ticket, not today, probably not ever. He was a time waster. She decided to humour him, even though he spoke down his nose at her. It was because of her age, she was sure. Having just left school the year before, she often found that old people didn't trust her.

'There's a number of airlines going to Tokyo. I assume you want to go to Tokyo?'

'I've been there before. I had a film crew with me that time, a cameraman, an audio guy, and the producer. And X of course. We went to two tattoo museums together. They've got two tattoo museums over there. Australia's way behind. And there's one in Amsterdam too, I believe. The documentary was on the ABC. It's been on a few times now. It was just on the other night again, actually. They replay it all the time, it's very popular.'

'So Tokyo, then?'

'That's right. Tokyo. That's where the tattoo museums are. They're not very big, but they have fantastic collections. I always said I would take my son. But he's very busy all the time, him and Craig, they're very busy, very social, always having dinner parties, that kind of thing. But maybe I should take him too. I mean, who knows when I'll get to take him? When you're my age, life seems very short. If I don't do something now, maybe I'll never do it. Do you think I should book for him too?'

'Maybe have a chat with him. We're open tomorrow, you can always come in again. Or here's our number.' Sarah took the general agency's card out of her drawer, rather than giving him her own business card with her direct number on it. She was sure she wouldn't be missing out on any commission from this man. She hoped her team leader, Julia, would end up having to deal with him. She thought she was so hot having just won agent of the quarter and getting that free flight to New York and all. Let's see if she can turn this one into a sale.

'Of course, I've got to be careful with money these days. I spent a lot of money on my lawyer. If it weren't for the house, I'd have nothing. But that doesn't help cash flow, of course.'

'Maybe speak to your son and the bank?'

The other agents were reconciling their credit card payments. Ben was already doing his end of day faxes in the office. Even large-ass Megan had shut down her computer. This would mean Sarah would have to lock up again if she didn't get a move on.

'I've got some money put aside for emergencies. Just this week, I got a letter from the National Gallery of Australia saying they wouldn't accept my skin. I've made appeals to three different directors there, but this was my last shot. You see, my lawyer costs a fortune. I don't think he's very good, though. A friend of a cousin's. Never employ anyone through family connections, it always turns rotten. Anyway, they sent me their final rejection letter and it was tattooed!'

If it wasn't so late in the day Sarah might have been interested in this story of his, but really she was only half listening. She knew that letters couldn't be tattooed and she wasn't even vaguely interested in the National Gallery. All she painted was her nails: black on the weekends and clear polish for weekdays. It was just like school here; they had a strict uniform policy. She'd even had to stop dying that red streak in her hair because Julia had snidely suggested she read the staff appearance policy four weeks into her traineeship.

'I really hate to do this, but it's ten past five. I'm going to have to ask you to come back another time or to ring. They shut down the booking system at ten past five. I can't make any further bookings.' This was the lie she used in special circumstances such as this one.

'Okay, okay. But how much did you say the tickets were?'

'Around fifteen hundred dollars. But you can get special deals from time to time.'

'Thank you. You've been very helpful.' He put his hands on her desk to help pull himself out of the chair. She noticed that one eye had suddenly turned, tiredly, and his knees trembled with his rising movement. She felt sorry for the old man, but was still glad he was going.