narratorAUSTRALIA Volume Three

  ~ When beauty is perfection, love turns to image ~

  Thursday 20 June 2013

  The Dangers of Dating Doris

  John Ross

  Blackheath, NSW

  Bluey, Snowy and Mad Mick were sitting in the front bar of the Royal Hotel. There was nothing unusual about this as it was where they were every Saturday afternoon at this time. What was unusual was the subdued atmosphere that pervaded the whole bar. There was very little conversation; even the barman, Angus Applethwaite Bertwistle, known to his friends as ‘Angry’, was sitting quietly polishing glasses with a not very clean tea towel.

  The reason for this sombre atmosphere was that most of the bar patrons had just come from watching their local footy team, the Royal Rabbits, sponsored by the hotel and otherwise known as ‘The Randy Rabbits’, get beaten in the Grand Final by the Sandy Flat Bull Frogs, 26 to 25. The bar was still festooned with banners that read, ‘Rabbits for premiers in 1949’. Not one person mentioned that it had been 30 years since their last premiership win in 1919. Then they had only won because their opposition had forfeited.

  Mad Mick looked up from his deep concentration on his half empty schooner and said to the bar in general, ‘Bloody ref’. There was a murmur of consent from the other patrons. ‘I’m going to send the bastard a white cane and black glasses.’ Mick went back to the contemplation of his beer.

  Silence hung heavy over the bar like a funeral on a rainy day.

  Trying to change the mood the bar tender said to Bluey, ‘You disappeared pretty quick after yer dinner here last night. Who was that good lookin sheila you was with?’

  Looking rather sheepish Bluey replied, ‘Yeah we were supposed to go to the pictures.’

  This exchange immediately grabbed the attention of Snowy and Mad Mick. Snowy got in first and said, ‘Two questions mate. Who was she and where did you go if you didn’t get to the flicks?’

  Looking even more flustered Bluey went a bright shade of pink and muttered, ‘The bank manager’s secretary, Doris.’

  Mad Mick gasped and said, ‘The blonde with the big ...’

  Snowy, grinning from ear to ear cut in, ‘Now, now, Mick a bit of decorum please. I’m sure you were going to say that she has big brown eyes. But I do seem to remember that she won “Miss Dairy Cow” in last year’s festival. Isn’t she a bit too posh for the likes of you? Her old man owns that big place out on the Sandy Creek road.’

  Before Bluey could respond Angry chimed in, ‘You blokes should have seen her performance at dinner last night. No beer or gin and tonic for her with the meal. She wanted to see “The Wine List”. When I told her we only had Penfolds Claret or Sweet Sherry she wanted to know if we had any “Bubbly”. When I told her I didn’t know what she meant she told me it was some French stuff called Çhampspain. Anyway she polished off four glasses of sweet sherry and finished up drinking two beers after all.’

  Bluey said angrily, ‘You sure know how to charge Angry, you bloody robber. The bloody meal cost me over two bloody quid. I coulda bought the new tyres I need for me ute for less than that.’

  Mad Mick, who had been busting to get into the conversation, said, ‘Well I hope it was bloody worth it mate. You must have it bad to spend that much on a sheila; dinner and the pictures, next thing you will be buying her bloody flowers. Hang on; you didn’t get to the pictures. Did you take her down to “Snogger’s Park” you randy bastard?’

  Bluey replied in a subdued voice, ‘It was her bloody idea and all she wanted to do was talk. How bubbly wine is bliss, how she misses the culture in the big smoke, the last bloody opera she and her father went to. Yak, yak, yak. It fair put me to sleep but I soon woke up when she started to feel sick. On the bloody way home she threw up all over me. Last bloody time I take out a posh sheila like her.’

  Friday 21 June 2013 4 pm

  I Wish They Had Not Done That

  Paul Humphreys

  Oxley, ACT

  Matsui climbed down his makeshift bamboo ladder into the well behind his house. He had started early. He gently eased himself onto the constructed platform and reviewed his progress in the repair of the wall of his well. He was grateful for well water, as were his neighbours who were also allowed access to the water.

  He had many friends as neighbours and he cherished the comfort of the village community. However, there were occasions when he missed his wife and son, usually at night.

  Matsui’s wife had died about two years earlier, one year after he had retired. Matsui was determined to carry on his life as usual keeping himself busy in his vegetable garden at the rear of his house.

  Employment was difficult in Japan in 1943. Their only child had left home to seek better employment in another city not long after he had lost his mother.

  It was early morning and the sun shone brightly as it rose above the cloudy horizon.

  He was busy and happily hummed as he went about the repairs.

  Above him hidden by high clouds a mechanism unlocked a cylinder to start its silent descent toward the earth. It would take approximately 45 seconds to reach its destination.

  Matsui looked up in surprise as he heard a rush of air funnel across the well opening. Surprised, Matsui looked up to the opening just as a bright light and then a sudden shock of heat occurred. A terrifyingly loud explosion followed almost immediately. It seemed to come from the centre of the city about a kilometre away.

  Matsui quickly climbed the ladder to see what had occurred.

  As his head rose above the rim of the well he could not believe what he saw. He felt a nagging knot of nausea begin to develop in his stomach. His house and all the neighbours’ houses had vanished. In their places were broken houses, windows and the occasional body.

  He slowly pulled himself out of the well and stood up. He looked across a flattened landscape where fires had broken out as far as he could see. Many people were running in confusion around the debris searching for hope and understanding of what had happened.

  Some people were screaming in agony from obvious injuries, while others were crying uncontrollably in shock from the suddenness of the calamity. Dust, smoke and a strong smell of burnt wood, plastic and flesh pervaded the whole scene. His senses were assailed on all fronts.

  The knot in his stomach tightened further and he fell to the ground and was violently ill.

  He lay prostrate for some time, paralysed with fear and foreboding. His breathing came in quick gulps. He remained still for a long time hugging his legs to his chest. Through his mind ran conflicting thoughts trying to understand what had occurred. It was not an earthquake, as the ground had not trembled.

  He suddenly cried and screamed and beat his head against the ground as tears ran down his cheeks. He could not be sure which direction his emotions would take him. How to cope with this incredible tragedy and the loss of friends and his community?

  After what appeared a long period he gradually sat up, rested his head on his knees and tried to gather his thoughts about what he might do. There was no reason to stay here amongst the rubble. Nothing was left.

  After a number of hours he was rested and a little bit calmer. Grim faced people in a hypnotic daze continued to wander silently past, dust and tears lining their faces.

  He needed a sanctuary and support. Someone close and familiar. He would try to reach his son.

  He moved away from the well and headed in the direction of the railway station, which was away from the areas of major damage. Each step became more deliberate and determined. He was alive. That was important now.

  At the main railway station, which had not been affected, he learned that it was an American bomb that had caused the conflagration and damage to his city and village. Damn them to hell! I wish they had not done that!

  After a couple of hours wait he was at last on a train speeding toward a rendezvous with his son.

  In Nagasaki.

  Friday 21 June 2013

  White Wizard’s Spell

  Alexandra Plummer

&nb
sp; Kallaroo, WA

  you drop a line

  blind with distraction

  i couldn’t define

  the fish for reaction

  i misunderstood

  too hard to look

  taking the bait

  of a fisherman’s hook

  mirrored reflections

  subtle rejections

  a tearful heart

  words projected

  euphoric days gone

  constantly wrong

  day by day

  a strategic play

  i can’t find my core

  the world’s getting small

  these walls closing in

  can’t get off the floor

  my hand’s reaching out

  you’re knocking it down

  such a powerful blow

  from a silenced frown

  a stained soul

  bleeding rejection

  a tainted love

  yearning redemption

  pounding heart

  with a painful sting

  glass eyes and lies

  a coldhearted grin

  a forceful impact

  distressing destruction

  your heart won’t react

  a struggle to function

  the world all around

  watching on as i drown

  in a state of suspense

  with effects so profound

  holding confessions

  predominate obsessions

  a white wizard’s spell of

  instrumental aggression

  can’t stand on my feet

  pinned down to the ground

  a rollercoaster ride

  no hope to be found

  nothing makes sense

  unfocused confusion

  i’m stuck in your web

  of chaotic delusion

  you’re afraid to show

  who lurks deep inside

  people will know

  the coward that hides

  behind a mask you wear

  no feelings live there

  a member of hell

  an empty soul’s shell

  grandiose vanity

  delusional reality

  a false sense of self

  moral insanity

  all blame is reversed

  a vampiring thirst

  feeding emotions

  loss of devotion

  nothing half empty

  nor is it half full

  a power too tempting

  this king wants to rule

  needy and faded

  distant and jaded

  through contact lens

  no blink from a friend

  crashed from exhaustion

  no strength to fight

  can no longer pretend

  we share the same sight

  there’s no-one there

  no choice to decide

  my body still thrives

  but my mind just died

  drained of all tears

  my cries have dried

  i’m flatlining numb

  mental suicide

  the push and the pull

  emotionally shoved

  is this how it feels

  being special and loved?

  Saturday 22 June 2013

  It’s Time

  Jennie Cumming

  Blackwood, SA

  Twenty-four hours after she’d left Heathrow, Laura pulled her wheeled suitcase along the uneven paving bricks of a quiet suburban street in Adelaide. The low grumble of wheels on pavement marked her progress towards her grandmother’s home, and disturbed a succession of dogs that had been sleeping inside fences and houses along the way. Their warning barks had no visible effect on the young woman’s measured pace, but eventually she slowed, and then stopped at a gate in a low wrought iron fence. Dusty pelargoniums and grevilleas growing through the railings brushed against her as she reached for the latch. When she pushed it, the gate jammed on the cracked cement path, forcing her to use both hands to lift as she shoved.

  After she’d pulled her case through the gateway and managed to shut the gate again, Laura rubbed her hands together, grimacing and brushing away traces of rust and dirt. She re-settled her large backpack, shoved the handle of her case into its housing and picked it up. A gecko scuttled into a crack of the low wall around the verandah as she stepped up onto it from the uneven path. Dirt and leaves had banked up in the corners and patches of faded red paving paint were visible underfoot. An electric door buzzer hung askew on the front doorframe, and the end of a broken wire stuck out from behind it.

  Laura winced at the screech from the hinges as she pulled open the dirty screen door. She knocked on the wooden door. Nothing stirred. She knocked again, and then pushed the screen door shut and gazed around the verandah. Spider webs drooped from the bare globe in the ceiling to the top of the window frame.

  She picked up her case again, and walked across the front of the house, heading for the side driveway through dead weeds and grass. There were recent tyre tracks and footprints in the sunken gravel and dirt of the drive, and the double gates in the front fence had recently been swung open, tearing some of the entwined branches of the adjacent shrubs.

  ‘Laura!’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Clancy!’ Laura’s head jerked around. The neighbour was peering over the top of the side fence.

  ‘I saw you go past the front. Wait a minute.’ Mrs Clancy dropped from sight and a few seconds later stepped through a gap further along the fence. She came towards Laura smiling, opening her arms for a hug. Laura lowered her case and returned the hug awkwardly.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you because your Gran isn’t home just now. Come over and have a cup of tea. Let me take your case.’

  ‘Oh, no, that’s all right, I’ll take it. It’s a bit heavy,’ Laura said.

  ‘Well, mind how you come through the fence. Don’t get splinters.’

  Mrs Clancy placed a plate of biscuits on the kitchen table. ‘I know it’s been a while but these used to be your favourites.’

  ‘Five years,’ Laura said, ‘but I haven’t forgotten your baking.’ She picked up a biscuit and smiled. ‘They smell wonderful.’

  ‘I guess you’re used to fancier food these days.’

  ‘Not so much lately.’

  ‘Because of this recession they keep talking about?’

  Laura nodded. ‘And problems at the company I worked for. At least I wasn’t high enough up to get sued when they went broke.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief! But at least you’re home now. Your Gran has been so looking forward to having you here again. She is so proud of you and all the places you’ve seen. Speaking of which,’ Mrs Clancy lifted two photo albums from the kitchen dresser and placed them on the table before settling on to her chair. ‘I helped her organise these. We put all your cards in the back of this one.’ She tapped the top album. ‘Postcards, Birthday, Christmas, everything.’

  ‘Oh!’ Laura pulled the top album towards her and opened it. The cards she had sent were filed in clear plastic pockets. She flipped backwards through the album, pausing at a page of black and white photos near the front. A smiling young girl was wearing dungarees, holding the handlebars of a bicycle that was too big for her. In the adjacent photo, she was a little older, wearing a party dress, white ankle socks and black court shoes.

  Mrs Clancy leaned forward and pointed. ‘There’s your Mum all dressed up for our Jamie’s birthday. She helped ice the cake. She did that every year until … well, until she left home.’

  Laura closed the album and pushed it away.

  ‘Your Gran was worried you wouldn’t get these, so she asked me to keep them here.’

  Laura looked up.

  ‘They took her to hospital yesterday, Laura.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Laura exclaimed.

  ‘She has pneumonia and the fever is making her quite silly, but she is worried your mother or uncle will throw these out.’

  ‘
I have to go—’

  ‘No, just wait a while, pet. Jamie’s coming over and he can give you a lift to the hospital. He won’t be long. In the meantime,’ Mrs Clancy opened the other album and spun it around on the table. ‘Your Gran really wanted me to show you these. Look. There she is with Lenny before he went to the War. You can see how young they were. This is when he came back with battle fatigue. It’s what made him drink, you know. It took a lot of them that way.’ She slowly turned the pages. ‘There’s the house when they first moved in. That’s the vegetable patch. You can see how small the trees were. That one was your favourite for climbing, wasn’t it?’

  Laura nodded. ‘Mrs Clancy–’

  ‘I know, dear, you want to go, but I promised I’d show you these and it’s no trouble for Jamie to take you. I don’t want your Gran fretting and I know she’ll ask you about the albums as soon as she sees you. It’s been a big project for her, sorting out these photos. We both went through them, and I’ve written on the back for you. See?’ She slid a photo out of the album and turned it over, showing Laura the writing on the back. ‘This is your Mum.’

  Felicity practising her callisthenics before her school concert, 1960.

  ‘It’s all there.’

  Laura was silent as Mrs Clancy replaced the photo in the album.

  ‘Your Mum doesn’t realise it, but your Gran really loves her. She knows Felicity blames her for not leaving Lenny when he got so bad with them, but things were different then. Women couldn’t get decent work or even a decent reputation if they were by themselves. Nothing was the same after the War, but she married Lenny before he went away and after that it was all about honouring promises. Your Mum left home before she understood that and I doubt she ever will now. She’s so bitter.’ Mrs Clancy hesitated and then closed the album. ‘I rang her earlier.’

  Laura glanced up.

  ‘She’ll be at the hospital by the time you get there.’

  Laura frowned, opened her mouth as though to speak, then nodded instead and sipped her tea.

  Mrs Clancy opened the other album and turned the pages slowly. ‘These photos are your Gran’s way of making sense of her life. It’s like she was making peace with herself.’

  Laura looked at the album. It was open at an old photo of herself and her mother standing outside Gran’s house. The brightly coloured skirt reminded her that it had been her thirteenth birthday. Her mother had made an effort to hold her temper, but it had still been a very awkward visit. The only good thing was that she was then old enough to catch the buses across town by herself. She could visit Gran on the weekend whenever she wanted to.

  ‘You can see all sides of it,’ Mrs Clancy said, cradling her teacup in both hands. ‘Looking back you can see how they all did the best they could. It’s a shame some people just keep running and never get a chance to stop and think.’

  Laura flushed and looked through the kitchen window to the tops of the trees next door. ‘Does she still say, “The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago. The second best time is now”?’

  ‘Yes. It’s never too late.’

  Sunday 23 June 2013 4 pm

  Pumpkin Soup

  Virginia Gow

  Blackheath, NSW

  Sharp

  Knife

  Slices

  Daintily

  Cute pumpkin pieces

  Onion slices and potato

  Nifty nutmeg and tangy tumeric top this off

  With a gentle splash and a wooden spoon stirring into the boiling salted water

  The bubbles are bliss as they break through to the surface

  Sending delicious aromas

  Throughout the kitchen

  Exciting

  Hungry

  Taste

  Buds

  Sunday 23 June 2013

  Tae a Cherry

  Alexander Gardiner

  Bullaburra, NSW

  Wee, wee rid rid coated thing

  tae ma hert sic joy yea bring.

  Wae elegance an’ tender charm,

  ma racin’ hert yea sae disarm.

  Yea hang there among yer kind,

  Bright an’ braw but sae refined.

  Ma wee rid rid coated friend,

  sae Bonny, I’ll nae pretend.

  Each year fur us yea come along,

  espousing nature’s sweetest song.

  A song not o’ sound but o’ exotic taste.

  a taste fur oor lucky paletes tae be graced.

  Here fur oanly a wee wee time,

  yea mak ma taste buds gently chime.

  Tastin’ like nuthin’ else oan this earthy place.

  wae yer wee rid rid bonny smilin’ face.

  Frae yer parent tree yea duly burst ,

  as a wee fluer yer gently nursed.

  Caressed by bees yer scent doth bring,

  eventually tae be a wee green pimply thing,

  Bathed wae the Sun’s life giving rays,

  growing, maturing in such a wondrous way.

  Changin’, yellow, pink, noo tae yer rid rid style,

  tae a Bonny Cherry tae please us fur a wee wee while.

  Av jist picked yea up frae among yer like,

  frae the box foo o’ Cherries whay are jist alike.

  But you ma wee wan are jist fur me,

  hope yer taste is in the proper key.