In Mine Own Heart

by Alan Marshall

  ‘You’ve followed me all right.’

  He was squatting on the ground with his knees beneath his chin like an Aborigine. He shuffled closer to me still squatting so that he could reach out and pat me on the chest with his finger. His eyes were bright and mischievous like a child’s.

  ‘I’ve just been looking at your watch,’ he said. ‘You’re five minutes slow.’

  He flung back his head and laughed silently.

  After a while he said, ‘My old man reckons you know nothing till you’re over thirty. What do you think of that?’

  ‘I think he’s wrong. If he was right I’d know nothing; you’d know nothing. How old is he anyway?’

  ‘So you’re one of these how-old-are-you blokes, are you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My old man reckons there’s a difference between the age of the body and the age of the mind. Blokes that go by the body always see themselves in others. Don’t patronise my old man by asking his age; he don’t like it.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I said, then added, ‘Was he a hypnotist once? I see it written on the van.’

  ‘That was when he was on top. He’ll tell you about it. Hey, dad,’ he called out to his father. ‘Come and tell Alan how you used to make me eat candles.’

  Roman flung the robe inside the tent and came over to us.

  ‘They were made of beeswax and icing sugar,’ he said. ‘We’d stick a wick in them and burn the end.’

  ‘They weren’t bad,’ said Albert. ‘I’d like a chew of one now. How about making some tomorrow, dad, and we’ll eat them round the fire of a night?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Roman.

  ‘Could you really hypnotise?’ I asked.

  ‘No. I was in the money then. I had a team with me. We did the country halls.’ He turned to Albert. ‘Go into the tent and get one of the handbills, Albert. They’re in my old case.’

  When Albert returned he handed me a pink handbill in the centre of which was the photograph of a younger Roman clad in a velvet cape and an evening suit.

  ‘That’s the old man before the brick fell on him,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t take no notice of him,’ said Roman. ‘Read it.’

  The bill was headed, ‘The Show of Shows You Must See,’ then beneath this heading:

  HYPNOTISM AND MAGICAL ILLUSIONS

  by

  ROMAN

  and assistants now touring Australia

  You will roar with laughter, be mystified at the happenings taking place before your eyes.

  Something different which we all crave for.

  See beautiful girl in glass coffin in a trance state.

  See beautiful girl have her head crushed (illusion by hypnotism).

  See beautiful girl have needles put through her fingers.

  See elderly people write in childish handwriting.

  A hundred pound paid to anyone proving this hypnotism demonstration is not genuine.

  Dull-witted and scatter-brained individuals are no good as subjects.

  The more clever a genius, or intelligent a person may be, the easier he can be placed under hypnotism.

  Medical men specially invited.

  ‘Who wrote all this?’ I asked when I had finished reading it.

  ‘I did,’ said Roman.

  ‘How did you put it over?’

  ‘I had a perfect team,’ he said. ‘They could make their faces look blank with one pass of my hand. But it cost too much to run. In fortune telling you’ve only got to keep one man.’

  ‘Two,’ said Albert.

  ‘I said “men”.’

  ‘I heard you,’ said Albert, ‘but I thought you wanted to be included.’

  ‘Are you any good at fortune telling?’ I asked.

  ‘None better,’ said Roman.

  ‘That’s telling him,’ said Albert.

  ‘Tell me exactly how you work it,’ I said. ‘I’m interested in it. It’s a matter of observation and deduction, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Roman doubtfully. ‘That and a lot more. You’ve got to understand people. I’ll tell you now. When women come into your tent you’ve got to depress them. They like it. You can build them up before they leave—give them a legacy from a relative or a win in Tatt’s or something. But you’ve got to depress them first.’

  ‘I think that’s wrong,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t give a damn what you think. It’s right.’

  ‘That’s my old man, that’s him; always right,’ said Albert.

  ‘Shut up. Who’s asking your opinion?’ said Roman without heat.

  ‘Nobody,’ said Albert.

  ‘Well, righto then. Now let’s get on with it. All women want to think they’re having a hell of a time. I know women.’

  ‘That’s my old man—knows everything,’ said Albert.

  ‘As I was saying now,’ Roman continued. ‘Look!’ He made a gesture suggestive of a resolve to prove his point. ‘There’s a woman in front of you see—Albert here. Right, he’s the woman. Sit up straight, you bloody fool. “Ah missus,” I say to him, to her I mean. “Ah missus,” I say and I put my hand on her shoulder. “You’ve had a hard life.” ’

  ‘You told me,’ said Albert. ‘You said, “Never put your hand on a woman in a tent.” ’

  ‘On her knee I said.’

  ‘You never mentioned knee to me, dad.’

  ‘Well, I’m saying it now. You put your hand on her shoulder to comfort her. She likes it. She reckons you’re the best fortune teller she’s ever met. You understand her.

  ‘Now, say you said to her, “You’ve had a great life, missus.” Say you said that.’

  ‘With your hand on her shoulder?’ asked Albert.

  ‘No, damn you. You don’t touch her when you’re praising her. But if you said that, I’m telling you; if you said “You’ve had a great life missus,” she’d think you a fool. And what’s more, you are a fool.’

  ‘God help us all,’ said Albert piously.

  I looked at him in surprise.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of him,’ said Roman. ‘He don’t want no help. He’s putting one over you.

  ‘What were we up to?’ he continued, dismissing Albert’s interruption from his mind. ‘Yes. Now about depressing them. A woman comes into my tent one day—a weary, washboard woman with a purse.’

  ‘What’s the purse got to do with it?’ I asked.

  ‘A lot. When they go round clutching a purse they’re on the home turn. It’s all they’ve got. And they’ve got a hard job keeping it full. That’s just common sense. I said to her, I said to this woman, “Missus,” I said. “You’ve had your life. You’ve made your bed and it’s a hard one. You’ll be tempted to clear out. Stop with the kids,” I said.’

  ‘There’s not much of a build-up in that,’ I said.

  ‘I’m coming to it. Then I said, “They’ll reward you a thousandfold.” ’

  ‘Where did you get that word, dad?’ asked Albert.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Roman. “The youngest will bring you great happiness,” I said.’

  ‘Why not the eldest?’ I asked.

  ‘Because they always favour the youngest. It’s just common sense.’

  ‘My old man’s full of common sense,’ said Albert.

  ‘I told another woman,’ Roman went on, “You’ve got a good husband,” I said, “but he doesn’t understand you.” ’

  ‘What did she say to that?’ I asked.

  ‘Say? What did she say?’ he repeated, sparring for time to think of an answer.

  ‘My old man only remembers what he said,’ murmured Albert.

  ‘She said, “No one knows it more than I.” “You’ve really sacrificed your life,” I told her.’

  ‘What did she say to that?’ asked Albert.

  ‘ “No one knows it more than I,” she said. “Yes,” I tells her. “You are a misunderstood woman.” ’

  ‘No one would know that better than her,’ said Albert.

  ‘What
about men?’ I questioned him. ‘How do you get on with men? They’d be harder than women, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘No, easier. You must stand over them. You come down hard on authoritative men.’

  ‘You’re talking well today, dad,’ said Albert.

  Roman looked pleased but he continued without comment:

  ‘You nerve them then you’ve got them.’

  ‘Nerve them?’ I questioned.

  ‘Make them nervous of you. You do that with men and women. Make them self-conscious.’

  ‘Make fools of them,’ explained Albert.

  Roman ignored him.

  ‘One spruiker I knew used to shout, “Gentlemen by investigation, women by observation.” He was trying to be funny. You can’t be funny with people carrying a bagful of hopes.’ He turned and looked at his dog lying asleep in front of the tent. ‘That dog’s in pup,’ he said, then turning to me again, ‘now about men … You smack them down so quick they forget they don’t believe in you. I told one bloke with a drag to his trap—this bloke had said to me, “I’m just here for amusement; I don’t believe in fortunes”—I said to him, “You’ve got nothing. You’re just a nomad on the earth; a wanderer on the face of the earth. You must be getting on to forty and what have you got! There’s not much in your life. You’ve had too much pride and conceit. There was a lady in your life once …” “It was a great romance,” he said. “You treated her badly,” I said, “and you’re going to surfer for it.” “She left me,” he said. “Yes,” I said, “but why?” and I waved my finger at him. He couldn’t answer that. It rocked him. I put him off balance. After that he was easy.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it!’ he said smiling. ‘I’ve got a lot more to tell you yet.’

  ‘I’ll say he has,’ said Albert.

  ‘You can manage men,’ Roman went on, ‘but you sometimes have trouble with women. A girl came into the tent one day. She was going to have a baby and I thought she was single. “Now, you’re a girl who’s carrying a penalty,” I said to her. “Listen,” she said. “I’m married.” “That’s right, you’re married,” I said. “I was just going to tell you. Would you like to know what the child will be suited for?” “This is ridiculous,” she said. “You are a fraud!” “Steady!” I said. “I studied for four years at the University and held the Chair of Palmistry.” ’

  ‘That reminds me, dad, the leg of the tent chair is loose,’ said Albert. ‘You’ll have to fix it tomorrow. If a big woman sits on it, she’s going to fall arse over head into your lap.’

  ‘Be damned to you!’ said Roman. ‘As I was saying,’ he turned to me, ‘she started telling me off—told me I was a disgrace and all that sort of thing. I had to dictate the peace terms to this woman. “If you don’t lay off me,” I said, “I’ll call the police and have you up for assault.” It worked with her. She went out in a hurry.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘That’s what I say,’ said Albert. ‘There’s nothing better than heaven.’

  ‘The next thing you’ve got to learn,’ said Roman, ‘is how to strong-point people.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ I asked.

  ‘You tell them something about themselves that might be true and then again it mightn’t. You take a chance with a statement. You find out from their expression if it’s true or not then if it’s not true you somersault out of it. Some statements are hard to shuffle out of. A woman about forty came up to the tent one day with a boy of about sixteen. I have a little hole in the canvas so that I can watch people before they come in—see who they’re with. When this woman came in I told her she had an interesting hand. You always tell them their hand is interesting. It makes them like you. You can drag more out of them after that. I strong-pointed her then. I said, “I see by your hand you have a son about sixteen years old.” “Pardon me, I’m single,” she says. “That’s so,” I said. “This is the son you would have had if you had married the man you were going with twenty years ago.” ’

  ‘She accepted that?’ I questioned.

  ‘Of course. What else could she do?’

  ‘She could have walked out,’ said Albert.

  ‘What! After paying two bob! Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘What about coppers?’ I said. ‘How do you get away with fortune telling. It’s illegal.’

  ‘I’m a wake-up to pimps. The night before one show a bloke came up to me—he’d been snooping about amongst the tents. “What’s your lurk?” he asked. “I’m a showman,” I said. “Do you tell fortunes?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. “What with?” “Got a pannikin?” I said. “Just leave a few leaves in it and they’ll spell out ‘pimp’ to me.”

  ‘A mate of mine, Peter … He wanted some quick money and there was no phrenologist at this show so he opened up. Poor Peter didn’t wake up to a sergeant’s wife and he got six months. Women who come in to trap you have still, hard eyes.’

  ‘What’s Boswell like? Are the coppers easy there?’

  ‘Yes. All the gambling games will be there. I will be the only fortune teller.’

  ‘Does Albert spruik for you?’ I asked.

  Albert laughed silently.

  ‘Him!’ snorted Roman. ‘I’ve never been able to teach him anything. I’ve got to do my own spruiking then dash inside.’

  ‘The look of people outside the tent makes me feel pessimistic,’ said Albert. ‘You can’t be friends with people who think you can see through them. Dogs and cats make the best friends,’ he added.

  ‘They can be a nuisance,’ I said, thinking of other things.

  ‘So can friends,’ said Albert.

  ‘Shut up, Albert!’ said Roman, then to me, ‘How would you like to do a bit of spruiking for me?’

  ‘I’d sooner tell fortunes,’ I said. ‘I’ll give you a spell on Saturday. You spruik for me. You’ve told me enough, I think. I’ve got the gist of it.’

  ‘Are you after a few bob?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t take money for that sort of thing. I want to learn a bit about people.’

  ‘I’ll teach you all I know,’ he promised.

  ‘And then you’ll know nothing,’ said Albert.

  ‘I told him that joke ten years ago,’ complained Roman. ‘You’d think he’d have enough sense to drop it now.’

  ‘That’s how I was brought up—a bloody parrot,’ said Albert agreeably.

  ‘I think you’d go all right,’ Roman said to me. ‘You can’t make fortune tellers of some blokes. They’ve got no nerve, no dash, no imagination. I met a fellow the other day at Albury. I’ve known him for years. This bloke went round marrying; he’d married everywhere. But he was a good showman once. He came to the show and I asked him what he was doing. “Aw, I got married out here to a farmer’s daughter,” he said. “I came in today to see if I could pick up a few bob. How about letting me in on the fortune telling for this afternoon?” “I could split with you for this afternoon,” I said. “Would you want to work inside or outside?” “I’ll go inside,” he said. “If I’m no good I’ll come out.”

  ‘Well he’d no sooner settled himself inside than I pulled in a bloke passing but this marrying mate of mine got a gink at him through the hole in the tent and he went out under the flap at the back. I didn’t see him for an hour. When he came back he said, “That was my bloody brother-in-law of my third marriage. Hell! I didn’t want to meet up with him again.”

  ‘So what I want to know,’ continued Roman, ‘is have you any friends in Boswell? If you have they’ll put it round you’re a fraud.’

  ‘No, I don’t know anyone there,’ I assured him.

  ‘That dog’s in pup,’ said Roman nodding towards his dog. ‘It worries me.’

  ‘What’s the strength of that dog?’ I asked him. ‘Every time I go near your tent she gets up and shepherds me.’

  ‘She’s trying to drive you into the tent,’ said Roman. ‘I’ve trained her to do it on the showgrounds.’

>   ‘What does she do when she gets you in?’

  ‘She keeps you there till I get in through the back. She’s worth a fortune, that dog. She’ll bring a woman in every five minutes. She works close with women but works wide with men.’

  ‘The last time you told that yarn, dad, was in Junee,’ said Albert. ‘You told it much better there.’

  ‘You can’t always be good,’ said Roman.

  24

  On the day the Boswell Show opened I was standing with Roman at the door of the fortune telling tent watching the people coming in to the ground. It was early. The showmen had not yet begun their spiel but they were busy completing the erection of gambling games, stalls and line-up boards around us.

  Above our heads, establishing the importance of Roman’s tent, was a canvas sign on which were painted the words:

  ROMAN THE PALMIST

  All questions answered by the World’s Greatest Seer.

  Last weeks of Australian tour before filling European Engagements.

  The man or woman you will marry fully described.

  Two shillings for three minutes.

  I read it then said, ‘Three minutes doesn’t seem very long.’

  ‘It’s long enough if people are waiting. If they want longer they pay for an extension. If they keep on asking questions you charge them.’

  As we watched the people passing he began to give his opinion of them. I realised he was tempted to see people as objects to be pitied rather than to be accepted as normal. He attributed to them sufferings and trials I was certain they were not all experiencing. I knew that pleasant expressions did not always reflect contentment nor were expressions of discontent only the product of sad lives. Minor irritations and pleasures set the expression of the moment.

  But it was more dramatic and much more pleasing to the imagination to see the influence of disaster and tragedy on a face rather than the result of indigestion.

  ‘That woman’s had a sad life,’ he said of a thin, countrywoman passing. ‘All her family exploit her.’

  ‘Mightn’t she be exploiting them?’ I said. ‘Maybe that’s a self-made look put on to gain attention and sympathy.’