I believe that you are just the same.
(I understand that woodpeckers also have extremely long tongues, shock-absorbers in their heads, and stiff tail feathers. Perhaps you do, too!)
I hope you will forgive me for mistaking you for a cane toad. I am enclosing a small gift: a complimentary set of personalised memo stationery.
Very best wishes,
Bindy Mackenzie
3
A Memo from Bindy Mackenzie
To: Try
From: Bindy Mackenzie
Subject: FAD Study Management Session
Time: Monday
Dear Try,
Congratulations on your excellent FAD session on fear last week. It was thought-provoking! I was glad you persuaded me to return to FAD.
I am writing now to make a humble offer.
Would you like me to present a FAD session on study management? Perhaps it would give you a break?
I admit, I never wanted to share my study strategies before. I’ve always guarded them closely. But now, this term, for you, for FAD? It would be my honour.
Kind regards,
Bindy Mackenzie
A Note from the desk of Try Montaine
Dear Bindy,
Great idea! Come by my office and let’s discuss.
Best wishes,
Try
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SENT: Wednesday, 10.30 am
SUBJECT: Re: Decisions . . .
Hi Bindy,
Sorry for delay—still interstate as we speak. By all means, quit Kmart. Diversify. Managing a bookstore sounds like a step up the ladder to me—assume it pays better too.
How’s your brother? See him around the house much? I never hear from him.
As for renovating tips: cheap chrome shelves from Ikea, white towels, scented candles, imitation clawfoot tub. You know the tricks. Have coffee brewing when buyers come by, & bowls of green apples everyplace.
Best,
Dad
PS Hey, if you’re in the mood for renovating—that old place on Gilbert Rd—closer to you than me. Drop in whenever you feel like it and work on the wallpaper? I’ve stripped back about five layers so far, and looks like we’re down to the last. You know the one? Key’s in the pipe above the door. Big help.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SENT: Thursday, 3.30 pm
SUBJECT: Dad and Anthony
Dear Mum,
Dad keeps asking about Anthony. What should I do? Maybe we should just tell Dad?
I took the day off school yesterday, to go to the doctor’s, as I’ve still been feeling tired, cranky, headachey, etc, and I couldn’t get your suggestion out of my head. You know when you said it might be glandular fever? (I apologise for shouting at you about that.)
I was sitting in the waiting room for half an hour, looking at the chairs. They have green upholstery patterned with four-leaf clovers. I looked up at the frosted glass walls, at the posters about cholesterol, at a woman with a baby on her lap. But I could not resist looking back at those green chairs. And each time I looked, I thought: those are not four-leaf clovers, those are little fat hands. Those chairs are covered with little fat hands.
Then I felt the glands around my neck and they didn’t seem very swollen to me.
So I got up, cancelled my appointment and went home.
Anyway, if I do have glandular fever, I’ll just talk myself out of it.
Got to go, I’m late for Maureen’s Magic.
Best,
Bindy
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SENT: Thursday, 6.05 pm
SUBJECT: Re: Dad and Anthony
Bindy Mackenzie, answer your phone! Why do you never answer it?! I’m calling you right now!
Love,
Mum
A Memo from Bindy Mackenzie
To: Frau McAllister
From: Bindy Mackenzie
Subject: German translation
Time: Monday morning
Dear Frau McAllister,
Just a note to apologise for not handing in my translation today. I will get it to you tomorrow. I’m afraid I’ve been very busy over the weekend putting together a PowerPoint presentation for another course.
Best wishes,
Bindy Mackenzie
FROM THE TRANSCRIPT FILE OF BINDY MACKENZIE
Wednesday, 8.45 am
Students arriving at school, passing my shadow seat. There are Astrid and Emily.
Astrid: Can you effin believe she’s taken over the whole f. . .n FAD group now, after what she said to Sergio, and how she tried to get you off her debating team and everything, and how she called us all names on posters, and then she just doesn’t turn up the next week, and now she’s back she thinks she can teach us.
Emily: I know.
Astrid: And I’m, like, are you kidding me? Excuse me? You think you can just, like, take Try’s place? And I had a really good talk with Try about it, and she was being so nice about Bindy, which, can you believe it? We talked about other stuff too, like where Try comes from and that? And you can tell she’s really trying to change her accent so she can fit in, can’t you? It’s so cute the way it goes all over the place? Cause she travelled so far to get here to us, and it’s, like, Bindy’s making us go to her place instead of the Blue Danish cos she wants to do a power-f. . .n-point presentation, and it’s, like, Try’s already travelled far enough, hasn’t she? To get here? From America, I mean. We’re not going are we?
Emily:Yeah, no, I know . . . Um, but when you think about it, it’s kind of the main thing Bindy has to offer. I mean, her brain. Aren’t you kind of interested to see what she does to get marks like she always gets, and maybe get some ideas?
Astrid: Sergio said practically the same thing yesterday cos he wants to get into uni and shit. I’m, like, a lost cause, but— shut up, she’s right there again. She’s always effin sitting on that seat.
Night Time Musings of Bindy Mackenzie
Wednesday, 11.25 pm
Today, here at Aunt Veronica’s house, I taught the FAD group study management. I was terrified that no-one would show up.
But they did.
It was strange, seeing them in the living room, embarrassed at first, but soon throwing themselves onto the couches, and bringing in chairs from the kitchen so they could put their feet up. Finnegan set up the screen for me, and also he found the light switch to make it dark when I began.
I told Try she should take a break, so she sat out on the verandah and enjoyed the sun. (I wondered if she might mention my Life, or the framed cartoon, but she did not.)
Most people listened! As I talked, I looked around and saw some concentrating faces. (Some frowned, and others were lost in their own distant thoughts.) They did laugh, sometimes harshly, and when they grew bored they simply talked amongst themselves.
At one point I told them that my favourite mathematical formula is
That formula, I said, makes my heart sing.
There was silence.
‘So, if a guy wants to get you going,’ said Sergio slowly, ‘he whispers the quadratic formula in your ear?’
‘I guess so,’ I replied. There was laughter.
I was halfway through my Study Tips when Emily raised her hand. She did this for humorous effect, pretending I was a teacher.
‘You really need to do all this,’ she said, ‘to get those marks
you get?’
‘I think so,’ I said.
Then she sighed, murmured, ‘FLAX that,’ and let her notes slip to the floor.
At one point, my computer froze up and I panicked. (I suppose the FAD group make me nervous: it is clear that they still resent me.) Finnegan moved behind me, leaned over my shoulder, restarted the computer, and found the file again.
Afterwards, Au
ntie Veronica passed around her coconut cherry slice and tea. I could see they liked Veronica, but I wished that Bella had been home too, rather than at playgroup. She would have won their hearts.
Auntie Veronica wanted to slice some bread for Briony, because she confessed she’s allergic to coconut, but Veronica couldn’t find her chopping board. She opened every cupboard and drawer in the kitchen, and then looked up in amazement.
‘It’s been stolen!’ she said. ‘Why would anyone break into a house, leave everything else, and steal the chopping board? It just seems, I don’t know, mean-spirited?’
She has a sincere way of talking nonsense, and everyone hesitated before they realised she was joking. Then they began to search the house for her chopping board. Some ended up in my bedroom. Astrid and Sergio stood staring, silently, at the study notes that cover my walls.
I noticed something: Toby Mazzerati paused by my dressing table, and touched my jewellery box. There was a glimmer of a smile. It is a wooden box that he himself made for me, many years ago.
It was Finnegan who found the chopping board, eventually, amongst Bella’s toys.
Afterwards, when everyone had gone, Auntie Veronica looked thoughtful and said, ‘What’s that girl’s name? Astrid, is it? That silver stud in her eyebrow. Shouldn’t she get it removed?’
I have always liked Auntie Veronica’s sense of humour.
EFFECTIVE STUDY MANAGEMENT:
A GUIDE
BY BINDY MACKENZIE
OVERVIEW
° What do you hope to achieve today?
° Why?
° Why are you here?
° Why are we all here? (Meaning of Life etc)
Effective Study Management: A Guide © Bindy Mackenzie
WHO ARE YOUR FRIENDS?
° Board of Studies resources
° Iced water
° Fish
° Grapes
Effective Study Management: A Guide © Bindy Mackenzie
KNOW THINE ENEMIES. . .
° Sleep (try gradually reducing the hours spent sleeping)
° Parties (consider cancelling parties?)
° Reverie (What is it? When is it okay? etc)
° Intoxication
Effective Study Management: A Guide © Bindy Mackenzie
BINDY MACKENZIE’S STUDY TIPS #1
Never forget the Joy of Mnemonics:
Eg King Phillip Came Over from Germany Swimming = Kingdom Phylum Class Order Family Genus Species
My Very Elderly Mother Just Sat Up Near Pluto =
Mercury Venus Earth Mars Jupiter Saturn Uranus
Neptune Pluto
Effective Study Management: A Guide © Bindy Mackenzie
BINDY MACKENZIE’S STUDY TIPS #2
Think of maths formulae as your friends. Talk to them. Laugh with them. Choose a favourite. Buy them small treats.
Effective Study Management: A Guide © Bindy Mackenzie
BINDY MACKENZIE’S STUDY TIPS #3
Summarise your study notes and talk about them. Talk about your study notes to:
° friends
° babies
° budgerigars
° the furniture.
Effective Study Management: A Guide © Bindy Mackenzie
BINDY MACKENZIE’S STUDY TIPS #4
Put your study notes onto index cards. Scatter the cards through the home. Glue them to the back of cereal boxes, and onto the side of the toothpaste tube. Now and then, mail yourself an index card.
Effective Study Management: A Guide © Bindy Mackenzie
BINDY MACKENZIE’S STUDY TIPS #5
Now and then, eat your study notes.
Effective Study Management: A Guide © Bindy Mackenzie
BINDY MACKENZIE’S STUDY TIPS #6
Rename your pets.
Say you have a dog and a goldfish?
Rename your dog Nicholas II.
Each time you see him, say, ‘Hello there, Tsar
Nicholas! Thinking about the 1825 Decembrists’ Revolt and the 1861 Emancipation of the Serfs and how they affected your reign? I thought so! How about Alexander II, eh? Swimming around in the aquarium there? What do you think of him?’
Effective Study Management: A Guide © Bindy Mackenzie
BINDY MACKENZIE’S STUDY TIPS #7
After every shower, use your finger to write a date, a formula, or a fact in the steam on the bathroom mirror.
Effective Study Management: A Guide © Bindy Mackenzie
4
A Portrait of Emily Thompson
It is Friday afternoon and here I am on my shadow seat outside the library.
Tonight: our first debate of the year. It will take place at St Mark’s Christian Brothers. (Their team, last year, was solid but lacking in vocabulary.)
Emily will debut as our second speaker. It is the time to consider the nobility within her.
She is average in height, broad-shouldered. She is always eating junk food, but she is slim enough. I believe she likes to ride horses.
It is hard to recall the colour of her eyes—I only see them flashing and sparking at me. I have also seen them brim with tears. I remember her crying when her friend, Cassie, sang at the Spring Concert last year.
I also remember her crying when the tuckshop discontinued stocking certain chocolates.
Like the boys at St Mark’s, Emily struggles with vocabulary.
Yet, she seems ignorant of her own ignorance. She is always astonished when she gets a bad mark, gasping loudly, the tears brimming again.
She has never liked me much, and despised me last year when I made a mistake about a name.
To my surprise, she did take notes on Wednesday, when I ran the Study Management course.
It’s much later—midnight.
What an extraordinary night!
The familiar flutter of the first debate of the year: my Ashbury uniform is freshly ironed, my hair neat in its coiled plaits. A St Mark’s boy greets us at the school building, polite and reserved. He points the way along empty corridors, where footsteps seem too loud. Fluorescent lighting in a staffroom, tables set with cakes and sandwiches, milling adults, boys standing silent, girls with high-pitched giggles.
Ernst von Schmerz and beside him, Emily. (I had thought she would be late.)
Mrs Lilydale approaches with sponge cake on a paper plate, and presses this into my hands. Emily holds a chocolate cupcake but makes no move to eat it. She looks pale.
As usual, the small talk is forced and nervous until we get our topic. That young people should be banned from participation in professional sports. We look at each other, intrigued. Ernst says a few words which confuse the opposition. There is a coin toss. We lose. The others choose Negative. We are led to an empty classroom, and given one hour to prepare.
And then the debate—Ernst and his superb opening. Emily’s surprise that Ernst can speak plain English. The first speaker from St Mark’s—no match for Ernst. Me scribbling rebuttals on blank cards. Emily, white as paper, stumbling a little as she stands in the centre of the room. Then startling the room with a blaze of words—a shifting in the audience, a straightening of the adjudicator’s shoulders.
Ernst and I turn to one another. It’s an understatement to say it, but Emily knows how to speak.
She returns to her seat, now her cheeks are flushed, eyes straight ahead. I take one of my blank cards and write: THAT WAS FANTASTIC. And slide it along the desk to her. She glances down and smiles.
And so it goes. The adjudicator stands to announce the results, and we have won our first debate. Mrs Lilydale rushes at us with excitement. We shrug, nonchalant. It is only the first round.
But now, later, it is not the debate that occupies my mind.
No, and nor is it our triumph.
What I recall most vividly is that hour of preparation time in the empty classroom.
It is Saturday. I wonder if Emily is a dog?
She is fiercely loyal to her two best friends. She bounces around playfully when excited, but
growls and barks viciously when mad.
Would Emily like it if I told her that she is a dog? Perhaps not.
I’d better go. I need to be at Maureen’s Magic (that is, her bookshop) in ten minutes. I wonder if I should try to learn to drive again.
Perhaps not.
Sunday now, and I’m just home from my job at Eleanora’s place. Also dropped by Dad’s house on Gilbert Road and worked on the wallpaper.
But Eleanora’s place—such a strange job. To sit opposite someone while she plunges her hands into wet dough. (She has moved on from gnocchi to linguini, winding wide white strips through a pasta machine.) If only I could meet her baby just once, it might seem a little less bizarre.
The baby’s name is Calypso, you know. ‘Calypso!’ I said.
But Eleanora did not seem amused. ‘Yes, Bindy?’ she replied, presumably pointing out the strangeness of my name. But Bindy is a common abbreviation of Belinda! Nothing to do with the bindi-eyes on my lawn!
Mostly we sit quietly, and I answer her queries about school.
I told her about the first round of the debating competition.
But I did not mention the hour in the empty classroom. How the atmosphere changes at once when the door is closed. Plunging into a moment of relief—we are away from the opposition team and the formalities!—but even the relief is charged with tension. There is only an hour to prepare!
As usual, I rushed to the board and wrote up the topic, along with words and phrases to define: Young people! Young! People! Banned! Participation! Professional Sports! Professional! Sports! Frantically, I scribbled some ideas: young bones; muscle damage; school work!; pushy parents; eating disorders; is ballet a sport?
There was silence behind me.
I looked back.
Emily Thompson was sitting on a desk, legs swinging, tears sliding slowly down her face.
3.00 am now, Monday morning.
The Betrayal of Bindy Mackenzie Page 17