Читать книгу Lucky You - John Duke - Страница 9

Around the time that Eliot stepped off the plane at Varanasi airport, and remembered that Jalal had said that the sun was hot in UttarPradesh, when he was searching the crowd of faces outside the airport for Jalal’s big head and that mango nose, Special was in Newmarket, Flemington Road, walking with his rolling limp, the swing of one thin leg after another, his earphones on and the music moving his body too. Special with his rat climbing up a ladder and the birthmark near his forehead that said every new day might deal you a new hand.

Special was an identity in Newmarket. Many locals would yell out to him in fun or derisively. How’s it going Special? What’s news Special? You must be kidding wearing shorts today, you just like showing off your tattoo. Be careful that rat doesn’t run up your shorts and bite your old fella. Where’s your black boyfriend, ya poofter. Get a proper haircut ya wanker. The world is made up of all kinds of people who will rub up together.

You could see Special any day walking the streets of Newmarket and outside Foodworks. Often he was with a black man, a very tall black man with a balding head. Most days sitting on his little fold out stool, earphones on, The Big Issue, only seven dollars, read all about Madonna, Rebel at Heart, thanks sir, have a great day. Today he had picked up the magazines at the depot and now he was walking home, enough time before he had to start, walking along in his bright pink shorts, singing along with The Ramones. He knew the lyrics off by heart.

Yeah, I want to be well

I wanna be well

I want my

LSD. Golly gee.

DDT, wowee!

Daddy’s broke

Holy smoke

My future’s bleak

Ain’t it neat

As he mumbled along he was thinking about where Absimil would be at this moment. Absimil had come along and stopped Special from thinking silly things, like that everyone hated him, like that he had nothing to offer any other human being, like that most people were bad. Absimil stopped him thinking silly things about the Sudanese, stopped him conjuring up images from films that he had watched, images of rolling sand dunes and Beduoin tribesmen on camels with rifles hanging from their shoulders, living in hide tents, their faces half covered to protect them from the sand blown by the wind. Handsome, protective, with piercing eyes. Absimil was not like that at all.

Most days Absimil told Special something about life in Sudan. It was he thought, probably like a debrief. The civil strife and the displacement camp outside of Malakal where nothing was as romantic as Beduoins in the desert. I was a child soldier what they call a lost boy he said. I defended my religion against the Islamists from the north. I have lost all of my family but I still count myself lucky. You can’t choose where you are born. At least I am educated and my family were not so poor and here I am in Australia, in Newmarket. Malakal one day, Melbourne the next. What a weird world we live in Special my friend, he liked to say.

Special swayed left into a laneway and left again into an easement. At the rear of the restaurant was a wooden fence that ran along the easement upon which someone had sprayed the outine of a penis and testicles. There was a metal gate. He put his hand through the opening in the gate and slid the snib out and pushed the gate open. The backyard was bare concrete except for a rotary clothes line in the middle which was hung full of tablecloths and napkins. Laksa Queen Malaysian Restaurant they said. On the back wall of the double story brick building were two doors, one shut, that led through into the restaurant via the kitchen and the other open to reveal a very dodgy toilet missing its lid. A wooden staircase led to the second floor of the building, at first climbing parallel with the back wall then at right angles, up to a wooden panel door with a padlock. Up on the landing, Special took the key to the padlock on a chain hanging from his belt loop and let himself in. It was colder than he thought and he would need a jacket if he was to sit on the street all day. He was home.

About two years ago when he had first moved down from Darwin he was sleeping rough and late one cold night he curled up on some cardboard in the doorway of the Laksa Queen restaurant. He chuckled now about the idea of sleeping in when you are sleeping rough but he had and when Thomas and Youixsie came to open up he was in their way. They were very kind to him; they understood that life was difficult for many people because where they had grown up a mob had burnt down their family store in what they called the ethnic tensions. Now they considered themselves lucky.

Quickly, Special had folded up his piece of cardboard and pushed the small pillow that he had fashioned from discarded clothes he found outside St. Vinnies, into his backpack. They talked away in their own language until when he had finished and went to say goodbye. They said that they had seen him walking the footpaths and seen him selling the magazines and there was a room upstairs at the back of their restaurant, very basic he must understand. Maybe in return he could do some odd jobs for them. They introduced themselves. My name is Special. They couldn’t have him scaring the customers away could they? They smiled. It was true that Special had been known to say that there were too many fucken Asians in Australia and this made it tough for Australian kids. He said thank you very much, I will accept your offer.

The back door opened onto a wide narrow room with a bench that almost spanned the far wall. On this bench there was a sink and a portable gas stove. We will give you something to cook in and something to eat off. A gas bottle too Thomas had said. On this wall there was a door too that led into the room where they slept, and in this room was a window that looked out over the laneway. On the floor were two single mattresses, heads up at the window, between the mattresses, a cardboard box, covered with a red cloth that supported a small lamp. Please not try to use too much electricity Thomas had said. This is very expensive. From a rusty metal clothes horse, an assortment of tired clothes hung. Near the foot of Special’s mattress was another door, padlocked from the other side that was the storeroom for the restaurant that could be accessed from the other side.

Special’s backpack was heavy with The Big Issue that he had just collected from the depot and he dumped the backpack on his mattress. No sign of Absimil the Fearless, he had taken to the streets early but that wasn’t unusual. He liked to be outside, to have space. Confined spaces made him anxious he said, particularly when he was alone. Most days he walked the streets, in all weather, socks and sandals.

Special had about an hour before he would start outside Foodworks which was just around the corner, so he had plenty of time to catch up with Absimil before he started selling. He thought he knew where to look. As Eliot shook the hand of Madan and watched Rajmata pick up his red rolling case and large backpack. As Jalal greeted Eliot without a hint of emotion and led the way to the yellow mini bus emblazoned with black letters, Madho Patti Junior Elementary School, Special set of for KFC. He always tried his best to convince Absimil, but he did not listen, or if he did, he took no notice. Special recited didn’t he know that fast food was addictive, didn’t he understand that it killed off many kinds of microbes and a small range of microbes will get you fat and sick. Like diabetes. Special had seen this on TV at the Salvation Army drop in centre. In a minute he was climbing down the stairs and in ten minutes, if he walked quickly, Colonel Sanders would be smiling at him and he would see Absimil. Ten minutes later he was right. Absimil was standing in the already long queue thinking about his popcorn chicken.

I knew you would be here eating that fucken shit. Geez Absimil how do you bloody Africans stay so bloody thin when you eat shit like this?

You know why I eat shit like this? Because I like it, but mostly because my friend Haarun is the day manager today and as you know he slips me some popcorn chicken for free when he is on duty.

Absimil paused as if he didn’t want to say anymore but he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t resist even though Special had heard it many times before.

You want to know why I’m so thin? Because I’m wired that way.That’s the way that Christians have to be wired in Sudan. That’s the way you are wired if you are hungry and shit scared every day, when your mother and sisters are abducted and raped and subjected to slavery and you don’t know where they are or whether they are still alive or what is coming next except that it won’t be good. You don’t care what you eat as long as you eat. What do you think would happen if KFC opened up a free kitchen in the refugee camps? Save your health talks for someone else.

Special’s face broke into a smile and he reached up and put one hand on Absimil’s shoulder.

Ok, Ok, I know, I know my friend. I hope you get fat one day.......... I will start selling the mag soon so I hope that we will have a little money for some treats tonight. I will see you at the Salvos about 5.30pm?

No problem. Don’t you want to wait and have some dirty bird with me?

Absimil smiled and waved at the departing back of Special.

Foodworks were happy for Special to sell The Big issue outside their front door. He was always friendly and polite and sometimes he attracted customers. Only seven dollars to read all about how two of the Monty Pythons were coming to Australia. Good morning, how are you today?Thanks very much, keep the change? Thanks very much and yes, yes you are right, last month the vendor profile was on me, Special, myself.

My bad luck started when I got hit in the side of the head by a golf ball when I was riding to work and my life sort of fell apart cos I started acting funny. I lost my job and I guess I must have been a bit strange after that because all my friends deserted me. They said that I was unpredictable and unstable and I suppose I was and to keep myself going I began smoking a heap of dope so I guess I wasn’t great company. About the same time my Dad had runo off with my Mum’s best friend and then my Mum got diagnosed with breast cancer. Yeh, I know what you are thinking. Lucky people can’t believe this. They think that I am exaggerating, making things up. But there are the very lucky people and therefore you have to have the very unlucky people too and bad luck grows on you, you become good at it. When my sister and brother sort of stopped talking to me I knew that it was time to piss off. So I moved to Darwin but I got mixed up with the wrong crowd and I became an alcho and things became pretty grim and I was homeless, just me and my dog Moe. I don’t want to go into details but one day when I was very pissed I did something that caused the death of my dog. Enough was enough so I made myself a new start. I stopped drinking and moved to Melbourne. I haven’t drunk any booze for two years now, the best decision I have ever made. Still, I don’t know how I managed to make the break except that I met this bloke called Bruce who was a major or something in the Salvation Army and he cared and he listened to me and slowly gave me advice and told me that God cared for all of us, not to let despair overcome me. Bruce probably puts my new life down to divine intervention, but I put it down to Bruce. Some people put shit on the Salvos but they do a lot of good things. At times I don’t know where I would be without them.

I was lucky when I returned to Melbourne, first because of the generosity of Thomas and Youixsie Lee who own the Laksa Queen restaurant. Plug Plug, delicious food. They gave me a roof over my head when I was walking the streets and then I met my best friend in the world Absimil and together we get through the challenges put in front of us day to day. I love Absimil. He came to Australia about four years ago from Sudan. We first met when we both chose the delivery doorway of Woolworths as our bedroom about six months ago and after that we would often arrange to doss down at the same place on many nights. Then I had my bit of luck with meeting Thomas and Youixsie so I asked them if Absimil would be able to move in with me. They are very generous and they said yes even though we can’t use much electricity in our two spaces. But it’s warm, it’s ours and Absimil and I have some privacy.

It was getting dark and quite cool when Special decided to call it quits. Six hours with plenty of chat and a lot to see but from the point of view of money it hadn’t been a great day. Seventeen sold and a measly $4 in tips, still he liked the interaction, it filled his day. Absimil came past about six o’clock. They had argued once because Special said, if you stand too close when I’m selling the mag you scare away the customers. Absimil was so black and so tall, and his suit trousers didn’t reach his socks and his socks were enclosed in old tourist sandals. His tight curls were wild on the side and then he was bald. Special thought that it was funny how many people were scared of other people who were a different colour. He loped up and said, lI’ve been watching cricket training and Special didn’t get it, how he liked cricket. Someone had once said that he looked like Curtly Ambrose. He and Curtly did have two things in common. How does he understand cricket Special wondered? Perhaps he didn’t understand it!

They walked down to the Salvos food kitchen and ordered their great vegetable soup with a bread roll that was a bit stale. Usually they kept to themselves. Most often the others were friendly and harmless but a couple of times some wierdos had been on ice and one never knew what they might do. Sometimes together they helped wash up and a couple of Salvo people might play a game of cards with them. Playing cards was a great way to pass the time, as Special liked to say, you can forget that dull ache of worries for a while when you are playing cards. Yesterday, Thomas and Youixsie asked them to help clean out the upstairs storeroom. They were looking forward to that.

Thanks for the game of cards fellows. Time we closed up.

When the Salvo packed up the cards and made for the office, they both stood up to go and Special raised himself up on his toes so that his mouth was as close to Absimil’s ears as he could get it.

I think it’s time for a cuddle Absimil, what do you say?

So they walked home, one tall, with a big head, upright and graceful, the other much shorter with a rolling limp of the painfully thin legs, goatee and a manbun. Different as you can get, except when it came to luck. Special unsnibbed their gate and they climbed their stairs and unlocked the padlock and felt around for the light switch just inside their back door. Special turned on their lamp and dropped his backpack on one mattress and then they lay down together on the other mattress.

How many did you sell Special?

Seventeen .

Tips?

Four dollars

Oh they were stingy. Aren’t we so lucky, we will be able to share one Kebab tomorrow.

Special smiled and tucked into Absimil’s curve and put his arm over his shoulder. And they stayed like that for quite a while.

Afterwards, they sat together with their backs against the wall a blanket over their shoulders joining them.

God says that two men shouldn’t have sex. I always feel guilty and know that he is watching.

You always talk that bullshit Absimil.

But I think that he must understand and forgive me. In Sudan, if they found out I would suffer a horrible death, you know that don’t you?

Neither said anything for a while.

I have a question to ask you Absimil.

Fire away.

Who is your biggest hero?

I haven’t really thought about it. Is there a point to this question? Does it having anything to do with us having making love?

Well a little bit, I just think it’s an interesting question. Mine is Copernicus.

Who?

Copernicus.

Never heard of him.

He was a Pole, you know someone from Poland who lived in the fifteen hundreds if I remember correctly, he was an astronomer who came up with the idea that the sun was the centre of the solar system, not the earth, what they call the heliocentric solar system. He realised that the earth was just a planet.

I suppose that was a bit of a discovery, especially way back then.

Spot on. It gave the Catholic Church the shits, old Pope Paul III was very angry and he quite liked Copernicus. But his theory said that a lot of what was in the bible was a load of bullshit and what kind of friend was that. Still friend enough so that Copernicus didn’t lose his head. He was the lucky one. There was this dude called Giardano Bruno who put forward the same theory about the same time but he wasn’t so lucky, they burn’t him at the stake.

What does that mean?

He was unlucky. They tied him to a pole and lit a fire at his feet until he was burnt to death.

That’s horrible. Why would they do that?

Because my dear friend as I said before what they were suggesting was that a lot of the claims in the bible were a crock of shit and then there was Darwin and soon there might be no god at all and we could make love in peace.

But everyone knows that God exists, you just have to look around Special, why are you always going on about God not existing. Of course he exists, otherwise how do we know the difference between right and wrong?

So all those people in South Sudan who persecuted your family, who would torture you for loving me, they would know that what they were doing was wrong?

Yes they would know that what they were doing was wrong. But most people are good people because they know God.

Absimil, Absimil what am I going to do with you? How can the unlucky believe in God?