Shakespeare on the Roof

  ***

  Six: Dishonourable Discharge

  I found a frilly, canary yellow shirt with large exotic flowers hand painted on it. Actually it was one of my mother's blouses, I had gone to Mum's house to see how she was getting along, she was a bit of a painter and was preparing for a one man/woman show, we had tea and scones, the scones were about a week old, I ate them to be polite and then Mum went out into the garden to cut me 'bits' to plant in my own garden. Whilst she was out there I got to work. I rifled through her wardrobe, I was looking for hippy gear, I remembered one shirt in particular that Mum had worn, she had looked silly in it back when, I found it and tried it on, I looked sillier in it now but that was the idea, I had been invited to a garden party, a hippy garden party, I had to look the part.

  Back at Chez Nous I dug out an old box I had kept of Dad's and right at the bottom, underneath his university degrees, a book he wrote stating that the invention of motor car engines proved the existence of God and a few love letters on flowery hand-made paper he'd received from Mum, there was lovingly stored a pair of platform soled men's buckled shoes, the shoes were funky but not practical in a combat scenario. I also came across a gold chain with a peace sign medallion, a sharks tooth and an Egyptian hieroglyphic eye, it probably meant life or luck or something. I decided that the little collection would be very handy on my hippy day out. Dad was an educated Egyptian, he had an engineering degree from an American University, he met Mum when she was overlanding on the hippy trail from Australia to England. I'm sure they had loved each other, at least in the beginning, but Dad hadn't been able to handle the arguing, he thought women should obey men and Mum thought that women should be liberated. One day Dad took me aside and he told me that if I wanted to have a chance in life, I had to get away. Join the army he had said and get well away. He got well away a few days later, he walked out on us and we never heard from him again.

  Checking out my own wardrobe I found an old pair of flared tartan trousers, for those I was entirely guilty. Why had I bought tartan trousers? Why is the earth round? Must have been a moment of weakness when I broke up with my first girlfriend and went out and rebelled, as you do when you are seventeen. I was skinny in those days so I was surprised I could still get into the trousers, it was a tight fit, all muscle of course not fat, but I got them on.

  I topped off my ensemble with a blood red cravat, I hoped it made me look a bit sort of sixties funk rock. It was to be a hippy fancy dress, flower power, everything is groovy, hey man, natural gas type of garden party. I wanted to have some fun, fit in to a crowd of students, I wanted to be incognito, I wanted to dissolve into the background, so I took a lot of effort with the hippy garb, it was, after all, a hippy party.

  I had been discharged from the army, dishonourably discharged I may add. Kashmere had written a report and there was nothing good about me in it, obviously I had joshed her too much and like ninety per cent of the population her sense of humour had sadly died of malnutrition. Her report was unfair but there you go, que sera sera, whatever will be will be. I had been locked up, court martialled and thrown out of the military with only a bullet ridden Shakespeare to show for ten years of putting my life on the line for my country but it was no big deal, I was quitting anyway and I had better things to do than kill people. Even so, I couldn't quite forgive Kashmere. Still, it was all to the good, while locked up awaiting court martial I had read lots of books and when I had been thrown out of the army I applied for adult entry and had been accepted by the University of Adelaide Law School to study, you guessed it, law.

  At the court martial they had ordered me to stand to attention whilst a prosecutor read out the charges, I slouched. I got told again and again to stand up straight, I didn't. Kashmere's evidence was read out, she didn't appear, medical reasons were given for her absence. I had a fumbling barrister, I told him not to bother, he said they were out to get me, I said let them throw the book at me, I'd bloody well throw it back at them and I did. They kept trying to shut me up but I wouldn't shut up, I defended myself and I asked: What right has a government to send armed people into another country to kill citizens of that country? The prosecution said it was an undeclared war, a policing action, it was a necessary evil, the lesser of two evils and so on, so I said: What right has a government to send armed people into another country to kill citizens of that country? In the end it was a matter of agreeing to disagree or, to put it quite bluntly, I agreed to take any shit they were prepared to hand out to me. They were talking about locking me up and throwing away the key but finally they came to me with a bit of a financial package, they winked at me, if I signed a piece of paper that stated I would not talk to the press, or anybody else for that matter, I could be out of the army the next day. I told them they could stick it up their arse, they locked me up. I made plans to break out but there didn't seem to be a way out. I had visions of me standing to attention and a yellow stripe being painted down my back, then being stood up against a wall and a firing squad marching in to do their duty. They, the political faceless backroom boys, came back pretty much every day with the temptation of my getting the hell out of there as the bait, the fish they were looking to catch was my signature. After a week I said: what the fuck, I signed their piece of paper and I was out of there.

  I had never been to a garden party before, it was a fancy dress, hippy retro garden party or did I say that already? My hair was no problem, I'd let it grow, it hung down over my shoulders, those last few months in the army I had refused to get it cut, they were court martialling me so I decided to rebel. It's funny how you get an absolutely lousy deal but think you have got your own back because you grow your hair a few inches longer. That will show them, they'll be sorry, I had thought.

  As I started to dress for the hippy garden party my main worry was my undies. I had got up in the morning and couldn't find a single pair, then I remembered I'd put them all into the washing machine together with a woollen jumper, white bed sheets and a green T-shirt, my favourite, and anything else I found lying around. I had wanted to get everything really clean so I put the machine on very hot, switched to a large wash, gave it plenty of spin and added lots of detergent. Eventually the washing machine broke down with suds pouring out of it. I'm not very domesticated, Mum taught me everything she knew, so I'm good on women's rights and preparing a canvas for painting but not so hot on washing machines. The jumper shrank to the size of a doll's jumper, the T-shirt lost all its colour, the sheets came out a mildly sick green and my underwear was a write off, the elastic stretched and they were full of holes.

  Desperate times call for desperate measure. Still in my PJ's I went out into the garden and did a reconnoitre, I crept up to the back fence and surreptitiously looked over, checking out my neighbours Hills Hoist, which is an umbrella like washing line, there were frilly bras, revealing panties, black silk sheets, which fired my imagination for a moment, other unmentionables and, alone and blowing in the breeze, was one pair of men's underwear, almost new and better than that, or perhaps worse than that, they had I feel lucky written on them. I looked out for any signs of the enemy, I was unarmed but if I worked fast I could undertake a lightning raid, be in and out, and with the advantage of surprise, I could carry out my mission with little resistance from enemy operatives. I glanced up and down, looked for barbed wire entanglements, sentry boxes, mine fields, killer dogs or machine gun emplacements, there were none. I was across that fence in the flash of an eye, I grabbed the men's underwear, resisted the temptation to fondle the revealing panties and put the underdaks on my head to carry them, I needed both hands to swing back across the fence. Commando raid complete I was back in the house in a moment and took cover behind the kitchen curtains watching for activity by the unfriendlies. The front door bell rang but I knew it would be the rent collector so I grabbed the tie dyed purse Mum had donated to my house for me to keep the housekeeping money in and opened the door. I was right, it was the owner of the property come for his rent, I grabbed the money fro
m the tie dyed purse, gave it to him and he gave me a receipt.

  'Like your hat sunshine,' he said. I felt my head and instantly remembered the pair of nearly new men's underwear which was still sitting up there stating I feel lucky. The day could only get better.

  So, dressed to kill, well dressed to say: hey man everything is groovy, I walked out the front door of my house, along the street and down a back alley to a swing bridge that crossed the River Torrens. In my hand I carried a bottle of wine, I was no wine aficionado but I liked the odd drop and it could be handy as a defensive weapon if I was suddenly attacked by Black Shirts, I was still coming to terms with being defenceless. Across the Torrens was a leafy, posh suburb and I advanced past expensive properties with swimming pools and tennis courts, one house in particular caught my eye, it had castellated turrets and I figured I could hold out there for a week against the enemy, that was very reassuring.

  Outside Lincoln's house, it was Lincoln who had invited me to the garden party, the street was packed with expensive imported European cars, BMW's, Jags, Mercedes, there was even a Maserati and a vintage Rolls Royce. Lincoln's house was a grand old mansion not pretentious and quite beautiful but not built for defence! It was stone fronted with yellowish local stone, fat pillars on fat pedestals, big windows and French doors, the big windows and French doors allowing easy access to a besieging army! I do tend to go through life living a combat scenario but really, everybody should, we should all be ready to go into action. All the doors and windows were open, he might as well hoist the white flag and surrender now. The grounds were immaculate, shrubbery and bushes, annuals in beds and lovely old lime green shady trees, a petanque court, a tennis court and a swimming pool, unfortunately all of this would give excellent cover to an assassin armed with a sniper rifle.

  Lincoln was playing tennis with three people as I entered the garden, I took a long and calculated look at them, they weren't armed, or at least they weren't carrying guns or knives as far as I could tell. There were two leggy blonde girls with slightly turned up noses and brilliant white teeth, they wore floral blouses a bit like mine and flowers in their hair but other than that just tennis whites. There was also a bloke whose main claim to fame was flashing an expensive Rolex watch. He had long hair, it was a wig, and he wore a headband as well as a tie dyed T-shirt, not much of an effort at hippydom.

  'Hi Lincoln,' I said.

  'Jack Hamma, man amongst men!' Lincoln shouted and waved as he walked over. He wasn't very hippy either apart from his shirt, it had long lingering collars and was patterned like bad wallpaper.

  'Good to see you.' I said.

  'Help yourself to a drink,' he said and I gave him my bottle of plonk. 'A bottle of the good stuff,' he said looking at the label.

  'I always carry a bottle,' I said, 'purely as a defensive weapon.'

  'You are a one Jack,' he said and he then introduced me to the two leggy girls. Their names were Pandora and Penelope, they looked at me and smiles slowly spread across their faces. I hoped they liked what they saw. I smiled back but decided not to be too friendly, the last time I'd been anywhere near a woman I had been thrown out of the army.

  The bloke with the Rolex apparently had a name and it was Bren. He extended a hand, he had a very firm hand shake, mine was firmer.

  'Nice to meet you Jack,' he said, 'I've heard an awful lot about you.'

  'Good to meet you, what was your name again?' I said.

  'Nice strides,' said one of the girls.

  'Like your shirt,' said the other and they both smiled.

  'It was my Mum's,' I said, 'the last time it saw daylight was at a party in 1972. It's an antique.'

  'Not like you hunky.' I think it was Pandora who said that, if not it was Penelope.

  'He's mine, I saw him first,' said the other blonde bombshell. 'What are you doing later?'

  'Not a lot,' I said.

  'We could go to a bar and then go to a night club,' said one of the P's.

  'The three of us,' said the other P.

  'I think I could cope with two beautiful women.'

  'Why thank you.'

  'What a charmer.'

  'Lincoln's been telling us all about you,' said Bren, the man with the Rolex, I nodded, Bren's Rolex didn't impress me. 'I'd like to talk to you about representing you as your agent, you are going into acting aren't you?'

  'I have had offers,' I said. I hadn't but a little bullshit never hurt anybody.

  'We'll have to do breakfast Jack,' said Lincoln, 'got something I need to talk to you about.'

  'Give me a ring anytime,' I said.

  'Count me in too,' said Bren.

  I had met Lincoln at University, he was my tutor in the Law School, we hit it off immediately. He asked me a question, I said it was all relative and he liked that, I forget what the question was. Then we wandered around the law school library chatting, he said he would love to sit on the top of the stacks, the stacks were the bookcases full of boring old legal stuff, legislation, trial reports and all that tedious stuff, anyway he said he would like one day to sit on top of the stacks and throw the law reports at anyone who came in. I instantly liked Lincoln.

  Lincoln had graduated from the University of Adelaide Law School and in addition to tutoring students he had set up his own legal practice and it was thriving. Lincoln was a success but he wasn't a well-dressed trendy, he was one of those blokes who look old and have always looked old. He had a port drinker's nose, quite red and bulbous, and an unhealthy looking complexion. He wore expensive clothes but on him they looked like cheap rags. Teeth, yes he had teeth, but they had gaps in them like a baby's first set of teeth and his hair, even after he washed it, looked unwashed and oily. And somehow, even though his ambition was to be a solicitor with a conscience, he always made money, lots of money and, for some unaccountable reason, he liked me from the word go. I should also add that Lincoln was full to bursting with energy and enthusiasm, when he got onto something he was like a small dog of the terrier variety with a rat in his mouth, he was never going to let go. A good man to have on your side.

  'I'd like to have breakfast with you,' said one of the girls to me.

  'Me too,' said the other.

  'It can be arranged,' I said.

  'I always like a hearty breakfast after a heavy night.'

  'Do you have a Queen, King or Emperor bed?'

  'Emperor,' I said. More bullshit.

  'Room to move.'

  'Sounds interesting,' I said.

  'Let's finish the game,' said Bren, he didn't like me chatting up the girls or were they chatting me up?

  'Get yourself a drink in the marquee, I'll catch you later and we'll talk about breakfast,' said Lincoln.

  I wandered over to the marquee doing my interpretation of a hippy walk, it consisted of standing up really straight and walking swinging my arms and hips. The marquee was full of people standing around chattering, the men wore flared jeans, big sunglasses and tie dyed T-shirts, someone somewhere had made a packet on tie dyed T-shirts this weekend. The women had long, straight hair and beads, lots and lots of beads, with long flowing dresses with Indian designs on them. As I entered the voices stopped and everyone turned to look at me. I had put in a big effort and did look more hippy than anybody else but I'm not sure I looked good enough to be a conversation stopper, although I was a good head and shoulders taller than anybody there, I suppose I could have looked rather imposing, threatening even. I sauntered in doing the hippy thing, walked over to the bar, asked for two glasses of champagne and drank one straight off. Everybody was still looking at me.

  'He's a hero of the SAS,' somebody whispered.

  'They are going to make a film about his life,' someone else said with their hand over their mouth.

  'Lincoln told me that he won a Victoria Cross for bravery,' another whisper went around.

  'I think he was on television.'

  'Court martialled, used as a scapegoat for government bumbling.'

  'Hero of the train hijacking in
Malaysia.'

  'Oh really I remember reading about that.'

  The conversation buzzed around the room like a mass of bumble bees attacking a beautiful flowering bush. I drank my other drink and smiled at a few people, I seemed to be the centre of attention, not quite the incognito I had intended, so I made my way over to a chair with the greatest amount of dignity I could muster. The bloody chair was booby trapped! It gave way under me and I ended up on my back. People rushed to my aid and the women, especially, wanted to help me to my feet.

  'Whatever rumours Lincoln has been spreading,' I said, 'none of them are true.'

  Somebody pushed a pen and an old envelope into my hand.

  'Can I have your autograph,' she said.

  As I wrote out: To Samantha Love Jack Hamma SAS Commando' I saw her. I only saw her from behind but I knew she was beautiful. She was tall and leggy, she was an apparition. She wore a sort of Hungarian cavalry jacket, a soft blue silk top, skin tight jeans and leather ankle boots, she looked stunning. She was a brunette, yes and no, her hair was black, pitch black, with gold shining through it and it was long but it wasn't straight, it was wavy like the ocean. She looked like the sort of girl who would think I am one of the beautiful people, don't even bother to crawl under a rock and hide because I'm not going to notice you anyway. She looked like a Bond girl. She turned around and smiled at me.

  'Hello Jack,' said a familiar female voice with overtones of America. Of all the women in all the world she walked back into my life, Kashmere. It was the voice of the person who had destroyed my military career. If she had been a man I would have flattened her but I wouldn't hit a woman, although with a few more champagnes I might consider it. 'What are you doing here?' said the beautiful apparition, in spite of everything I had to admit that she was beautiful.

  'I'm studying law at Adelaide Uni, Lincoln's my tutor,' I said.

  'Small world, I'm a student now as well.'

  'Really?' I said. I wasn't interested in anything to do with Kashmere, I hated her. 'I had to leave the army under a cloud.'

  'Same here,' she said.

  'Oh, did someone write a stinking report about you and get you kicked out?'

  'Ha ha, no after being shot and wounded I was in hospital for quite a while.'

  'I'm sorry,' I said.

  'That was just the excuse Grandpa needed, he insisted I leave and join him in the business, I said I would but only if I got to go to university.'

  'Must be hard for you not parachuting into places and shooting people,' I said.

  'I'm still a Lieutenant Commander in the army reserves.'

  'Well the army and I parted company, good riddance to bad rubbish.'

  'Look I'm sorry,' she said and took hold of my hand.

  I looked at her face, it was beautiful, nose, eyes and mouth all in the right place, she had very good teeth, all white, lovely red lips and a delicious smile. All in all she looked rather mouth-watering, I decided not to kill her till later but I took my hand away.

  'Drink?' I said and steered her back to the drinks stand just to show her off, there was no point in wasting a beautiful woman. I got two glasses of champagne and handed one to her.

  'How are you getting on?' she asked.

  'Don't ask.'

  'Why?'

  'It's as boring as all hell and mindless.'

  'I want to talk to you about the report I wrote.'

  'Forget it, that's all in the past.'

  'I got carried away, I do get carried away. I was an all singing and dancing with bells on it soldier girl and, well, I shouldn't have written what I did.'

  'I'd had enough anyway and in the end they came up with quite a package, buying me in order to keep my mouth shut.'

  'I want to apologise.'

  'Pâté?' I said, we had wandered over to the food table and were slowly grazing.

  'Kashmere, brilliant!' called out Lincoln as he entered the marquee.

  'Lincoln, gorgeous,' called out Kashmere with a voice that smiled and was full of the lovely tingling sound of bells. Lincoln launched himself at Kashmere and they sort of collided and hugged then Lincoln launched himself at me and I was tossed up into a threesome.

  'Have you met the one and only, the great Jack Hamma SAS Commando extraordinaire?' said Lincoln.

  'Yes,' said Kashmere.

  'Hollywood are going to make a film about Jack's life!'

  'Lincoln has been spreading idle rumours,' I said.

  'And Jack, have you met the most beautiful woman in the world? None of us know any details but she is a military hero in her own right.'

  'Yes we've met,' I said, 'we've killed people together.'

  'You do like to make the odd joke Jack.'

  'He does indeed,' said Kashmere, 'I only had a desk job.'

  'Dangerous desk,' I said.

  'Lucky desk,' said Lincoln. 'Look, got to go, promised someone a game of pétanque. Jack get Kashmere a drink.'

  'Champagne?' I said.

  'Lovely,' said Kashmere. She looked at me with her eyes mostly lidded and an ironic smile half forming on her face.

  'There you go,' I said giving her the drink.

  'Thank you,' she said, her voice bubbled beautifully like her glass of champers.

  'It's been er…interesting meeting you again, like taking a poisonous snake for a stroll,' I said and I moved to go someplace else.

  'Please stay, we can talk.'

  'I don't think we've got anything to talk about.'

  'Literature,' she said.

  'Is this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium?' I said making a gracious bow to her.

  'You know Christopher Marlowe?'

  'Yes, I read all the plays in your Shakespeare book and then moved onto Marlowe when I was in detention. Actually I thoroughly enjoyed them, I started reading all sorts of literature and ended up in law school, I suppose I have you to thank for that.'

  'Have you still got that old tome?'

  'It's full of bullet holes, do you want it back?'

  'No keep it,' she said, 'a memento of me.'

  'I'm not sure I want a memento of you.'