Oskar the Pole

by Judy Nunn

  Since Lila’s death and that life-saving day when he’d walked out of their little house where he’d been haunted at every turn by her absence, Oskar had developed a special existence where he and Lila could inhabit a life of their own. He’d lived for a long time on the proceeds of the sale of his house, eking the money out sparingly, calling upon no government assistance, camping in the city’s parks during the finer weather, paying the smallest possible pittance for a room somewhere during the depths of winter. He and Lila had been happy that way, just the two of them, sharing the hardship.

  When the money had finally run out he’d been forced to apply for a government disability pension. One of his fellow homeless, a man with whom he occasionally played chess, had advised Oskar how to go about this, for he had no idea himself. It wouldn’t even have occurred to him that he might be eligible.

  ‘You’ll be a walk-up start, I tell you,’ the man had said. A strange fellow, tall, sparsely bearded and thin, like a stick insect, he had pronounced tics and a tendency to talk to himself, or perhaps to the strange voices that he professed to hear in his head, none of which prevented him from playing a decent enough game of chess.

  ‘You’ll probably cop the same sort of diagnosis as me,’ he’d said, eyes twitching, head jerking.

  Oskar had found the comment most odd. He didn’t have tics and he didn’t hear strange voices.

  But as it turned out, after applying and going through a series of tests, he’d been perceived to have a mental problem that rendered him unemployable, thereby qualifying him for a disability pension. He was grateful but felt a little guilty accepting assistance.

  ‘I don’t really deserve this, do I?’ he’d asked Lila. If she’d have said ‘no’, he would most certainly have refused the offer. But she didn’t.

  ‘I think it’s all right, Oskar,’ she’d replied thoughtfully, ‘so long as you don’t abuse the privilege.’

  From then on, Oskar had observed a set of strict regulations. He refused to avail himself of the free food on offer at the various soup kitchens throughout the city. He refused also the free blankets and second-hand clothing available from the various outlets run by philanthropic groups. Given the modest stipend he received from the government, he could purchase his own necessities. And regardless of the weather, he never took advantage of the free lodgings available for those desperately in need. He and Lila agreed it was not right to rob these people of a roof over their head; many were runaway teenagers, others young women with children, all more often than not escaping domestic violence. Instead, over time, Oscar had sought out selective spots for all seasons. He was comfortable enough, and even when he wasn’t Lila was always there to help him through the tough times.

  The only thing he was lacking, or so Lila told him, was human companionship. She was glad that he’d now adopted The Corner, and even more importantly that he’d come to accept, and be accepted by, the regulars who gathered there.

  ‘You’re allowed to talk to them you know, Oskar,’ she’d say now and then, playfully but encouragingly. ‘I can assure you, my love, they won’t bite.’

  But although Oskar had relaxed in the company of the regulars, he never initiated conversation. His contact was principally limited to a nod of recognition here and there upon arrival, and a modest wave here and there upon departure. The others all knew when Oskar was arriving or departing. The squeak of his shopping trolley gave him away.

  If he was spoken to he would reply, pleasantly enough but in minimal fashion. Some while ago, he’d actually admitted to his name, which had been a step in the right direction, or so Lila had assured him. It had been when Clive introduced himself.

  ‘Hello there, I’m Clive,’ the pleasant man in the beanie had said, hand outstretched.

  ‘Hello. I am Oskar,’ he’d replied as they shook, taking himself a little by surprise he had to admit.

  ‘Good to meet you, Oskar.’

  Oskar had noted the look Clive had exchanged with Madge, and he’d noted also the congratulatory nod she’d offered in return.

  Madge, the undisputed matriarch of The Corner, had indeed been pleased. This bloke – now named Oskar – had been fronting up for quite a while, and she considered it high time he got to know the other regulars, just a hello now and then, nothing intrusive. In Madge’s opinion, support among the homeless, or at least a connection with one another, was of paramount importance. You can live without a home, she thought, but living without human contact is a painful existence. She’d made no move herself, however, sensing that not only was this bloke excruciatingly shy but that he found her a bit intimidating, as some people did.

  ‘Where are you from?’ Clive had asked, ‘I mean your accent, you know, what country?’

  ‘I am from Poland.’

  ‘Ah, how interesting.’

  After that, Clive would occasionally initiate a brief conversation with Oskar, usually something relating to the latest news topic as Oskar’s head was always buried in one of the many newspapers he gathered daily.

  ‘Shocking what’s going on in Syria, eh?’ he might say.

  ‘Yes,’ Oskar would agree, ‘very bad for the people who live there, the civilians, so many children die.’

  Clive might continue the conversation for a minute or so, but it would inevitably fade and Oskar would return to his newspaper.

  Clive nevertheless considered the contact something of a triumph, as did Madge.

  ‘Good man,’ she said as he joined her at her wheelie bin to share a beer or a pie or both. ‘He’s one broken soul, our Oskar.’

  Madge wasn’t the only one pleased at the breakthrough.

  ‘See, my darling,’ Lila whispered with pride, ‘you can do it. I told you that you could.’

  Clive had been good for Oskar. But Clive had recently disappeared; they hadn’t seen him at The Corner for several months now, and these days the others left Oskar to his newspapers, which he seemed to prefer anyway.

  His name having been revealed, however, there was often a personal greeting from the locals, a cheery ‘morning Oskar’ from Madge, or a ‘g’day Oskar’ from Benny, who sold The Big Issue outside Woolies, or a flirty ‘hello Oskar’ and a wink from Sal, the young hooker. But even among the regulars, Oskar was still generally referred to as ‘the Pole’, because that’s how he was known at the chess game.

  The chess game had become a regular form of entertainment for those who congregated at The Corner. They’d often pay a visit to the park in order to watch the Pole work his magic, particularly on a busy Saturday afternoon.

  ‘You going to watch the Pole today?’

  ‘Bloody oath I am. Even got a good stash I’m going to whack on him if there’s a punter around. Takings were great yesterday.’

  That was the sort of bravado comment typical of Ted, who’d only recently joined the ranks at The Corner. Having commandeered one of the busiest intersections in the city, making it his own undisputed territory, Ted always liked to boast of the amount he’d earned begging from passers-by. He was disappointed if he didn’t take at least a couple hundred bucks a day, or so he’d say. Fridays he usually made three hundred.

  Madge had taken an instant dislike to Ted. She considered him in the worst possible taste. It was bad enough if the bloke was a loudmouth and just showing off to those who had nothing, but if he really did make that sort of money, why didn’t he share it around now and then? The others did. Whenever they had a windfall they’d shout a round of beers or turn up with a box of pies or whatever. Mateship among the homeless was essential for the survival of the spirit. ‘Tight-arse Ted’ didn’t seem to get that.

  It wasn’t only Ted who had the occasional bet on Oskar the Pole, however. Some of the others were known to have a bit of a flutter if they found themselves with a few spare dollars to hand. It was a safe bet backing the Pole. And on a busy Saturday afternoon there was always the likelihood of a newcomer who wasn’t aware that the Pole was virtually unbeatable.

  Being illegal, the betti
ng was always conducted surreptitiously, but it wouldn’t have taken an eagle eye to notice money changing hands. Oddly enough Oskar himself never did. And no-one ever told him. Oskar the Pole remained blissfully unaware of any money dealings. His focus concentrated solely upon his game, he appeared barely even to notice that he was being watched.

  Then came the day of Madge’s scratchy win.

  A shriek went up that took them all by surprise: ‘I’ve won! Holy hell, I’ve bloody well won!’

  The half-dozen or so present at The Corner all turned to stare.

  It was early afternoon. Madge had returned from the nearby milk bar with a ham and salad roll – she was on a health kick, steering clear of the normally favoured pie or hamburger – and after finishing her lunch she’d lit up a roll-your-own, leaned over her wheelie bin and worked away with a ten cent coin at her scratchy ticket. She always bought a scratchy on a Friday.

  Another shriek. None of them had ever seen Madge so excited.

  ‘Look at this, will you, just look at this!’

  She dumped her half-smoked roll-your-own grinding it out with the heel of her well-worn shoe, which in itself was unusual, for Madge never wasted a drag of a fag. Then she went from one person to the next, thrusting the ticket in front of their faces.

  ‘Take a look at that!’ she demanded. ‘Do my eyes deceive me or what? That’s five hundred bloody dollars, am I right?’

  ‘Yep, you’re spot on, Madge.’ It was Criminal Johnny who answered. ‘That’s five hundred bloody dollars all right.’

  Criminal Johnny was a regular at The Corner whenever he wasn’t in jail the time spent on the inside and on the outside being roughly equal. He was in his mid-twenties, unbelievably good looking and quite, quite harmless. A serial offender, petty crimes only, he was never violent and never carried a weapon, but he was always getting caught. It seemed he wasn’t particularly successful at the jobs he undertook. Madge couldn’t help being fond of Criminal Johnny.

  ‘Five hundred dollars!’ Madge said. ‘Five hundred dollars!’ She kept staring at the scratchy; she couldn’t believe her eyes.

  The others gathered about her, also staring at the scratchy. Along with Criminal Johnny there was Ted, Sal and Benny. Oskar wasn’t there – it was the afternoon and he was in the park. He played chess most afternoons these days. Madge handed the ticket around and they all had a good look. She didn’t bother with Syd, who was passed out on one of the two worn wooden benches that sat in the nearby patch of mostly dead grass that served as a communal park for the tenants of the terrace houses. Poor old Syd was a ‘dero’. He wasn’t out of it all of the time. He’d come good every now and then, but this was not one of those days.

  ‘What are you going to do with all that cash, Madge?’ Ted asked.

  ‘No idea.’ Nothing that involves you, Tight-arse, she thought.

  ‘We could have a wonderful party,’ eighteen-year-old Sal said brightly. ‘Champagne, the works.’ Pretty, blonde Sal was a real party gal. It was a pity she had to sell her body to support her drug habit. Madge worried hugely about Sal.

  ‘Yay, yay, party, party pies, party pies.’ Benny gave a gap-toothed grin and jumped up and down enthusiastically like the mental ten year old he was. Years of substance abuse had addled his forty-four-year-old brain.

  ‘Well, we could always do that, yes,’ Madge agreed. She’d certainly spend her winnings on the group she considered her family – she didn’t need the extra cash, she got by on her pension. Normally she’d have considered something practical, but everyone seemed to be doing all right, so why the hell not? She’d get them together – all of them except Tight-arse – and yes, they’d have a party.

  ‘I tell you how you could make that money work for you, Madge,’ Criminal Johnny said. He’d just had a wonderful idea. ‘I know a way you could turn that five hundred into five grand.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ she asked Much as she liked Criminal Johnny, she was wary. If he’d managed so successfully and continuously to bungle his petty thieving career, any idea he had might prove risky.

  ‘Yeah.’ Criminal Johnny nodded eagerly, raking back with his fingers the lock of brown hair that flopped so appealingly over his brow, hazel eyes gleaming with excitement beneath heavy lashes. He really was a gorgeous young man.

  ‘They’re gonna have a charity chess tournament in the park next month,’ he went on, ‘a fundraiser for some sort of cancer, I think, dunno which one. There’s posters up all over the place – it’s got huge sponsorship. Anyway, they’re charging two hundred bucks to enter, and the winner pockets five grand. The corporates’ll probably foot the bill for most entrants, tax write-offs, free advertising and all that, but anyone’s allowed to enter. And you can bet your bottom dollar no-one’d come anywhere near Oskar. Hell, it’d be a walk in the park for him.’ Criminal Johnny threw back his pretty head and guffawed at the wit of his remark. ‘You and him could split the winnings. What do you reckon?’

  ‘That’s a bloody good idea,’ Ted said, wondering why he hadn’t come up with it himself. ‘I’ve seen the posters too. Oskar’d romp home with the prize money and we could place some heavy bets on the side.’

  And you could put up the entry fee with just a day’s takings, couldn’t you, Tight-arse? Madge thought. But that sort of thing wouldn’t occur to you, would it?

  ‘Yeah, that does sound like a good idea, Johnny,’ she said, ignoring Ted altogether. ‘I’ll look into it. And I’ll have to check it out very carefully with Oskar of course. I won’t nag him into anything, you know how shy he is.’

  Madge visited the park that very afternoon to see the posters for herself and gather more detail.

  Oskar was still there at the giant chessboard, focused upon a game with a very serious young man who took a long time between moves. Madge didn’t make her presence known.

  Just as Criminal Johnny had said, there were posters all over the place advertising the upcoming tournament. And more. A booth had now been set up beside the giant chessboard where people could register on the spot, although it was really more for the distribution of pamphlets and promotional purposes, she was told. Most entries were made online.

  Madge chatted with the two young women working in the booth and they gave her a pamphlet with all the details. Criminal Johnny had got the ‘cancer’ part wrong, she discovered. The White Ribbon Chess Championship, brainchild of a well-known event organiser with her own promotion company, was to be a weekend-long function intended both as a public awareness platform and a fundraiser, all proceeds going to the Violence against Women Campaign.

  ‘It’s a cause very close to Paula’s heart,’ Del said.

  ‘And so it should be,’ Madge firmly agreed, ‘a cause very close to all of our hearts, I imagine. I’ve lost count of the number of poor souls I’ve seen over the years who were victims of domestic violence …’ She shook her head sadly, no need to say more.

  Del exchanged a look with Melissa that said, I’ll just bet she has, and Melissa returned a nod. Neither knew quite what to make of this dishevelled woman who looked for all the world like a vagrant yet who was clearly intelligent and spoke so caringly.

  ‘Two weeks away,’ Madge said, studying the date on the pamphlet, ‘and how’s it going to be run?’

  ‘There’ll be tables set up all around the big chessboard,’ Del explained, ‘and games will go from around ten in the morning until six in the evening, give or take – with daylight saving the light’s still good until then. And of course there’ll always be a game in play on the big chessboard. It’s a showy centrepiece that attracts the crowds.’

  ‘I see.’

  Madge tried to picture Oskar seated at a table playing chess in an intimate one-on-one. He’s not accustomed to that, she thought. Might be safer to start him off with a bit of distance between him and his opponent, the way he’s used to playing. He likes the big chessboard.

  ‘I might want to enter someone,’ she said. ‘I just need to check it out with him first.’

&n
bsp; ‘Sure,’ Del said pleasantly, knowing that Melissa, too, was wondering where this woman in the truly awful threadbare cardigan with the matching mothy grey hair would find two hundred dollars.

  ‘Got a favour to ask though,’ Madge went on, ‘if I can talk him into it. Is there any way he could have his first game on the big board?’

  ‘Oh. Well … um …’ Del was a little nonplussed. ‘I don’t know. Who is it you want to enter?’ she asked, simply for wont of something to say.

  ‘Him.’ Madge raised a beefy arm and pointed at Oskar, who, having patiently waited an interminable time for the young man to make a move, had now picked up his chess piece in both hands and was placing it, without hesitation, in the square where it belonged.

  ‘Checkmate,’ he said quietly, so quietly in fact that those looking on from the sidelines could barely hear him.

  Melissa’s eyes followed the woman’s pointed finger, her gaze coming to rest on the strange-looking man who had just won the game. Even as she watched, the man’s young opponent pushed his king over with his foot in the classic gesture of surrender. ‘Him! But he’s great,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve been following him for the past two afternoons ever since we set up the booth – his moves are fantastic. He hasn’t lost a game.’

  Melissa had tried to explain some of the finer points of play to Del, who didn’t know a thing about chess and wasn’t interested in learning, but even Del had marvelled at how the scruffy-bearded, foreign-looking bloke with the shopping trolley, the bloke who was so obviously homeless, could turn out to be such a skilled chess player.

  ‘Oh, I think we might let him have his opening game on the big board, what do you think, Del?’ Melissa now suggested. ‘He’d be a good drawcard – lots of people have been watching him.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Del shrugged.

  ‘Good.’ Madge returned a nod. ‘I’ll let you know,’ she said and walked off.

  She waited to see if Oskar was going to have another game, intending to bide her time until he’d finished. But she didn’t need to. The afternoon was wearing on and Oskar had had enough. He headed for his shopping trolley, festooned with its plastic bags and piled high with his worldly possessions, where it was parked beside the Moreton Bay fig.