Phoenix Piping shrike Piping shrike Phoenix copyright 2010

Published by Piping shrike Bachelor of Arts Writing and Creative Communication

University of South Australia Magill campus St Bernards Road Magill SA 5072

Copyright remains with the individual authors. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the author's written permission.

ISBN

Editing team leader Kylie Pedler

Editing team Pru Axon Robert Bolton Nathan Giaccio Corinna lengo Kirstin Jenkins Kylie Pedler Ellayna Steele

Poetry editor Ellayna Steele

Author liaison Corinna lengo

Document layout Pru Axon and Kylie Pedler

Cover concept Kirstin Jenkins and Nathan Giaccio

Cover design and art Kirstin Jenkins

Proofreaders Pru Axon and Kylie Pedler

Publication Dr loan a Petrescu and Judith Ti money coordinators

Printed by Document services 1 Wilford Avenue Underdale SA 5032 I Contents

Foreword Whisper words of regret We only confess our little faults Almost Corinna lengo 10 A wonderful thought Lowana Freschi 66 Heaven and hell Corinna lengo 13 My whole new world Lowana Freschi 70 Tainted memories Corinna lengo 15 Home: Where your smile is Lowana Freschi 75 Someone knows Daniela Calvario Father in uniform Josephine McGinley 79 Aged eighteen years Christopher Brown 19 The frustrated angler Haze Goulden 80 Fire Alex Dunkin 25 The green fairy Pablo Muslera 86 Sins of my father Caitlin Bormann 26

Arthur Bradley The singing messman Alan Sheldon 31 As they came, they were gone Sail Edoardo Crismani 98

A light of unnerving clarity Dark lady Pablo Muslera 99

The bathhouse Alex Dunkin 105 A scene from a larger story called Cleansing Greystone Caroline McNulty 42 Happy birthday Zhia Zariko 106 Maggie Alex Dunkin 49 Hitchhiker Nick Mi Ide 111

Unwind me Edoardo Crismani 50

Frank and Cressida Edoardo Crismani 51 The ghostly hands emerged from the page Angels must be dancing Edoardo Crismani 58 Author biographies 126

Terms of endearment Amanda Perri 59 Foreword Robert Bolton on behalf of the editing team

'Creativity-Like human life itself - begins in darkness. ' -Julia Cameron

Welcome to Phoenix, the 2010 edition of Piping shrike, featuring the work of fifteen authors from the University of South Australia . Conceived in the darkness of creativity, Phoenix her a Ids the moment these new writers emerge into the light of publication.

These pieces will take you on a journey into the hearts and minds of the best writers that the University of South Australia has to offer. Prepare to take a plunge into a vast ·literary landscape, from the medieval romance of The bathhouse to the musings on humanity, death and forgiveness in the Sins of my father.

Legend has it that when a phoenix dies, it rises from the ashes. Similarly, our writers are rising from the vestiges of their student identities, ready 'Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth, the egg of the to take flight through darkness and light, weaving words of death, magic, phoenix' beauty and truth. Phoenix marks the beginning of this process of continued rebirth. - Christina Baldwin We would like to thank every author who contributed pieces towards this publication for their time and effort; without them, this Phoenix could not have risen .

We would further like to thank you, the reader; as your eyes carefully peruse these works, you give the characters life .

We hope you enjoy taking flight with Phoenix. 'Whisper words of regret' Almost Corinna Iengo

still have me to ru n back to? Is that why you did it? Or was I just not good The sun shines behind you, forming a halo around your once angelic face. enough for you? If I wasn't, I really wish you had been enough of a man to You whisper words of regret before mentioning t he good times we had 1 tell me instead of stringing me along like some chew toy you could turn to thinking that I will reminisce and run into your outstretched arms. Six months ago I would have done just that-six months ago I did do that. But when you got bored with your shiny new possessions. I'm not the gi rl I was back then. I was livi ng in a world un like my own, one You're talking to me now, saying something about missing me, and I'm where you we re the perfect prince who could do no wrong, regardless of surprised to find myself not caring about a single word that comes out of the evidence thrown my way. So when you stand t here, with that half smile our mouth. I focus instead on your face, on how easily you can he through that you know I adore and the sun shining around your form, I almost let ~our teeth, with only the slightest twitch to the left side of your mouth to myself believe that you may have changed this time. indicate that what you're saying is not entirely true. Suddenly I want to slap Almost. that smirk from your face, but I realise that I'm more angry at myself. It onl took me a couple of months to notice that expression as the signifier Your hand re aches out to meet mine, gently running yo ur finger over my of :lie, yet I chose to ignore it every single time, chastising myself for knuckles. This time I'm able to stay focused, knowing that the gesture is being paranoid and clingy. I promise myself that I will never.go against anything but innocent. Manipulation becomes you. I can see the gears my intuition again, and will trust tha.t voice in my. head 1mpl1c1tly, because turning behind your clouded eyes as you try to work you r way back in so that you won't have to be alone tonight. You're not afraid of losing me; although the t ruth hurts, ignorance 1s far from bliss. you're afraid of being alone. If another girl threw herself at you I have no I realise that I've been staring past you, rather than at you, and somehow doubt that you would swing her into your arms, turn your back on me and you've managed to stop picturing your own reflection long enough to walk into the sunset without a second thought. That's how little I mean to notice this. You're saying my name, and it suddenly occurs to me that I you, and that's how clueless I was to have wasted such precious moments absolutely despise that word coming off of your lips. I've always thought of my life on you. the way someone says your name can tell you everything that person. thinks about yo u, whether they say it with that slightest hint of d1sda1n .and I stood up for you, and I think that's what hurts the most. I chose not to a smile too wide, or if their eyes go bright with excitement and their voice believe my friends, people who had supported and loved me for years, goes up an octave. I want to kick myself when I hear how you say mine. because I needed to believe the best of you . I needed to believe that I had not wasted the last two years of my life being completely oblivious as you treated our relationship as nothing but an extended fling, finding new Cadence. You speak in a soft tone of voice that should be accompanied by.a shake gi rls at every corner. But I was wrong. I'd like to say that I was young and of your head, as though speaking to a child who has walked 1n with mud naive, but find that such an excuse is simply not good enough. Ignorance all over their clothes. And you have an exasperated loo k 1n your eye as you is unacceptable. I should have been able to figure it all out. I wou ld have if I wonder why I can't just agree with you. You're starting to get frustrated had been strong enough to pay attention, or wanted to analyse what I had because I'm not being as naive and obedient as I should be, after you have seen. Instead, I made justifications, defended you, created a world in my mind where you could do no wrong: a world where anything that happened put all that time into training me. was out of your control and you hated every moment of it. Suddenly there's a small box thrust into my hands, and I feel my heart stop at the thought of an engagement ring . My chest constricts at the But you didn't, did you 7 You found every moment of your betrayal more fear of having to reject you, or worse, at not being able to say no. All the enjoyable than the last because you knew you were getting away with it. times I imagined this moment speed through my mind, and I hate to think Did it add an extra thrill to know you could do something so wrong without that if this had happened a few weeks earlier I may have fo rced myself to any consequence? That you could have any girl you wanted at any time and

11 10 Heaven and hell Corinna Iengo

continue in this oblivion. I can feel panic creeping into my system. I close 'Are you from Tennessee? 'Cause you're the only ten I see!' my eyes, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves and release the air slowly creating a sense of inner peace that I thought I would never feel again. I ' somehow manage to force my lips upwards in a small smile that I'm sure comfort myself by realising that my fear of being unable to reject your 1 seems more like the grimace it wants to be, and wonder for the tenth proposal is irrational, now that I have grown and made my decision. I can, time how I ended up alone in a pub on a Saturday night. For a moment, of course, say no to you, and I no longer have any desire to marry such an obnoxious, self-centred, heartless excuse for a man. I remember the good old days when I had a boyfriend and my Saturday nights were permanently booked out to .spend time with him-until I realise that no, wait, that was the other three girls he was seeing. I open my eyes to find a strange expression on your face, one that I have never seen before-you're worried . You've finally begun to realise that I 'You know we're in Australia, right?' won't always be here, that I'm not your backup anymore. You were never I find the words escaping my lips before my brain can tell them to really my touchstone; you were far from my constant. Now I'm refusing to remember their manners. My mind suddenly decides it should make up for be yours, and that scares you. I almost feel sorry for you, and begin to feel this by showing me a scenario in which I'm running away from a large burly slightly guilty when I feel a giggle rise up in my chest. Your look of worry man yelling profanities at me and complaining about my rudene.ss. This quickly turns to confusion, and my guilt fades away as I realise that you're image also tells me that wearing my three-inch heels was a bad idea . getting out of this easily. You should be thankful that I'm not throwing your belongings out of a two-storey window or into a bonfire. 'Oh, you're a feisty one! I guess I can't blame you . You must be in a fair My lips turn into a smile, before breaking out into a full-blown grin and amount of pain.' . 'From what?' I ask, and immediately regret speaking as his smarmy smile I laugh softly, drop the box at my feet without bothering to see what's turns into a grin. inside, and turn on my heels. My smile only gets wider as I walk away from you . I hear you calling, wondering how or why I broke precedent, and 'Falling from heaven, of course,' he says, taking a step closer. mentally congratulate myself, knowing that this is one of those moments. 1take a step back. His hands reach toward me . I try my hardest not to A moment you always remember as making your life that much better. panic, but I do cringe, and the bartender sends me a sympathetic look. I A moment where you know that you've evolved, that you deserve better, can't decide whether I would prefer this stranger to emotionally scar me by that you can take your life into your own hands and make it what you want touching my skin or possibly ruin my favourite silk dress with the oil that I it to be . You call out my name once more, sounding more desperate than can practically see dripping out of his fingers. I've ever heard you, and I almost stop walking to hear what you have to say. Almost. Before I have a chance to make a decision or enforce my backup plan of running away, I feel his hands run over my shoulderblades. My disg.ust quickly turns to confusion as I wonder what the hell he could be doing. I stand perfectly still in a disturbing silence as I wonder what he could possibly try next.

'Oh, they're just shoulderblades.' Now I'm starting to wonder if this man bothered to attend grade five and try to back away from him discreetly. I turn my head slowly, attempting to find someone I know-it's a small city after all-and begin to wonder why I bother having friends if they can't bail me out of these kinds of

12 13 Tainted memories• Corinna Iengo

situations. The man, with what I can only assume to be a shou lderblade 7.08pm fetish, recaptures my attention with a sigh and shakes his head, as though 3 March 2010 Patient no. 23 975 disappointed. 'I was certain they had to be wings. I could even see your halo shining from Patient appears to suffer from Dissociative Amnesia, resulting across the room.' . . d of her life being replaced with fantasy. She has in a pen~ the memory of her husband's death and has filled represse 1 · d · ith I turn to stare at him with something akin to shock and disgust. I open my that gap with the before-mentioned ,antasy_mixe in w . mouth, make a noise that sounds li ke the beginning of a word, shut my actual events from the past. From the multiple conversations I have had with her-which she understands to be taking mouth and spin on my heels, realising that I don't have the patience to l "th a f,·iend-it appears that she believes herself to be in p ace wi · d t J · d she respond to this kind of torture in a way that won't end with him crying on a relationship with a man but not marne o nm, an the floor or chasing me down the street. Perhaps it's time I enrol in some fails to recognise her own children when they_visit. She has self-defence classes in case any of these imaginary attacks ever come true. no recollection of her wedding day and marriage, believing that she has only recently begun to date a man she met in a I make my way around the bar in the direction of the front door, figuring l b few months ago. From conversations with her family that my best option is to go home and watch some re-runs of Gossip Girl or ~~m~ers it has been determined that she did in fact meet her deceased husband at a club similar to the one she describes to Friends . I rule out Supernatural due to the horror I've already had to endure the hospital staff. . . tonight. I look away from the bar as I walk, attempting for the final time It is possible that her Dissociative Amnesia is slowly to locate the friend I came here with, before seeing a mop of strawberry­ regressing, as some of her behaviour is beginning to reflect her blonde hair attached to a woman attempting to unclip a stranger's tongue­ forgotten memories, such as twisting her fingers over the spot ring with her mouth. Yeah, that's probably her. Before I can consider telling where her wedding ring used to be-- her that I'm leaving-although clearly she wouldn't care-I find myself stumbling slightly backwards and turn to find the cause to be a male hand *** wrapped around my upper arm . The doctor jerks his head and jumps from his seat, alarm rising at the 'Sorry, ' he says, loo king sheepish. 'I didn't mean to make you stumble, but I scream from one of his nurses. He runs through the hallway and stops thought you might like this.' at the doorway of the scene, taking a moment to realise the irony of the He points to a glass that the bartender is currently pouring white wine into. situation. The patient he had just been writing about-who he thought was I find that I already have a smile on my face, simply because he didn't use a getting better-was the cause of the nurse's scream. cheesy pick-up line . 'I saw you with that guy over there; seemed like you might need a drink.' *** I sm il e widely and accept the drink, admiring his sparkling green eyes and messy chocolate curls . I take a sip, smiling when I taste Moscato on my I had hoped that the medication would have eased the pain slightly, but it tongue, and wait for him to introduce himself. hasn't. Guess that wasn't what the pills were for. They told me that I was_ 'Thanks, a drink is definitely in order.' sick, that /'d replaced some upsetting memo_ries with some happier, ,magmary 'I'm Ryan, by the way,' he says politely, holding out his hand. ones. They told me that one day the memones might come back-and today 'Cadence,' I reply, taking his hand in mine, and hoping above all hope that they have. / want them to go away again. The scent of blood mvades my he turns out to have as attractive a personality as he does looks. Guess nostrils, and my eyes squeeze tightly shut as though trymg to protect me there's only one way to find out. from the vision in my mind, but fail to do so.

15 14 r

*** memories simply can't erase the other ones, the ones that I am too weak to 'No!' handle. It doesn't matter anymore; these memories will disappear. The side What was meant to be a p · f I of my mind that I was supporting has already won. I have forced my body to she looked at the bl . a1n u scream came out as a hoarse whisper as side with my wishes, and although I'm not particularly religious Ifind myself her sleeve, the imag:~~~;a;nee~e:~~\herb~ping her eyes ferociously with praying that I don't go to Hell. breath causing her physical and emotio:aJ ~artracked With sobs, each *** *** Her head burned with such intensity that her vision swam. Once stationary objects danced around her as though mocking her attempts to save him. _eyes to open and meet the glare of the white linoleum floor before t;:;/:Z She gently shook her husband, wanting nothing more than to look into his on my ski~~:::a~::~~::~1::~br.eautiful and horrific contrast of the colours ever enthusiastic green eyes, and felt her heart break into pieces when the wound i . J ascmates me: the way ,t rushes out of the eyes that looked back at her were a dull grey. She lay over his body, the cold first pla:~~i::~;~;;~u:n:i:~:~:~;~ 0::~;:~ ~ b:trapped there in the pavement beneath him, praying that her life would be taken with his. amusement that I had an , notmg with dry find that 11·k ·t I never appreciated my pale complexion before but ' e I now. t contrastspe-r. ti · h h · ' *** slightly stick b . lj ec y wit t e gbttering crimson of the creating a w:,5;f::~i~~e a;:i~:t;;~:rnits way through my hospital gown, The sharp bursts of pain Ifelt a moment ago have left almost as quickly as they had appeared, replaced with a dull ache that eventually leaves my arms *** feeling numb. Ifeel my heart begin to stow in my chest-a strange feeling, something I realise I'd never thought about before. I'd always associated my Her wounds continued to bl d I I f . heart with my emotions, a notion that seems ludicrous to me now, as I realise her me . t h . ee , sow y arming a river between him and that the unsteady beat of my heart attempting to pump the remaining blood spi;its t~g~~ie~~~:eer in between the two as though trying to join their around my body is the only thing keeping me alive. It seems like all the air in g again, even though the barrier of inevitable death was t oo strong to break She t · d t . the room has somehow been taken away from me, and my eyes widen as I behind her as she crawl~d tow~~d t:e~~~~~~~:~~him, ~ragging her legs begin to panic, momentarily regretting my decision. My eyelids are fluttering, hand prints to glimmer in the moonlight. over, eav1ng crimson and I notice that everything seems enhanced in the moment that I take what I believe to be my final breath. Ifeel my eyelashes press against my skin; I hear *** voices murmuring in the hallway; Ifeel as though the air that I can't seem to inhale is now prickling up against my skin; I see more blood than I have ever seen shimmer with an almost painful intensity, before Ifeel my body give up ~~i;~~ !:/:0~~! r:~~:~i:;!:ft i~:~si0:;!~~1:i~ng m;, ~or letting these on me, and/ sense my victory. ~:::~fsh trying _to correct me, my mind plays ave~ so::; oft~~ ;:e~t~:tem. adult for ti;~~{~~;.h:~ I b~oke up with my first boyfriend and felt like an beaut,;"ul d I ' en met Ryan and everything seemed perfect· the 'J' ress wore on my wedd. d h 1' ' came into this world· th mg ay; t e sound of my son crying as he pray that they l/ r.' _e bouncy curls of my gorgeous daughter. I silently w1 1org,ve me, that they'll understand that these good

16 17 Someone knows Daniela Caluario Aged eighteen years Christopher Brown

As a little boy weeps into his covers Someone knows who killed his mother. 11 June 2010 As a father sends his daughter to pla y No-one knows the true meaning of purpose anymore. We all Someone knows she won't return that day just walk about, searching for God, love, money, a cause. It is As a girlfriend cries broken-hearted · all the same. There's no difference between the things we want, Someone knows why the argument started or even the things we want bad enough to pretend that we need And as innocents ask, 'What's going on?' · them. Someone knows who triggered the bomb. As he silently sits by the hospital bed Pay close attention to the fact that I write 'we'. I'm exactly the Someone knows why she was left for dead. same as everyone else. I'm not trying to point out all the things As a family farewells their only son that have gone wrong and change the world; I'm just searching. Someone knows why war has begun. Michael J Lawrence-Washed up Rock Star And when we ask, 'Who creates the world's foes?' For each and every one . . . · Someone knows. Michael read over the closing one last time, clicked a mouse button and pushed the laptop, that the hotel had supplied at his request, back on the desk. The laptop twisted slightly as it slid backwards, and as Michael's eyes relaxed they focused not on the image that the screen displayed but on the reflection that appeared on it. 'Aged eighteen years,' he read aloud and then looked at the bottle of Chivas Regal to his right.

'Call first,' he said as, rubbing his eyes, he reached for his mobile. He pressed the call button twice without looking at the phone. First on the recent calls list was the name Ricky. 'Good afternoon, Shining Light Agency, Jane speaking. How can I help you today?' A voice with unnaturally proper pronunciation spoke. 'Yeah, it's Michael Lawrence. Can I speak to Ricky?' 'Certainly, just hold one moment please, Mr Lawrence.'

Michael put the phone back on the desk, poured a greater than standard measure of scotch, downed it and poured another before picking the phone back up. Still, he waited a few seconds before a familiar voice cried into his ear.

'Micki Li ke clockwork buddy-I could set my watch by you, mate. Sent this week's column?' 'Emailed it a minute ago,' Michael said with no discernible warmth. 'Great! I'll have it proofed and send it straight off. Is it a good one?'

19 . d it at the same time. He was trapped, shackled-no, 'Good enough; nice and cynical so the editor should be happy.' He hated it a~ lo~~ed and only by his own will . Heading towards the city 'Well, that's why they hired you,' Ricky said, emphasising 'you'. not shackled bod t e'et after street on the city grid, and words began to 'Yeah, that's why they hired me,' said Michael as he hung up the phone. centre, he crosse s r d . to a fashionably small and dark cafe, the · h. mind He steppe in form in is . s that they are indistinguishable from one *** kind that are now so numerou another. Michael took a deep breath as he stepped out of the hotel lobby; the chill in . I hot no sugar, he said as he took a table number, 'and the air was refreshing after the stuffy heat of his room. He had asked if the 'Large latte, tnp es , ot one' of those fancy glasses-coffee tastes heat could be turned down but was bluntly informed that, 'the hotel has to put it in a takeaway cup, n cater primarily for tourists who prefer warmer rooms to return to while on better from cardboard.' their holidays, and not for those individuals who for questionable reasons table in a suitably dark corner and sat down, removing from his choose to make the hotel their place of residence on a more permanent He found ak t small black leather bound notebook. In an untidy hand he basis'. It wasn't the first time it had been hinted that his presence in the breast poc e a hotel was not entirely welcome. began to write. we build our cities as homage to Jesus? Hundreds of crosses It was late afternoon and a light misty rain fell, just enough for a trickle ~:atly lined up. Are we city dwellers, by our own willll eructed of water to run in the gutter, flowing into a drain at Michael's feet with a upon these crosses we make? Should our addresses a rea t f sound like a man pissing into a toilet bowl. At least this was what Michael Golgotha? History is a social construct, as is every other Pr t . g Who can say that religion is not? Who can say t a likened it to. He found an amusing link to the appropriateness of a label he our bein . G d2 had heard this city given many times: shithole. each and eve ry one of us isn't, in part, o . . d a notebook He had always written. His writing Michael looked to his left and right, and for a second he wondered why he He had a Iways carne · b t' He used was out of the hotel and on the street. What was he doing7 He chuckled nearly always .started like this-:-~uest::~~~~sgetdh~r :e s:~ab~~;;~ the world, quietly to himself at the realisation that he had become so ingrained in his to turn the writing into songs, in o so , routine that he had showered, dressed and left the hotel without a second thought was important. Not anymore. thought about what he was doing or where he was going. It was Friday, and this was what he did on a Friday. It always began the same way, and it Michael read over this one short passage a dozen time.s more. Then he always ended the same way. ordered another coffee . He read over the p.assage again. He ordere~ a focaccia with chicken, olives, onion, capsicum and cheese. It wasn t It was too early for the bars to offer any interest so Michael headed for particularly good. He had finished eating it and was still looking a~ ~e d the cafe district. The rain seemed to hang in the air for just a few seconds tebook open upon the table in front of him. He picked it up an ippe longer than it should, forcing Michael and everyone else on the streets to ~~ the ba~k of the book. The paper lining of the back cover was ope~ at hang their heads just a few degrees lower than they would on any other the spine edge, and a square mound could be seen under~~ ~~~~as~~;:nd day. A bell rang and he lifted his gaze as the steel-on-steel grind of wheel his thumb over the mound. A moment later he snapped t on track filled his mind for a moment. But as the tram moved off, the looked at his watch. It was 8 pm. Perhaps now, the bars may hold some sound was quickly replaced by another which seconds before he hadn't suitable quarry. consciously noticed-the mumble of the 'suits' as they headed out for their clo se-of-business drinks. Michael sighed and wa lked on, savouring the oppression that emanated from them, from everything around him . 21 20 'Got a light?' she finally asked. *** 'Don't smoke,' he said, turning to face her. Her straight, black hair framed a pretty face paled by makeup a few shades Cars mo_ved slowly along the crowded street, music blaring from their I. ht making it look as if she was trying to be someone different than stereos 1n a competition of 'coolness'. Michael liked none of it. The section too 19 , . · who she was. Her eyes narrowed slightly, showing confusion. . ohhe road which he walked along held all of the popular pubs and clubs. 'Funny you look like a smoker.' She turned to face him, leaning her nght Michael was headed for the far end of the road, where it was darker and elbow ~n the bar. 'And you were always smoking on the cover of your less crowded._It was there that he would find somewhere interesting to spend some time, he was sure. He had no particular venue in mind but albums.' knew that he wou ld eventually find one that looked appealing. It h~ppened Part of Michael always expected this, so it wasn't a big shock that she knew sooner than he had thought it would . who he was. He turned back to his drink before replying. 'Yeah, it was kind of my thing. Quit ten years ago though. But the people Pink neon buzzed above his head: The Black Cat. They say never let a black want what the people want and, more importantly, the lab_el wants what cat cross your path. Michael wasn't one to ever do as 'they' say. Michael the label wants. They thought that if people knew I had quit they would loved a challenge; he saw this irony as a challenge. Tempting fate, he think I'd gone soft. I posed with a lit cigarette for my last two albums. Not ascended the small flight of steps before him. A blackboard on his left had the evening's line-up scrawled upon it in chalk. Michael remembered his that anyone bought them.' own name being written on similar boards out the front of small venues 'My mum did,' she said with a wry smile. then on billboards above larger venues, and then nowhere. ' Michael laughed. He'd heard this before. 'Well did you?' she asked. 'Go soft I mean?' .. As soon as he entered and heard the noise the band was trying to pass 'Are ~ou talking about me, my music or my penis?' Michael asked, ra1s1ng an off as music, Michael had grave doubts he would ever see the band's eyebrow. 'The answers are 'yes', 'yes' and 'definitely not 1' He knew this was name again. It was sloppy post-punk with the same four chords in the the way she wanted to turn the conversation, but this wasn't what he was same progression that a thousand bands had played before. There were approximately fifteen twenty-somethings on a dance floor that-only searching for anymore. because.of the_spars_eness of bodies-looked larger than it really was. They 'That's my boyfriend's band,' she said gesturing to the stage. 'He loves your were trying to Jump 1n time to the music. They had little hope-the band couldn't even keep in time with each other. Michael wanted to leave but music too.' . . 'Well, 1 certainly don't love his,' Michael said, as he stood and drained his he also wanted a drink. It was his second desire that won the mome~t. glass. · 'H 'He's playing 'ti! ten you know,' she said, taking a step towards him. e 'Chivas on the rocks, a double,' he ordered, taking a seat at the almost wou ldn't notice if I was gone for a whi le .' empty bar. 'He'll notice that you're gone one day,' he said, and smiled as he walked He repeated this twice more in the next half-hour to bar staff that served beer to various tattooed and pierced patrons in between, and then a girl past her, heading for the exit. came and stood at the bar beside him. ***

She was looking at him with a half smile as she chewed on a straw. Michael Back in his hotel room Michael sat at the desk and poured the last of the tried to ignore her in that way that is impossible to do when you know bottle of scotch into his glass. In front of him the small black notebook sat someone is watching you. She ordered a scotch and dry. Michael liked closed. He emptied the glass and opened the notebook to the last page. people who drank scotch; he had something in common with them. 23 22 Fire Alex Dunkin

Sliding his left thumb inside the open edge of the lining he removed a Dragon's breath strikes the horizon folded piece of paper. Michael carefully unfolded it; it was crumpled and From my window I see it had ye llowed slightly. Once it had been torn down the centre, but had since Feel it lick the homes been repaired with sticky tape . The writing upon the paper was smudged in Of blinded souls places, and there were round marks here and there into which the ink bled Destruction for construction making the words hard to read . But Michael didn't need to be able to read 1 the words to know what they said. Devouring the skies Threatening 15 January 1992 Burning Warming Dear Michael, Silence of night If this is truly the life that you desire then I cannot be part of We lcomes the sight it with you. However, I want you to /mow that I do love you, or This glow of a distant city loved you. The latter depending upon how long it tooh you to notice that I was gone. Oh so many lights.

Regrettable goodbyes, Christine

A round mark appeared upon the paper over the word 'regrettable', into which the ink bled.

25 24 Sins of my father Caitlin Bormann

*** I sink into the snow, the first of the season, breathing white air into the heavy fog as I walk . I tap the snow-laden trees as I trundle onward through I can still remember it now, the day lfsimply leart l;~ek:;~~~~~~h~~:ves the forest, watching the glistening particles fall to their deaths. I can smell nd at the few sullen aces, peop e the thickness of winter in the air, sense its we ight on nature. I can hear 1 ~:~r;.a~~e~~~~h tastes like cucumber. It's all I canhthin~;bo~~~~:st~~~~e the faint sound of planes overhead. I know I'm not supposed to be outside here In this place. At this moment. I stare at t ego en today, but it is early and I feel safe. ~:ket shining in the sunlight as the body is given to the earth below.

I continue on in search of any movement. The gun I have taken from the bl ftly 'That's my dad in there'. sitting room cabinet trembles on my shoulder, its barrel heavy and frozen, 1 ~~~~:~~::::~~ ~~~ ;::~~'9 i~t~ml d~~~ ev~n know if I'm supposetdhto be as I amble through the slippery white terrain. But it is far too cold, and I am upset because I'm not sure I can be. Knowing is a very dangerous ing. sure the war has robbed this region of any life too-untouched, it appears.

I see it leap, a small flash of grayish brown, and as I lower myself onto the I t~ougahntdh~u~~:t~:~~~~~ ~/:~_bi~~\;ta:e~;~~~;~~~t~~~ f:rs~~:s~d~~~t snow I see it is a rabbit. I look through the black lines of the cross hair and ra 10, "th all the answers. We believed in this man, a ore study where they intersect on the soft flank of the animal that is spattered only hope, one man w1 with snow, like a cake dusted with icing sugar./ can do this, I tell myself him, needed him. repeatedly in my head . I can do this. It must be done. If Father can do it, so I can still remember the crispness of my father's uniform: brand n:;:d can I. It must be true ... no, it can't be. He wouldn't do those things. I don't want to ... I don 't- ::;~:~~; :;:v,~:1:~';:~:~~~tf:iii~£::~I;;:,!'.'.:: :::, The shot is fired before I'm even aware of it. It is perfect; dead on. I watch circle sat on a re an on b her telling me he mother's face as she kissed him goodbye; I reme_m er elieved keenly as the rabbit slumps into the snow. Slowly, I put the gun down . As wou ld come back from his 'duty' victorious. I believed her, and she _b I do, I begin to feel quite unwell. I stand up as pin pricks of light begin to h·m I waved him off down the road, pride beaming from the gaflps in my cloud my vision, tears lining my eyelids. I run towards the dead animal. But 1 · . f th my teacher my 1n uencer, crooked teeth. I even saluted him: my a er, ' when I get there, it isn't dead. The bullet is inside; I can see the stream of my best friend. I was only six years old. I could not have known. blood lea king from the wound-my wound, the wound I made. *** The stressed animal is still breathing, rapidly, frantically. I can't believe what I've done. Shaking, I reach for the ruined creature. I try to cradle the The stories began. Whispers spread, painting shoe~ ~~~s~i:~~;~r~:~h:!d rabbit as I gently pick it up. I' ve destroyed a life. I'm as numb inside as I am d dult alike I don't know what came over me. f h from the snow on my bare legs. There I sit, crying and shivering, stroking :;ue~if they c~uld possibly be believed-I couldn't even dream my at er the warm, delicate ears of the creature I am killing . I want to reach into its would have any part in it. Not my father, not my hero. side and dig the bullet out; I want to make it go away. But I know I can't do that. So there I sit, cross-legged in the snow, the rabbit's limp form strewn But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to beHke hhim. Surely across my lap . I stroke its little head, as death seeps in. d S I father wou ld only be doing w at was 'I'm sorry,' I whisper again and again, as its warm red life drips out onto the usi~; ~i~~ :~ltl i~:; 't~~~'(!:e~e a problem; 1 had been taught th_at since icy snow. ~y fi.rst day of school. I can't know until I try it myse_lf, ~e:t th1n~~nhg~lp Maybe witnessing the exact moment a soul lea ves its o y wou

27 through veins? What made their brains less worthy of sending messages to me understand. I needed to know what it felt like . So that day in the snow bodies to make them laugh, work, sleep, cry or sing? What made them so I killed that innocent rabbit. Just a rabbit, not even anything real, not compared to a human life, not compared to the six million. I think that's much less precious? when it all began. 1 refused to try and make sense of it and instead opted to exist in a state of tormented delirium.\ watched my father's hands and thought about what *** they might have done, what they might have touched. At school\ let the rumours flood my mind: the stories I had heard and collated and dwelled I think back now as I stand here at his funeral and I remember the distant upon and been haunted by all those times since the war ended. black smoke billowing in a cloud of death into the sky. My mother and I were driving on the outskirts of Krakow one day, and I remember her Nobody talked about it, but at the same time, everybody did. It was like remarking on how unusual it appeared-the thickness of it and the way it an illness we were ashamed to admit we had , When he darned my socks, left the faintest, most peculiar scent in the air, even from all those miles I didn't see him mending. Instead, I saw him piercing and threading the away. I remember the way her mind changed, and her decline in health skin of identical twin children, sewing their small backs together, binding . when my father returned home years later. That's when I learnt it was true. them for a medical experiment, just to see how long it took for the.m to die. But I think all ~long everybody knew the truth of the situation, deep down. I knew it might not have been him, but what I also knew, was that it Just They Just d1dn t want to believe something that awful could be real. might have been. I heard him defending himself one day to my mother. 'Two for the price of one. See, Son, you've got to look out for these things. 'I've denounced everything, Brigitta, everything! I'm a free man I It's all Be good with your money, you know?' he said to me one day in the gone; it's over-it doesn't mean anything anymorel' But I understood why she did it. A child of merely ten, though I was, I supermarket where he worked. recognised her need to be free-her repulsion, her desperation. It left me I smiled and lifted my eyebrows to show my detached appreciation of his not only alone, but, more than that, it left me afraid. thriftiness. But inside\ thought of him being thrifty with bullets, shooting through a child into its mother. Two for the price of one; two lives for one That spring, all those years ago when he went away, my father died. When bullet. \ knew he might not have, but again, I knew he might have . he returned, his heart kept beating and his eyes kept blinking. He ate and he drank and he joked. He worked hard and he looked after his only son. Then there were the stories of the good ones; the men who refused to But he was dead. As dead as the piles of grey-skinned skeletons he had succumb to the evil. Stories of men who gave them sausages secretly helped to make every day for so long. through the slats of the wooden walls of the dormitories; s.tories of men who were surreptitiously kind, whilst simultaneously wearing a pseudo Sometimes at night, I crept down the passageway towards the black mask of evil around their fellow officers. I wanted to think my father was doorway of his room-a dark opening into something sinister-a black one of these men.\ desperately wanted to believe this was true. I even hole I was afraid I would fall into . I stood there at the entrance-just stood tried to imagine it at night when\ lay in bed, haunted and afraid. But even there-sometimes for an hour at a time, watching his chest rise and fall in decades after the war, the hatred I saw in him towards those people was the light through the moonlit curtain. so real, fervent and alive . I knew he cou ldn't possibly have been capable of doing a single nice thing for any of those wretched souls. Not my father. He scared me . He really did . I wondered what gave him the right to breathe and not the others. I knew why they couldn't live, but I did not-could not-understand it. What made their hearts less worthy of puQ1ping blood 29 28 Arthur Bradley The singing messman Alan Sheldon At school, Thomas Dietrich and K rt Id h stories but the pr;blem w I k u cou ave been great inventors of I was born in Leeds, England, 22 September 1919. My father was a d. ' as new too much . It was this knowin th t policeman and my mother was a nurse . I had an older brother, an older sister, and two younger brothers. We emigrated when I was four years ~;:u:i~ady::~~b/~~~:sa;~:~~~:~~~1h1 ~onk: :~; :t~~s~~:;~h; f:ther midnight blackness to throw up. I didn't let h. t h . ugh the old to Busselton, Western Australia . My father, who was a prisoner of war and kept tom self in . _im ouc me; I grew distant in World War I, passed away when I was ten. When I was twelve I wou ld ordin y my teenage yea rs. His Job of packing groceries was wa lk three miles home from school and then have to work on the farm . I to goafirydenobugh,llhum-drum, _inconspicuous-the exact job he'd been told n - ut a I saw was him p k. h cut three barrow loads of maize, carried it to the shed, put it through the couldn't control my mind, and I di;~'t1:~~:~ ~n top ;f mass graves. I chaff cutter, fed and milked the cows, fed the pigs, pumped water to fill the he'd taken enough li ves. He wasn't taking mi~~ /;;:_ve away at sixteen; water troughs, had tucker if I was lucky, then went to bed. It wasn't much of a life.

*** I left school when I was thirteen and had many farm jobs, usually making around five pence a week, sometimes just working for my tucker. Bread ~~ hre I stand at the grave of my father, anaesthetised and callous e dunny cucumber taste resonates. I wonder what he thought of~ I and dripping, bread and plum jam, bread and condensed milk or bread and won er what he thought I k I . e. butter were common meals. I bought a bike and rode from town to town, y t . new. wonder if he questioned what I believed working, living in a tent, sleeping on a chaff bag. I had a job digging wells p:rh:~: ~;rc~i:.1d he mention it. He chose silence. Perhaps for my sake, . with grown men twice my size. I got a job working in a bakehouse in Mount Magnet. After leaving the bakehouse I hitched a ride to Fremantle. Even all this time later ft f correspond I' , a er :ears o automated pleasantries and polite I was living in my sister's house with no job, no money, no direction; the ence, m certain Ive not forgiven him. I'm not sure one ever one thing that saved me was the breakout of war. I heard you could make a ~~~~~-oNo-onTehstoodd at their graves and cried for them. So I won't give him nour. at ay 1n the snow chang d I k pound a week in the service. That was a lot of money back then-I thought ~hat it felt like to take a life. I've never s:ot ::~th::~~~e;~::t :::~~:w I would be rich. I joined the RAAF on 15 April 1940; I was twenty-o ne years never want to have to feel that way again. You can't un-know ,'.m just a old. I didn't have a trade or much of an education, so I joined the service as a messman working out of the kitchen. I did my rookies in Perth and was death is all too repugnant, and life is just too dear to waste :~~:~~n~ni~~s then posted to Adelaide .

After being stationed in Adelaide for six months I was given my corporal stripes and promoted to a Leading Aircraftman. A few weeks later, one warm night in November, three mates and I decided to take a trip down to Glenelg on the tram, just to see what we could find. We came across four or five girls sitting on the lawn in Colley Reserve just behind Glenelg Town Hall.

This'll do us, I thought, as we sat down and started chatting with the girls . I started talking to one in particular; she wasn't bad at all, but I kept noticing this quiet little girl out of the corner of my eye, with the most beautiful honey-blonde hair, shy, not talking to anyone.

30 31 At around eleven o'clock I said to the boys, 'We better get moving,' as we had to be back at the barracks by one minute to midnight. I stood up, left An hour after we boarded the boat at Darwin's wharf the place was t.he g1d I had been talking to all evening, walked straight over to the quiet bombed. Someone must ha ve been looking after us. little girl with the honey-blonde hair, grabbed her hand and pulled her up onto her feet. on the way to New Guinea we stopped at Horn Island'. which is just off the coast of Queensland. It was covered in pearl shells which were full of little She turned out to be the sister of the girl I had been talking to. We didn't ginger ants. We also stopped anhursday Island; there wasn't much there, say a lot. I walked her to the tram. I walked her home, and then I headed aside from an airstrip and seemingly m1ll1ons of flying foxes. back to the.barracks. She confessed many years later that she thought I was quite b1gheaded and 'loved myself'. However, it couldn't have put her A few days later we landed at Merauke, Dutch New Guinea-I was closer to off too much. the war than ever before. The first thing I saw when I got off the boat was just one shop with two giant holes on either side and the remains of bnck The following week the boys and I went back to Glenelg to a dance at the chimneys. Our camp was about three ki lometres away from Merauke, and town hall and the girls were there. That quiet little girl and I started going what a place for a camp it was. The place was mostly water, with Just a few together. Around a year later, we got engaged, and a year after that we trees sticking up here and there. Our camp had to be built up with sand and were married on 14 November 1942. I was posted to Darwin three months we fashioned a makeshift airstrip out of big sheets of steel. Apparently this later and had to leave my new wife behind. was normal.

I was sent to the Allied Air Force Base in Batchelor, ninety-eight kilometres The biggest shock of all, however, was the mosquitos. There were millions south of Darwin, to again work in the mess hall. There, I got to know one of them: little grey ones with dark stripes on them, and big black ones that chap with a motorbike; he was a DonR, a Dispatch Rider. He offered me a we called dive-bombers. They were about a quarter of an inch in length chance to learn how to ride his bike, which Ijumped at-I had grown tired and their stinger was just as long; they would hover about two feet above of working in the mess hall. I learnt how to ride the motorbike and soon you, then dive down and sting you. You had to wear long-sleeved shirts at became the squadron's new DonR. My mate became a mechanic, which all times in camp-it was the la w. One day I broke the law. It was warm, was lucky, becaus.e when riding his bike I used to bust it up frequently, and and pouring with rain, so I decided to stand outside next to .my tent and he spent a lot of time repairing it. The other mechanics used to say that have a shower. Of course an officer caught me, and my punishment was to he must be 'a hell of a bike rider', seeing as he was always working on the walk around the camp spraying mosquitos with a giant pack of mosquito motorbike-they didn't know that it was me busting it up. spray on my back. It didn't do much good. I don't think I killed any of the bastards. As a DonR, I delivered messages from the radio station at our camp to other camps, usually each day at two o'clock in the afternoon. I never We didn't have much to eat in New Guinea; we only had canned meat, knew what they said . I wasn't interested in knowing what they said; Ijust canned vegetables, powdered egg and powdered milk. When I got to delivered them. I had to deliver my first message to Darwin. The cog on the Townsville on my way home after the war I couldn't drink enough fresh motorbike wore out, but I'm sure that one wasn't my fault. milk. Occasionally we'd get a cake from the Red Cross, but it would be rock hard. The Yankees who had a camp nearby, would fly to Townsv1lle every 1 Ever since the first bombing of Darwin in 1942, the Japanese had continued now and then to get buckets of ice-cream. Americans love their ice-cream. to bomb the hell out of the place. Batchelor was usually situated under low-hanging cloud or smoke which ruled it out as a target. Six months after We were the No 12 Squadron and the dive-bomber we used, The Vultee being sent to Darwin I was posted to New Guinea. A-31 Vengeance, was the biggest single-engine plane in the war. One of our cos, Scotty, had painted 'You've gotta be quick' on the side of his 32 33 -

..J

plane- good advice, '.felt.One night I had to take my turn guarding one of them. Boy, what a Job. It was pitch black and I was standing next to this When Jwas stationed in Adelaide we would go to the pictures on Thursday big deathly looking plane. I couldn't help but think that a Japanese so li der n1g· hts . They showed double features at Hindmarsh and St Peters, mostlyh "Id of could sneak up on me at any moment. I was glad when the night was over. John Wayne films like Stagecoach, Shepherd of the hills, and Reap t e wt wind. In New Guinea we had to travel about a mi le away from our camp There was a big river near our camp; it must have been around five to a little open air pictures. It was surrounded with coconut t_rees and you hundred yards wide. Eventually I couldn't resist any longer. Three mates had to take your own seat. I would ride my bike there sometimes after I and I decided we would try and cross the river to find out what was on the had finished for the day. They on ly ever played Mi_ckey Rooney and Jud; other side. On our day off, we wandered down to the river and discovered Garland musicals, films like Babes in arms and Stnke up the band. I d1dn t a big wooden canoe tied up to the bank. It must have been about twenty go much for them; I would have preferred Stuart Granger, RobertTaylor, feet long-exactly_ what we needed! So in we got, and started to paddle. Jeanette MacDona ld, Nelson Eddy and, of course, John Wayne. We were going quite we ll until we got about halfway across. Suddenly the damn canoe started to turn around and around in circles. There was no One evening after arriving at the pictures I took out my .38 revolver and going further across. We managed to frantically paddle back to our side of fired a shot into the air-having suddenly felt the urge to show off-which the river, right back to where we had started. Disheartened, we noticed a gave everyone a jolt. A few seconds after I had fired the shot, a coconut fell chap in a proper motorised dinghy, so we hid in the scrub until he had tied to the ground from one of the trees towering above me. 1t up, then we borrowed it. There wasn't much else to do with your t ime off other than go to the We had another go at crossing the river, and this time we were successful. pictures. Sometimes I would make rings out of wood or metal which There was a missionary on the other side and many huts. Once the natives the boys would buy for two shillings and sixpence. One day we amused _had seen us we noticed a number of young girls being pulled hastily back ourselves by playing a prank on my mate, Tubby Morgan. I staged a into their homes, but of course, we wouldn't have hurt a fly. The biggest quick-draw contest with another mate, Ray Hollister, where I removed the man I had ever seen walked out from one of the huts carrying a bundle of gunpowder from a bullet, put it back in his revolver, and then caUed Tubby spears on his shoulder. He looked at us, then strolled 1 off into the jungle. over to watch the contest. When Hollister drew, he pulled the trigger and That was enough for us. We returned to the dinghy, crossed the river, and J dropped to the ground pretending I had been shot. Tubby frantically_tore returned it to where we had found it. down the track to get the medical officer, but we managed to catch him before he could . We had frightened the life out of the poor fellow. We called the native men 'headhunters'. They would always carry a spear, and wore nothing aside from a shell to conceal their manhood-a big Sometimes J would borrow a rifle and go shooting in the jungle with shell. The women wore nothing, but were almost completely covered with varying degrees of success. On one of these occasions, rifle in hand, it white powder. When delivering a message on my motorbike one day J seemed as if the jungle had gone completely quiet. As I pushed through the came across a group of natives blocking my path. Not knowing what'to trees I was aware that J couldn't hear any birds, and there were no wild pigs do, I revved my bike as loud as I could. They calmly stepped aside and let around. J approached a large clearing and suddenly heard a cacophony of me pass without saying a word. There was a young lad who always used to noise in the distance. I crept through the clearing and was eventually faced hang around camp and we'd play games with him and tell him stories. We with a lagoon seemingly covered with a blanket of wild ducks . I carefully gave him a pair of boots once; they were huge, but he loved them and we Jay down, aimed toward the ducks and started shooting as fast as I could. I always laughed when he trudged into camp wearing these giant boots. had to carry sixteen ducks back to camp-they were quite heavy.

34 35 a few more men came in late wanting dessert. The CO threatened to put_ The next day the CO approached me in the yard and told me that he had Moggy on a charge for throwing away the leftovers, so I threatened_to hit heard about my duck shooting. I thought I may be in trouble again and that the co. 1 was put on a charge and sent to a detention camp in Kesw_1ck for I would have to spray the entire camp with mosquito spray, but I wasn't. two weeks, working in the mess hall there, doing exactly the same Jo_b I He asked me if I wanted to have the day off to shoot ducks for him with his was already doing. The day I got out an officer came up to me and ~~1d, shotgun. Of course, I jumped at the chance. At the end of the day, I had 'They could put you in jail, Brad, but they couldn't stop you singing. brought twenty-four ducks back for him. He was as pleased as punch. One day a bloke from the newspaper came to the barracks; he took ph~tos We rarely heard from home while we were in New Guinea; there were no and interviewed people. A caricature of me ended up 1n The Advertiser, The newspapers and not even much word from the frontline. When we did singing mess man Arthur Bradley,' it said 'Glamour! Hu h! This boy has_oomph!' get letters from home we would get two or three at once, and for all we I'm not sure about the '00mph' part, but they certainly got the singing knew our replies took weeks to make it back home. We were so isolated out there surrounded by jungle; I had to keep my sanity somehow, and so 1 part right. sang my way through the war. In New Guinea we were sometimes allowed to play record s over the loud speaker in camp; this used to give the boys a chance for a good singalong. It was back on the cattle station, when I was fifteen, that I realised I could An officer needed some kerosene for his lamp once and tried to get some sing. I was on the horse one day, bringing the cows in to milk, when I out of a truck in the yard. He lit a match to see how much was in the tank, started singing 'The bonnie banks o'Loch Lomond' and thought gee this managed to set the truck on fire, and blew it up. From then on someone d I d I I oesn t soun too bad1 I've been singing ever since. Songs like : 'I love you' would always play 'I don't want to set the world on fire' by The Ink Spots by Pe_rry Como, 'New San Antonio rose' by Bing Crosby, and 'Bluebird of when we were allowed to play records. Sometimes we would sit at the . happiness' by Nelson Eddy were a few of my favourites. end of the strip with Tubby and I singi ng and Fred Middiford playing banJo. No matter what I was doing-delivering messages, cooking, working at I entered a singing contest down at South Beach, Fremantle, when I moved 1n with my sister after leavin g the cattle station. I sang an old Enrico Caruso camp-singing made it bearable. song, 'Ave Maria' I think it was, and I won. It didn't take long for me to 1 had been stationed in New Guinea for six months when one afterno_on realise that I could entice girls with this singing ability. Wa lking home one 1 rode my bike up to the end of the airstrip and found a mate wandering day, I stopped outside a private girls' school and sang them Mario Lanza around. We sat down on a log near the end of the strip and started talking. tunes through the windows-they seemed to li ke it. Not long after, a truck full ofYankee soldiers came tearing along. 'There's a ra id on'' they yelled out as they passed us. At the barracks in Adelaide, I would sing all the time while working in we had heard that yarn before and took no notice; however, I looked up the mess hall. There was a door at the end of the mess hall which led and saw some planes approaching us. to another building. One day I could hear giggling in there, so I looked through the keyhole and discovered a room fu ll of girls! I sang through the I said to my mate, 'Look, there's half-a-dozen two-engine planes coming'. keyhole to get their attention and ended up going out on a date with one 'We haven't got any two-engine planes,' he said. 'They're Japs1' of them. But when I found out that she lived quite far away, in Ga wler, I decided not to see her again. Boy did we move! I left my bike behi nd and we sprinted towar~ the trees without thinking. We were almost to the trees when we heard cl1ck-click, The first time I got into trouble was at the barracks in Adelaide. My mate click-click'. That must be the bomb doors opening, I thought. We dove into Moggy and I were working and had made rhubarb for dessert. When everyone had finished Moggy threw away the leftovers. All of a sudden, 37 the tree line, then 'boom-boom, boom-boom'-bombs had hit the strip. 1never saw combat, although I was almost blown up. Your life real ly does I turned around-the planes were diving and had just started to pull up flash before your eyes when you're about to kick the bucket, or at least before hitting the coconut trees. when you think you're about to kick the bucket. I didn't ask questions; I just did my job-that's what it was, just a job. I never really knew what was 'They're most likely to come back!' shouted my mate. 'Let's get out of here'' going on with the war, and I got the feeling that neither did a lot of people. The top of the strip hadn't been hit so we ran back, got on my bike and Our planes took off from camp before the bombing of the strip. Someone took off down the same track the Americans had . We found them not too knew what was about to happen, but they didn't tell us, and rather than far down the track hiding in an old sand quarry. We waited. The planes intercept they hightailed it out of there. We had anti-aircraft guns, but didn't come back, so we returned to see the damage. they weren't fired . We were told later it was because they didn't want to accidentally hit our own planes. It was a shambles that somehow worked There were three Hawker Hurricane fighter planes parked on the side of out. But I did my job, and I came home. the strip that had landed the day before from Thursday Island-they were still burning. Three bombs had hit the strip and just missed the hospital, but had managed to take out the toilets. Tubby was on duty in the control tower that day; a bomb had dropped just twenty yards away from it. He was really shaken up, and was never quite the same again . Hollister was visiting some people he had gotten to know nearby. They had a trench out the back of their house and when the bombing started he jumped into it­ it was the sewage pit. You could smell Hollister for months afterward, but there were no casualties. I found a piece of shrapnel stuck in a tree. It must ha ve flown right over our heads after we had taken cover.

I did my time in New Guinea and was posted back to Adelaide. I was there for twelve months before being posted to Charters Towers, Queensland. I got to know one of the mechanics there, and he put a big exhaust on my bike-it was incredibly loud. The CO asked me one day if I could make it a little quieter because it was nearly deafening him, but I took no notice.

I'm not sure why I never got my stripes. I finished up as a Leading Aircraft Hand, not much better than when I started. I was at Charters Towers for fourteen months and was then posted to Cairns for only a few weeks. Then my discharge came through, on 12 March 1946, just one month shy of si x years since I enlisted. When I got home my wife had a baby-a son of eighteen months. I think it must have happened when I came home on leave. As soon as he saw me he burst into tears. He had no idea who this strange man was.

39 'A light of unnerving clarity' The bathhouse A scene from a larger story called Greystone Caroline McNulty

Background The Red House wasn't just a good place for a beer and hearty meal it was also only the second place to operate a public bathing service. Whereas Ten years ago, Greystone, a small garrison town built to defend the high passes over the mountains into the larger Maisie's disreputable house of comfort charged considerably more for the neighbouring countries, was fo rced to defend itself against hot water than Hannah's establishment, at Maisie's you did have someone marauders. Their plan was to quietly evacuate the citizens else to rub the dirt off your body. and their livestock into the inhospitable and rocky countryside while six young people, Jarod, Luke, Raslich, Harry, Thomas Hannah's father had been furious when she'd suggested demolishing the and Hannah, stood guard over several strategically-placed old cowshed, buying the strip of land alongside it and bu ilding a large room braziers that, when lit, would convince the advancing soldiers with several standing tubs. He'd put up quite an argument at the time, but that the whole town had been put to the torch, and that by the it had proved a wise decision in the end. time they would have made the arduous treli up the mountain, there would be nothing left worth taliing. Since then, at the 'But Pa, you know how popular Maisie's place gets. An' all the men tal k start of every winter, the entire nation had celebrated the bold about how nice it is an' how much they wish they could afford it more plan 's success and the exploits of 'The Six Heroes' had been often.' immortalised in ballads performed to their embarrassment 'You shouldn't be hearing such talk, girl.' He saw her mouth open and at the weeh-long feasting and drinhing Fire Festival, which hurried on . 'An' if'n you do, you'd be best advised to pretend you didn't an ' drew hundreds of people up the mountain on a pilgrimage of say nuthin'.' hedonism to Greystone-one last party before the winter snows 'We could charge threppence for cool and no extras and si xpence for hot truly set in. with herbs and a towel .' He'd gawped at her, this monster of a woman-child . 'An' who in glory's name d'ye expect will pay sixpence just to get wet?' 'Plenty of fo lks, Pa. Travellers on their way up to the castle. Pi lgrims, ma ybe come for the festivals. Courtin' folks . Folks gettin' wed . And jus' think, when it's not being used, it's not usin' an ything. It's only hot water, Pa . It's not li ke I'll be running against Maisie.'

The sound of the madam's name seemed to work powerfully upon him, and he was deeply conflicted. He'd been one of Maisie's first customers. He knew what great fun her tubs could be . He was adamant he wasn't having that sort of carry on under his roof. But the thought of all those si xpences helped him see the vision. 'An' I suppose these customers will probably want to eat their supper here too, maybe even take a bed .. . ' 'The Horse and Gauntlet can't offer this Pa cos' they don't ha ve the space. Nor can the House by the Gate cos' they've no land to bu ild on, an' they'd have trouble with the waste water. We'd be the only ones. Us and Ma isie .'

Finally, Hannah had convinced her father that she had indeed thought of all the necessities: the drawing of water, the wood for the fires needed to heat it, the supply and cost of the herbal sacks that would be used for scenting

42 43 the baths, as we ll as the method of disposing of the water into the town Captain Jarod Hig gi ns was neither a tall nor handsome man, but he had dra in. He had approved the plan with t he proviso that if it didn't pay for its a musculature that commanded respect. His face wore a look of serious own cost within the year, she would close it down. Hannah designed the concentration even in repose, and it seemed more natural for it to frown washhouse, ordered the building materials and supervised the men who'd than to smile. Coupled with his polis hed helmet and the bi llowing red cape built it. Then she'd stood back and watched the money come rolling in. of military authority, he found the jostli ng crowds parting for him as he strode pu rposefully towards the side entrance of The Red House. He stood Most of her customers were men, of course, women being far too modest silently at the back of the crowded tap room, waiting for Hannah to notice and suspicious to undress in front of others. She had tried having a women­ him. She'd been on the watch for him so it didn't take lo ng. A slight nod only day, but it simply hadn't caught on. The building housed eight tubs, was all they exchanged, and she handed over responsibil ity to Megan and constructed to order by the master cooper in the plains town of Lower Josiah. Between them, with Megan's sharp charm and Josiah's brood ing Mead and hauled up the valley to Greystone. They'd caused quite a stir black presence, the tavern would run smoothly, and Hannah would be free the day they'd arrived; they had to be put in place before the end wall was to tend to her special guest. fin ished on account of them being too wide for the doors. Half the town had stopped to watch the crazy goings-on. Hannah, of course, had grabbed She collected a couple of lads fro m the kitchen to carry the kettles of hot the opportunity between supervising the men, to hawk the washhouse water out to the bathhouse wh ile she put together a small collection of services to the townsfolk even if she did have to ignore quite a bit of meat, cheese and bread. She placed a pot of ale on the tray with the food ribaldry. and walked purposefully across the cobbles to the washhouse.

Each tub was separated from the other by a flimsy wooden frame from The snow had stopped for a while, but the cold cut the air like a blade. which she'd hung calico drapes that, when fully drawn, totally enclosed The boys had emptied the kettles and added the bags of dried herbs and each tub thus creating the il lusion of solitude and privacy. Although her flowers so t he air was sweet with the scent of lavender. Setting the supper clients were hidden from each other's sight they often conversed freely tray down on a small table, she closed the door and flicked the latch. with each other, and many a juicy tidbit of gossip was shared unknowingly across the calico wa lls. A small ho urglass was tied to each enclosure and Jared's red cloak was thrown casually over one of the divid ing frames next when a customer's time was up, he either paid again for fresh hot water or to the on ly stall that had closed drapes. Laid out neatly on the floor was t he he got dressed and left. Incidents involving naked men being heaved onto captain's helmet and outer garments. the street by Hannah's two sturdy bar staff did happen from time to time to 'I know you're going up to the castle tonight, but I thought you might want the general amusement of passers-by, but not very often. something now.' 'Thanks, I do. Just put it there. I'll get to it.' Tonight, being the first evening of the Fire Festival, t he town had been She heard the soft swish of underlin en drop to the floor and then quickly flooded with pilgrims and travellers, revellers and young farm workers hell picked up and flu ng over the partit ion . There was a moment's pause and bent on drinking their entire wages. The washhouse had seen no customers then the sound of someone lowering himself into water that was just a today, which was fortunate as the bar staff had their hands full serving beer little hotter than was comfortable. and beef. Every bed in the town was taken, and the drunken brawls had 'Ooo, aaargh ... Can you ... ?' started already. Twice already she'd heard the alarm bell of the barracks as 'Too hoU' yet another unit of soldiers had been dispatched to sort t hings out. If more 'Yes.' guests arrived tomorrow, she planned to turn the washhouse into a bun k Hannah swept up the buckets of cold water by the door and marched house, but for tonight it was waiting for a special customer. boldly into the curtained stall. In a very businesslike manner she poured it in until he nodded for her to stop. Eve n though her heart was pounding

44 45 like a blacksmith's hammer on an anvil, she prided herself on her impartial Hannah saw the smile and knew he was amused by her silence. She knew demeanour and left the stall only to return with the ale and supper tray. her face was still blushing and, even if it weren't, the steam from his tub was keeping their sta ll hot and cosy; it felt private, cut off from the real Jarod watched in bemusement as she arranged it on a small stool within world outside. She looked at the jagged scars on his chest and knew how reach of him and then settled herself on another stool within his calico he'd acquired every one. She watched as the dark hairs on his chest curled enclosure and showed no sign of leaving. tighter the wetter they became. She watched his strong hands breaking 'Hannah?' He noted with satisfaction that her face was turning red. 'What's the bread and cutting into the chunk of cheese. And she wondered, not 7 up You don't usually give your customers this sort of personal attention.' for the first time, how she was going to make him notice her. Notice her 'You're not my usual customer,' she replied, fiddling with her skirt and trying as a woman, not just as a friend or a kid he'd watched growing up, but as and failing to stem the crimson tide she could feel creeping up her nec k and someone he'd shared an adventure with: a fellow Hero-one of 'The Six'. suffusing her cheeks. 'I don't see you here more than once a month.' 'Aren't you needed in the bar?' 'I need to get married.' She blurted it out. In her mind it had sounded 'No. I need to speak to you.' dramatic, desperate, the sort of declaration that would invoke chivalry from all men who heard it. Jarod was stunned. A small lump of cheese fell Jarod took a deep draught of ale and started on the tray of food, leaving into the water. Hannah to compose herself enough to speak. He couldn't imagine what 'You ... Oh gods .. .'There could be only one reason a young girl needed a she had to say that was this important, this urgent that she needed to husband. 'Does your father know?' Jarad's mind was too stunned to work invade his privacy like this. Not that he minded. It was strangely exciting properly. He was reviewing their mutual acquaintance; there was no-one having her sitting there, red-faced and trying not to be caught looking he could think of. There'd been no gossip linking her name to anyone at him . She was looking at him; he knew that. He made a great show of else. Then he thought of the washhouse. Had she sat with another examining the food while she gazed at his wet body. It wasn't the first time man like this7 she'd seen him undressed, but it was definitely the most intimate, most private occasion. The little pouches of scented herbs floated in the water. Hannah frowned at the surface of the water. He'd broken one of the pouches and She'd locked the door, he noticed. the petals and dried flowers were floating on the top, looking messy. He'll have to pick them off when he dried himself, she thought id ly. The whole time he was eating she remained silent. Finally, he picked up 'What?Yes, of course he knows. Well ... maybe not quite. It's all his fault anyway.' one of the scented pouches and started rubbing it over his body. The hot water and the crushing of his hands released the pungent aroma Jarad's mouth dropped open and then common sense cut in. She wasn't with and he thought, not for the first time, that all it would take to make this child to her father. He'd been a violent man sometimes, but never that. experience perfect was a woman to be in the tub with him. 'Who's the father?' He tried to speak, but choked on some meat. Turning it into a cough, he managed to disguise how his voice had cracked. Maisie's girls did a great job, and he knew his men spent a fair slice of their pay Something deep within him had suddenly tightened and gripped his in her house. He'd even negotiated with her to get a cheaper rate for them. innards. From feeling that his world was nearly perfect, it had suddenly 'Some of them are sending money home,' he'd told her, 'and you may be gone to hideously wrong. closer to the barracks, but you're more expensive than the girls up by the castle gates'. He smiled at the memory. That was the night Maisie had When he'd finished coughing he noticed how puzzled Hannah's face was. insisted on him sampling the services of the house so he'd know what great They stared at each other, trying to make sense of the conversation. value his men were getting.

47 Maggie Alex Dunkin

'You think ... ?' Dearest darling, my Maggie 'Are you7' In such short time you seduce 'You really think I'd ... ?' You take me, you claim me 'You're not?' Part of you is mine- this space I rent 'Who do you think I am?' she demanded. To me your age is unknown 'I'm sorry. You said. What was I supposed to think?' Nor do I care Quick as a flash, Hannah's hand scooped up some of the herb-filled water and splashed it into his face. Your divine vintage 'How dare ... Don't you dare .. . Ever.' Coating in new Forever the plastic perfections peak Jarod spluttered and reached for the towel to wipe the debris from his They reach for the sky like male pride eyes. Damn lavender can sting, he thought. Redder than before, Hannah Erect they stand stood up and turned away from him . He could see her struggling to regain Yet experience is your gift, your talent her composure. Still not facing him, she muttered through clenched teeth. Shakespeare and St Arthur 'I've had a proposal of marriage. Pa says I must accept. I don't want to.' Know true the skill So that was alright then. Jarod felt his shoulders relax. The iron claw of Such strides they take down your lines panic loosened its grip on his gut, and he almost laughed. They split you 'You're more than a match for your Pa . Tell him no, and that'll be an end to it.' They share you Hannah shook her head. 'It won't. It'll be an end to all this.' Down the ends they reach across your being Foreigners flock in She swept her arm wide and turned to face him. He was astonished to see The world wants a wedge, their divide the tears in her eyes. She, on the other hand, was astonished to see he'd Nor do I care been in the act of standing up and reaching for the towel. She knew she ought to look away, but she couldn't. Beet-red, she looked at him. Bits of Criminals devour your territory herbs studded his skin, and the scars from several battles only enhanced Governors despise their arrival, their curse the manliness of his lean frame. Her eyes travelled down to below his navel They haunt you, they punish you and seemed incapable of returning to his face . She knew she couldn't Your deepest nightmare meet his eyes, and he knew it too. He stood still and let her stare. Slowly it Is their greatest pleasure dawned on him that for all her worldliness in running the tavern, it was just You lie to their conquer possible that this moment was truly the first time she'd been so close to a Nor do I care naked man. Dearest darling, my Maggie It was a mesmerising thought. Hannah, blonde and buxom, bossy even, Teach me-let me learn your art was a virgin. Yes, of course. He'd known that all along; how could she not In such short time we connect be? He knew she'd had a crush on him as a child; it had amused him . She'd I claim you. always been little Hannah as far as he was concerned. And now, here she was asking him for advice, looking upon him as a big brother, and there he was, thrusting his own manhood upon her virg inal eyes. Oh, thank the gods no-one could walk in on them now.

49 Unwind me Frank and Cressida Edoardo Crismani Edoardo Crismani

Tortured by your memory Arms filled with books, humming a tune, Frank got off the bus and Haunted by you r song mounted the stairs to the California bungalow that he called home. No In my evenings' empire sooner had he entered his room, than Cressida was calling at the top of her There is an empty throne voice, 'Fra ncis, Francis.' Shove the undergrowth aside It's made us old She insisted on calling him Francis as she felt it conveyed a certain Let's take a moment grandeur that was fitting for one such as her. For what we left behind Loose every taut There she stood in a royal purple silk sarong. She did not look up. Bowstring 'Yes, Cressida,' said Frank. Now she looked up. Her youthful face contrasted sharply with her heavily Unwind me I'm lost wrink led neck. 'Francis, we need to talk.' She flipped open a large black Come find me diary. Frank waited. Cause its never that easy 'I am not happy, Francis.' Never that strong Frank put down his books. 'How can I help, Cressida 7' Neverthat black and white 'I can't talk about it now. I do not have time.' And never that wrong Dawn awaits She was almost hysterical, incandescent with rage at the thought that she Perhaps anew perhaps askew was not being shown due respect. This was her biggest fear. She made a In the red darkness show of leafing through a diary filled with page after page of frantically In the still of the morning scribbled appointments. She pointed to a blank space. I hear and I hear 'We can talk about it tonight at 8.15 pm. Do you have plans at that time?' Your heart calling 'I'm all yours, Cressida. That time will be fine', Frank replied. 'Good.' Unwind me I'm lost Desire me Immediately she felt better. Things were now under control. Order had been restored. She replaced the diary in the drawer, turned and made a For all we say show of grabbing the dog leashes. And all we do 'Romulus, Remus!' she cried. At least there was a moment Two barely interested dogs looked up with more than a little trepidation. For me and you 'Mummy must get you groomed, mustn't she? Oh, so much to do and so And it's never that easy little time.' Never that strong She strode off, dogs in tow. Her sense of importance had returned; her Never that black and white panic subsided. She slammed the door. And never That wrong Frank contemplated the enigma that was Cressida as he tended to his responsibilities. With great care he emptied the kitchen recycling bins into So unwind me I'm lost the large outdoor bin . On the palatial patio he put his finger into the soil of Come find me. 50 51 the numerous plants there. In the parlour he noticed her much-prized film poster hanging askew. This 'Hmm, need a bit more water, just a tad dry.' would not do. He set it straight. Movies did not ho ld much interest for He turned on the tap and gave each plant the right amount of watering Frank, but he knew he was largely alone in that respect. needed. The dogs barked signalling Cressida's return. Frank retired to his room. He He walked outside to the koi pond, cleaned the filter and sprinkled on the stood gazing out of his window and dialled Jake. He enjoyed a view that fish food. He continued through the overhanging vines, around the orange included the sight of the Hollywood Hills, and on a clear day, the famous orchards pausing to check on the oranges. sign, which Cressida especially enjoyed. Jake answered. 'Not quite ripe,' he said aloud, and continued to the two large wooden boxes containing worms. 'Hello, Jake.' 'Hello, Fran k. How are you?' He propped up the heavy wooden lids and gently stirred the la yers of 'I'm fine, thank you. About this evening, can you make it nine instead of eight?' shredded paper, veggies and soil. Yes, there were lots of worms, very 'Of course, Frank. That's no problem at all.' busy devouring. He collected some of the worm compost into a bag and 'Thank you, Jake. See you then.' carefully lowered the lids. 'Goodbye, Frank.'

At the edge of the fence were five-foot high wire ·mesh compost bins. Each Frank hung up and looked around for his books. They were on the staircase. bin was worked separately while the others were left. He moved swiftly to He bent over to pick them up when he heard the voice calling out 'Francis', bin number two. He leaned over the top and using a shovel dug around the from somewhere in the house. Looking around, she was not to be seen. compost to see if it was steaming hot. Not so much on the outsides, but in the middle it was definitely hot. Good. He churned the compost a bit more, 'Francis.'The screech emanated from the garage where along with taking some of the hot mixture and spreading it to the outside. Cressida was an SUV as big as a whale. 'Oh, there you are, Francis. Please take those rainforest seedlings out of At the end of the garden he arrived at the orchids. Orchids of all colours the trunk and put them on the patio.' and shapes. Some you nger ones were covered from the sun under green shade cloth. He snipped here and there, dug around, potted and watered She waved to the driver of the whale. and added sprinkles of worm compost around the edges of the plants. 'Thank you for picking these up, Annabel. See you at the farmers' market After a time, he stepped back to admire the orchids. He smiled. next week.' Annabel gave a nod . Back inside he looked at the birds in their large indoor cage. Carefully, he put his hand in, and a trembling dove with a damaged wing hopped onto Frank went to the tailgate and loaded up his arms. his finger. He lifted her out. Stroking her with cooing noises he removed 'Are these from Brazil, Cressida7' the bandage and gently applied medicine to the injured wing. He applied 'Yes, Francis. I had them flown in especially. We must all do our part in a fresh dressing, held her for a long moment and then tenderly returned saving the planet.' her to her perch. As he cleaned the cage he spoke to each bird as if to a Frank closed the tail of the whale, 'Yes, Cressida, yes indeed.' treasured friend. 'Ah, Napoleon I see you're looking a lot healthier now, and Madame He took the plants to the patio and went upstairs-picking up his books Josephine, you certainly have recovered well.' on the way-and finally flopped on the bed to relax. There was a knock, an With enormous care he replenished their bowls with fresh water and seed. urgent and insistent knock. Frank answered.

52 53 'Francis darling, I am all out of cherry oats and berries for my breakfast He assured Cressida, 'A ll will be well.' dish . Can you race out and get them so I can soak the oats overnight?' 'Okay, Francis. We have reached an understanding. Now answer the door.' With the patience of Job, Frank kindly nodded. 'Yes, Cressida. I believe it's for me.' 'Thank you so much. You know I have a delicate constitution. Also, do make 'Make sure to not make much noise. You know how I hate that. I will be in sure they are organic.' the study.' She swept away with the kind of dramatic flourish intended to convey that she was a soul focused upon higher things than groceries. Frank opened the door. Jake, a retired studio writer and long-time friend, greeted Frank warmly. Frank took the bus to the market. Carefully searching the aisles he found 'Good evening, Frank, old chap.' the requested items. On his return he presented the bag. She opened Frank returned the greeting with equal warmth and pointed the way to the and sniffed . living room where a fine china teapot and two cups awaited. 'Good', she said then put the oats into a bowl filled with milk and yoghurt and placed it in the refrigerator. 'Take a seat, Jake. I'll just boil the kettle, and we'll have tea.' 'Thank you, Frank. Oh, look at this.' He pointed to two books on the table. *** 'Yes, I picked them up from the library. The one on The Orchid Society of California is particularly interesting. That Society has been devoted to It was 8.15 pm and their meeting began. Cressida took out her notebook orchids since 1937.' and opened to a page full of scribble. Jake picked it up and opened a page. 'Let us be civil about this, Francis, and sit in the lounge .' 'Look at this. "Cattleyas thrive in intermediate temperatures from fifty-fi ve They moved to the lounge. Cressida reclined in the large armchair, and to eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit, with a relative humidity of fifty to sixty Frank sat on the edge of the long settee. percent." No wonder I have been having trouble; the temperature has been 'Item one-spoons, must be put in the right side of the drawer. Just this far too high in my hot house. I must note that down.' morning there were two spoons in the knife section. You know this is Jake pulled out his moleskin notebook and wrote. important to me.' 'Of course, Cressida, of course.' Frank poured the hot water into the teapot. 'Item two-the saucepans, they have not been cleaned with the right cloth. 'In the right conditions, the right season, all things grow, and while orchids There are scratches on them. Alwa ys use the soft cloth.' can be temperamental they are beautiful.' 'Yes, indeed.' Jake finished his notation and left the moleskin notebook on the table.

The checklist continued in a similar vein, covering all manner of 'That is a very good notebook, Jake.' peculiarities: the bird feed combinations, the compost ha ving just the right 'Yes I have used these ever since I wrote for the studios. Warner Brothers mi xture of paper and organic waste, as well as the correct level of watering gav~ me my first moleskin. I keep them all in my library at home.' required for patio plants and so on . A loud noise from the study interrupted their conversation. Jake rolled his The doorbell rang. eyes at the sound, 'ls The Du chess going on again?' Frank got up. Frank continued making the tea. Jake took it as an opportunity to keep going.

54 55 'Honestly, Frank, I don't know how you put up with it. Either you're a saint 'Those ghastly things he said, you don't believe them do you?' or quite insane.' 'Pay no attention to Jake . He doesn't mean half of what he says.' 'But I am somebody, Francis.' Frank did not reply. He poured hot tea into a china cup. 'Of course you are. Of course you are.' 'You still have milk?' 'Indeed, I do.' Cressida began to feel reassurance. Placing a comforting hand over her 'Jake, like a perennial you never change.' shoulder, Frank looked out of the study window. The light was ethereal. Jake looked at him knowingly and began to speak, but was interrupted by The sun was setting over the Hollywood Hills, flooding the room with a the grinding sound offurniture being moved in the adjacent room . light of unnerving clarity, almost singling them out like an amber spotlight from a bygone era. Frank barely concealed a look of concern. Jake, clearly irritated by a scene he was already quite familiar, with couldn't contain himself. 'How long have you lived here now, Cressida?' 'The Duchess is performing once again, and it's no more entertaining than 'Twenty yea rs, ' she said. her film.' 'And in all that time, have I ever made you feel unwelcome?' 'No,' she said feeling better. Not wishing to encourage these firmly fi xed opinions, Frank looked 'And you will always be welcome here.' imploringly at Jake. However, not being one for restraint, Jake carried on. 'Oh, honestly Frank, this is beyond the pale. She must be making your life a Like an actor in a wel l-rehearsed play, Cressida's recovery was as rapid as misery, and you owe her nothing.' her outburst. She stood up, glanced around the room, then looked down at Frank. Frank, never one for slander, and fully aware Cressida was eavesdropping, 'This room is a mess,' she said, 'and I bet you have not cleared the mess was concerned only to stop Jake before he really got going, but it was too late. from your little tea party. Standards, Francis, I'm talking about standards.'

'This woman's a lunatic, Frank. I know yo u take no interest in the movie Benevolently and with a good deal of amusement ... Frank smiled. business, but I remember her from back in the day. Really, you can't begin to imagine. Never have I seen a more vulgar display from a talentless, semi-literate potato farmer's daughter. She could neither act nor sing. Five minutes of no fame in a B-grade flick and she lords it over everyone.'

A prolonged guttural wa il was heard from the study.

An uncomfortable silence followed.

Frank put his teacup down. 'Jake, you'll have to forgive me, but we're going to have to call it a night.' Jake shook his head knowingly and made his own way to the door.

In the study, Cressida was crying hysterically. Frank pulled up a chair next to her and handed her a tissue.

56 57 Angels must be dancing Terms of endearment Edoardo Crismani Amanda Perri

We were running I was trying hard not to laugh. I mean, I thought it was hysterical, but Scared for glory apparently my behaviour was 'inappropriate'. We were running From a midnight story What does that even mean anyway? I had this teacher once, who told We were running me that the word 'inappropriate' actually had no true definition because Without warning what is considered appropriate and inappropriate changes as easily as We were running the weather. I never really understood what he meant by that, or gave And we were falling it much thought but even still, I always feel slightly irritated whenever I hear someone use the word 'inappropriate'. Screw you, that word doesn't And it seemed like really even mean anything. But anyway, apparently it wasn't appropriate to There was no find Terms of endearment funny. Specifically, the scene where Emma says Place for us goodbye to her kids before her final breath: 'I know you like me. I know it' But Angels must be dancing ... I sneered. On the Milky Way 'Cause I heard you cry I looked around to find tears welling up in my mum's eyes . She stared Forever hard at the TV set, as if stiff concentration at the screen would make it less Be mine obvious that there was a bubble in her throat. I remembered that feeling, the moment you know you are going to cry but desperately don't want And I know to. The pressure you feel on your throat is so consuming; it cancels out She is my beautiful girl anything else around you-any sound, any smell, if you're hot, if you're And I know cold, doesn't matter. She is my beautiful world And Angels I remember the first time I decided I would teach myself not to cry Must be dancing anymore. I was ten years old. It was the first family vacation we ever went On the on. My brother was twelve, and my mother was still slim. We decided on Milky Way. Italy, and we would stay with some distant family we had there.

I remember imagining that when we landed in Italy it would be a totally different world. I truly believed going to a different country was like leaving planet Earth. When we landed and we left the airport in my uncle's red Palio, I was immediately disappointed; there were trees everywhere, green grass, and street signs. I looked at my brother who whispered angrily under his breath, 'It's exactly the same as home but further away'. Apparently, he noticed the trees too.

The ride from the airport to my great aunt Maria's house was an hour-and­ a-half away. I sat in the back, between my dad and my brother while my mum, dad and my uncle Luciano spoke in Italian. I had no idea what they were saying to each other but they were speaking loudly and very quickly.

58 59 By this point, I was used to people speaking around me in Italian . I was But Franco was different; he was a boy, the first older boy to ever pay used to just smiling and saying, 'Si, vero'. attention to me. I loved him because he looked after me as though I was a very special and delicate person. If he noticed I was lagging behind he It was really hot in Italy, not that I wasn't used to it; Canadian summers would slow to walk with me, keeping his eye out for little things on the were also very warm, so much so that it was sometimes hard to side-walk that my dreamy nature may forget to notice and step on as we concentrate. This was especially so in primary school when class was walked . When we played crazy eights he would never give me the queen of almost out, and there was no relief from June's sweltering heat. I spades and make me pick up five . When I would dress up to go out to the remember my bare legs sticking to the seats of the hard plastic chairs, city he would look at me and say 'Che be/la!' I loved Franco. He protected the rolled-up sleeves, and the grassy, sandy, sweating scent of children me and made me feel safe, and when he looked at me I knew he loved me too. who had just endured recess. It was also the case that it was during these months that the most challenging maths lessons were taught. I' ve satisfied We were brought together by a fi xation on that tiny little kitten. Together, myself in blaming my horrible maths skills on this simple truth. we fed him out of an old baby's bottle, and soon this became our routine.

While the days were really hot in Italy the nights were wonderfully cool. Every morning was a ritual; I would wake up to a bright beaming sun. It A soft breeze accompanied the warm air and these mingled together to was almost as if the sun was a gentle nudge, waking me up and reminding form a dreamy aura, and an unforgettable scent. It smelt clear, undisturbed me that the weather was perfect, and that there was a cafe macchiato and fresh. It smelt li ke evenings in Rome . There is nothing like it. I was too waiting for me. The window was always open a crack, not by choice, but young to appreciate this at the time, but the atmosphere was perfect for simply because it was stuck like that. I would hear Maria hanging the contemplation, for nights of great thought. In Italy though, at ten years laundry outside, and I would smell it-lemons and powder. I hated the old, sitting and contemplating was not nearly as fun as playing with the smell of that soap she used, and I couldn't stand to have it on my skin . dozens of kittens that ran around in Maria's front yard. Every morning was a ritual; I would wake up to a bright beaming sun. Maria lived in-between two houses. On her left, there lived an elderly I would rise and eat breakfast in the kitchen, and by the time I was woman who had an unheard of number of cats. She made a shed for them finished Franco was sitting on the veranda, petting Fortunato and waiting outside, in front of her house that had ivy growing all around its walls. The for me. Franco could speak very little English, just whatever he was day we arrived in Italy a baby tabby was born and it was the smallest kitten taught in school, so we developed a rhythm and that's what we used to I had ever seen. The mother who gave birth to it was a sick cat. All the other communicate. It was a natural yet peculiar type of friendship; I grew to love kittens she delivered died, except that one little orange tabby; he was him unlike any friend I had ever had . named Fortunato because he was a very lucky cat. He would tease me too. Sometimes he would chase me, hide from me It was that little kitten, Fortunato, who brought me and Franco together. while I looked around aimlessly to find him, and threaten me with the garden hose when all of the grown-ups were out and about, 'l'ma gonna Franco was sixteen years old. Being ten years old around a sixteen year old spray a youa!' Sometimes he drove me insane, but at the end of the day he was a strange and incredible experience for me. Not just with Franco either. still always chose the seat beside me at dinner. It will always remain that he Whenever I was introduced to or spoke with a teenager I felt an enormous was the very first boy to ever make me feel pretty. envy and a bubbly sense of eagerness. I was especially impressed by older girls. They were so beautiful: they could sit at the table with the grown-ups, And then it was time to go. they wore make-up and giggled together, they had boyfriends and boobs, and I wanted to be them.

60 My mum whispered in my ear during dinner, 'Amy, I would like you to say Don't shake. Just talk. something to everyone before we eat dessert. I'll translate for you.' Go. My mum went first. She spoke in Italian, and she made the words out I was going to cry. in-between tears. There I was, standing next to her. I could feel the bubble Baseball, baseball, baseball I thought over and over in my mind. Baseball is in my throat; I couldn't focus on anything else. My cousins, my aunts, not sad. even some of my uncles began to cry as well. I started to sweat; the sound muted out, and I didn't know what to do, so I started laughing. All eyes were on me.

I mean, hysterically. 'Thank you for everything.' 'Grazie per tutti.' And apparently, my behaviour was inappropriate. 'I had a lot of fun.' Before my mum could finish her speech, I snuck away to the washroom, 'Ho avuto mo/to divertimento.' and I splashed cold water on my face. There was nothing funny about the situation outside; I knew that. I took a seat on the floor, and I fought for 'I will never forget the memories I made here.' a really long time not to cry. I breathed heavily in and out, 'heeee-hoooo­ 'lo l'abitudine dimentica tutte le memorie che ho fatta qui.' heeee-hoooo.' I asked myself what crying would accomplish. I mocked myself. I pinched myself. Nothing worked. Eventually, the tears came 'Thank you.' through. I couldn't control them either. How could I say goodbye? How 'Grazie.' could I go out there and say goodbye without crying like my mum did? I didn't say anything that I wanted to say. How could I? I couldn't tell them I splashed my face with cold water and waited for the red, blotchy look of about how I never tasted food so delicious, how the smell of Italy would crying on my face to go away. I faked an obnoxious smile, as if the w hole remain engraved in my skull. I couldn't talk about Franco. I couldn't say it. time in the washroom I was still chuckling over the earlier display of my I couldn't tell him how I'd always miss him. Instead, I spoke slow. I fought mum's emotion. Then it was my turn to say a few words. I took my spot really hard against the bubble in my throat. I clenched my teeth when I felt next to my mother and looked at my family. My dad was smiling at me, and my chin quivering; I w idened my eyes as much as I could, and I thought of my brother was eating cake and strawberries. baseball.

It's nice out tonight. Over and over again-baseball, baseball, baseball.

Is that a mosquito;, That was the first time I can ever remember saying goodbye to anyone. And the last time I remember crying. Why is Mum touching me? Stop touching me. Stop. Touching. Me. Si, vero-Yes, true My smile is shaking. Fortunato-Lucky This is humiliating. Che bella!-How beautiful!

62 'We only confess our little faults' A wonderful thought Lawana Freschi

Colin was running through a field, his arms pumping to go faster, gaining 'I know that if I don't get out here.first I won't find any breakfast left.' more and more speed until he was little more than a blur. The scenery slid Al grinned at him innocently. 'Well if I finish everything, it's only because past him, a blazing green and brown in which he could no longer pick out l'rri used to you having eaten first.' details. His hair whipped wi ldly in the wind . Still he ran faster. Then the 'Do you even know what you're eating now?' field suddenly ended. In its place was the curved edge of a cliff, blue sky Al stopped and peered down at the mush of cereal in his bowl. spreading out in all directions beyond it. Colin didn't pause-he just kept 'Never mind,' Colin sighed . He stirred his cereal thoughtfully. running until he met the cliff edge. With a powerful jump he launched 'Hey, Col. I bet I can finish eating before you.' himself off. Colin's head snapped up and he frowned at his cousin. 'If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting-?' For a second he was falling, although where he wasn't sure, as all around 'Come on,' Al pushed. 'I bet I can.' him he could only see blue. Suddenly he was swooping up through the sky, 'I'm not doing that,' Colin said. flying even though he had no wings, soaring through the blue like he was Peter Pan. 'Re ady.' 'I'm not.' And then Colin rolled over in bed, and the image was gone. 'Set.' 'No.' It was one of the most disappointing things ever, he thought, to realise 'Go!' that his dream had been just that-a dream. The flying part had seemed so real: the air rushing past him and the feeling of being almost weightless . Both Colin and Al dug in with a frenzy, shovelling the cereal into their But already those feelings were fading, and now Colin found the real world mouths as fast as they could. Despite Colin's best efforts; Al had finished lacking further fantasy; it was just a dream. his giant bowl by the time Colin had finished his own. Al chuckled. 'Gee, Cuz. Every time.' He quickly sat up, swinging his legs out of his blankets and settling his feet on the cold wooden floor. He could already hear movement through the Colin dropped his spoon into his bowl in resignation . 'Maybe I'd have bedroom wall, a banging and thumping wh ich meant Al was up. He moved a chance if I wasn't up against the human stomach,' he groused good­ quickly into the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of cereal. naturedly. 'You know I'd li ke to actually win one day.' 'Maybe if I had a stomach ache,' Al said thoughtfully,' ... maybe.' Colin His cousin ambled in while he was eating, noticed the cereal box and waved his musings off. poured the remains into a bowl. Colin didn't bat an eyelid as Al banged down next to him, bumping the table and causing the milk of his breakfast He had just climbed to his feet when Al ye lled, 'The remote is mine!' He to slosh dangerously close to the rim of his bowl. lunged past him for the couch . Before Colin could even think about it he had leapt after him. It was just another everyday battle between the two 'Oops, sorry Cuz,' he said cheerfully. Colin rolled his eyes good-naturedly. cousins, one that Al usually won. But this time Colin was determined that 'Every morning,' he said, poking at his cousin's ribs with his spoon, eliciting he wou ld win something. a splutter of surprise from Al. 'Every morning, the same thing.' Al's only response was a half-hearted cereal-filled protest. The remote was on the far side of the room, the couch an obstacle in between. Al had rounded it, the sudden direction change slowing him down enough that Colin realised he had his chance. Instead of following in his cousin's footsteps, Colin leapt onto the arm of the couch and promptly

66 bounced himself off it. He ye lped a second later ,when his jump took him a The air rushed past him as he shot upwards, but then he straightened out, lot higher than he had anticipated. gaining distance as wel l as height. High on the euphoria, Co lin let out a very uncharacteristic whoop. He could fly' Colin fle w over the entire length of the couch, somehow crashing to the floor just before he collided with the coffee table. Sliding halfway under the Then, just because he could, he did a few loop-de-loops. table from his momentum, he reached a hand up and snagged the remote just as his cousin skidded to a halt next to him. Now maybe he finally had something to help him get an edge on that cousin of his . There was a stunned silence seconds before Al burst out laughing . 'What the hell, Col? If you were that desperate to win you could have just said so.' Colin blinked back at him. 'Did I just fly across the room?' he asked somewhat dazedly. Al reached down and pulled him to his feet. 'That was reall y weird,' Al said. 'You must have jumped at least a few metres there. You'd kill in the long jump, Cuz.' Colin stared a hole into the side of the couch.

Al waved a hand in his face. 'Hello, Earth to Col.' 'Here,' Colin said at last, shoving the remote into his cousin's hand. 'You have it.' Al raised an eyebrow. 'Why thank you,' he drawled. 'But why am I ha ving it?' 'Will you just take it,' Colin said with fond exasperation. Al mock saluted, scooped the remote from his cousin's hand and then bounced onto the couch, no further convincing needed.

Colin turned and headed outside. He walked to the back of the property, stopping wh en he reached the start of a long field . He stood still for a second, debating what he was about to do, and then before he could over think it, he started running.

Faster and faster he ran. The scenery shot past him, his hair whipping wildly in the wind, and then Colin launched himself into the air ...

.. . and he didn't come back down .

68 69 My whole new world Lawana Freschi

Balloons. 'Bella, who are these people7' he asked, making it seem as though this was There were balloons everywhere. the most important question in the world . All over the ceiling, stuck up there by the helium that filled them. 'They're all Dani's friends, Nonno,' she answered patiently. Red ones, blue ones, green ones, orange ones, pink ones, purple ones. Anna was used to her grandfather's eccentrics. All sorts of colours, and all with a little coloured piece of string dangling down towards the floor, making them accessible to those who liked to steal Angelo didn't let go of her hand. 'Why are they so tall?' he demanded. the balloons at the end of the party. Ignoring his granddaughter's reply of, 'Because they are,' he continued to ramble . 'Your generation, you grow like beanstalks!' he declared loudly. Angelo grumbled as a few of the said strings suddenly invaded his personal Angelo only knew two types of volume: loud, and drunk loud . Not that he'd space, and he brushed them away irritably, taking a seat on one of the been drunk for a very long time. No, his kidneys had made sure of that. many plastic chairs provided. The party was just starting to li ven up. A fair 'Must be something in the water,' Anna joked. number of guests had arrived, and the action of extreme mingling was 'Not enough hard work,' Angelo declared passionately. Then he leaned already in full swing . Angelo sat back with a critical eye . It was all the same. close as if to tell his granddaughter a secret. 'You know, when I was your 'Oh, how long's it been? ... how are the chi ldren7 ... uni you say ... my how age, I was already stooped from carrying heavy things all the time.' tall you've grown ... you bought what for how much7' and so on . Angelo 'Don't be dramatic, Non no . You can't have been carrying things all had heard it all. From holidays, to birthdays, his relatives never changed. the time.' 'A ll the time!' he cried, quite dramatically. 'Carrying, always carrying. We Feeling bored by what he called 'mindless dribble', Angelo let his gaze didn't have time to grow taller because we were always bent down. You roam over the rest of the room. A multitude of tables were set up down ask anyone!' the middle, containing either an assortment of savoury chips, or sweet lollies. They were organised accordingly: sweet, savoury, sweet, savoury, His granddaughter laughed. 'I'll take your word for it,' she said. sweet, savoury, because, God forbid, someone should have to walk further It was at that moment that a third granddaughter wandered over. This one than necessary to acquire their preferred taste. At one end of the room a was Maria, the cousin to the previous two and quite a few years younger. laptop and giant projection screen were set up, photos flashing upon it in 'Here, Non no,' she said, holding out the string of a bright yellow balloon. mega size, depicting an age sequence of the life of his granddaughter. A 'This one's for you.' bar stretched down the side of the room, one Angelo planned to acquaint 'Why you give me this?' Angelo demanded loudl y, taking the string. himself with very soon. A giant banner stretched over the open doorway 'For you to collect,' Maria answered simply, showing him her own four with the words 'Happy Birthday,' and a big 21 decorating it. balloons. 'Like mine.'

The newly aged twenty-one year old in question stood in the middle of Angelo loo ked around him, and then grabbed the strings of six more the largest group of the room, chatting away quite enthusiastically with all nearby balloons, twisting them roughly around together so that they more those around her. Obviously they were all friends from university or work, or less stuck. Angelo deduced, because one, he did not recognise any of them, and two, 'There,' he sa id proudly, showing his granddaughter his balloons. 'Now I they were all insanely young. And tall too. Angelo frowned, straightening have more than you .' his shoulders as he suddenly felt short. He laughed, inviting her to share the joke, and Maria just smiled sweetly, not the least bit insulted, and wandered off. 'Having fun, Nonno7' Ange lo reached out to grab the hand of another granddaughter, Anna, the Once more catching sight of the bar, Angelo took a firmer grip on his younger sister to the one currently in the spotlight. balloons and wandered over.

70 71 'Vorrei una birra, per favore,' he asked, forgetting that the poor bartender As the night moved on, speeches were made and the music was turned could most likely not understand Ita lian. up to a volume that made conversation next to impossible-unless you 'Angelo,' a vo ice cried, and Angelo turned to face his sister-in-law, happened to enjoy standing next to the person and screaming in their ear. Rosalinda, w ho was giving him a very disappointed glare. 'Were you So it was not until Daniela come up to her respective family members and ordering alcohol?' she scolded . 'You know you can't drink anymore.' inquired as to the location of her nonno that people realised no-one had 'Va via . I can drink whatever I want,' he declared loudly, turning away in the seen Angelo for quite a while. hopes that she would leave him alone. 'That man,' Rosalinda cried in exasperation. 'Where could he have 'No, no, no,' Rosalinda replied, shaking a finger in his face. 'There will be no gone? Honestly.' drinking on my watch. Go have some cake.' 'Bah!' Angelo cried angrily, complete with dramatic hand movements. The aunts and uncles, and brothers and sisters, and cousins and 'Cu/a woman!' grandchildren all started looking around for their missing relation, but it 'You watch what you say,' Rosalinda warned. 'Now, go. Talk with people. soon became obvious that he was no longer in the room. Eat cake.' 'He hasn't been drinking tonight, has he?' one of the nieces asked. She started shooing him towards the crowd of cake enthusiasts, but then 'I don't think so,' Rosalinda replied. 'I certainly haven't let him.' paused and reached up to touch the strings of his balloons. 'What's this?' Once more, they were all left without an explanation. It seemed Angelo she asked . 'Why so many balloons?' had simply disappeared. Only Maria seemed to notice that every single Angelo's reaction was a little late. balloon at the party had mysteriously disappeared along with him. 'No, no, these are my palloncinoi' he cried, pulling them from her reach. 'You collect your own!' Meanwhile, high above the clubroom where his granddaughter's twenty­ 'What would I want with so many balloons?' Rosalinda questioned quite first was being held, Angelo dangled from the many strings of a good seriously. eighty or so balloons. Red ones, blue ones, green ones, orange ones, pink 'None of your tricks,' he warned her. 'I'm not giving up any of mine. And see ones, purple ones. All sorts of colours, and all with a little coloured piece these here.' He quickly reached up to gather another seven and twist them of string tied firmly to both of Angelo's arms, creating a kind of harness. into his pack. 'They are mine tool' Angelo was suspended in the sky, and still rising from the helium that filled 'Dear, dear,' Rosalinda said, shaking her head. 'Soon you will have enough them. to fly away with.' 'I do what I want,' Angelo bellowed, quite childishly. 'You want me to fly Angelo watched with satisfaction as he rose higher. He could see the light away, I fly away.' from the party spilling out through the open doors onto the black lawn, 'If only,' Rosalinda grumbled under her breath. Angelo was quite relieved and dark tiny shapes were moving across it. He smiled as he imagined the when she wandered away. exasperation of his family.

He turned to eye his balloons thoughtfully, using a hand to push them 'Now who must watch what they say!' he cried triumphantly, although the apart so he could count through them carefull y. Finally, he stopped and comeback was not quite as successful when yel led at the air. nodded, casting his eyes around at the myriads of other balloons dotting The satisfaction he got from it, however, was quite worth it. the ceiling. A small grin split his lips.

72 73 Home Where your smile is Lawana Freschi

Angelo tilted his head back to look proudly at his balloons, a rainbow They were meant to be flying straight to Sydney, but then the storm of colours even though in the darkness they all looked the same dark interrupted. All flights to Sydney were diverted. Sydney airport was closed, shade. These balloons wou ld take him places, he knew this. From now on and planes couldn't make their way back. All in all it was a big mess, and he could do what he wa nted; perhaps he had already started. He hadn't their holiday hadn't even started yet. brought a pin with him. Sally stood quietly, trying her best to ignore her annoying younger brother Angelo turned to look at the dark stretch of sky ahead of him, and smiled. and sister, while her parents partook in the tedious adult ritual of making new arrangements. Sally didn't listen for it was all much too boring for her, and she was very quickly becoming distracted as Johnny's finger kept poking into the sensitive flesh at her side. Ellie wasn't being any less annoying as she was yet to take a break from singing .

Finally, Sally snapped.

'Johnny, stop it!' She snarled, smacking her annoying brother on the arm. Her mother typically chose this moment to pay attention to them. 'Sally!' She was immediately admonished. Sally settled for simply glaring at her irritating sibling.

Another twenty minutes later, their parents turned to them, looking a little tired but very pleased as they announced that everything had been settled. Sydney airport was accepting flights again, and the airline had booked them on a replacement flight. Their car rentals, flights and hotel bookings had all been pushed back the few days for their delay. They were flying off immediately, stopping off in Melbourne first before flying on to Sydney.

'My only concern,' said Sally's mother, 'is that we have so little time to get to our connecting flight. What if the plane is late?' But everyone was so fed up with the boring airport terminal where they'd spent the last hour or so that no-one really cared. The ir holiday was finally underway.

***

The plane from Adelaide to Melbourne was late. The voice on the intercom announced their names loudly, informing them that their next flight Vorrei na birra, per favour- I would like a beer, please was ready and waiting for them, and asking for the other passengers to Va via - Go away please wait for them to depart first before standing up. It would have Cu/o- (slang for) Pain in butt been mortifying, if the rest of the plane hadn't been half filled with drunk­ Palloncino - balloon looking people all dressed in white. Everyone seemed to find the humour

74 75 in the situation, and even high-fived Johnny as the family rushed past. Sally fingered her passport nervously as they drew closer. The guy was They came out on one side of the airport. Th e gate they needed to get to certainly intimidating enough. He wa s tall, and loo ked li ke he'd brook no was on the other. Sally and Johnny we re told to sprint ahead and inform argument. He never once smiled. the airport officia ls that they were coming. It was a long way to run. Once again, Sally, Ellie and Johnny all passed through easily, but their *** mother was flustered when the guard discovered hand-creams in her carry bag. This was no longer allowed because terrorists were apparently They made it on the flight to Sydney. Their bags didn't. capable of taking over a plane with moisturiser and toe clippers. The guy gave her mother a warning on following the rules, but amazingly allowed *** her to keep the creams in her bag.

From Sydney, they took the long eleven hour flight to Ha waii. Sally It was while they we re fina ll y passing through the last gate that their father slept for a lot of it. Because they'd missed their first flight, they'd been was searched again. rescheduled on another flight two days later. Their bags had once again caught up with them. ***

Things seemed to finally be getting back in order, or so Sally thought, Sally couldn't see the TV screen. She was sitting in the middle row with her until they arrived on the Hawaiian island of Oahu, and were introduced to siblings either side of her, trying to watch the movie . It was an animated American customs. one about a little hunchbacked man and a rabbit, one she'd never seen before. The only problem was that the guy in front of her was quite tall and The guy entered their details one by one, and then even more his head was right in the middle of the screen, so she wasn't rea ll y seeing it astonishingly, took each of their fingerprints . They hadn't even entered now either. the country yet, and Sally already felt like a criminal. She wondered what extremes had prompted America to take the fingerprints of every Sally twisted first to the left, then the right, but only got shoves and single tourist. annoyed exclamations from her siblings in turn. With a sigh, Sally sat up as tall as she could and resigned herself to watching half the movie. The final step for entrance into Oahu was to put their bags through the X-ray machine and walk through the scanners. Sally, Ellie and Johnny made *** it without trouble. Their parents were not quite as luc ky. The three siblings sat next to each other on a bench and watched with amusement as both Sally was relieved to see Sydney airport from her window, but was annoyed their parents were searched at the same time; their arms were held out at the thought of passing through customs once again . as the guards checked their bodies with their little handheld scanners. It turned out that 'no shows' were quite suspicious. She needn't have worried. Whereas the American guards had been strict and scary, the Australian people cou ldn't have been more easygoing. *** As the family approached them, one could easily be seen bugging their companion for some gum. Lea vi ng Oahu, they had to once again pass through customs. This time it was just a long line of passengers handing their passports, one by one, to the stoic looking guy at the end.

77 Father in uniform Josephine Mcginley

When their luggage was checked, Sally's mum showed the wooden carving You are the son she'd brought back from Hawaii to a friendly customs lady. No-one was Of the king of the underworld expecting the customs lady to enthusiastically examine it, congratulate Your soul eats pleasures Sally's mum on the purchase, and then cheerful ly wave them on. Your hands stain Blood spatters from your touch America was so different to Australia. Sally was amazed at how much she A truth is told from another had missed a friendly smile. You are unable to recognise it Triggers pulled, stories untold

A life is taken And then another Your life remains Unremarkable, unchanged To your daughter Say hello to the captain Grasp your hand in mine, look away Search the walls, discover the maze Uncover his uniform It is his skin His eyes fire sparks His voice captures eyes Her eyes enlighten Her voice from within A smile cradles her heart A heart kept close .

79 The frustrated angler Haze Goulden

I love to fish . I guess you could say it is cathartic. I come here, to my to putThe Darkness in its place, and to order my mind around it-if I keep riverside shack, every fortnight-have done for years. The old shack used busy and focused there's never any need for it to come back. Pulling out to belong to my Gramps. He left it to me when he died. From time to from the gravel driveway, the shack shrinking in my rear-view mirror, The time, I like to bring my boys up here and I am grateful that my wife never Darkness immediately began its struggle against the confines of the box I'd comes. Mum and Dad died when I was four; that's not an excuse, it's just a created for it. fact. Gramps raised me as best as he could . I learnt to be a real man from Gramps. He used to say, 'If you give a man a fish you will feed him for a day, *** but if you teach a man to fish you will feed him for a lifetime'. A boy should know how to fish. 'B lood worms, mealworms, earthworms: they're all good, but everyone thinks it's about the bait. It's not. The secret is a good berley. You have to It takes about two hours to get here from my place in the city. The use the right mix of fats or oil, meat, and grain . Get this right and that's Darkness is nearly gone when I'm here. It recedes. I think ofThe Darkness what attracts them in the first place.' as an old fashioned VCR counter, in the sense that it goes back to zero at Nadine nodded, so I continued-I assume that this is how this is supposed the press of a button . My shack is that button. I once tried to see how long to work. I could go without pressing reset, but it's best if I don't think on those days. 'There's nothing like the first cast-you know'-on a real still, misty The Darkness likes me to think on those days, and I can't allow myself to do morning and you're all rigged and baited up.' I closed my eyes and pictured that. my last fishing trip sighing loudly in yearning. 'You know what I mean, Doc?' 'OK, Tom, that's great. Now I need you to hold that thought in your mind I think I'd make a good hermit living here, tethered to my shack. I haven't the next time you ha ve those angry feelings we discussed, OK?' changed things much since Gramps died. I got a new fridge, a chest freezer, 'Sure Doc.' a microwave and some bunks for the boys but the old place is pretty much how Gramps left it. Sometimes you can smell him here: tobacco, whisky 'Now we just need to end things there today, times up, and I think you have and Ouick-Eze mints. made great progress. Don't you?' 'Uh huh. Say, I read this book once that said, "We only confess our little I'm not an uneducated man that just sits around on a rotting dock, fishing. faults to persuade people we have no larger ones".' She didn't hear me. For I have a very good job in a prestigious law firm, and I provide we ll for my someone who gets paid to listen she doesn't do a very good job. family. It's what a man does. I also like to read. I read all sorts of books, Looking up from the next file she had began to read, she said, 'R ight, but you can't beat a classic. 'A man may fish with the worm that hath eat excellent, now if you will just see Helen on the way out she will make a new of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm.' It's a quote from appointment for you, and you can fix her up for any outstanding accounts'. Hamlet, and it's my favourite . It makes me laugh. 'Uh huh.' I don't owe any money. I am never late with bills. Plus the headshrinking The lengthening shadows and the sun touching the tops of the trees lining moron has probably never fished a day in her manicured life. How is she the river told me it was time to return to civilisation. I sighed as I reeled in supposed to get what I am talking about anyway? for the last time this trip. It was time to pack up and head home. I do this a lot-run through conversations in my head. But in my internal *** conversations I always say what I want to, no excuses. I think everyone does, and I often wonder what the world would be like if we all just said I like things orderly. Clean. It's far easier to order your mind when there what we thought. I think it wou ld be hilarious. aren't things around to distract you. The car trip back was always my time

80 81 Helen's got great tits so I don't mind spending a bit of time making 'Well, if you were going to the shops after school, why did yo u ask me to appointments and whatnot. I like to taunt her sometimes too; she turns get it in the first place? Where are the kids?' this delicate shade of pink that flushes her cheeks and carries down to her 'They are both having a sleepover at Jordan's. Jordan's mum is taking them cleavage. But I can't take the teasing too far; it mightn't end well for me, to soccer in the morning, and you can pick them up from there at 10.30 am.' and it definitely won't end well for her. Round, smooth and creamy: Helen 'Uh huh, anyway I have had a busy day so I am just gunna grab a beer and really does have great tits. I wonder if they are real7 finish some work in the office. I need to get it al l done so I can head home early next Friday. I want to get al l my fishing gear ready so I can get in some 'Um, I need to make another appointment.' quality fish ing ti me, plus I have this new berley recipe I want to try.' 'OK then, Sweetie, when suits you next week7' She says 'Sweetie' in such a way that with each syllable her tits bounce 'Oh shit, babe, I forgot to tell you.' around, ever so slightly. I hate being called Sweetie though, and if it wasn't 'Uh huh?' for those tits I'd probably tell her too. 'Well, you know how Patricia and Pete got engaged7 Well it's Pat's hens' 'Um, this time next week?' night on Saturday, and I am the matron of hcinou r so I have to go, and I 'Oh sorry, that time is taken already. Is there another time that suits you?' can't exactly take the kids with me, so ... ' Typical! I don't understand why people ask when best suits me, when 'So ... we'll get a babysitter. Call that stupid friend of you rs, Carol; she owes obviously the question is when best suits them. us like a mill ion favours. Get her to do it.' 'Well, how about you tell me a few times that you do have available, and I'l l 'Tom!' tell you if I can make them or not?' 'What? Well she does, and it's not like my trip is a big surprise. I go to the 'OK, Sweetie, how about ... Friday at 4 pm7' shack every fortnight. Plus isn't that Pat woman still marri ed to that other 'Yeah, that's no good for me, sorry going away, so, how about this time the loser anyway? Can you even have a hens' night when yo u are married to following week?' someone else?' 'Well, that time is fine, but you will be missing a week. Do you want two 'Tom, you know that the divorce goes through in a few months and that sessions that week?' Pete and Pat have been together for ages. Why is this, all of a sudden, news 'Nah, thanks anyway though ... Hey, is that a new blouse? It really to you7' highlights your, um, assets.' I sure do love that shade of pink. 'Look, I am not missing out on a fish ing trip so you can go and piss it up with your hil lb illy whore friends .' *** 'You know, you could pay a little bit more attention to your family instead of fishing al l the time.' 'Hi Tom,' Natalie called from the kitchen. 'Have you got the milk?' 'Fine, I will take the kids fishing with me then.' 'Oh sorry, Honey, I got caught up in traffic and the meeting ran over, so it 'You can't take them. Josh has his soccer final that weekend.' completely slipped my mind.' 'Fine, then you can bring Josh down to the shack after the soccer final, and 'It's OK. I knew you'd forget, so I got some after picking up the kids from then you can go out.' school.' 'I am not driving for four hours just so you can go fish ing.' She does stuff like this all the time-it's like she is testing my husband­ 'No, you are going to be driving for four hours so you can go out with t hose worthiness and at the same time trying to prove some wife-worthiness. It's sluts you call friends.' pointless and really annoying. So really it's her fault for pushing me all the time. 'Fuck yo u, Tom, I'm not backing down t his t ime. I'm not givi ng in to you like The Darkness wore me like an Arma ni suit; we fit perfectly. I was finally I us ually do. You' ll just have to stay home; there's no other way'. able to relax, no longer having to hold it in check. My shoulder muscles 'You have no idea what you're asking me to do.' loosened, and I rolled my head around feeling the knots unwind from my 'Tom, it is just fishing . You can go the following fortnight. It won't kill you to neck. I opened and closed my mouth as the muscles loosened in my jaw. I cracked my knuckles and felt the rel ease all the way to my finger tips. This miss one trip.' 'No, it won't kill me. But if I have to play nice, pretend like everything's release was emotional, it was spiritual, and it was very sexua l. normal, live here, in this house, with you, I have to go. Just so I can bear it.' 'You ... you ... yo u ... hit me.' She wiped her mouth with the back of her 'Tom, you are the biggest arsehole I've ever met.' hand and saw the blood. She held her bloodied hand up to me. 'What 'You really do need to shut that mouth of yours, Natalie.' stupid fuc king book quote have you got for that?' Natalie screamed. And damned me if I didn't have one. 'Fuck you, you fucking arsehole.' 'Wow, Natalie, you're al l class.' 'Oh fuck off, Tom, so high and mighty.' *** 'Don't push me, Natalie; you don't want me to lose control, do you?' 'Lose control, you? When have you ever lost control?You alphabetise the 'Well boys, what do you think about our haul today?' fucking cookbooks for Christ's sake,' she screamed, throwing one of the 'It was awesome, Dad; I caught more fish today than I ever have,' Jake said. 'What about you Josh7 You've been real quiet today; somethi ng bugging larger ones at me. you?' All this time I was still calm-in control. The Darkness was really pushing 'Not really Dad; I'm just a bit sad about Mum.' against the box though. It was there, needling me to let it out. I wanted to, 'Oh, don't you worry about her. Your mum will always be with us when we but I couldn't, not yet. I picked up the cookbook and put it back in its place. fish. Now, pass your rod over, and I will bait it up for you.' 'OK 1 Than ks Dad,' said Josh cheering visibly. 'What are we using for bait, 'Natalie, I'm warning you to ca lm down.' and what's that oi ly stuff on the water?' 'I'll show you fuck ing ca lm, you anally retentive prick'' She screamed as she reached over and threw Gramps' wooden Alvey reel against the wall, where 'Bloodworms for bait and that's the oil from the berley,' I said, grabbing it smashed and fell to the floor. a handful of berley from the bucket. 'See, you just grab a ha ndful and I scooped to pick up the splintered remains of the reel-what more squeeze it into the berley cage. Just let any excess liquid and oil drop into the water.' The dirt red particles formed a solid mass ins ide the cage as I could I do? 'O Sorrow, wilt thou live with me. No casual mistress, but a wife.' squeezed the remaining liquid out over the water to demonstrate. Almost 'Give it a rest, Tom! You don't fool anyone with those stupid quotes you immediately, little fish started surfacing as they caught the scent. I washed my berley-stained hands off in the lake. know; everyone knows you're a moron.' 'Natalie, I cannot be held responsible for The Darkness; I can't stop it 'You see, look at those little fi sh. The trick is getting the berley mix right; you need the perfect mix of fats or oils, meat, and grain. Once you get t his anymore.' 'Again with the quotes. Darkness, what the fuck are you on about?' Then right you wil l be hauling them in all day.' she laughed at me.

I slapped her hard across her disgusting mouth; she fell to her knees. She had a startled look on her face, and a trickle of blood ran down from the corner of her mouth. The box opened. I smiled. The Darkness was released.

85 The green fairy Pablo Muslera

He lurched from his seat as the ghostly hands emerged from the page, discoloured as an old pair of boots. He caught his reflection in the oval slapping him hard across the face before plungi ng deep into his guts. He mi rror upon t he mantle and touched the whisky tumbler to his forehead. retched and heaved up empty ai r. He could n't reca ll even one gray hair, yet there was now a great swathe 'I'm so ... ' of them at his temples. The eyes that peered back at him bore the same 'SHUT UP. I know you're sorry; just look at you. What was that phrase you expression that Magwitch might have displayed on the fen when he hea rd used?-"counterfeit of a man". Damn right, that's what you are. All your his captors in the fog. A forgotten wrong-but the weight of it was no less bloody words, like poisoned honey.' real-fragments of slivered glass, a girl in a graveyard and an unfo rg ivable Her form emerged from the pages until she stood over him. The tears betrayal. had returned and flowed down past his chin until his shirt was soaked. His mouth formed silent words, which to the spectre were as clear as day. That rock in his chest again. An evening, last night, or perhaps a decade 'You want to make things right somehow?' ago-he could no longer distinguish wh ich-when he had woken at three in the morning, ale rt and paralysed. The certainty of a maleficent presence, For a moment the face of the spirit softened. Her hand stroked his all sounds ceased, and for an agony of moments his lungs were unable forehead, the nails brushing his cheek before tracing the contours of his to draw breath. He had always presumed night terrors to be phenomena lips. She glanced over to the desk until he rose, comprehending her intent, endured only by children. The presence had approached his bed, as he and resumed his seat. A strangled gasp escaped him. lay as one fixed in stone. There was no cliched whispering or luminescent 'Hush, love. I can see yo u're trying. Maybe next time.' apparition, merely an unendurable we ight and silent menace. He was Her hand caressed his brow one final time. certain he had heard something being placed on his bedside table-two faint metallic clicks-then it had departed and left him sweating in the His head sank onto his desk. As brows furrowed over sleep-shut eyes, he frozen dark. He then had fallen into the mercy of sleep as if leaping from a picked up the silver pen and started once again to write. burning ship.

*** The next morning, a note scrawled on a piece of paper on his bedside table- He sipped at his scotch, the dark amber liquid ca ressing his tongue amongst the ice, like an uncertain lover. The smoke of the Islay spirit bit 'Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight, through his torpor, even as his fingers traced the patterns of the Edinburgh And burned is Apollo's laurel bough.' crystal. Loch Lomond Go ld read the label, aged eighteen years in American oak barrels. The fashion back in the mid-19th century, when the distillery Something from Marlowe, but it was in his own hand. A silver pen weighed had begun its custom, was to trade with the Spanish sherry-makers for down the note. He was reminded of the bargain made by Doctor Faustus. their vessels. When supply was curtailed after changes in the production of Who had paid it this time? sherry, whisky barons had to turn to other alternatives. Now, American oak was the favoured receptacle to age the precious amber spirit. The novel The whisky had developed an intriguing nuttiness. The bronze sculpture flavours imparted by bourbon casks had breathed life into derelict stills. of Medusa on his desk fixed him with its stony gaze, sinews straining as it struggled with the serpent coi led around it. The artisan had captured A little of the ice me lted, and the fami li ar sweetness of the whisky the stress of the shoulder muscles perfectly. He couldn't comprehend insinuated its way to the back of his throat. The warmth lingered there. His Athena's spite after what Poseidon had done. Given the choice and granted tongue curled like a contented whale as it nears journey's end. He sighed, immunity from the curse, he would have preferred the poor doomed and eased himself back into the ancient recliner that was as faded and Gorgon.

86 The iron centaur drew its bow opposite Medusa, each figure guarding 'So what d'ye think:,>' ventured Justin. one corner of his desk. In the centre of their span and in the scope of the 'Nice enough,' replied Michael, 'bit like a green fairy when she walked in .' accusing lamp, lay a notebook and a silver pen. A scrawled note had been The girl had been weari ng a pea -green coat and boots, set off by an olive used as a bookmark. He knew the words without looking. They were from belt, when she entered for her shift. A pair of light chocolate cords and a the epilogue to He dropped his glass onto the recliner and Doctor Faustus. short fitted shirt with a pointed collar completed the outfit. rose to his desk. He opened the faded leather booklet, new seams and 'Aha, so you did notice her, eh:,>' Collem looked up from his paper. 'Think I wrinkles apparent in its casing. Only then did he notice the blue stains on overheard her sing in' earlier.' his fingers, perhaps fresh, perhaps enlivened by the dew from his glass. He 'Rea lly.' opened the journal at the fresh entry. Eyes febrile with fear, he began to 'Ye ah, Franz Fe rdinand . Somethin' about "dancin"' with Michael.' read. Collem chuckled at his own joke. Michael's eyes were locked to the girl's forearms and their tiny glistening jewels of perspiration. *** 'Myself, I think she's as fair as fair can be,' said Justin, 'wi' a rare blend o' His fingertips brushed the top of a flickering flame as he remembered the night in the cemetery-the dust of the womanly curves that radiate an inherently wholesome strength-an' by headstone in his nostrils; the dew of the lawn on his skin as God, I'll taste those lips before the week's out.' his hands framed the girl's face, her belly as she threw her 'You've not asked the Archangel if he wants a try' Looks to me like he head back and straw-coloured curls framed in the moonlight. might be keen.' Absinthe it had been that night. He had tasted the familiar Michael grimaced. He detested the nickname. numbing bitterness mingled with sugar as her tongue met his. Her eyes, darli and glittering, shone with freshness and 'Gentleman's wager, then.' the promise of youth. They never reached their expected Justin tapped out his pipe. destination. 'Whoever she likes best in the end gets a bottle of the best of Old Loch­ Back then the words consequence or repercussion had not but that'll be me, right enough.' troubled his vocabulary. Like an ancient warrior, he ran Michael's glance had not left the girl, and he took Justin's hand to set the through the sparkling sack of memories in the broken labyrinth wager as if in a dream. Collem touched his pint to the others' glasses to of his mind. The Green Fairy, Col/em and Justin in the Old bear witness. Black Dog. *** *** Six months later the Old Black Dog thrummed to the sound of the well­ Her hair was tied back in a ponytail the colour of freshly poured honey. used Steinway. Emily had proven the cliche about sun-haired singers, A delicate blush to her cheeks and a little paint to her eyelids and lips­ and tonight her curls were let loose in a blaze that heralded the arrival of out of fashion with the present time-but with her natural complexion Autumn. made more appealing for all that. A sheen to the fine gold hairs of her forearm was the only indication of exertion, and it was this that had stuck 'Luckiest pup in the Dog', joked Collem. in Michael's mind, if anything could explain what was to occur later. A paperback of Christopher Marlowe's plays la y forgotten next to his pint Justin had won her over within the promised week, and appeared unusually glass. devoted compared to past behaviours, even spouting phrases like 'honest woman' and 'matrimonial bliss' after his fifth pint of the evening. Emily's

88 89 singing had drawn folk from as far as Glasgow to the Dog, so that she only 'I'll just check in with my man, but will y'play me a tune after?' needed to do the occasional shift at the pub. Justin couldn't sing a note and Justin had told Emily all about Michael's supposed expertise on the keys, was awful at remembering lyrics, but he was a decent pianist, classically though he wa s nothing in that regard compared to his mate. He could trained, and accompanied Emily on her Thursday night gigs. Sometimes, string together a few popular chords, but that was about it. towards the end of the evening when Emily's jazz vocals were at their 'Sure.' smoky best, Justin would even improvise. Michael finished the last of his haggis. He took his pint of Belhaven stout 'I know, it's grand isn't it?' over to the instrument, taking a generous swallow to overcome the Collem had one arm around Frannie's waist as she moved to the music. spiciness of t he dish. He traced out t he notes to the song he had selected. 'But did y'hear, he's got a recital in the conservatory up North? He's away Emily turned t he rotary dial of the chunky black phone. Her hip rested for two weeks-wha' a blow for young love.' against the dark oa k of the phone table. Her shoulders rocked with what appeared to be mirth, probably at another of Justin's witticisms. Collem's laughter was swallowed up in the blend of bass-rich piano and honeyed vocals. Emily and Justin's interpretation of Nick Cave's 'Red right Michael downed the last of his drink and ordered another from the bar, hand' vibrated through the floorboards and thumped against Michael's together with a couple of packets of salt and vinegar crisps, and a lager for chest. Justin sought him out at the end of the night. Emily. His throat was massaged by the rich caramel of the stout, his mouth 'You'll look after her for me, won't you mate?' alive with the mingled bite of the crisps and alcohol. The candles atop the 'Aye, I'll look after her.' piano flickered with his breath. And he had. Emily was not someone who enjoyed her own company. Hers was an Ten minutes later he heard the receiver being replaced on t he hook. energy best sha red. Emily approached from the corner of his vision, the candle light a golden nimbus around her hair. She took a seat on the worn oak bench next to Michael found that his misanthropic habits could be altered at a whim with him, helping herself to a generous swa llow of the Caledonian after raising no disturbance to his equanimity. Emily had commented on this once, her glass in salute. A dexterous tear opened the packet of cri sps, and her 'lnterestin' character-quiet, but you like a drink, keep to y'self unless tongue savoured the melting sa lt before passing over her lips to devour the there's a song, 'n there y'are, in the thick of it.' last of the vinegar. He imagined he'd seen her rub her nose with the back of The teasing disarmed by the warmth of her tone. her hand when she thought he wasn't looking, t he way a chi ld might when Right enough I guess. it was upset. He could not be certain, but her eyes looked a little red.

Michael deposited a steaming plate of mixed grill and a pint of Caledonian 'Alright?' Bo at Emily's table. They'd sampled the entire compact menu at the Dog in 'Yeah,' she replied. 'So, what you got for me?' the last five days. Emily seemed able to eat as much as she liked and never Michael began 'Mull of Kintyre' in a quiet bass. Emily's face brightened. Her gain any noticeable weight. harmony elevated his effort to something halfway decent. Del Amitri's 'Be A healthy appetite. How bloody refreshing. my downfall' was followed by 'Whisky remorse' and a selection of Celtic favourites, ending with Travis' 'Driftwood'. His fingers were sore by closing It was Tuesday night, and after nine the crowd had thinned out. Emily time-he was unaccustomed to playing more than one song at a sitting­ nodded to the abandoned piano. and Emily's cheeks were red with her singing, her dark eyes sparkling and lips parted in a grin. Michael shook the cramps out of his fingertips and

90 91 returned their pint glasses to the bar. His watch read eleven o'clock. 'Who d'y'reckon this belonged to?' asked Emil y. 'Ti me we we re going.' 'Probably Marlowe', replied Michae l wit h a straight face. 'Wa lk me home?' 'Christopher or Philip?' 'Both candidates, both had a Shakespeare connection.' The night was mild, with that suggestion of warmth so rare in the Hebrides. 'Really?You can give me your list of references later. He's at peace now, Paper leaves scored with rusty veins crunched beneath their tread, their whoever he was. ' fragments dissipating like the thousand particles that comprise the mirror 'Are you at peace7' he asked before he could stop himself. of truth. They passed over the little step-bridge that crossed the canal. The moon was over Emily's shoulder, near enough to full, and the pea-green Emily sat down by the grave and started toying with a twig in the dirt. coat with the military style buckles was snug around her shoulders. Straw­ Michael joined her. He remembered the bottle in his coat pocket. coloured curls cascaded over the collar. One of her ears peeked out through 'It's pretty strong, but if a drink' II help ... ' her hair, a little pointed, giving her an impish look. The corners of Michael's mouth raised, and a low chuckle escaped his throat. He had purchased the absinthe one weeke nd in the Czech Republic. He 'What is it?' she asked. had left the madness of Prague for Lesky Krumlov and enjoyed the best peasant food of his life. 'Green fairy', he replied. 'Yo u were wearing that when you came in off the road for your first shift, and you had those green boots on as well­ 'I took a few cubes of sugar from the Dog, so we can drink it properly together with that chocolate pointy-collared shirt-we thought you were if y' like.' something out of Midsummer Night's Dream.' The outer edges of her mouth curved upwards, shadows deepening 'Maybe I am. You know, I think that's the first time in si x months I've seen in the dimples to either side. She had one of those faces that was you smile properly.' perfectly heart shaped. 'I ration them out. Don't want premature laughter lines.' 'Right. Vanity, thy name is Michael-no wait, that's Justin's line.' 'Green Fai ry for a green fairy', she murmured. He half-filled the bottle's cap and immersed a cube of sugar in the liquid. They'd crossed the bridge and started up the path towards Emily's flat. The night was very still, not even disturbed by the old crow in the adjacent Emily reached into her coat and retrieved Justin's Zip po lighter-silver with cemetery. Usually he'd give Michael a caw of greeting, but tonight his eyes a golden eagle embossed on it. She lit the sugar cube. Clear blue fire welled were closed and he was silent as if enjoying the rare lack of rain. up in the cap. 'He gave it to me before he left.' A strange look fluttered across Emily's face. She'd never looked so fey. Michael blew out the flame and offe red Emily the drink. She consumed it 'Don't suppose you fancy a stroll through the graveyard?' in one swallow, her tongue exploring the recesses of the cap for the last 'Sure.' particles of sugar. 'He said it'd kept me warm.' They passed the open gate with a nod to the old crow. Picking their way through moonlit trails, they stopped by a grave adorned with a Celtic cross. A swirling breeze ruffled the watch crow's composure, crept amongst the Ivy had grown over the ancient stone, so that the inscription was no longer headstones, and tugged at Michael's shirt. visib le. It seemed li ke something from an age lon g forgotten. 'He's always treasured that', said Michael.

92 93 He poured himself a capful of absinthe, and once again Emily lit it. Cerulean *** light flared between her hands, illuminating their faces . And both her hands are on his face and he can fee l the weight 'I get t he fee ling that's w hat he thinks of me sometimes-a t reasure t o be of her against him, and then his mouth is full of her and sweet put on t he mantle, or in his poc ket de pend ing on his mood.' and numb and bitter with the absinthe. His back is against the gravestone as she crushes him, soft weights upon his chest, and the smell of her hair gets inside him. The curve of her throat in Micha el pro duced anothe r sugar cube from his pocket. He poured a third the dead air; eyes blinking and tearing in shame and disbelief; measure of the spirit into the cap and offered itto her. Emily shook he r and pure desire and want and something he cannot define. Her head, lighting on e for Michael instead . Sh e ble w out the flame, and t his hand cupping his neck so she can kiss him harder; streams of t ime he sipped at the drink, st irring the su ga r in with t he t ip of his finger. sugarcoated spirit pass between them like a covenant. Then 'Not so bad t o be treas ured.' her teeth upon his ear like some wild animal. Blink and blink 'Yea h, but it does n't feel re al, y'kno w? Li ke when y're si nging; you and again and somehow all her shirt unbuttoned; the chocolate me know the lyri cs t o the so ng, and we feel them. Ju stin, he hears the cotton that she wore on that first night. Off her fai ry tights and her skin mother of pearl shine in the night. Lips are warm music, but the word s don't sin k in-it 's like the deeper meaning of against his ear as she undoes him and guides him down. Then things elu de s him .' his eyes are open, open because he has to take her in so he 'I'm sure it's re al t o him. I hav en 't see n him this se rious about someone believes what he has touched. She breathes into his ear and in ages.' he gasps as somehow he's inside her and he knows he's found 'Reall y? Or am I just a bet he won?' precisely what he never knew he'd missed. For once he's not pretending and for once there's nothing here but light and light The capful of absinthe continued its progress to Michael's lips with only a and oh, the dewdrops he can feel upon the golden hairs that momentary pause . grace her back. Then his hands, they frame her face as if he can't believe the goddess is made of flesh, and flesh for him to He t ook a sip. cleave and lose himself inside. Her head thrown back and dust 'What d'y'mean?' inside his nostrils from the stone behind him, he knows that 'Oh, don't worry, he told me all about it-you know how he gets after a he'll never approach these heights and knows that she's the one, few-the wager betw een you and him an d how he won it. But I've got a and all at the same time he knows he's damned. Cheeks are question for you . Why didn't you t ry harder?' wet and eyes now slits as he cannot stop looking at this thing he's found. Nipples brushed with pink and skin as white as Michael put down the ca pful, unable t o hold it steady any longer. white can be. His hands caress her belly, finding her navel as ' He's a mate, and he really liked you .' her fingers grip his shoulders till the /muck/es whiten. Then the tears are freely flown and he can only whisper that he can't 'Yeah, OK. But, here's another question; how much do you like me?' believe it. Her cheek warm against his own and both of them For the first time that evening, Michael found that he could look her wrapped up inside his coat and her hands gentle, oh so gently dire ctly in the eye . they stroke him. 'I li ke you a lot .' 'Kind o'thought so.'

Emily took up the cap of ab sinthe and drained the remainder in one swallow. 'Yo u know what? Th e fee ling's mut ual. I've always preferred you t o him.'

94 95 'As they came, they are gone' Sail Dark Lady Edoardo Cris mani Pablo Muslera

'Love is too young to know what conscience is' Don't put upon my reason -William Shakespeare, Sonnet CLI Don't put upon my hope For the fires of your jea lousy I will tell you the truth of it. He is gone these thirty years, and I have not Burn a penance with a rope a shadow of his art. Still, this good scrivener shall take my words and set And underneath the bridge of night them down as if into the very clay of ancient tablets. I cannot pen them That beast can hold you tight myself, but do not mistake the weakness of Eve for feeble-mindedness. It is true I share her taint; what woman does not? I also share her boldness, So don't try to shoot me her desire to search for hidden paths; it is this he loved most in me. Some With misguided arrows things are hid from view that should not be, and others so appal the gen'ral Don't try and bleed me senses they should never see the light of day. But soft, all things within Until you cope their season. For who knows the boat's safety Until the boat is ashore It was my wont since early days to follow Will in every way. When shirt and breeches he'd discard, so upon the morrow I'd be 'top the apple tree Those that never venture out arrayed within his leavings-fine as he (I thought) and spinning odes to Only know the shore fruit. I cared not for flounced skirts or silvered baskets in my hair, or pearls But I taste the pain around my throat-Will wore not these, so why should 11 Blood in vain Whipped across my back Was I not enriched enough in compass of his light, as the lily turns her And until the last adventure petals to her sovereign sun, to bask and grow within his splendour? Nor is that all-for when I showed my face to him, then were mirror'd joys I sail for more increased, so that they not singly went, but in battalions. I sail for more.

He will not mind that I have borrowed him a line or two-for I am Joan beloved sisterto the upstart crow. For his sake, will our family name ' rever'd be; as long as Time is Time. Not without right: for Shakespeare is that name.

But I have myself forgot-I promised to tell you the truth of it; here I waste this scribe's good industry with too-nice recollections. Although my thoughts all flow within a torrent when I think of Will, yet I'll sort burrs and soi lings from the silken fleece; for now that he has met his end, and I myself a whisker from that consummation so devoutly wished, I can reveal a myst'ry as yet undivin'd.

The Dark Lady in Will's sonnets and the beautiful youth?The one bethought to be the wife of an o'erhasty Lord, or patient friend; the other Wriothesley, noble patron, or Kit Marlowe in disguise? Neither is truth,

98 99 for truth is this; they both are me, and though I 'ffend high Heaven in the We happy few, we lucky few: Anne, her auburn hair, her too-pale brow tale-if you grant me patience, I will tell you why, and how. My name is (poor Anne, we would not have her light with us come five years hence); Joan, 'tis true, but also call me Gertrude, and Ophelia, Juliet, and Lad y Gilbert, of serious eye and midnight locks; myself, a dimpled savage, Macbeth. These are no idle boasts; these are the aliases bequeathed to me a touch of red upon my alabaster cheeks, a mass of jet-black curls that by Will through his own lips. trailed the bottom of my tunic; and Will of course. Will, the light within his hazel eyes ablazon'd, such infectious mirth that we'd have followed him to As to the ode to that dear youth: France and back, and honey-cakes and ale and mustard-flavoured mutton 'Make thee another self for love of me, all the viands we required. That beauty still may live in thine or thee.' He had that gift: the equal power of command o'er men and women, and Now Will could twist a meaning into rhyme so he could fit ten thousand it would serve him well upon the stage. Young Richard had been new upon words into a mussel shell; these lines are naught but love of kin and heart­ our coil a scarce six weeks; already Will addressed his brother as 'good sick longing that our union cou ld endure. Did I not love him all in kind? Else kinsman', and marked St George's Cross upon his swaddlings with some why my firstborn nam'd I William? charcoal from last evening's fire. Richard showed a rare delight to be included in our merry game; his little fist would pump the air and happy Yes I am Joan, a namesake to the first; oft-times I believe that it was for cries resound within the courtyard. the sister that he never knew that my dear Will first held me in his rare affection. He it was who showed me my first taste of Autumn sun; a 'Ho, kinsman-temper merriment with reason,' said Will. 'Do you not know laughing boy of five and I, a newborn wrapped in Father's finest Summer that William was before Richard?' fleece. The tender honest oil of woo l; that scent delighted Will and me upon the first, and soft as lambs our hands besides. I did not guess his meaning at the time, for Will was always delving deeper than we all could follow. When I had passed two Autumns thus entranced, he would begin to caper in our courtyard, 'top the stage he'd made from lashing sticks and straw But I replied within a breath, 'Ho, Will-but Richard here is namesake to our together. I would watch from attic window-'balcony', as Will had named it. grandpapal' (For so he was-the first time I had matched my wits to Will's, his eyes were narrow, but his smile had broadened at my words). My nose pressed against the murky glass, my fingers white upon the sill; he would proclaim the histories of Rome, and gallivant around in sheepskin One more handspan's years had swiftly follow'd Crispin's Day, and Will, the cape. A poker from the fire would serve as blade. Other days he wou ld proud and earnest stirrings of a downy beard; his frame enough a man's entice me to the ground lings, throw familiar words and signs to me with that once I took him for our father. He had broadened and his voice the such exaggerated faces I wou ld set to roaring. In different humours he timbre set to match one who has set his course and means to sail it. Anne would beg my handkerchief, bowing down before my favour as if I were had passed beyond our coil and we had buried her in Stratford Abbey Elizabeth Herself. I worshipped him, as in jest, he did me. scarce a month ago.

It was the Feast Day of St George, that Year ofOur Lord that passed Will's birth In an effort to make soft our mutual griefs, Will had read to me his by twice the fingers on one hand. How proud wore he the ta bard I had made, scrivenings from Holinshed . He announced me his intent: to tragode the resplendent in the red silk cross that Mother helped me stitch onto the sackcloth story of a Scottish laird. Resplendent was my brother in the kidskin doublet tunic. No accident, the thrill that runs through me each time I hear a play'r recite dyed a midnight blue-a birthday gift from Father, twofold to announce his the words of Crispin's Day, for that day he began to shape them from the very air. blessing upon Will to seek familial honour through the gaining of our crest.

100 101 I trace the script e'en as I speak; Will hath told me it is Latin and it speaks 'Joan, I cannot but confide in thee. Father has himself, and our good name our right to noble 'gend'ring. He had stitched it to this very doublet in undone.' anticipation of success-hath to me his garments all bequeathed, for which such comfort's mine; I know not how I could e'er 'bide without. 'What means t his, Will? How undone?'

When he finished his reading of Scottish tales I said, 'May I tie your doublet So he told me how the !endings of our father had o'erstretched his limits, 'round me, Wi\\7 I would fain admire mine own form in your proudest blue'. and his dealin gs stripped him of the office alderman, and he but a whisker from the debtors gaol. That gave him a scrap of pause, but of old he could refuse me naught. How he smiled at my delight and such a dazzle in that smile, I threw my hands 'We are ru ined, Joan-a usurer's plague upon our noble house'' 'round him saying, 'Kiss me, Will; embrace thy kinsman 1' My poor Will-what a wreck he was-and the ra in threw stones against the In good grace then he acquiesc'd, and the softness of that beard and lovely window; naught that I could do but cleave to him and wh isper words of smell of wool became him so that there was something other in our close comfort I knew not that I be lieved. That night I stayed by my Will, gave of embrace-I know not what. Will broke 'part from me-his mien one who he him my warmth and strength and every virtue Eve was granted-and it was had in mind to turn a line, or fashion characters from wisps of smoke. right and I'll not be gainsaid by any ma n of woman born.

'So nymph, well on you my garments look, yet in thy orisons, fraternal In the morn, he looked at me with eyes anew and I could see the set of jaw that told of his resolve to clamber out of the abyss that was of Father's thoughts recal\'d.' making. Soft again his hand as he brush'd locks back from my brow and laid 'Aye, but Jove have I for kin, dear Will-art thou not far more than kind?' a kiss upon it. I press'd his palm and gl ad I was to see the tremors gone.

Hi s hand soft upon my mass of raven curls, and his vo ice softer. 'More than No need I for wo rds when I could see t he steel I bore myself within his kind, dear sister, but no less than kin.' face-yet he spoke as if to seal a troth.

Then he left to scribe in solitude. I would catch his eye and he would greet 'Sister. I' ll recl aim our fortune, and a thousand more besides- in me weeks thereafter with a smile that spoke of private musings. Would your name.' that I could see beyond the glass that shows tomorrow! Two more winters hence I found him all distress'd within the attic, like a pris'ner in a tower. His That 'sister' still brings as much comfort to me as doth the scent of hair wild and doublet ties unloos'd and head sunk in his hands, where'pon Will's raiments. he had a sheaf of parchment clutched up tight. Though Anne Hathaway he'd wed 'pon Winter next, I will not own to guilty thoughts on her account. I ne'er took her portion of my Will's affection; it 'Why, brother, what's the matter'' was betwixt Will and me, and the better husband he to An ne with Joan's His eyes rim'd with red and his laugh but a croak as he replied with febrile love to sustain him. wave of parchment, 'Words'. Would'st know more? Aye then: comely youth I was in garments Will had 'But what words, to put my Will in such a state?' left for me and when I visited in London we would drink and dance and none the wiser it was I, his sister, two bravos we were.

103 102 Cleansing Alex Dunkin

'O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Polish my friend, polish the truth Dost hold Time's fickle glass, this sickle-hour.' Horror first gripped me Horror at my decision So my tale has spun its course; soon I'll join my brother on celestial stage. Horror at my old mind Do not judge my story with too harsh an ear; you who listen know not all Horror at a glance the shades of love . Polish my friend, clean the truth Wrong was I at a glance Glad now at my choice Happy of the death to my old Happy I was gladly wrong

Polish my lover, polish my truth Content has gripped me Love sits on the horizon Bliss tingles in your kiss Horror I was wrong to doubt you.

104 105 Happy birthday Zhia Zariko

She turned the card over in her hand again and again . The cartoon bear *** seemed to mock her, waving pastel balloons in immortalised cheer. There was some brief script in a slanting, elegant font that someone, Flowers. somewhere, had thought up and Hallmark decided to mass-market. There were nine cards in front of her, meaning nine people would get the exact What was the point of flowers 1 They always died. Eventually the bright same sentiment. She put the card back. Her eyes roved over the other petals turned into watery brown sacks of dead cells. Or they dried, curled cards before her, done in pale pink and blue and ye llow. They ranged from and were crushed. Really, giving flowers to someone was a cruel sentiment. infantile ages to cards that desperately tried to find humour in the fact that life was finite in the twilight years. Woe to those able to lament on how old 'Here. Have something that Ifeel personifies my emotions. That will they were. eventually shrivel up and die, no matter how carefully you tend to them. Why? Because I hacked them offfrom their source of life.' 'Can I help you at all 1 ' She looked without really looking, her eyes moving without her head Her fingers found the stem of some strange tlower that she didn't know. following through. The attendant smiled, but it was stiff and lifeless. False. The petals were deep violet-blue, thick and rubbery, and curled backwards Amazing how we ll she could now recognise those smiles. from the centre. It smelled like syrup and something not long dead. Just as 'No, you can't.' decomposition started, but before the real rot began . Who would give that She stepped around the attendant and wa lked out of the store. Behind her, as a gift to anyone? the attendant shuffled the cards she had gone through, rearranging them to appear as though she had never been there at all. 'Can I help you?' She put the flower back before she looked at the attendant, moving her *** eyes without following through with her head . 'No. You can't.' · 'Did you get anything?' 'No.' She stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked into the kitchen, She stuffed her hands in the pocket of her jacket and walked away. watching the woman's back as she bustled about preparing dinner. But the woman made no further comment. She never did. Which made her wonder *** why she stood there waiting. Did she truly think that her mother wou ld say anything? Was there really 'Did you get anything 1 ' anything to say1 No. Her foot stopped just before it came down on the bottom step of the stairs. She headed up the stairs. Slowly her head turned to stare into the kitchen, watch ing her mother prepare dinner again . *** 'Hun? Did you get anything?' Dinner was a quiet affair. She involved herself as much as was required, Her feet took her upstairs. making the customary responses and giving the accepted answers. But it 'Hun?' was empty. It was like asking, 'How are you1' and then not really listening to the answer. Or asking, and then lea ving it when the person said, 'Not The bedroom door closed just as her mother stepped out of the kitchen. great'. No-one expected to hear anything other than 'Fine', or 'Good', or 'Well, thanks'. No-one ever expects someone to say, 'What the fuck do you think?' But she dearly wanted to.

106 107 *** ***

She stood unnoticed on the stairs. 'I talked to Doctor Mitchell today.' Her brother stopped chewing. Her father's head came up. It was she Her father spoke first, 'I'm worried about her'. who spoke. Her mother's voice was muffled by dishes clattering in water. 'It's because 'What?' that day is coming up. She'll get through it; each year will be easier.' 'I made an appointment for you next Friday', her mother said. A newspaper rustled . 'Easier because each year there's a little less of her to 'I'm busy on Friday.' be upset. She's not getting better. She's .. . she's just disappearing in front 'And I thought we might go out to tea.' . of us.' 'I'm busy on Friday.' 'And perhaps-' The dishes were silenced. 'There's nothing we can do.' 'The hel l there isn't. How can you talk like that? This is your daughter.' She shot to her feet so hard that her chair went flying backwards. Picking 'There's nothing I can do.' up the plate in front of her mother, she turned and hurled it at the wall 'Jesus.' crockery and food going everywhere. ' The voices stopped and the dishes began again. 'I'm busy on Friday.'

'She's not even there anymore. It's like we're living with a ghost. She eats She stared at her mother, who was looking at the congealed mess of gravy and sleeps and studies, but she's not there.' and potatoes on the wall. Her own eyes dropped away. 'She's there. She's going to be fine. She's going to be fine , dammit.' A plate 'Make the appointment on Monday.' was slammed down with more force than was necessary. 'No . No, she's not; she isn't. And she's never going to be fine'' She left the kitchen.

'What do you want me to do? What can I do 7 ' Water splashed over the *** kitchen floor. 'Something ... ' Stolen things. Taken things. Things that were ripped away. 'Something?Yes. I shall do something. Will you do something too7 ' Her pen scrawled over the page as she wrote carefully and precisely about 'Don't take that tone with me. I'm doing my best here.' everything she was thinking, about how things could be so easily removed, 'So am I! But here you are telling me that I need to do something. What even though you didn't know you had them. Even though you never more can I do? What do you want me to do?Tell me, and I'll do it. What noticed them before. But their absence was like a gaping, ragged wound should I do' What is it that I can do?' that occasionally liked to roll in a pit of salt. Things like innocence. Things 'You could try being a mother to her, for once.' like life. Something smashed. A plate, perhaps, thrown against the wall. 'If you were a father to her, none of this would have happened.'The words Peopl_e regretted things all the time, regretted a decision made, regretted were little more than a venomous hiss. a choice. She never knew how deep regret could go. She wrote it all down in the letter. All of it. Every part of what she felt, every part of what she Passing by her wide-eyed brother, pressed against the balustrade, she thought. Everything she wanted to say and do and didn't dare. She wrote it returned to her room in silence. all down. Then she burned it.

108 109 Hitchhiker Nick Milde

The next Jetter was much nicer. You wa lk and walk, and your arm is tired, your upturned thumb windswept and ra w. Yo u look behind at every flash of co lour and, when night drops its *** heavy ho od, at every streak of li ght.

Her shoes crunched over the gravel on Friday afternoon. In her hand was Sometimes they stop, wait, throw open a door and offer up a place for you on an envelope, simple and elegant, with two folded pages inside written on the road and, for a while at least, you are a coloured flash-part of their ride. front and back. A Jetter that would never be read. Toolbox baby 'It wasn't your fault. It was just ... wrong. Everything was wrong.' She turned her head, locating the housing that she was searching for. It 'Nobody ever touches my pink Cadillac,' were the first words I learned to was simple and Jost amidst its neighbours, insignificant when compared to speak. From the second I slopped from the womb-a disappointment, the massively elegant constructs that surrounded it . But she always knew a thing of pink flesh-to this second now. The words were planted and where it was. Like she was drawn to it. nurtured in my ears until they blossomed into a tangled creed that stung and caught and dug its roots deeper into my brain every day: 'Nobody ever She stepped off the path and onto the grass, crossing over others lying even goes near my pink Cadillac, Son, ever.' quietly and patiently beneath her. She had to do it. Deep down, she knew it had been the right thing to do . But the right thing to do had never been The car was openly my father's mistress; I grew up in fear of her. so painful. Sometimes my tiny eye would find its way through the garage door and peek in at him there, making love to her with the wrench or the spanner Sitting down on the grass, she reached out and placed the folded letter on or his own bare and grease-stained hands, humming and whistling the tiny stone plaque facing up from the emerald sea. There was no name. and groaning while he worked . The car would grin down at me as she He had none. She had stolen it from him when she decided to end his swallowed him whole, pink suddenly running crimson like blood under the life before he was even born. Not for anything he had done. But because flickering neon light, and I would run to find my mother. his father should never have fathered him . There wasn't even anything beneath the earth. Nothing to bury, nothing to remember him by. Except 'We live in a toolbox,' she said once. 'We live in a toolbox: your father is the the day of his conception. greasy wrench, and you and I are the leftover washers at the bottom: no use, just taking up space,' and the next day, my mother was gone. 'Happy birthday.' When she left, I found myself living very much alone in the house. Every night, heavy boots would wake me, stamping reluctantly up the stairs late and every morning they roused me again in their haste to get back to the garage.

Sometimes I would stay home from school and secrete myself away around the house somewhere, but he would never notice. Eventually hiding became redundant, and I would simply never get up from the kitchen table after breakfast. On those days the pattern of my father's life mapped itself out to me: at noon, the garage door would groan open and from within would rise the fretful form of Father: overall-clad and oil-licked, always glancing lustfully back when he killed the neon light. A

110 111 sandwich, those eternal words my forlorn way, and he was gone again to work, loath to leave his lover but unable to seal out or stop up the existence She forgets things of the real world beyond the garage. Nine o'clock, and a happy man I didn't know would fly through the door, pass the rumbling, extraneous stomach Sh_e checks the bags again, even though she knows it is there. Under the that made up his son and, scanning me viciously with suspicious and shirts, under the photo album, her fingers touch it-it has not moved-and sl he breathes out and, smiling only to herself, she lights the driveway and bloodshot eyes, he would entomb himself away again with her, and I would eaves her home. slip down from my seat and up to bed.

Today, I reached nineteen. I listened and made the boots on the stairs into We are leaving the 'Happy birthday' song in my head, ending with a single clap as the garage door slammed shut. .. . and _we all swung back at once to watch them drift away behind us vanishing into the suburbs when we turned the first corner away fror:i Downstairs at eleven, I dropped myself down at the table only to suddenly home. AU we did was laugh and shove and yell at Greg to change the son feel out of place, as if this was not my kitchen. The glaring white wall was because it sucked, forgetting that we had made the mix tapes ou rselves g quiet, fallen silent for the first time in my life. Awkwardly, on the gelatinous anyway. G_reg gripped the wheel so hard we could see the grey vinyl legs of another, I made my way across the kitchen to the blank, cold face through his fingers . He told us all to shut up . of the garage door. I coughed loudly to let my father know that some predator wheeled around his love nest, but there was no growling hiss 'Just_shut up, damn it!' But his straight face cracked, and he laughed telling me to piss off in reply. shaking the wheel violently and making us all scream and cackle ' even more. On my knees, I held my breath and pushed a nervous eye to the tiles to peek under the door and into the flickering neon beyond. Over a pool of AUhe lights, we waved to three kids in the back seat of our traffic glittering silver wrenches, my father's eye peeked back. He held my tiny neig_hbour. They all laughed too, and strained in their seats towards us gaze for ten minutes or more and did not blink once. waving frantically ba_ck while their mother whirled from left to right lik~ a rusty sprinkler, spurting mute frustration at them and leering at us all at The doctors came at one, the ambulance at two, and by three I sat alone once. Red fl icked back to green and we shrieked away. again in my kitchen, the garage door open and the crimson lady winking and smiling at me beyond . I found the key in my father's box of special c_ars never passed us; we passed cars, and one time Greg rolled down things. It was in a little velvet case on top of his own father's medals and his window, scooped up a cup full of soft drink and, pulling up by some lay alongside a tanned old photo of two people who looked like me, at a rumbling old black machine, he screamed, 'Tora, tora, tora!' and .. . wedding, dressed in white. Taking the jagged shard of steel and my father's filthy old wallet I left, giving way to an angry-sounding old black car. Ian drives

I don't think I'll ever go back; the house was never home, just a building on Ian closes his eyes and for a second the car and his wife are not there· he the side of the garage. My pink Cadillac and I have a thousand better places floats along above the tarmac, and laughs through the twitching bug's that to be, and my first words will probably be my last. get caught in his teeth.

112 113 The surreal and unsettling encounter of 'Oh gee, that sounds so romantic! Did you? Ask her, J mean7' Harry Humes and Betty Morrell 'No, I hit her on the head with a rock and threw her sleeping soul in a river, honey. Thanks for the smoke.' 'Betty, oh Betty, hey Betty, oh my! Our love-uh, love-uh, lo-ove wi ll never die! And until I lay-uh meeee down to sleep, I pray-uh that you'l l be mine to *** keep! I tell yah, this is lo-ove-uh, and it's love-uh for you!' 'Terrible, Harry!' 'Took your time, Betty-Bunny.' 'Come on, that was worth a kiss I Even just on the cheek?' 'I ... sorry, Harry. I got talking to some ... some creep who wanted 'Ha ha! You're lucky as hell you're cute, mister, 'ca use I sure don't like you a cigarette.' for your singing voice.' 'Long hair, too many teeth for his mouth?' 'Don't I know how lucky I am, baby.' 'Hey, yea h, how'd-' 'There, one on the cheek for appreciating what you've got, not for the 'Same creep that got me to hand one over, baby.' song. Now, pull over up there. I need the bathroom.' 'Did he say anything to you?' 'Ah boy ... can't wait for the next one we pass? Tan k's only half empty and 'Not really. Well, just t_hat I reminded him of himself when he was living you know we can't stop too much.' someplace 1n lndones1a-lndo-nee-sia 1 he said it. Really weird.' 'Nope, can't wait; this tank might be half empty but mine's full, bub.' 'You're nothing like him.' 'Maybe I'll write the rest of that song while I sit here wasting time?' 'O h, gla_d to hear it, Bunny .. . 0-ohl Swee-eet-uh Bunny of mine1 My lo-ove, 'Lucky you're cute, Harry, damn lucky you're cute.' my darling, my year-long Valentine! My-' 'Don't sing, Harry.' * ** 'Hey, come on! Did I stop being cute in the last ten minutes or-' 'Just don't.' 'Pardon me, miss, got a uh .. . cigarette?' 'Well uh ... sure, here.' Elsewhere 'Thank you, thank you, very kind, thanks.' 'No problem.' The dog that lay draped across the bench outside the petrol station like a 'You know, miss, you remind me-sorry miss, a light as wel l7 Than k you, balding sack of meat growled low when Stathis reached out to scratch it too kind-you remind me of a girl I met once a while back. Li ved up in behind a stumpy ear. Sammy giggled as she pushed through the tattered lndo-nee-sia. Pretty girl, yo u know. Remind me of her a lot.' mesh _door and, much to Stathis' embarrassment, so did a gravelly, 'Oh ... really? Thank you.' drawling voice from an old black car that grumbled furiously to life at the 'Yeah, real pretty this girl, like a little doll, you know7 Like the kind little pumps behind them and then pulled back onto the eternal road . Sammy girls play with, all slim and shiny.' called out that she was just visiting the bathroom quickly, so Stathis stood 'She sounds lovely, sir, sure.' by the aisle of chocolate bars and condoms, awkwardly rubbing his wrist 'Oh yeah, miss, lovely. Loved her more than anything, too. Loved her more and g1v1ng a pleasant nod to the fat man behind the counter who chewed than ducks love the rain and moths love the moon, more than hooks love slowly on a chocolate bar and ignored him. the fish, more than all that; see, I miss her.' 'Well ... what happened to her?' An old lady with a face like broken dishes poking out of a burqua was 'Christmas Eve I took her out, out in the jeep to where nobody went. Could propped up in the corner by a stool. Stathis grimaced reflexive ly; the see for miles, and all the stars were winking down on me; if they'd had elderly_ put him on edge. Misty eyes-left one blue, right one ye llow­ elbows, they'd-uh been nudging me in the ribs to ask her to be my wife.' white like a cup of sour milk-suddenly clicked audibly and caught him

114 115 staring. Stathis retched and wanted Sammy to come more than he had The dog outside the door gave a low growl. Stathis and the old woman ever wanted anything prior to that second. He could not look away, so he did not move. Slowly, as though on a downhill slope, the milky eye began politely smiled. to roll to the side. The slight shift seemed to throw the head that barely contained it off balance, and it flopped limply to the jagged shoulder . The old woman's face cracked and shifted and dust fell as it sp lit open, below. Stathis realised he was holding his breath and, slowly, he let the eight cardboard-looking teeth peeking out of the gaping, sucking hole . air slip from his lungs, feeling a sudden, strong urge to visit the bathroom The burqua twitched, and a twisted old tree-root of an old hand grew from himself. He made for the door marked 'Men'. a fold in the rustling fabric, clutching and writhing into the air pathetically before collapsing into her lap and curling itself up, useless. With a whir and a clatter the old woman suddenly sprung back to life as though a child had dropped a dollar into her. Her gaping mouth wagged Her eyes rolled and rattled in their sockets like marbles. Her mouth opened perilously on its frayed hinges. wider, and air whistled in past her teeth which, Stathis noticed, squirmed in the breeze. The hole suddenly snapped shut. The dog snorted outside 'My name ... is ... ' the mesh door. Stathis steadied himself on the contraceptive rack, then, Stathis froze, sending a pile of beef jerky clattering to the ground when his like some sound from far off, the shrivelled face opened again and a hiss of shaking hand darted out to stop him from falling down . quiet words drifted out, which he could not hear. 'Ah .. . yes?' ' ... Sorry?' 'A gentleman .. . wou ld ASK!' She hissed the last word out like scalding Her eyes spun in her head, which shook and spat as she inhaled again. steam. Stathis' wrist suddenly stung, and he realised his rubbing had drawn 'Your name .. . your name ... is ... ' blood . He dropped his hands and, shaking, stepped towards the corner. Stathis clenched his fists and glanced at the man behind the counter. The 'What ... what is your name?' man kept his eyes locked on the old woman, slowly taking another bite of The old woman's head fell back against the wall, and her burqua rippled his chocolate bar and gnawing on it. down its length to the floor in a glistening wave. 'Um ... well, it's-my name is Stathis.' The tiny head snapped violently to one side, crackling as more dust 'My name is ... Roxy,' Her head lolled, and now she was asleep. Outside, the clouded around it. dog suddenly barked and a noise li ke cutlery on plates then Velcro being 'Stathis ... is not a name I have heard before.' violently ripped apart stabbed through the still air. 'No, well, I guess you don't ever hear it all that much ... ' The gnarled face still stared at him . He went on. Sammy came back from the bathroom, paid for their petrol and they left. 'I mean, my parents wanted something original, you know, interesting. On the torrid concrete by the pump was a broken and mauled ball of blood And, uh, I think they heard it in some old movie, and it stuck with them, but and fur vague ly recognisable as a feral cat. The dog was nowhere . ... I guess they were the only parents ever to see that movie ... ' She sings in the shower The old woman's clattering eyes snapped still so suddenly, Stathis jumped and rubbed his wrist reflexively. Her mouth hung limply open, and Stathis She sings in the shower; she sings 'Safety dance' in the shower. He sits at felt his stomach seethe as a dusty moth the size of a child's finger crept out the dilapidated desk by the window and stares blankly out of the window, from behind the woman's tattered ear and-emboldened by the silence­ counting down the numbers on the motel-room doors. She sings 'Safety flickered across her cheek and down her throat. Part of his mind idly wished dance' in the shower, and, sitting by the window, looking out of the it had been a fly, purely for re levance to the children's rhyme, although he window, he hears the squeal of her feet on the wet tiles as she dances. wasn't sure why she wou ld swallow a fly-she would probably die. Sitting by the window, looking out, he hears her fall over in the shower,

116 117 and the singing stops. He is too scared to go and check that she hasn't split She stared at the lump of his body under the old picnic rug he'd found open her skull on the taps, so he stays by the window, and keeps looking, beneath the back seat for another moment before turning her eyes back straight ahead, out of the window. to the road and the vague, undulating ghosts of the still distant hills. She watched them slowly dissolving into the dark, and suddenly wondered An old black car pulls in and idles, its engine a deafening roar. She could whether these were even the same hills that had been just over the horizon be singing again, under the noise; she could be alright. She could be lying all day, or whether they had passed and been replaced and she hadn't noticed. on the tiles in the shower while the water ran red around her. Out of the window and in through the car's, he sees the flicker of a cigarette lighter, A whining, grinding, crunching noise and the hiss of leaves woke her and and a puff of smoke escapes the crack in the tinted glass. He sits by his she violently swerved the car back onto the road, black post covered in window, looking out, and hopes this car will never drive away, so he will dead bouquets and tattered paper slicing off the rear-view, screaming never turn away and go to the shower to see if his fiance has died. along the metal and vanishing into the dark behind them.

Beard-head 'Jesus!' He yelled, leaping up from under the rug, which flapped away over his head after the post and the mirror. We pull out of the motel, and from nowhere in the middle of nowhere, he 'Shit! What the hell?' almost sends us flying back in again . As he passes and my husband makes 'God damn it!' She screamed. 'God damn it!' thorough use of his impressive backlog of expletives, I could swear that this 'Pull over! Pull over now!' driver's entire face is covered in hair, and that his car is flickering with the dusty orange of hundreds of giant butterflies cocooned in with him . I know She threw her foot down onto the brake, and the car shuddered and how tired I am, but I also know I saw a man with a beard for a face in a car groaned and shrieked to a stop in the middle of the road. full of insects, and he laughed when our road trip almost ended. 'God damn it,' she wept, beating her head on the wheel. He lunged across her and savagely flicked on the head lights, the sudden glare of the high Rear-view mirror beam making her wince and squint.

Black on black. The tyres ate the road like a strip of liquorice, and chased 'Stupid! God damn stupid!' He screamed hoarsely. 'This is just perfect! Ha!' after the sizzling golden curve of the bosom of the sun, slipping away He kicked open the door, and she watched him examine the messy stump behind the hills that they had been chasing all day. At their tail, she could of the rear-view mirror through the corner of her eye. She saw his face see in the rear-view, stars were beginning to sneak into heaven, and the contort inwards when he looked along the mangled flank, and in the moon was already staring at them like the milky, half-closed eye of a blind half-light that reached him from the headlights it looked as though he man, watching them run and listening in on their utter silence. The sky was inverting his body at the mouth. Like a snake, he leaned over the door went from blue to indigo to purple to black above and around them, and towards her, his teeth dripping with venom. they drove through it. 'S'beautiful.' 'Next stop,' he said, his voice low. 'Next stop, I leave you, and you can hitch 'Huh7' home to your mother or do whatever the hell you want. We're done.' 'Said, it's beautiful.' Slamming a white fist down on the misshapen door, he reared back up into 'Oh, uh huh.' His head sank back under the blanket, which whipped about the night. in a tartan blur in the wind. 'Yeah, beautiful, okay.' 'Stupid bitch.'

118 119 Looking over the car again, he kicked its tired wheel furiousl y before hours, and she'll be back in my grateful, grabbing arms again, making me stamping off into the red glare of the tail li ghts, his head sweepin g from promise-swear on this ugly old car of mine-that I'll never leave again, side to side . even though the both of us alre ady know I will . They never tell you married life is easy, and they shouldn't. What they should tell you is that it's hard as 'Stupid! If I can't find the mirror, hell, your trip stops right here in the he ll; hard as hell, but worth every second of agony, of tears, of doubt and middle of nowhere!' He called back, and she heard him curse over the fear. When she smiles, my old heart melts even now. impatient grumble of the engine that idled behind the whee l that her hands still refused to loosen their grip on. He had disappeared into the And now there's him, smiling her smile under my eyes and nose, and never dark, but his swearing floated back to her like the whispers of some angry leaving again suddenly seems so important; I already dread that he's grown ghost. Like her mother, she realised, just like her mother. and gone, and I'll have missed it all.

She heard one final, shrieking and echoing curse through the dark before My old black beast shudders when I coax her back to life; I wince when she the deafening roar of the engine tore open the still night air, and the coughs, and think it's probably for the best that this be our last ride. I catch unending broken line turned into a flicker of black-white-black, like some myse lf mid-thought: our last ride? And suddenly, I know it is. old movie. His writhing face bobbed up out of the red glare in the mirror for a second before fading into nothing again, and she was confused by a I pat the car on the dashboard and croon to her, tell her that we're almost strange howling whoop that seemed to follow her until she realised that there, and pull back onto the tarmac as the sun finally peeks through the she was screaming and laughing, waving one hand up into the sting of the clouds, which scamper away towards the horizon. cold air whi le the other caressed the glistening wheel of the pink Cadillac. Soon she was watching the sun rising above the hills that had slipped by in 'What a drive, honey,' I say to the car as we scream towards home. 'You've the night behind her, revving the triumphant engine as she made her way seen some things with me, haven't you? We've met some real characters, towards the blue line of the sea that glistened like a smile on the horizon. haven't we7'

Home and the black car But she doesn't reply, and despite the things we ha ve seen and al l the characters in the world, I regret having left at al l for the first time and press When I stop, the thin drizzle gets up its courage and thickens into a my foot down a little harder on the accelerator. freezing, pelting downpour that beats a heart-like rhythm on the roof. She purrs beneath me, my old black friend, and through the rain I listen to the In the distance, a person stands attached to an outstretched thumb, dulcet murmur before flicking her off at the key, and she shudders as she turning back and waving as we thunder on towards them. At their feet is a falls asleep. battered red suitcase, and at their back the sun now rises in a red sky. 'The hell,' I say to the car. 'One more, huh, baby?' Night has begun to retreat ahead of the first fingers of crimson sunlight slipping through a crack in the clouds, and above us they grumble and moan and cling desperately to each other in resistance of what should be one hell of a calm after one hell of a storm; at least the car wi ll be clean.

I smile when another shaft of glistening light shoves through the cover for a second, sharing in its small victory; I light a cigarette in celebration and watch it fade away to grey again. One more day of this, twenty-four more

120 121 The end

Smi les hit you from all directions, and you turn back a moment to wave off the one that placed you down at home only to find them off away again, turn ing a distant corner, back into the flow of the road, and as they came, they are gone.

122 'The ghostly hands emerged from the page' Author biographies

Caitlin Borman n's love for her cat Miffi and husband John overrides almost Corinna lengo loves her Writing and Creative Communication course, everything else in her life, but there's room for a fe w other loves: Converse, although she is at the end of the program and dreading becoming a grown­ green frog cakes, running, cycling and hiking. Oh, and writing short stories up. She enjoys buying clothes she can't afford, books she'll never have time and poetry-but only when she wants to, not when uni makes her! to read and has a slightly unhealthy addiction to the TV show Supernatural.

Christopher Brown is halfway through his Bachelor of Education, majoring Jo Mcginley is studying Writing and Creative Communication, and this is in children's literature and drama. He has always had a love of books, but her first attempt at writing a poem. She likes words, phrases, meanings, writing is a more recent pursuit of his. After dipping in the figurative toe, he mistakes, dictionaries and clean, crisp, lined paper. She likes what she now plans to jump right in and continue wholeheartedly. finds in words: disaster, misery, sympathy, distraction, and passion . She loves lyrics because they ha ve meaning; they follow a story, and that story Daniela Calvario is twenty-four years of age and will complete her Bachelor follows music. of Arts in Professional and Creative Writing this year. She has always held a passion for the performing arts and enjoys writing anything from poetry Caroline McNulty prefers to write stories that explore different aspects to screenplays. It is her dream to become a published writer-especially a of her characters' personalities. Having tried her hand at historical romances, whodunits and science fiction, she is currently immersed in the novelist or screenwriter. complexities of a medieval story that combines comedy, romance, political Edoardo Crismani has experienced many adventures/misadventures in his intrigue, brutal warfare, magic spells, dragons and probably not enough sex. travels to the land of the big celluloid clouds, Los Angeles. He presents a snapshot in his fictional story, Frank and Cressida-a story that could be Nick Mi Ide was found as a baby lying at the centre of concentric crop circles described in Hollywood movie-making terms as 'Being there meets Sunset and raised in a tank of liquid nitrogen, but escaped in early 2008 to begin studying Writing and Creative Communication. He has a passionate love of Boulevard'. reading and writing and is able to breathe underwater. Alex Dunkin is a second year Journalism and International Studies student who enjoys dabbling in other styles of writing in his spare time. He grew up Pablo Muslera recently discovered that, but for a tweak of the Jacobean in a small country town but gained most of his personal experiences while calendar and a matter of some 400 years, he and Shakespeare could be travelling overseas, and during a year spent studying in Italy. twins. It's no coincidence then, that his latest hairdresser also trimmed Belle and Sebastian's locks. There's a common thread there, and he intends Lawana Freschi first gained her love for reading at a young age when her to find it. dad read her a story about a bunny with a loose tooth. Much to her father's chagrin, this book became a constant every night for a long time after. Amanda Perri is not an Australian, but after spending si x months living, To those who know her, it is not unusual to hear her spouting her family's studying and travelling the fantastic country she certainly wishes she was. Back at home in Toronto, Canada, Amanda studies psychology at Ryerson strange made-up words and phrases. University wh ile indulging her love for creative writing. She plans on li vi ng Haze Goulden is the proud mum of two boys. She started writing to keep in Adelaide once again, and wants to leave her mark on the rest of the her mind active and to concentrate on something other than the musical world. styling ofThe Wiggles. Her love of books led her into the open arms of the Writing and Creative Communication degree. She promises that her work, The frustrated angler, is not an autobiographical piece ... yet.

127 126 Alan Sheldon, early t wenties, fun-loving male who likes to read and tell stories, seeking female to enjoy slow dancing to The Ramones and long walks on the beach in teddy bear costumes. Possibility of a permanent relationship, never married.

Mostly monochromatic Zhia Zariko was born with a notebook in her hand and an opinion in her mouth, and she isn't afraid to share them. A proud Scorpio woman, she enjoys explorin g psychology, especia ll y the darker side of human (and inhuman) nature. She's also a closeted hopeless romantic, but don't tell anyone.

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