Читать книгу War/Peace - Matthew Vandenberg - Страница 16

‘Chloe.’ – Chloe extends a hand. – ‘Friends with Shaun, right?’

‘Last I checked,’ I reply.

‘Yeah. I’m gonna need you to sign something. It’s the standard relationship contract. Read the fine print if you like, but it basically states that during our time in this beach house . . .’

‘You’ve got a contract for relationships?’ Kurt asks. ‘Who does that?’

‘I do. I’m unique. You gonna sign it too, yeah?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You will,’ Chloe says, shrugging. ‘There’s a clause that says I’ll fuck you.’

‘Whoa!’ I say. ‘Does that mean we gotta fuck if I sign this?’

‘Don’t act like you don’t want to fuck me.’

I shrug: ‘I need a stack of these contracts for when I travel to Sydney. I could hand them out to random people and see how many I get back. Sounds swell.’

‘You know something fun to do on the train?’ Chloe says. ‘I love acting, and showing off. So know what I do? Me and a friend, we pretend to be strangers to one another, pretend we don’t know each other. I’ll take a seat next to him in a crowded commuter – say Central to Hornsby peak time – and after about 20, 30 minutes of silence I’ll suddenly say: “Look, this is a real strange question but I’m just wondering what’s on your mind right now? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. I just ask random people this question and sometimes I get some real bizarre responses.” And the guy will say: “You really wanna know what’s on my mind? Really?” “Yeah,” I’ll press. “I’m thinking of fuckin’ you, right here on the train, in front of everyone, my arse pressed against the thick glass, your lips glued to mine.” And the looks we get! It’s hilarious. Like a stunt they’d do in Jackass. It’s fuckin’ awesome. You gotta try it!’

‘Well?’ Kurt presses, leaning forward.

‘What?’ Chloe asks.

‘Well, do you fuck . . . on the train?’

‘You’re a tool, you know that?’ – Chloe stands up and walks to the other end of the room.

‘I’m gonna love it here,’ I say.

‘Hey: she never gave me a contract to sign,’ Kurt whines.

‘You’re a tool Kurt,’ I say with a smirk. ‘A complete fuckin’ tool.’ How many people do you think are watching us right now?’

Kurt shrugs.

‘I’d say a cute thousand plus at least. That’s only coz the word ain’t spread yet though. In a few days we’ll have a good dose of viewers, no doubt.’

‘Ha! So it’s like: water-fall, you come crashing down / Water-fall, your cum crashing down / Cascades that form a glaze as the gaze from your eyes puts me in a daze . . .’

‘Shut up Shaun!’ I yell. ‘No one wants to hear your rap.’

‘'Cept my mum,’ Shaun retorts. ‘Know what: by the time I’ve left this joint they’ll be listening to me.’

‘Who do you mean by “they”?’ I press.

Shaun takes a seat next to Chloe: ‘So Chloe: ever been in a Big Brother house before?’

‘What sort of a question is that?’ Chloe remarks. ‘Of course not. Have you?’

‘Can’t say I have.’

’37,’ I say.

‘You’ve been in 37?!’ Shaun asks.

‘No. That’s how many people – all of whom have never before ventured into a BB house – will be living here soon.’

‘What! How do you know?’

‘You guys have the earphones, right?’ I ask. ‘Put ‘em in. It’s the only contact we got with the outside world. If the guy who just spoke to me is even outside.’

‘I ain’t wearing earphones all day!’ Shaun states. ‘You can be the conduit. What do you say?’

‘As though I’m relaying a message from God or something?’

‘Did you say “massage”?’ Chloe asks.

‘Ha ha,’ Shaun says, shaking his head. ‘God’s gonna massage Jackson’s ears and he’ll have to pass the massage on as though we’re plying Chinese Whippers!’

‘Tag, you’re it!’ Chloe yells, flicking Shaun on the left ear. She leaps up from the chair and runs into another room.

The lids of my eyes slowly descend, like curtains falling after a show. I had little sleep last night. I can see white snowflakes, dancing in pairs, in slow tangos. They become the eyes of street lights. The strong piercing gaze is being passed – as though a baton – from one street light to the next as the train runs along the track. I’m inside this late night commuter, on my way to Gosford from Hamilton. Above me a light flickers. I’m listening to a song on the radio but it sounds like a rendition of a Morse code message by a choir the way it keeps fading in and out accompanied by the sound of rustling leaves. And as the train lets out a horrifying wail two officers walk into the carriage:

‘I’m afraid the train has been hijacked,’ one officer announces. ‘We’re trying to find a way into the driver’s compartment but until we do I’m afraid the hijackers are in control. We’re asking passengers to alight.’

‘What?! Hijacked? What do you mean you’re “asking” passengers to alight? You mean the driver’s still making all the stops?’

‘So far,’ the officer affirms.

‘But . . . we can stay on if we like?’

‘Don’t see why not,’ the other officer says, shrugging. ‘It’s pretty hard to de-rail these things. Think of it like this: you’re simply leaving your life in the hands of the public.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That’s who are in the driver’s compartment. Several teens, drunk as fuck. The general public. – The officer shrugs.

‘Awesome,’ I say. ‘Have they got any weed, coz this ride sounds dope?’

‘How the hell would we know? We can’t gain access to the cabin. We told you.’

‘Oh yeah.’

I place two feet on the seat in front of me. I glance out the window: the scene exterior to the train is as blurry as a cloud. One as thick as paste, now just a poster of some smoke on the pale pane of glass.

‘So you ain’t getting’ out?’ the officer presses. ‘This could be the last stop.’

‘Dora Creek?’ I say. ‘C’mon. Why would I want to get off here? There ain’t nothing interesting in this suburb.’

‘Dude, this train reaches speeds close to 300 an hour in between stations! Pretty soon we’re all getting off. But it won’t be as pretty as Dora’s Creek. Get the picture?’

‘So I’m guessing the safety culture for CityRail ain’t up to scratch, huh?’

‘We got teens behind the controls, dude. Need I say more? They’re probably fuckin’ each other instead of paying attention to the control board.’

‘Hmmmm. Any girls? Are they hot?’

The train pulls out of the station and the officers each take a seat: ‘Hold on! This’ll be a bumpy ride . . .’

I open my eyes.

I’m alone on a lounge in the center of a room that looks oddly familiar. The scent of salt water wafts on a breeze darting through an open window. A seagull squeals.

‘Wha . . . where am I?’ – I look around. – ‘Oh. The beach house. Right.’ – I shake my head.

******

References

1 Millennium – Robbie Williams

2 World Of Our Own – Westlife

3 The Dope Show – Marilyn Manson