The Infernal Optimist

by Linda Jaivin

Thirty-Two

  There was plenty a things what Anna could do to help what didn’t put her at any risk. Providing the wire cutters was a bigger deal. If a blue got caught doing that, they could be charged with aiding and abetting. It was a big risk for a blue. The risk went two ways, of course—you couldn’t be sure that they wasn’t gonna double-cross you at the last minute. What was good about getting Clarence in on the story was that he knew that if he stuffed us around, he’d be the one what be going down big-time. And I wouldn’t have to pay him, neither, like I was ready to do with Tip. I reckon I coulda almost got him to pay me, but I wasn’t gonna try and push it that far.

  Besides, in factuality, I wasn’t planning to let him off the hook for what he done to Angel. Anna had the photos and she was fully ready to take them to the cops after we’d cleared outta there. She knew it be him what was giving us the wire cutters too, what be just another nail in his coffin. Muvvafucker.

  There was just one more loose end, but it was me big one. She Who. She heard about the trouble on the news, that someone had OD’ed, and someone else had thrown himself on the razor wire. The Minister said it was ‘attention-seeking behaviour’, but there wasn’t no names mentioned. When I told her, she was shattered like glass. She came to visit.

  ‘Let’s go to Turkey, Zek,’ she said. ‘You’ll do your army service. I’ll meet you there. We’ll get by somehow.’

  ‘Babydoll, you do love me, don’t you?’

  She straightened up. ‘Don’t think that means you can get away with anything.’

  ‘Wha?’ I said, holding up me palms like I was showing her I had nuffin in them. ‘Wha? What d’you think I’m wanting to get away with besides you?’

  I didn’t tell her about the escape plan. Didn’t want her to worry her pretty little head about it. But I had it worked out. She’d come round in the end. She always did. I’d sort out some fake papers for meself and we’d go start a new life over in Perth, what be far from all this shit. I wouldn’t do nuffin illegal no more. It’d be sweet. Everyone was gonna be happy when the Zekster finished doing what the Zekster had to do.

  Finally, everything was set up. Clarence, what was looking haunted like ghosts moved in, got me two good pairs a wire cutters. He was still calling me Bogan, but I think we both knew who be the boss. Anna, what was gonna be on duty, told me when the other blues was likely to be busy. Thomas, what was still waiting on his health and security checks, was gonna sit lookout on the Stage Two side, what couldn’t never be proved cuz lotsa people sat there all the time, and Edward the Leb five-oh-one was gonna sit lookout on the Stage Three side. Marley was gonna borrow April’s car and wait on the road outside. She didn’t tell her mum what she wanted the car for. April had asked her if she was going to have a licensed driver with her, cuz Marley only had her Ls. Marley insured her she did, but didn’t say it was gonna be me.

  April was busy helping Thomas through the final stages of his security checks. Also, the Minister had said that for Thomas to get out, someone had to sign up to support him financially for two years. That was causing some stressation cuz Thomas didn’t wanna be relying on nobody. But April insisted it was no problem, and Josh was being really good about it, and he even came to Detention to meet Thomas. They was sorting it all out, anyway. She was so busy getting back together with Josh and with the paperwork for Thomas that she didn’t even notice Marley was spending a lotta time on the phone.

  All the pieces was falling into place. Hamid told us he signed that paper to go home, but it was gonna take a few weeks to organise. He offered to make a detraction what would occupy the attention a the blues. And Azad and Bhajan and me, we was going to Medical with headaches what we didn’t really have, if you didn’t count Detention. Then the three of us, we was gonna get outta that hellhole for once and for all. We was gonna do it at nine-thirty pee-em, what was the time Anna recommended. I was eating chocolates to kill the butterflies in me stomach, what was big as horses. The others said they couldn’t eat a thing, what I never understood. We was all in me room, watching the evening news.

  First item on the news was about some bloke what sneaked into the baggage area in Melbourne Airport causing a panic about security. Second item was how Our Nicole—My Nic—and Our Russ was the bookies’ favourites to win the Oscars what was in March. And people, including in the Navy, was saying the Prime Minister lied when he said that stuff about refugees throwing them children overboard. The Senate was looking into it.

  ‘Maybe the Prime Minister will go to jail,’ said Azad.

  ‘If he does,’ I said, ‘I’ll get me mates what is still Inside to find him a boyfriend.’

  Bhajan shook his head. ‘Please say you’ll always be my friend, Zeki.’

  ‘You’re me mate,’ I said, ‘what is more than friends. It’s Australian.’

  Thirty-Three

  I looked at me watch. It took Azad and Bhajan only four minutes to cut through the first fence, the razor wire and the second fence. Being the leader, I was going last. Bhajan, what was wearing the heavy gloves what Clarence got for us too, was holding open the coil a razor wire for me when suddenly Edward whistled. The whistle was an alarm what said there be danger. It spooked Bhajan, what let the wire go for a second. It snagged on me clothes, what I was wearing a lotta for that very reason. ‘C’mon,’ he said, his whole body shaking like his voice.

  But I couldn’t move. Where skinny Azad and Bhajan had just slipped through, me and me big stomach was caught in the wire. A pitcher a that currawong what I once rescued popped into me head, but there wasn’t any trail a seeds leading outta this mess. I tried to flap me wings and cut me hand. ‘Go,’ I said. ‘Get outta here.’

  A minute later, couldn’t have been much more than that, I heard two car doors slam and a squeal a tyres. I glanced over at where Thomas had been sitting, but he wasn’t there no more.

  Survival Rule Number Five: You gotta laugh. And so I did, what only made the razor bits stick in me clothes even more. I was still laughing when Anna ran over with some other blues, looking pale and grim in the face. They extradited me from the wire, and slapped me in cuffs. That’s when I learned that Hamid had created a top-rate detraction all right.

  Stupid bugger had gone and topped himself.

  Epilogue

  I got a philosophy a life. When times be tough and you can do bugger all about it, me Rule a Survival is to kick back. The bad times were pretty bad. I still felt sick and sad and angry whenever I thought about Angel and Hamid. And I always wondered what happened to Azad and Marley and Bhajan, and how April and Thomas was getting on. I hoped Abeer and Bashir and Noor got out and got to be kids again, and that all the others got their freedom too. Me, I did all right in the end. See, I did me military service, and though it wasn’t much fun, She Who reckons it really did make a man outta me. Times were good. And when times are good, kicking back is even sweeter. And kicking back was exactly what I was doing, puffing on me hookah, working on me smoke rings, when I saw this lady coming through the door a the shop. I reckoned she was a bit of all right. She glanced around at the carpets and stuff.

  ‘G’day,’ I said. She looked up from the rugs.

  ‘G’day,’ she said. But her tone be real surprised. ‘You speak like an Australian.’

  I smiled and shrugged.

  ‘You been to Australia?’

  ‘You could say that. Where are you from?’

  ‘Sydney, but—’

  ‘Where in Sydney?’

  She was looking at me like she was having trouble putting two and two together, what be an expression what means four. ‘You know Sydney?’

  I gave her me best International Man a Mystery smile.

  ‘Do you know Rushcutters Bay?’ She said it like she was testing me.

  ‘Bayswater Road. Picolo Bar, Barrons, Candy’s Apartment and that joint up on the corner what have the chicken and pizza. Big park round the bay what has yachts in. And Dancers. You know Dancers?’

  She laughed. ‘I’ve been past it. I don
’t think I’m exactly their target audience. How the—’ She paused and wiped her forehead, what was perspiring, with a tissue.

  ‘Hot as buggery, innit—pardon me French.’

  ‘You are Australian, aren’t you?’ The lady had cute dimples what reminded me of April.

  ‘Sort of. Not really.’

  She looked a million hard pointy question marks at me.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ I said. ‘It’s got both really sad and really funny bits in.’

  ‘I’m just travelling. I’ve got time,’ she said, smiling. ‘If I’m not interrupting.’

  I gestated round the shop. There was a few other customers at the moment but they seemed happy enough just looking.

  Just then, She Who Followed Me to the Ends a the Earth came in from the back room with a tray with glasses a mint tea. Our son what was only little but had big ears and one eyebrow like his dad, followed close behind with a plate a sweets. I swear She Who is a witch what knows every time a pretty woman be in the shop. She offered tea to all the customers, including the lady, and then to me own good self. ‘Thanks, darl,’ I said.

  ‘I’m Marlena,’ goes She Who. She put down the tray and held out her hand to the woman, giving me a tiny look a accusation.

  ‘I’m Penny,’ said the woman.

  ‘I was just gonna introduce youse,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I’m Zeki. Zek for short, what I is as you can see. And this little one what has inherited all me good looks and charm is Babar, what means lion.’

  The woman laughed and shook Babar’s hand. He offered her a sweet what she took and thanked him for. ‘What a lovely boy you are.’

  ‘You too,’ Babar replied, smooth as cream. ‘Lady, that is.’

  One a the customers came to the counter holding a small kilim. ‘Do. You. Speak. English?’ he asked She Who, who winked at me.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘And I must say, that’s a very good choice. You don’t find many like that these days.’ Except out the back where we keep them, but she wasn’t gonna tell him that. Marlena learned heaps about rugs and shit when she first came. I was in the army, so me rellies, including me Uncle Abi, showed her the ropes and taught her to speak some Turkish, too. She can sound real authoritative.

  Penny, what was sitting down now, and me, we watched Marlena sell the Yank the kilim, plus another rug what was bigger, plus a set a tea glasses, and two evil-eye keychains. The next customers, a couple from England, was fingering another kilim what they liked but they was complaining about the price. ‘There is an old Turkish proverb,’ She Who quoted to them. ‘That which is cheap is cheap for a reason; when you pay money, you get value.’ The woman looked to her husband. He nodded and handed over the plastic.

  As she wrapped up the deal, I glanced at me watch. ‘Looks like time for more tea, darl,’ I said.

  ‘Nice watch,’ Penny said.

  ‘It’s got what they call sentimental value,’ I said.

  ‘Keep an eye on your dad,’ Marlena said to Babar. She went into the back to make more tea and bring out another kilim like the one the Yank bought cuz it be our most popular.

  ‘She’s a good saleswoman, your wife,’ Penny said after they left. I got all puffed up like she be talking about meself.

  ‘I always told her she was a natural born businesswoman.’ It turned out to be true. She Who told me that if she hadn’t a taken the leap and come with me when I was deported, she probably woulda ended up emptying bedpans and sweeping hospital corridors the rest of her life.

  Penny turned back to me. ‘So, Zeki. What’s this long story of yours?’

  Acknowledgments

  The author gratefully acknowledges a generous New Work grant for The Infernal Optimist from the Australia Council. I also thank the U-Committee of the University of New South Wales for making me UNSW Literary Fellow for 2004, a fellowship which provided not only invaluable financial assistance, but also an office on the friendly campus of the College of Fine Arts, where I wrote much of the second draft of the book. The Tasmanian Writers’ Centre, with the support of the City of Hobart and Arts Tasmania, gave me a home in the Hobart Writers’ Cottage in April 2005 as part of their 2005 Island of Residencies Program, where I pushed the work to completion. Thank you all.

  My agent Lesley McFadzean and her predecessors Rose Creswell and Annette Hughes believed in the Optimist from the beginning. Lesley helped me find an ideal publisher in Linda Funnell of Fourth Estate and I have been delighted by the enthusiasm for this novel on the part of Linda and all her colleagues at HarperCollins Australia, especially my editor Sophie Hamley.

  Others who have supported and helped me include Peter Bishop of Varuna, A Writer’s House; refugee activist and fellow Villawood visitor Judy McLallen, who contributed the notion of ‘knitters and kayakers’, and Jonathan Cohen, who gave me the delightful malapropism ‘for all intensive purposes’. Most of all, and from the bottom of my heart, I thank former detainees Morteza Poorvadi and Amir Mesrinejad, who took the time to read the entire draft and offer many useful suggestions, as well as Mahmoud Mohammed Ali and other Palestinian, Kurdish, Iraqi, Bedoon, Afghani and African refugees, many of whom were also ‘Villawood alumni’, and even some Villawood guards, who asked to remain nameless but were generous with both their time and knowledge. I am, of course, ‘infernally grateful’ to Attila, a former Villawood ‘five-oh-one’, for inspiration, encouragement, stories and insights. My partner, Tim Smith, was his usual supportive and wonderful self; it is to him that this book is, as Zeki might say, lovingly devotioned.

  About the Author

  Linda Jaivin is a novelist, translator, essayist and playwright. She lives in Sydney.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  Also by Linda Jaivin

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  Eat Me

  Rock ’n’ Roll Babes from Outer Space

  Miles Walker, You’re Dead

  Dead Sexy

  NON-FICTION

  New Ghosts, Old Dreams: Chinese Rebel Voices (co-edited with Geremie Barmé)

  Confessions of an S&M Virgin

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  Copyright

  Fourth Estate

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers, Australia

  First published in Australia in 2006

  This edition published in 2010

  by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited

  ABN 36 009 913 517

  www.harpercollins.com.au

  Copyright © Linda Jaivin 2006

  The right of Linda Jaivin to be identified as the author

  of this work has been asserted by her under the

  Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.

  This work is copyright.

  Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968,

  no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval

  system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,

  without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  HarperCollinsPublishers

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  10 East 53rd Street, New York NY 10022, USA

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-publication data:

  Jaivin, Linda

  The infernal optimist.

  ISBN 0 7322 8275 6.

  ISBN 9780 7322 8275 2.

  ISBN 9780 7304 0116 2 (Epub).

  I. Title.

  A823.3

  The writing of this project has been assisted by the Commonwealth

  Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and

  advisory body.

  The Infernal Optimist is a work of fiction. The characters and events described in

&
nbsp; this book are entirely imaginary. Any perceived parallels with any real people or

  situations are, therefore, purely coincidental.

  ‘I’m Fair Dinkum’, written by John Williamson. Reproduced with the kind

  permission of Emusic Pty Ltd.

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