by Nino Culotta
I gave him the matches. He made no attempt to use them. He began muttering to himself, still staring at me, ‘Bastards are everywhere. Man never knows who’s wot. Knows wot I said. Looks like an Australian. Ain’t. Never says a word. Starts talkin’ yabber, yabber, yabber. Keep ’is bloody matches. Wouldn’ use ’is bloody matches.’ He leaned forward and tapped me on the knee. ‘Parlez vous Français?’
I said, ‘No.’
‘Sprechen sie Deutsch?’
‘No.’
‘Speak English?’
‘No.’
He breathed hard. He sat back. ‘No,’ he says, ‘No. Don’t speak anything he says. Talks yabber, yabber ter that mob. They yabber back at him. Bloody liar. Bloody spy. Knives all over ’em.’
I said, ‘Please return my matches.’
He threw the matches to me.
I said, ‘Thanks.’
We still stared at each other. He said, ‘Now he talks English. Man never knows who’s wot. Country ain’t his own any more. Fought fer this country. Gotta fight ter keep it. Gotta fight. Who’s left ter fight? Me. Whole damn country an’ only me.’ His expression became resolute. ‘All right, it’s up ter me. Fight ’em on me pat malone. Start with this mob. Chuck ’em orf the train.’
He stood up and moved towards the Meridionali. I called a warning. The man nearest jumped up. I saw a knife in his hand. I moved quickly and with my fist I bumped the Australian on the top of his head. He sat down, I picked him up, and put him back in his seat. The women were looking scared. I said to the other passengers, ‘It is all right. He is not hurt. He is unconscious. He will recover soon.’ No one answered me. I heard one woman say to her escort, ‘Disgusting. Drunks and foreigners. What’s the guard doing?’ I did not hear his reply. I sat down. Then I remembered the knife I had seen in the hand of the man across the aisle. The ‘short sword of the Romans’ has never appealed to me. I would not like to have to use it. I like it less when someone else uses it. I got up again, and crossed the aisle. I said to this man, ‘You will please give me the knife.’ He said no, he would not give me the knife. I bumped him on the top of his head. He slid down in his seat. I said to the others, ‘You will please get the knife and give it to me.’ This one did. I threw it out the window, and sat down again. I was feeling very pleased with myself, and was no longer tired or sleepy.
When we reached Central, the man who owned the knife had recovered, and the Meridionali left the train there. I said goodnight to them, politely. The women answered me, but the men did not. At Town Hall the Australian was still unconscious, so I picked him up and carried him from the train. I said to the railway men at the barrier, ‘Can you tell me please, where is a policeman?’
‘Ye’ll find one up the top mate. What’s wrong with ’im? Drunk?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yeah, they’re everywhere on Friday nights.’
I found a policeman directing traffic. I said, ‘Do you please take this man?’
The policeman said, ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘He is very drunk.’
‘Friend of yours?’
‘I do not know him. He was on the train.’
‘Should have left him there.’
I was silent.
‘All right. It would happen to me. Give us him.’
I gave him the body, and the policeman walked away with him. Then I thought of something. I ran after the policeman and said, ‘Excuse me please, can you tell me where is the bus for Kings Bloody Cross?’
He stopped. The man over his shoulder moved a little. The policeman put him down, and held him upright with an arm around his body. The policeman said to me, very politely, ‘Where do you want to go?’
‘Kings Bloody Cross.’
He looked at me silently for a while then said, ‘How would you like to come to Central with me?’
‘I do not wish to go to Central. I have been to Central. I left the train at Town Hall. I wish only to go to Kings Bloody Cross.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘Kings Bloody Cross.’
‘Keep using that language and you’ll go to Central all right. Into a cell.’
‘How can my language make me go to Central? It is good English language.’
‘Are you fair dinkum?’
‘No. I am Italian.’
He looked hard at me. Then he looked at my very dirty shoes. He said, ‘Give me a hand with this fellow. It’s not far. Then we’ll see about you.’
I said, ‘Very well.’ I took the man’s arm, and we went down the street together. The man was half conscious now, and sometimes his legs took a few steps. Most times, however, they dragged behind as we carried him along. People were stopping to look at us. I felt embarrassed to be helping a policeman. But he seemed to be a polite one.
Outside an old stone building he said, ‘Here we are,’ and turned to enter.
I said, ‘We are not going to Central?’
‘Central Police Station,’ he said. ‘This is it.’
I suddenly understood, and wished to go away. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Help me in with him.’
The man’s consciousness had returned. He commenced to struggle, ‘Not going in,’ he said. ‘Dirty cops. Let me go, yer dirty cops.’ He peered at me. ‘Know you, knives all over ’em. Bloody spy. Dirty cop. Free country. Not goin’ in.’
The policeman took him in, still struggling and yelling. I helped a little. The policeman said to me, ‘Sit there. Be with you in a minute.’
‘There’ was a wooden bench along a wall. I sat down. Opposite, behind a flat topped counter a very large policeman was sitting. He said, ‘Gawd. Another one.’ The man was taken away, still yelling. My policeman came back and sat down beside me. He looked at my shoes again. He said, ‘Been working?’
‘Yes, I commenced working to-day. I am a builder’s labourer.’
‘Are you now? Always work in shoes and a good suit?’
‘I will obtain the correct clothing to-morrow.’
‘How long have you been in Australia?’
‘I arrived in Sydney yesterday.’
‘I see. And where do you live?’
‘Kings Bloody Cross.’
He thought for a moment, ‘Who told you that was its name?’
‘The taxi driver.’
‘What taxi driver?’
I told him all about my arrival, and the taxi driver. He laughed very much. He said, ‘Leave the bloody out. That’s a swear word in this country. Its name is just Kings Cross.’
‘I see. Yes. I understand now.’
He said, ‘Come on. I’ll show you where to get a bus.’
I felt very conspicuous walking up the street beside a policeman, but I was surprised to find that I liked him. He showed me where to get the bus, and even stayed with me until I got on it. We waved to each other . . . I said to myself, ‘Nino, nobody in Milano would believe it.’
CHAPTER FIVE
It was nine o’clock when I wakened that Saturday morning.
My shoulders were stiff, and some blisters were on my hands. Otherwise I felt quite well. A shave and a shower made me feel better still, and I went looking for some breakfast. I was much too late for breakfast at the hotel, so I returned to the Hasty Tasty. Then I went into the City, and bought myself some working boots, two pairs of shorts, and two khaki shirts. I thought about looking for a cheaper place to live, but decided it would be better to live nearer to the job. I would ask Joe on Monday. By asking questions, I found the G.P.O., and wrote a letter-card to my boss, briefly explaining the position, and requesting his advice. To avoid referring to the subject again, I will state here that he decided to discontinue my salary and expenses, and to pay me at casual rates for all articles and stories published. This seemed to me to be a very equitabl
e arrangement. He said that if I ceased to become self-supporting in Australia, he would put me back on the staff again. However, that was later. Just now, I had posted my letter. I walked back to Park Street with my parcels, and got a bus to Kings Cross. I put my parcels in my room, and went out to gather some material for another story. There was very much to interest our readers at home, and I decided that what I observed, plus my experiences during my first day’s work and afterwards, would be sufficient for the time. I had spent nearly an hour observing the people, the shops and the transport around Kings Cross. The extremely casual and varied mode of dressing would make an article by itself, and I had many notes. Now I would relax, and follow my inclination until Monday morning.
Very soon it became my inclination to follow a young lady who was moving slowly from shop to shop looking in the windows. She had very blonde hair down to her shoulders and was made the way young ladies should be made but not often are. I thought she was beautiful. She stopped to look in the window of a jeweller’s shop, and I stopped to look at her. Apart from looking at her because she was beautiful, I was making notes in my mind about her clothes, and her shoes, and the way she wore her hair with no hat. There were many people walking up and down with string bags and parcels and they were bumping into me, so I went to the edge of the footpath to watch her. There was a man standing there leaning against a car. He was watching her too. He said, ‘Not bad, eh?’
I said, ‘I do not know. Some young ladies are bad and some are not bad but it is not possible to discover this merely by observing them.’
He said, ‘Smart guy, eh? Well, there’s one thing yer don’t know.’
‘There are many things which I do not know.’
‘I’ll bet. I bet yer don’t know she’s a he.’
‘She is a he?’
‘Yeah. Or an it. That’s a queer wearing drag.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘Don’t gimme that. Mosta you blow-ins are queers. Wouldn’t be surprised if yer one yerself.’
‘Would you mind speaking English, please?’
‘Wadda yer think I’m talking? Chinese?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Orright, smart guy. I’ll give ut to yer in words o’ one syllable. That dame is not a dame. That dame’s a bloke. Get ut?’
‘A bloke? You mean that is a man dressed as a young lady?’
‘Put it that way if yer like. Still interested?’
‘This I do not believe.’
‘Know ut fer a fact, mate. Her name’s Charlie.’
‘How is it that you know this?’
‘Anybody hangs around the Cross long enough gets to know Charlie.’
‘You are telling me that everybody knows this young lady is not a young lady?’
‘Everybody except suckers like you.’
‘Is it known to that policeman on the other side of the street?’
‘Probably.’
‘Why then does he not make the arrest?’
‘Why do yer think?’
‘I think he does not make the arrest because that which you are telling me is not true.’
‘You callin’ me a liar?’
‘It would be more correct for me to say that you are mistaken.’
‘I’m not mistaken, mate. Just givin’ yer the good guts, that’s all. Just lettin’ yer know wot yer lettin’ yerself in for. If yer too bloody pigheaded to take a warnin’, yer c’n go ter buggery.’
‘These words I do not understand. But there is one word I do understand. It is this word “bloody”. I have been informed by a policeman that this is not a nice word. It is therefore my opinion that you are not a nice man.’
‘Oh, ut is, is ut? Well I’d hate to tell yer wot I think o’ you.’
‘You have my permission to tell me.’
‘That’s big of yer. That’s bloody big of yer.’
‘If you continue to use that word I shall be forced to take action.’
‘Take all the bloody action yer want. Go on, take ut!’
His attitude was most belligerent, and I disliked him very much. So I hit him on the top of the head with my fist. This caused him to assume a sitting position in the narrow space between the car and the footpath, looking surprised. But his expression of surprise soon changed to one of extreme resentment, and he began to swear loudly and started to get up, obviously with the intention to attack me. So I hit him again on top of the head, and again he sat down.
Our argument had brought a crowd of people around us and I heard a voice say, ‘Don’t hit him when he’s down. Let him get up, yer mug.’
I turned to this voice, and I said, ‘Kindly do not instruct me in matters pertaining to a private altercation.’
The voice said, ‘Strewth. He’s swallowed a damn dictionary.’ Then it said loudly, ‘Look out!’ I interpreted this as a warning, but it was too late. Before I had time properly to face my opponent, I received a very severe blow on my right ear, which caused me to hear unnatural sounds, and to fall over. As I was getting to my feet, most indignant, another voice said, ‘Here comes a cop.’ The policeman whom I had seen on the other side of the road was between us, saying, ‘Come on. Break it up.’ Much advice was given to him.
‘Let ’em have a go.’
‘Pull yer head in.’
‘Why don’t yer go home.’
‘Garn, get lost, yer mug.’
‘Give ’em a go.’
The policeman said, ‘Break it up. Move along now. Come on, move along.’
Nobody wanted to move along. He took out a note-book and said to me, ‘What’s your name?’
‘My name is Nino Culotta.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘I live at the Mayfair Hotel.’
He said to my antagonist, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Mind your own bloody business.’
The policeman put away his note-book. He said, ‘We’ll find out up at the station. You’re both under arrest.’
The man said, ‘Like hell I am,’ and started running very fast. The crowd cheered. The policeman chased him, and they both disappeared around a corner. The crowd dispersed, with many smiles at me. One young man said, ‘Bad luck mate. Woulda been a good go.’ I could not see the young lady with the fair hair. It is possible that she was what the man said she was, but I prefer to think she was what she appeared to be.
I decided to wait for a while because perhaps the policeman would come back and would wish to ask me questions. This he did after some time. He looked very hot and irritable. I said, ‘It appears to me, sir, that you did not catch that man.’
‘We’ll get him,’ he said. ‘It appears to me that I’m surprised you’re still here.’
‘I waited because you may wish to ask me questions.’
‘Did you now? Fair enough. What was it all about?’
‘The fight?’
‘Yes.’
So I told him I had only been in Australia two days and was not familiar with the customs. I told him as we walked along towards the Mayfair Hotel. He said, ‘All right, Sir Galahad, forget it. But next time you want to fight for a lady’s good name, go somewhere where it’s quiet, eh? Not right in the middle of the Cross with me lookin’ at you, eh?’
He appeared to be very desirous that I should agree to this, and I thought, ‘This is the second nice policeman I have met in this country. It is very pleasant to find two nice policemen in two days. Perhaps he will give me some good advice.’ We were then on the footpath near the hotel, and I said, ‘I am prepared to give you my promise that I will not fight again in your presence. And now excuse me, please. Perhaps you could suggest where I should go this afternoon?’
He smiled and said, ‘First one that answers that gets sent straight back to the barracks.’
> ‘I do not understand.’
‘Didn’t expect you would. Why don’t you go for a swim?’
‘There is swimming?’
‘Go out to Bondi.’
‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘I have heard of this Bondi. There is a tram?’
‘Not through here. You’ll catch a bus over near the Mansions there.’
‘Thank you very much. It is a good suggestion.’
‘Don’t mention it. And stay out of trouble, eh?’
I assured him that I would. And I said, ‘Perhaps you would like to come and swim with me?’
He said, ‘The way I feel now I’d go swimming with anybody. But I’m still on duty. Now go away, like a good fella, before I change my mind and arrest you for disturbing the peace.’
I went away as he suggested, and took a bus to Bondi beach. I put my elbows on the railing above the sand, and looked at the thousands of people lying there, and swimming in the water. The sun was strong, and there was a breeze coming off the sea. It was full of the smell of the sea, and I breathed it deeply. I thought how fortunate were these people.
There was a young man alongside me, with his foot on the lower rail. I said to him, ‘I have heard that there are many sharks in this ocean.’
‘Nothin’ to worry about.’
‘Sharks are nothing to worry about?’
‘Look at that mob in there. Yer’d be dead unlucky ter be taken by a shark, with that mob.’
‘To be dead is unlucky?’
‘Wot I mean is the odds are about a million ter one. Yer’d be unlucky, that’s all.’
‘Can you tell me please, where is there a place where it would be lucky to be taken by a shark?’
‘Funny bugger, aren’t yer?’ he said, and walked away.
That was two men who thought I was funny, and two children who thought I was not. ‘It is because I do not understand the idiom,’ I thought. ‘Nevertheless, I will take a swim.’ But first it was necessary to obtain the correct clothing. I said to another young man who was passing, ‘Excuse me, could you tell me please, where I may obtain the correct clothing for the swimming?’