‘Holy fucken shit, Cronk! You’re fucken brown!’ Gordon said, lifting me up out of my seat to look at me. ‘You look like a nigga!’ he spat, swinging a long bottle of Heineken in his hands.
‘I am a real brother,’ I said, spotting Albert in the corner painting Michael Shoes with bright yellow war paint.
‘Gimme a hug, ya cunt,’ Gordon said, hugging me.
‘It’s going to be a good day,’ I said, moving back towards my seat.
‘You need a beer. Albert, get Neil a beer!’ Gordon yelled over four seats of buck hunters. ‘You like this bus?’ Gordon punched me in the elbow and cackled.
Albert handed me a Heineken and bang, there were six men in the aisle of the bus singing Hunters & Collectors and clinking glasses. The beer was warm but I drank it anyway. I was pathologically hungover, having drunk an entire bottle of Chivas Regal on my own the night before. The only way I would get through this was by saying yes to this day, to my old life, and as a result I stared down at the floor and swallowed. I would drink harder than all of them and I would compete in the animal bus arm-wrestling competition but I am not afraid to say I was scared, this bus was lurching forward, lurching somewhere big and male and broken and I could feel it.
‘Mate, the guy is a fucken legend,’ Gordon said, as we stalked up the hill on our hands and knees, settling behind a blown-apart silo splattered in shot-out paint.
‘Albert?’ I asked, panting from thirteen years of solid smoking.
Gordon loaded his gun with pellets and looked at me with utter earnestness. ‘Me and Albert have been through a lot together, he turned our whole lives around. I can’t thank him enough, seriously.’
It was midday and this was the third ‘Warfare’. I was fucking exhausted, and longed to get back to Cronulla, to Bundeena, or just some pub with booze in it. But Gordon wasn’t going anywhere, they’d bought seven Warfares and we weren’t even halfway. One of the guys was in hospital having done his groin running down a ravine, and I was partly blind in one eye having been splattered with paint every time I popped up. I would be no use in a war, the only thing I could do was protect the art and, you know, linger around sipping tea and wiping down the maps and navigation instruments.
‘You know last Thursday me and Albert had a joint colonoscopy,’ Gordon said. ‘That’s how close we are now. The procedure required two days of working up to it, like this whole diet we had to do on the first day and then just fluids the second day, then on Thursday we drink this really strong lemon Picoprep solution which empties your bowel… Did you know the human bowel is like forty feet long? And it has explosive tendencies? The drink’s fucking disgusting but it’s good to get this test, man, we’re getting to that age now where heavy stuff like that’s a factor. Did you know chickpeas and grilled tomato are the best thing for prostate cancer? If there’s a history in your family then get grilling your tomatoes, Neil.’
‘I did not know that,’ I said.
‘Albert’s my real dad,’ Gordon said. ‘I don’t even think of my other dad now, he’s fucking not my dad, we made sure of that.’ Gordon slammed home the gauge and lifted the gun strap over his shoulder. ‘I have no love for my old dad, I have a whole lot of love for Albert, but you know what?’
‘What?’ I asked, somehow giggling now, caught up.
‘It doesn’t stop me blowing the cunt’s nut off. ’
And with that Gordon stood up and ran, screaming ‘Hasta la vista faggots!’ as he blasted away.
I peered over the edge of the busted silo in time to see Gordon hit the ground, surrounded by Albert and Michael Shoes and his brother Rocky, all members of the Red Team, having now officially kidnapped the leader of the Blue Team. I was the only one who could save him, but I simply did not feel like it, and I had failed to buy any more pellets in the gap between Warfares for this very reason. So instead I took off my gun, rolled a cigarette and lay down in the sun, listening to the war cry of the Red Team as they blasted into Gordon’s neck and chest. Gordon called out to me for help and I would have ignored it, but in the call was a crack and inside the crack a little boy lost, the little boy I grew up with. Something about the event, the alcohol and the violence had brought this little boy back to me.
‘I’m coming for you, G-Funk, don’t you worry about that,’ I said to myself, hardly believing it. I really had not enjoyed one part of the fucking skirmish day, and I could not comprehend how on earth it was a legal activity. I mean, the bullets really fucking hurt when they hit you, my neck and chin were seriously bruised and the mask fogged up really quickly, which was why I kept lifting it off, which was why I got shot in the eyebrow and partially blinded, and the terrain was littered with dangerous obstacles like broken bins and sharp rocks and razor wire traps which you could hardly see down by your ankles, especially when your goggles were fogged up to the point of nil vision. I was surprised more people did not die out there – not joking. Marriage was such a beautiful gesture, why on earth did we choose to precede the event with this low act of bludgeoning and filth? Women went out on boats and gathered around the engagement ring, talking babies and dresses, sipping chardonnay and enjoying the company of the male stripper. That was civilised, women did it right; men, we had to go to war with paint, we had to rape each other in the dirt before we joined our better half in holy matrimony. Somebody make sense of this for me, please! I’m dying out here. Take me back to the tea garden!
I breathed deep, loading my gun with the four remaining pellets I had managed to save in my top pocket. I had barely shot anyone at all, failed in all my weapons missions – the only thing I had succeeded in was not being caught. Which was mostly due to the fact I had not really participated, preferring to smoke in the bushes until the Warfare was nearly over, then give myself up when we were outnumbered. But this time, well, this time my best friend was squealing in pain, calling my name, and I was so sunburnt, and semi-blind, and fucked off with life and men and love and life and Cronulla and London and art that anger overcame me, and I decided I would shoot some cunt in the neck. I mean, if you can’t beat the gang, beat the living fuck out of one of the gang, that was what Stuart always said, and look, like most of his brutal poetics, it made good sense.
Through the lightning-edged gap in the silo I could make out Albert’s body, leaning over Gordon, his knees on his stepson’s shoulders, dripping a long line of saliva inches from my friend’s face, to the amusement of the Red Team. I aimed at Albert’s fat red neck, and firmed the trigger. A shot rang out and Albert fell back, clutching his throat in excellent agony. One! Rocky then popped out from behind Michael Shoes. He held a beer in one hand and shielded his eyes from the sun with the other in a vain attempt to make out the sniper. Bang! The palm of his hand was now painted; he bent in half like a flip-top phone, dropping his beer and moaning to Jesus. Two! Then Shoes came forward, laughing. Lifting his mask off and grabbing his cock, he said, ‘Come out, you pussy, and face me off. ’
I thought ok, relit my cigarette, and stood. I walked towards Shoes, who was now pissing in my direction. He saw me and shot his last four bullets, but they flew past my goggles. He had none left so I walked closer and closer to him, his medium-sized cock flailing in the dead air. Three feet away he grinned at me; he knew I didn’t have the guts.
‘Make my day, Cronk,’ Shoes said.
I aimed at his cock and shot at it. I missed, but I got him in the groin, which sent him onto the ground. He then got up, and with rage in his smile he ran at me, cock still flopping about beneath his other rifle. As he lifted his weapon to hit me I shot at his groin again. This time I connected with his penis and he slammed into the scrub, screaming like a baby.
Gordon stood up. He could not believe what I had done, and neither could I. At this frozen time Albert rose and began inching towards Gordon with his gun raised, at which point I yelled out to G, who spun around and blew six bullets into Albert’s chest and throat. Gordon then ran over to the Red fort, which up to this point had proved utterly impenetrable, grab
bed the Red flag and ran towards me. This was war, this was what they were talking about, strength against strength, force against force, possession and territory, men on the ground, brothers in arms, camaraderie. Gordon leapt on top of me and we came crashing down on the grass, wrestling each other madly, panting like pigs, kissing each other’s necks and screaming, ‘Blue! Blue! Blue! Blue! Blue!’
Bussed home, showered and changed. Walked to Northies and dropped an ecstasy tablet. Then a different bar called Sting, and the DJ’s dropping a cool mix of ironic eighties classics and trip-hop weighted beats. I rested back into the couch talking to Albert’s friend Graham about the recession. He was a nice man and I felt good talking to him. I didn’t know him at all so there was nothing wrong. Gordon was on the dance floor with Albert. He had taken his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves.
‘Neil!’ Michael Shoes had blood-red hair and two beers in his grasp. He handed me one of the beers and clinked it with his. ‘Sorry I shot you in the dick.’ I giggled in the pit of my throat.
‘No drama, mate – just lucky you didn’t hit anything big!’ Shoes exploded with a machine-gun laugh.
‘Fucking wild day,’ I said, but Shoes didn’t respond, he just slugged at his beer once, twice, three times, until it’d hit some spot.
‘You knew my brother,’ Shoes said. ‘Daniel?’
Fuck. ‘Yeah…’ I said. ‘Good bloke.’
‘Not anymore,’ Shoes said.
‘No?’ I said.
‘Well he’s fucken dead, isn’t he?’ And the machine-gun laugh came thundering back into action.
‘You never know,’ I said. ‘You never know where they all are.’
‘Yeah, some planet of their own. It’s nearly our whole year book.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Why does everyone do it? So nice down here.’
‘You’re the thinker,’ Shoes said. ‘You tell me, mate.’
And I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t tell him why his brother thought getting done DUI on his first night as a P-plater was enough to walk into the ocean at South Cronulla, I couldn’t tell him why To m hanged himself. I couldn’t tell him why Stuart, why my oldest mate, was not sitting here now, why he was missing out on all this, all this war and ecstasy – he would have eaten this up. I couldn’t fucking say and it killed me, it fucking killed me, because it was all I wanted to fucking know. It was all I wanted to know in this fucking world: where did the beautiful boys go? Where did the beautiful boys go? Where the hell did they go?
‘Remember Shoes?’ Gordon bellowed, plonking down on my lap. ‘He’s workin’ in IT! Making a killing, mate. Tell Cronk how much you make, Shoesy!’
Shoes went all shy and I felt for him under this twist of light.
‘He doesn’t have to say,’ I told Gordon.
‘Yes he does! You would too if you earnt this kind of coin!’
‘I’m doing ok,’ Shoes said, cackling into his chest again.
Gordon slotted down between me and Shoes, swinging his arms around both of us. He was fried and he wanted to tell us how much love he had for us.
‘Shoes makes like a hundred and eighty an hour. That’s like… fucken brain surgeon wages,’ Gordon stated, spilling bourbon and coke on his shirt.
‘I don’t know about that,’ Shoes said.
‘Congratulations, Michael, that’s really impressive,’ I said, clinking his beer.
‘Hookers are on Shoes!’ Gordon yelled, looking sunburnt and mad.
‘I know a few I can recommend!’ Shoes perked up, laughing insanely.
Albert and his friend Graham were outside smoking a joint and it looked nice, when Gordon opened my mouth and threw another pill into me.
‘Sluts!’ Gordon said, hauling me up off the couch.
Up three sets of rickety stairs we came to a door with a sign that said French Massage Parlour.
‘That’s what’s commonly known as a euphemism,’ Graham joked.
‘A what-emism?’ Gordon asked, falling into a wall.
In the waiting room there was a long tank with a Mexican walking fish in it and a Tonka truck. There was an excess of wine-red curtains and a glass counter with a large gold bell on it and a sign beneath saying Ring Bell if no lady at desk. Thank you please!
Shoes and Albert had a long conversation with the lady at the desk and pretty soon a succession of younger and older women were lined up in front of us in the reception room. There were six women, and six of us remaining.
‘Six brides for six brothers!’ Albert yelled.
The manager was a small Asian woman with fake tits and, even in the demure lighting of the ‘parlour’, it was clear she’d seen some late-night activities.
‘There are only three rooms availabullllll, so please one at a time for half an hour or you can take two men and two girrrrrl into room at one time, this very cheaper for you, two men two girrrrrrl, yes?’
‘Me and you, Cronk!’ Gordon decided, ‘and you and her.’ He pointed to one Amazonian-type bird with terrible posture, and another shorter girl with brown hair and silver eyelashes, who was almost cute in a damaged kind of a way. The smaller one smiled up at me as she stepped forward out of the line.
‘She’s bookish!’ Gordon said, laughing madly once more. ‘Look, Cronk, even found a hooker to suit your type! Hahahaha!’
Inside the room the women inspected our penises and then led us to the shower. Gordon went quieter now, as I felt the second ecstasy tablet rise up and take control in the front of my spirit and brain. We showered together in silence, handing over the cake of soap with jailbird efficiency, this is washing, this is nothing else but washing. The faucet turned off by itself and we grabbed a towel each. I wanted to go home now, but instead I would see this through. This was friendship, this was what we were here for, this was standing by your mate.
‘I’m getting married, Neil,’ he said to me. ‘Married.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m going to be there.’
‘One woman, for the rest of my life.’
‘That’s the idea’.
‘Just ONE!’ He held a single finger up to my nose.
‘I get it, man. I get it.’
‘Then let’s do this thing. Before I sign off for good.’
‘Whatever you want, mate,’ I said. ‘It’s your night.’
‘Doesn’t mean I don’t love her!’
‘No?’ I asked, trying desperately not to provoke the lion.
‘You don’t know how much I love that girl.’
My bookish friend’s name was Kayla, or Kyla, or Kanye, or something. She told me she went to beauty school in Penshurst and just loved living near the beach, having originally hailed from Wagga Wagga – it was such a nice change. She stroked my cock as she told me a bit more about her travels, then, as I firmed up in her hand, she rolled a condom onto my penis and asked me what I would like her to do for me in the remaining eighteen minutes.
Across from me Gordon was already pumping away at his big blonde Spiderwoman. He was fucking her from behind when he turned to me and smiled.
‘Wonder if Shoes is having trouble? After you shot up his dick!’
Gordon led my gaze down to the bookish girl before me, nodding at her arse as if to say, ‘Go on,’ nodding harder and faster as he slammed and slapped himself against the Amazonian buttock, which popped up before him like a balloon. He started slapping the woman’s thighs, nodding at me and then my girl again, and somehow, under his spell, I flipped my friend from Wagga Wagga around and entered her with ease from the rear. You want me to fuck this chick in the arse, you cunt, then fucken see me do this here on this day.
I was fucking her from behind and I was slapping her thighs now. I built as she reached around and grabbed my arse, pulling me closer to her; she liked it like this it would seem. The drugs were roaring now, I could eat this chick’s anus, I could kill her, I could fuck her and then I could kill her after.
‘Fucking fuck her,’ Gordon said, staring at the space between my co
ck and the girl’s tight, cushion-like arse. ‘Fuck her harder, Cronksman!’
‘I fucking am fucking her!’ I screamed.
‘I am watching you! I’m always watching you!’
Gordon was literally belting the blonde now when he reached out for me. I took his right hand in my left hand as we continued to fuck the girls from behind over the one bed. He smiled at me as he came in explosive distress, and then he said, ‘Yeaaaahhhh,’ and fell on top of the blonde, releasing my hand and laughing into her long red back. I would never cum, so I just kept fucking, dragging my nails along her spine until blood emerged in a line.
28
With a touch of her, and just like that, a change came across North Caringbah. How falling in love can turn things upside down in a flash, and make all the dank corners of one’s basement burst with gerberas and hope. The heat wore off and a sweet southern breeze swept across the Camellia Gardens the moment she arrived, the moment of The Bride.
I had never seen her stand so tall, as she floated perfectly across the clumsy wooden bridge towards us, connected to her father, who looked frailer than ever, like an industrial-strength straw had sucked the man right out of the man. Her hair was glued to her skull at the front with a complex tapestry of clips and tiny flowers, gratefully releasing itself beneath the ears in a glorious flutter and wave of soft, brown curls which swung in the breeze. Never before, and I mean this, never before had beauty brought with it such an ache inside. I wanted to make like a crane and lift her out of here, but instead I turned to my friend Gordon and smiled like a groomsman.
They had written their own vows, and the crowd delighted in such insubordination. Their modern, gender-balanced declarations were radically new, and they owned the controversy with a simple, confident delivery. She spoke first, whipping the train of her dress behind her and taking the silver microphone in her little hands. The crowd rumbled with adoration for this complete girl, as she repeated after the celebrant her own manifesto of love.
How it feels Page 21