~~~
After the hanging, his mother was handed papers taken from his cell, among these few possessions was a note he had written about her during his last days: ‘The pain of missing her is by far sharper than anything physical I have ever felt.’ She understood their final sharing was the pain of emptiness that comes with parting and she placed his heart within her own to ease the loss.
Friday 11 May 2012 8 am
The End Of The Beginning – The Beginning Of The End
Sonia Satori
Medlow Bath, NSW
‘Everything is safe’, he spoke, as he read it over and over. To comfort himself, he allowed a perverse satisfaction take hold of him that saturated his weary old mind, long enough to feel relaxed, for a bit, before he felt stuck again. No, it was not his imagination: frustration, as a rule of thumb, was back on track.
His very own, curious limitation of how to feel, as if contrived by snatches of meekness, stigma, alienation; there was no narrative, only evasion rather like self-censorship, his inner realm surrounded, enclosed, captured by the obsession of being cast by himself to himself for himself as the target that is to be buried alive within a grotesque memory that once lived.
In the course of one single day he must, at all cost, prevent being surrounded, smothered by a cast of persons threatening him with their ‘sanity’. Alienation soothes one’s sense of profound loneliness. There are no visible traces to identify isolation, however unvalued, and sadness, and torment.
He feels magnetically attracted by those he meets on the street, in cafés, by chance: misfits, odd characters, usually loners who respond to his soft smile when he passes by. He attracts because he is without judgment. He listens with a warm heart to their damaged life histories, their failures, their celebration of being outsiders. He wants to be their friend. He will do anything for them. He values their failures; they survive better than he does. He belongs, he feels fine with them.
Delighted at the high-spirited optimism his love interest exhilarates when they speak of being together, or the laughs they share on their hikes through the mountains, he feels her consolation seep into the core of his essence. But: imagine the picture to put yourself into the vicinity of her understanding, her proposals, her sanity, her control. It’s more than a threat.
His destination and departure are of his own making and indistinguishable. More often than not he forgets where he is, exactly, on this journey. Yet, he wears his self-awarded emblem for achievement in good faith, nevertheless he abandons, he skips, he flees when it suits.
Yes, engraved in his essence of awareness, in thought, motioning, mumbling, repetition of speech, his very core is saturated with what to choose: a sort of pleasure, a sort of denial, a sort of ‘whatever’; it is indispensable.
The nightmare is on hold as long as he scribbles chords of impressionable, miniscule runes into little notebooks, which, when discarded (and never filed nor reread) amount to an impressive lexicon of sorts: what to do, and when, or whom to call and when, and as long as he scribbles notes and names with ballpoint pen on his right hand, as to not forget. And the notes stuck to the walls. They all help remind him of how he should live.
Much better to have a bad dream you have to scream out of your system – you won’t remember anyway – than a bad day. Nevermore remembering her who left? Nevermore?
The bike ride makes his energies come back to life. He returns to his study. To the heap of documents of ‘importance’ (strewn by the hundreds), scattering layers of pieces of paper, on the floor. Printed matter that is bulked to every citizen of any standing any day of the week poke through letters from lawyers, accountants, banks, the council, Telstra, Energy Australia, aid agencies … what a mess! One really can’t go out too often, maybe just for coffee. Got to sort things out!
He turns to the computer. Reads again over the same sentence he doesn’t remember he has taken a fancy to earlier that day. ‘Everything is safe’, he says. A feeling of satisfaction puts a smile on his face.
He walks to the kitchen and pours himself a Coopers. ‘I’m getting somewhere, at last.’ The sunrays of the day have come and gone. Another Coopers helps him wash down his prescription drugs for the night.
Friday 11 May 2012 12 noon
Back To The Future And Forward To The Past …
James Craib
Wentworth Falls, NSW
By any stretch of the imagination, we now look towards the constellation of the stars.
Any time now humanity, bored to death with the desecration of the Earth,
Considers the worth, the possibility, not to mention the futility, of the colonisation of Mars.
Krakatoa had a major blow a hundred years and score ago.
To date, we have tried to emulate the same destructive force at Hiroshima.
Of course it hadn’t the same charisma as the ‘big bang’ archipelago.
There are subtler ways to make the third world pay the price and stand attention.
Harvest all remaining trees, increase the salting of the seas, and lacerate the soil.
Extend the use of dwindling oil reserves, keep solar power in suspended animation.
For it simply wouldn’t do to stop mining coal for China too – they’d lose face!
Understand please, you snivelling heretic ‘greenies’, we own the land,
This was planned ... by our accountants; who keep climate scientists firmly in place.
Under our benevolence, we maintain malevolence in Africa – they must pay their debts.
Respect is what we require. So what if we set fire to the Brazilian jungle?
Expect a new resort soon at the Warrumbungles, plus kennels for our pets!
And all this foolish talk of saving whales, we break into gales of laughter.
Nobody ever talks about saving sheep or chickens or loses sleep about cows.
Desperate executives or politicians don’t keep vows; time always in the hereafter.
Forget about the melting of the Antarctic, it’ll make penguins warmer!
Over the land that’s left, bereft of trees, instead we’ll build a museum.
Right next to the mausoleum; it’ll be a fitting tribute to the former
Wildlife? Now there’s a contradiction in terms when comparing human excreta.
Adolf never worried about maintaining status quo, white is right.
Russians never knew what hit them when old Joe blew in from Georgia,
Duce didn’t abstain from the conquest of Abyssinia, a grin from ear to ear.
To give an inch is to give in to fear; Nero just fiddled and slew Agrippina.
Of course Freud’s perpetual riddle is that we love/hate both our parents – queer!
That of course should be left to the clergy; they aren’t allergic to dispensing affection.
Happily now we have a dinkum saint who didn’t faint at exposing paedophilia.
Except of course, when it’s necessary we intervene to stop inappropriate publicity.
Please don’t be mean Mary, or cross – you’re the boss. Soon there’ll be a marketing bonanza!
An image of a nun on everything from ash trays to t-shirts; no bad habits, free at last
So excuse the pun, people will scurry like rabbits to buy, don’t try to understand,
This was planned. Back to the future and forward to the past...
Friday 11 May 4 pm
Big Moon Rising
Robyn Lance
Yarra via Goulburn, NSW
After choir in the city, women’s work songs
weave through my mind like the road north
to the Lake, Collector and home.
I let them have their way and as I sing
the solid curve of a bright, bold moon rises
above the mauve depths of overlapping hills.
Teasing in and out of view, it becomes a ball so immense,
so round and perfect
that surely,
soon, it will roll off its unseen perch and bounce
in random trajectories between the stars
until, in one final arc, it falls into place, glinting
like a new minted coin in my slice of sky.
Saturday 12 May 2012
Melanie Rents A Home
Frank Ince
Caroline Springs, Victoria
The real estate agent peered across the top of his glasses at Melanie and shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, Ms Olsen, it is company policy not to rent properties to single women.’
‘Would you put that in writing so I can sue you?’ she returned.
‘Excuse me?’
‘I know I should have told you when my flat mate went overseas, but he has been gone for eighteen months. In the meantime I have demonstrated my ability to pay the monthly rent. I have a steady job that pays well. I don’t smoke, drink, or throw wild parties; surely that makes me an ideal prospect.’
‘Rules are rules, Ms Olsen. Unfortunately the place has already been leased to someone else. Sorry.’
‘Not as sorry as you are going to be,’ Melanie rose to her feet. ‘I’m not normally a vindictive person, but in your case I’m prepared to make an exception.’
As she reached the door, the agent spoke again, ‘I should caution you about making trouble. Bringing an action against us would be costly, and the outcome dubious at best.’
‘Oh, my costs will be negligible; I’ll simply contact the media, and the costs will be yours. I wonder if your business will survive the negative publicity that is about to come your way?’
Melanie did not get to open the door before the agent took her arm and led her back to her seat. ‘Now let’s not be too hasty,’ he spluttered, ‘we have a very tidy little unit just a few streets away which I’m sure will suit you just fine.’
The following day, Melanie moved into an old inner suburban weatherboard, and wondered why she fought so hard to obtain the lease on a property that badly needed renovating. The furniture was no better, but fully furnished properties close to the city were scarce, and it suited Melanie not to have to outlay money on furniture before she bought her dream home, which was still some years away.
After dinner she took her coffee onto the front porch, and sank into a rickety swing chair. She would not be long out of bed. The run in with the estate agent had taken its toll on her normal ebullience, and she was tired. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a high powered motor bike pulling into the driveway of the house next door.
Until this moment neighbours were far from her mind, but curiosity got the better of her, and she craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the rider. His appearance did nothing to impress her. He was tall and well built, but when he removed his helmet it was obvious his face had not seen a razor for some time. A wild nest of unkempt hair fell about his ears and hung unruly to his shoulders. Her interest in him ended right then.
As she turned to go inside two more powerful bikes arrived, and all three riders greeted each other noisily. Melanie groaned. Her good fortune at securing other premises was rapidly going into freefall. When she was still awake at midnight due to the bikers’ blaring music, she knew she had made a serious error in renting the property, before first checking out the neighbourhood. She did not relish pleading with three rough bikers to be quiet. Eventually she fell into a troubled sleep, only to be awoken in the morning to the thundering roar of revving V-Twin engines.
Sitting on the edge of her bed she saw, through her bedroom curtains, two of the bikers ride off. This was too good an opportunity to miss. Discussing her problem with just one biker, instead of three, seemed a less daunting assignment. Melanie quickly showered and dressed. With her heart beating furiously she knocked on the front door of the bikers’ house.
‘If you’re selling something, you’re wasting your time,’ a voice called from inside. A moment later the door opened and a tall man confronted her. His long hair was uncombed, and his beard was uneven and scruffy. His demeanour suggested he was not in the mood for polite conversation.
‘Hello,’ Melanie took a tentative step forward and extended her hand, ‘I’m Melanie Olsen, I’ve just moved in next door.’
‘Well hello there, I’m Scott Travis. Please come in.’ His handshake was firm, but not unduly so, and his greeting was so effusive, she was momentarily taken aback. ‘Come on, I won’t eat you,’ he said.
The friendliness of his manner conflicted with his rough appearance, and Melanie was not sure how to take him. Putting aside her concerns she followed him inside.
On entering the house she was struck by the smell of stale alcohol and cigarette butts. The carpet was threadbare, and outdoor plastic chairs took the place of a proper lounge suite.
‘It might be better if we go through to the kitchen,’ he said leading the way down a dingy corridor, passing rooms off the side, which Melanie assumed were bedrooms.
The kitchen was in a worse state than the lounge room. Empty beer cans were left on the table, ash trays were overflowing, and dishes were stacked high in the sink.
‘You have the cutest little nose I have ever seen, particularly when it twitches like a rabbit.’
Melanie was horrified that her distaste of the surroundings showed on her face. With her cheeks aflame she mumbled an apology.
‘Don’t be sorry, my companions are not exactly full of social graces, but they are genuine people none-the-less. Would you like a coffee?’
Melanie would have killed for a coffee, but she thought it prudent to decline the offer.
‘I’m glad you came over to introduce yourself, the previous people didn’t want to know us.’
She didn’t blame them, but thought it wise not to offer an opinion. She needed to get this man on side, and making negative remarks would not help her cause.
‘Actually I called about another matter …’
‘Oh, and here I was thinking my luck had changed.’
Melanie stared at him dumbfounded. This man looked as though he should be queuing for a handout at a soup kitchen, but his voice was well modulated, and eloquent. He was studying her as intently as she was observing him.
‘Tell me what you see?’ he asked at last.
‘Pardon?’
‘You’re checking me out. You have formed an opinion of me; I’m asking you to share your findings.’
Melanie blushed, ‘I think you are something of an enigma.’
‘No, you have moved on from there. There is no mystery about me. What you see is what you get. Since your good manners won’t allow you to make a derogatory comment, let me tell you how I appear to you. I’m that sad case you see filling in a day sitting on a park bench, or lying in an alleyway under a pile of cardboard boxes. I’m the homeless wreck of a man that lives from one pension payment to the next. Tell me, Melanie, how close am I?’
A lump had formed in Melanie’s throat.
‘I’m sorry. I’ve upset you. Believe me it was not my intention. You have come to negotiate a peace deal between neighbours. Sadly I have to tell you my companions are too far gone to change their ways.’
Melanie could not hold back her tears, and would have left defeated had Scott not reached out and taken her hand. ‘Sit down, Melanie, and let me tell you a story. If you believe nothing else you hear today, you can take it as gospel, what I say to you is the absolute truth. Two years ago I operated a specialised computer service. It was very successful. The business had exclusive contracts throughout the Asia Pacific region, and we were on the verge of going international.
‘One morning my secretary came in and told me police were in reception. They wanted to interview me about embezzlement. I won’t bother you with all the sordid details; suffice to say my partner was arrested. By the time he was convicted, I’d not only lost my business, but my wife as well. The money he stole from me, he spent on Felicity, my wife.’
‘Oh, Scott.’ Melanie wanted to say something comforting, but w
ords escaped her.
‘I left the court angry, frustrated and confused, not good emotions for riding a motorbike in peak traffic. I suffered a momentary lapse in concentration and misjudged the length of a b-double truck. I was lucky to survive the crash. With six months in traction and nothing to go home to, I felt my life was finished. The two guys I share this place with are not without their problems, but before drugs destroyed most of their brain cells, they worked for me. I have them to thank for being alive. They were the ones who brought me home from hospital, and put a roof over my head.’
‘I’m sorry Scott, I …’
‘Don’t be sorry, Melanie; it’s my choice to live like this. I have no one to answer to, no one to prove anything to. Perhaps if I had someone like you to …’ his voice trailed off.
narratorAUSTRALIA Volume One Page 5