by Peter Ness
‘If you take a seat Sir, I’ll be over to take your order shortly,’ Mother replied with a sweet smile, placing her pencil above her ear.
‘And—, you’re with him?’ she confirmed with Kirin.
‘Yes Ma’am,’ Kirin nodded, smiling back politely.
‘Okidoki,[4] then. If you pull up a chair, I’ll take your order,’ Mother pointed at the seats and smiled, making them feel important. She wished the others would see customers the same way.
As the two American’s wandered across to the window seats and sat down, Mother matched the details in her memory. He seemed familiar. Had they met before?
‘Maybe not,’ she convinced herself while wiping the counter with a wet cloth. That was years ago. His hair was shorter and he was broader in the shoulders than the guy she knew. Plus, she honestly wasn’t sure. So she took another look and shrugged.
Mother strode over now, pad and pencil in hand, like a model on a cat-walk.
‘Are you new to these parts? I haven’t seen you around before,’ she spoke to Fred. ‘The American accent and all; anyway, it looks like you’re both starving hungry? May I take your order?’
‘I’ll have an egg and cheese sandwich, toasted, with lots of ketchup plus a hot black coffee, no sugar,’ Fred Thurman replied, his eyes twitching from the dry dusty air, then flickering across towards Kirin. He nodded at Kirin. ‘Kirin, what would you—.’
‘That’s tomato sauce,’ Mother stated. It sounded like a question.
‘Ketchup,’ Fred replied. ‘Where I come from the folks call it ketchup.’
‘No really. That’s tomato sauce,’ she corrected him sharply with a sweet smile, and added ‘Around here.’ She toyed with him now; banter was good for business.
She wrote it down: with tomato sauce, and repeated his order out loud. She underlined the words tomato sauce and showed it to Fred with a broad smile. Jesse laughed loudly from his window seat. His eyes rested on her legs. She was so cute.
‘With ketchup,’ Fred emphasized with a devilish smile, folding his arms, ‘And—, Kirin what do you want, buddy?’ At last, an Aussie worthy of his intellect.
‘I’ll have a cold coffee, a ham and tomato sandwich — toasted, if that’s okay — plus two Dim Sims. They look a bit oily, but I suspect they taste rather nice. Plus, I’ll have a meat pie with ketch — err — with tomato sauce if that’s fine by you. Plus, do you have any water?’ Kirin smiled at her. She looked awfully familiar.
‘Water—? Okidoki—,’ Mother repeated the order with a frown, and lifting her face smiled back. ‘Two Dim Sims. One meat pie with sauce. One ham and tomato sandwich. Yes. And, I can tell you, that’s real yummy. Plus—, one cold coffee? Yes? Is that white with sugar — or is it black?’
‘Yes,’ Kirin replied, his eyes diverted by a car pulling up across the street.
‘Yes? Which?’ Mother queried. She took half a step backwards. ‘Are you pulling my leg?’
‘No. I wouldn’t do that to you Ma’am. You’re far too nice. White with sugar, please,’ Kirin said. Looking at his hands which were on the table then down at her legs, he smiled politely.
‘You’re both Yanks then, right?’ Mother flushed in embarrassment.
‘Yes,’ Kirin replied. ‘I’m third generation American.’
‘Oh, so how come is that?’ asked Mother.
‘My grandparents moved to the US after the first world war,’ was Kirin’s reply.
She placed the pencil above her ear. Just as she went to ask him a question, he continued.
‘My grandfather was Italian. His wife was Irish,’ Kirin lied. He could have said ‘Hi! My name’s Little Hawk. I was raised by Bald Eagle and Running Water on an Indian Reservation in the 1860’s and then after they died by my sister, Small Elk. She’s probably floating around here somewhere about now. And, I hunt down UFOs in my spare time when I get bored,’ only that would have sounded less than convincing. Don’t you think? So, he told her a white lie. What’s wrong with that? We all do occasionally. It helps smooth things over. And, people prefer it that way anyway.
She looked at him strangely. The story seemed vaguely familiar.
‘My mother was Italian and her father was German,’ Kirin finished.
‘That makes you a Bitza,’ Mother said with a twinkle in her eye.
‘A Bitza—?’ he asked, scratching at his ear. ‘Sorry. You lost me. What’s a Bitza?’
‘A Bitza everything,’ she smiled. A hand slid down onto her hip, and she flashed her lovely white teeth at him. ‘That’s certainly different to my family history. My mother used to iron and my father used to steel[5]. No. I’m only joking. They just own this café.’
Jesse Hani, who sat in the chair behind nearly choked on his coffee. He laughed loudly, spilling coffee on the table. Ashton promptly wiped it up with a napkin.
‘Anyway, you look familiar. Have we met before?’ Mother asked Kirin.
‘Seen one Yank, and you have seen them all!’ spat Ashton from his seat with a laugh. Mother’s eyes shot lightning bolts at Ashton, with a Shut up! You jerk! look. Ashton shuffled uneasily in his seat.
‘Yes. I’m an American,’ Kirin said, avoiding the question. He pulled his passport from his top pocket and flashed it as proof. Mother shifted on her legs and turned her head away, embarrassed, as if Kirin had read her mind. A small photograph slid out, bouncing on the floor. Bending now, she picked it up. For a split second her face turned pale. Trying to stop shaking, she stood, quickly passing it back to Kirin.
‘Well then. That’s a nice picture and all. She really is gorgeous,’ she almost choked on the words as she handed it back.
‘Yes,’ Kirin replied, noting her reaction. He rubbed his ear. Then, replacing the photograph inside the passport he slipped it back into his pocket.
‘The food will only take a few minutes. Please make yourselves comfy,’ Mother said, turning to walk back to the counter. Her hand shook slightly. She appeared unnerved, almost flustered. ‘What’s he doing with that photo?’ she said to herself. ‘Surely it’s not the same guy? Maybe the person in the photo just looks like her? Yes that’s it. It must be — either that — or I’m going bonkers?’ She shook her head. ‘No — of course it’s not her.’
The faintest of noises came from the other end of the counter near the door. Kirin swung his around head sharply. Pops was sweeping the floor.
‘Excuse me,’ Fred Thurman queried, ‘If it is not too much to ask, can I get a glass of water as well?’
‘A glass of water—? Sorry, we don’t sell water—. Oh — that water. A glass of water,’ Mother said, and pondering for a moment added, ‘Yes, no problem. Two glasses of water coming up.’
‘You do take tips here?’ Fred asked, raising one arm as if hailing her.
‘Tips—? No. In Australia most people consider it rude to tip the waitresses,’ she smiled, placing two glasses of water onto the table. Rather bemused by it all, she turned back towards the counter.
‘No tips. No tips Kirin,’ the man from Chicago said, holding up a wad of US dollars. He slid them back into his wallet.
‘I told you they don’t tip in Australia,’ Kirin replied, smiling broadly. ‘They pay staff a decent salary here, so tipping is not the norm. And—, greenbacks? Seriously —put them away Fred. I don’t think that counts as money down under.’
The two farmers, Ashton and Jesse Hani, sitting at the next table were watching intently, taking it all in. A broad grin sliced across Jesse’s face, from ear to ear.
#
Meanwhile, up the peninsula, in Sneaky Bay:
Rosa Hani sat up on her towel watching her young daughter frolick in the water with Fido, the family’s large black and white Collie dog. Rosa’s rather chubby pink cheeks smiled as she ruffled her short dark curly hair. Then she took the bottle of coconut oil, splashed it over her bright pink sunburnt flabby skin, and then reached across for her large brimmed straw hat.
‘Amy!’ Rosa hollered at the six year old. ‘Where the hell is your
brother Brian?’ The small brown haired girl came running up to her, Fido romping behind. The Collie stopped right next to Rosa. Water sprayed all over her as it shook its wet furry coat dry. ‘Oo Yuk! Get away from me Fido,’ Rosa yelled. Amy just giggled.
‘There he is now Mom,’ Amy pointed.
‘Brian!’ Rosa yelled. ‘Brian! I need your help!’
Brian, a tall stocky thirteen-year old wandered down onto the beach towards them.
‘I was just going to grab the Honda 100 cc and go for a buzz down the beach with Charlie Henton. What do you want?’ Brian stood over his mother looking down, grinning from ear to ear. A dimple formed in his rather fat cheeks.
‘Where’d you score the black eye, this time, Brian?’ Rosa asked.
‘Oh, that? Charlie accidentally elbowed me in the face when we were messing around.’ Rosa’s face paled. Brian’s grin turned to a scowl. ‘It was an accident Mom.’
‘Okay. Well, here, take this and go buy us some ice cream and drinks. And, take Amy with you.’ Rosa shoved some money into his big mitts. Then, she slouched back onto the beach towel in the warm summer heat and slid the hat over her face. Before long she was snoring.
#
Back at Locke’s Café:
Kirin stood up from the table now and ambled over to the counter to ask for directions to the toilet.
‘Excuse me. Do you have a rest room?’ he asked. It drew a blank.
I flipped my comic’s page, eyes lifting as four, sorry, five young men in their early twenties ploughed noisily into the store. They scrabbled and jostled each other, jockeying for position. The glass door slammed violently behind them, shaking on its hinges. The medium built lanky one, the leader, was Rich Dunbar — just an accident waiting to happen. That tough guy, Jimmy Arsenic, he’s the one with all the tattoos. This was his last summer in Australia. A US baseball scout had signed him up. Jimmy was off for a career in the big league next year.
The idiot: the one with the IQ of 65, rolled his eyes at the waitress. Yes, you picked him. That’s Jeremy O’Neil. He’s the nitwit who just fell off the chair, almost knocking that lady over as she hobbled out. She nearly dropped her cane shaking in fright. The other two scrawny looking teenagers with dirty, shaggy, long brown hair; the ones that look like they were just spewed out of a washing machine and need putting through the wringer. You got it. That would be Rodney Vance and Guy Porter.
These two hoodlums dragged their chairs, grating them, across the vinyl floor. They sat now with two chair legs on the floor and the other two in the air, with the seat reversed. As the other three teenagers bounced over to the counter one purposefully, and abruptly, shouldered Kirin. It was just a nudge actually. Rich Dunbar stared at Kirin with a dark look. This, he was going to enjoy.
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ Kirin apologized. ‘I never saw you there.’ He edged away.
‘Man. You pushed me!’ Rich turned to his mates to advertise it. ‘He pushed me.’ He held his arm to make it into a big deal.
‘Sorry friend. Get over it,’ Kirin replied softly, almost to himself, doing his best to ignore the bully. He preferred to avoid conflict. He would bite his lip for now and bear it.
Rich turned towards Kirin who was minding his own business, finger in the air, trying to get the waitress’s attention.
‘Hey! Are ya talking to me man? Are you tryin’ to pick a fight?’
‘Yeah! — are you tryin’ to pick a fight?’ Jeremy echoed in the background. He laughed, just going through the motions. The lights were on but no-one was home.
Kirin shook his head politely in the negative, glancing at Rich briefly.
‘No. On the contrary, I already apologized. If I’ve offended you in any way, then I’m terribly sorry.’ Kirin turned and began to move away.
‘Hey! You! Wog! I’m talking to you! No-one walks away from me!’ Rich Dunbar asserted as he appeared to accidentally elbow Kirin. A hushed silence followed. Kirin took a step to one side and continued to ignore Rich.
Taking a half-smoked cigarette from the corner of his mouth Rich Dunbar flicked the ash into Kirin’s face. Dropping the cigarette onto the floor now he stepped on it, twisting his foot. Most people would have reacted by now. This was one cool dude.
‘Now, look what you made me do. Oh darn—. I dropped it. Pick it up!’ Rich demanded, glancing down at the cigarette on the floor.
‘Sorry. You must have me confused for someone who gives a monkey’s uncle.’ Ignoring the man, Kirin turned back towards the woman behind the counter. He gave a slightly perplexed frown. ‘Sorry—, excuse me. The rest room, where’s the toilet?’ Kirin asked her. The cat-eyed woman, Megan, again slighted Kirin by moving away.
‘The Wog’s so scared he’ll piss his pants,’ Rich said. The hoods all laughed. Kirin began to rub his ear lobe, a little irritated now. In the background Fred Thurman’s eyes glared, so he turned back to look out of the window.
‘I think I’m a gonna wet mine too—,’ added Jeremy O’Neil, the dumb one. ‘From — from laughing—,’ he bellowed loudly. ‘Why don’t you just pee on the floor man? The half-crippled old dude will clean it up.’ He pointed at Pops.
‘I know you! I know you! I saw you last night. You three! You’re the hoodlums who kept me awake half the night,’ Pops pointed at them, croaking, his hand trembling. ‘And, I’ll bet you stole my car too?’
‘No way, twasn’t us Pops. We were in Sneaky Bay partying all night,’ Guy Porter laughed. ‘That right Megan?’ he raised his eyebrows. She nodded.
‘Yeah, smoking dope all night—, what a trip,’ Jeremy O’Neil giggled.
‘Put a sock in it you half-wit,’ Rich snapped, his head spinning around, eyes showering darts at Jeremy. ‘The cops live just across the road.’
‘So, how can I help you young horny devils today?’ Megan said with a sexy grin, ambling up to the counter then leaning on it. She stubbed out her cigarette.
‘Why, Megan if you take me out the back and I will show you what I have been hanging out to show you all day,’ Jimmy Arsenic said with a laugh. He looked around at his mates for moral support. They laughed with him.
‘Not now—, maybe later. You better put it away Jimmy. It might get chopped off if it stays hanging out!’ Megan replied, with a wry smile. She chewed her gum. ‘Now, that would screw up your plans for the big league.’
The other young men laughed. Pops turned away, sweeping the floor.
Megan picked up a knife from on the counter then smiled, winking at Jimmy. She slammed the knife down onto a salami stick in front of her. A noticeably flustered Jimmy backed off. Checking his zipper, he leant up against the counter again.
‘I’ll have a pack of fags and a Cola. Yes, those ones. The cigarettes over there,’ Jimmy requested, pointing, visibly shaken.
Jeremy and Rich edged closer to the counter. Kirin glanced across and moved away further to the right. He nodded towards Megan, raising his voice slightly.
‘My apologies, ma’am, but you do have a toilet? Don’t you?’ he asked.
No-one answered. Kirin felt another nudge. This time it was into his ribs from behind. Kirin turned slightly, edge on. Rich Dunbar shirt-fronted Kirin, face on, now. There wasn’t much in it but Kirin was the taller of the two. It was time to up the ante.
‘You are a slow learner. Savvy? Italian scum,’ Rich said. ‘You spaghetti-eating assholes are not welcome here. Go home. We have no jobs here for the likes of you. Leave. Vamoose. Get the picture?’ Rich Dunbar spat out, vehemently.
‘You assume too much. I’m not Italian and I don’t want your job.’ Kirin scowled, turning away from the Australian bully. Megan placed her hand on her hips and watched with a sickly half grin. She stuffed more gum into her mouth, chewing on it. Chairs scraped from near the window. A man walked up behind the young hood.
‘Excuse me. May I?’ It was Ashton Hani. He picked Rich up by the scruff of his neck and rotating him placing him down again facing the doorway. He pushed Rich Dunbar in that general direction with the palm of
his hand.
‘Back off. He’s with us mate,’ Ashton said, nodding at Kirin then over towards Fred and Jesse, as if they were a group. ‘Get what you came here for then leave.’ Ashton stepped towards the ring leader now. ‘Why’re you still here?’ he said threateningly. ‘Vamoose!’
I glanced down at them over my open comic. Fred stood up now.
‘Wow! He’s just a smidgen shorter,’ I looked up towards Teresa and Jo. I wondered how soon it would be before the five young men, in over their depth, backed down. ‘Bet you a comic they back off now.’ The ringleader glanced across towards Ashton and Fred, hastily turned and ordered. ‘That was quick,’ I said from the top of the stairs. Kirin slipped me a stray glance.
‘Okay. Okay. We don’t want any trouble mate.’ Rich held his hands palm up and stepped back several paces, and then turned back to face the counter. ‘I wouldn’t want to mess with that lot. Might get ketchup mixed with my tomato sauce,’ Rich laughed nervously. ‘Okay Megan. We’ll have five hotdogs and five Cokes.’ Rich clasped his mate Jimmy Arsenic on the shoulder, ‘Oh, you’ve ordered already?’ He then turned back to the counter. ‘Sorry Megan. Make that order for four hotdogs, three Cola’s, and a Lemonade. Then we’re outta here.’ Rich pointed towards the door and slid along the smooth vinyl floor in that direction, showing off. The other young guns laughed with him.
Fred turned towards Ashton, holding out his hand. He liked this chap.
‘Hi! Thanks for that buddy. My name is Fred Thurman. I’m out of Chicago. How do you do?’ They shook hands, nodding at each other.
‘No problem. G’dday mate. Call me Ashton, Ashton Hani. I’m a local from up the road a bit. Up the peninsula, that is.’
‘And—, this is my pal Kirin. He’s a geologist — from California,’ Fred said nodding at the geopick hanging from Kirin’s hip.
‘Howdy,’ Ashton replied. They shook hands warmly.
‘I’m pleased to meet you. Thanks for your help,’ Fred Thurman said.
‘Thanks friend,’ Kirin added, nodding to Ashton.
‘No worries mate. Anytime,’ Ashton said, clasping Kirin’s hand tightly.