The Idea of Perfection Read Online Free PDF Page A

said it, it was a name full of hisses. He stood smiling. She did not know how to break their gaze.
    Would he think she was a racist if she looked away?
    Her eyes were adjusting so she could see him better now. He was a solid man, brought up on plenty of red meat, though not tall. She could see the black hair, so straight it stuck out stiffly over his collar. She wondered if it would be coarse to the touch, like a dog’s hair, or soft.
    Hello, Mr Chang, she said. I’ll have six short-loin chops, please.
    There was something about the word loin she did not like. Something slightly suggestive. Especially here with Alfred Chang looking at her that way.
    She would have very much preferred Woolies in Livingstone, the meat all tidy in little polystyrene trays. So much more hygienic. Coming to Karakarook had been like stepping back thirty years: cutting the meat up separately for each customer, the sawdust on the floor, carcases hanging up for anyone to see.
    It made it all rather personal. There was a kind of intimacy about the butcher knowing exactly what you were having for dinner.
    Now he went out through the white-painted wooden door at the back and closed it behind him. The first time she had come here, she had given her order and watched him go out through the little door and had stood, shifting from foot to foot, for so long she wondered if he had forgotten her. She had imagined him going out into the backyard and sitting on a tree stump having a smoke.
    Now, twelve months and many short-loins later, she knew that the door took him into the cool-room, and that it was best to sit in one of the chairs thoughtfully provided. But sometimes he was gone so long she wondered if he had died in there, or coagulated.
    Today he returned quite quickly with a lump of meat and put it on the block, worn into a curve like a wave.
    He stood side-on to her and reached into the big tube full of knives hanging from his belt. He brought out one, unhooked the sharpening steel from his belt, and started to strop with lingering movements. She could see the muscles of his shoulders moving under his shirt as he stroked away deliberately at the blade.
    He said something, but his voice was swaddled by fly-wire, the space above him, the dim coolness of the shop, the stirred air from the fan.
    It was an awkward place to have a conversation. You could talk through the fly-screen, but you had to talk to a face that was grey and fuzzy, like a film out of focus. Or you could both twist down sideways to talk through the small flap at counter-level, where you handed the money in and he handed you the wrapped-up meat.
    I beg your pardon?
    He put the knife down deliberately on the block, hooked the steel back on his belt as if sheathing a sword, came over to the gauze.
    Ever tried the mutton?
    He was close enough for her to see his eyes, dark in his smooth face, but she could not tell what sort of expression he had. She realised you could call this being inscrutable.
    Oh, no, she said. No, I never have.
    Somehow, she’d got the tone wrong. There was more regret in her voice than was warranted by not ever having tried the mutton.
    She went on quickly to cover the sound of it.
    Bit tough, isn’t it?
    Too late, she heard how tactless that could sound.
    She could feel a blush start in the small of her back.
    Alfred Chang smoothed a large hand over his laminex counter and smiled down at it.
    Up to the butcher, he said. Butcher it right, mutton’s sweet as a nut.
    Now he was staring at her through the gauze.
    Oh! she said. Yes! I suppose so!
    She hated the way she kept on exclaiming and smiling but she did not know what she might do if she stopped. You could hide behind a smile and no one could blame you, or guess what you were thinking. She crinkled up her eyes to show what a lark it all was, but then she remembered that crinkling up your eyes gave you wrinkles.
    No one, not even a Chinese butcher, would want her if she had wrinkles.
    He had finished wrapping the