Читать книгу War/Peace - Matthew Vandenberg - Страница 38

I squeeze the clutch, kick the gear into fifth, and turn the throttle. And now I can hardly hear them over the roar of the engine.

I look left, then right, then todo recto, and then with a finger on my left hand I flip my visor up. Then I wink at the lens of the small camera fastened to my helmet.

'Get the fuck off of our streets!' a guy yells. He's in an SUV to my right, so I take a left, knee deep at 80 ks.

'Less than a single k from Bondi,' I say. 'For the Americans: that's far less than a mile.' - I take another turn, this one a little blunt, a little too smooth, as though I'm just strolling through a park. - 'I'm the loudest thing in these southern streets. And not just coz I'm on a Harley – a bike that just can't bend it like Beckham, that groans like an old geezer every time you take a turn, as though it's in pain. Who the fuck rides these things? Give me a Kymco any day.' - Again I dip, just enough so that my knee is less than an inch from the ground, as though the white line of paint is a line of Coke . . . Zero and my knee a nose that's thirsty. I drop to fourth to take another turn, so smooth now: my turn my way and no one else can ride between the white lines like this, right? Then I kick the gear up again. Some gravel almost hits me in the eye. - 'I'm heading to the safe house, of course. That's why I'm talking to you now. These Americans love to publicize things, don't they? To promote new products, new services, new up and coming stars. I didn't realize that I'd be the next object, the next product, but I can't say this isn't what I've always wanted.' - I shrug, as I rock to the left, and then I take a right turn. - 'But I wanted to be known for my stories, not for being a refugee in a southern land. Anyway, some Americans sent me the camera. Asked me to document my journey to the southern safe-house. And that's how I knew this wouldn't be easy. That's how I knew I'd have south siders on my tail the minute I left Liverpool: a relatively safe city in south-west Sydney. That's where I bought the Harley actually, where I found a computer with wi-fi, where I logged into the FB and made contact with Big Brother. I got no idea who's in the house. They can't just tell you this shit. Seriously. Anyone could be logging onto the FB, north-siders and south-siders, and so they can't compromise the safety of the people in the house, and their families by making their identities known. But I'm sure you know. You've been watchin' em for days, right? Big Brother Sydney Wars. Ha. I'm sure Shaun's in there. He has to be. Haven't seen that guy in days and he's always in touch. Jamie's in Wales, so he's having the time of his life right now. Benjamin could be in the joint. And the girls? Shelly's a south-sider now but maybe, just maybe, she's inside. I can only hope.' - I turn my head. – 'Shit!' - A stone hits the ground, missing a tire but just a few inches. I'm glad it's not a shell, a bullet. If people wanna fight me then we gotta take it to the streets, Green Street style, Fight Club style, man to man, none of this sissy firearm bullshit. But I ain't a fighter, that's why I'm riding to the house.

Up ahead I can see the concrete bunker, the large steel fence and the guards. - 'Almost the . . .' - Now a larger stone flies into my front wheel, an asteroid into a fence. The bike tips, spins, and I reflexively put two palms out as I fall to the ground. Now I'm riding the pavement.

'What the fuck are you doing here you slut!?' a guy yells. My palms are bleeding, and I have a few scratches on my knees, but I can stand. 'Going to the stupid little house? What are you all planning in there, huh? You know that God's hand will wipe you all off the face of the earth. You will die for your sins.'

'God will show no mercy,' a woman yells. 'You are sluts, all of you.'

They're running towards me. I limp away from the bike and towards the entrance to the house.

One guard has spotted me.

'Back away!' the guard yells. At first I think he's talking to me and I reach into my pocket to pull out my wallet but then I realize that he's talking to the man and the woman.

'I'm Adrian Ford!' I yell.

'We know,' the guard says. 'We've been waiting for you.'

I turn around. The south-siders are standing still, glaring.

'We know what you're all up to in there,' the woman says. 'You fuckin' Americans. Think you can rule the world. Only God rules the world, you heathens! Only God knows what's right and what's wrong. You will all go to hell!'

'You're safe now,' the guard says. 'We apologize. We can't leave our posts. We couldn't come and collect you.'

'That's fine,' I say, taking off my helmet. 'Good little film, anyway.'

'Neat. Look, just show your ID to the guy at the booth, and the N on your wrist, and they'll let you in. You might find some people you know inside.'

'Really?'

The guard nods.

I limp towards the booth. As soon as I'm there I reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet, as though I'm pulling out a passport. I could be standing at customs at JFK. The guy inside the booth welcomes me with a smile: 'Thank you for coming,' he says. 'It's great to meet you Mr Ford.' - I hand him a motorbike licence.

'That's my brother's,' I say. 'Legally I'm not supposed . . .'

'That's ok,' the guy says. 'We know who you are. You're all the rage in the US you know.'

'I know,' I say, shrugging. I look back at the male and female still standing a yard or so from the outer fence of the facility. 'They know, too. Unfortunately. Do you have any idea how hard it is riding through south-side streets when you're an ambassador for an enemy nation.'

'Be glad you ain't in North Korea,' the guy says. 'Australians are just shocked coz they ain't never had a war on home soil before, 'cept in the Northern Territory. But this shit's goin' on in Korea, in Thailand, in Russia, in Iraq, in Columbia.'

'Yeah, you're right,' I say.

'But you're doing a lot of good, kiddo. People are reading your stories. Gotta be honest – they're more interested in Jackson's right now but . . .'

'Jackson!' I say. 'Is . . . is Jackson in the house?'

'Yeah. Jackson, Shaun, Shelly, Jerri, and Chloe. Know them all?'

'The first four are mates of mine. Are you telling me they're the only ones in the house?'

'That's right.'

'Wait,' I say. 'Shelly's a south-sider, so's Jerri.'

'Peace talks,' the guy says, nodding. 'Chloe's the one we were a little scared of. She's a die-hard northerner. We weren't sure if she would ever get along with Shelly and Jerri, but things are going pretty well so far.'

'I've never met Chloe,' I say.

'Dude, you're in for a great surprise. Damn sexiest chick you have ever seen. Look – they're waiting for you. Here's your bro's licence. Get in there dude.'

I walk towards the door.

'Oh, wait a minute,' the guy says. 'Take these headphones. When Big Brother asks you to do something then you do it, rules of the game. It won't be anything rash so don't fret. Big Brother is basically the collective voice of the Americans. On the whole we're a peaceful bunch, no matter what the south-siders have told you. And you know that. Our country is multicultural and we allow freedom of speech, and most importantly there is a separation of church and state. So the advice and orders you'll hear will generally be sound.' - I take the phones – 'Enjoy your stay bro.'

'Thanks mate,' I say.

******

References

1 All Of The Lights – Kanye West, Rihanna, Kid Cudi, Fergie, and Elton John

2 Rap Superstar – Cypress Hill (with dialogue from Eminem, & Noreaga)

3 We Made You – Eminem and Dina Rea

4 Love Me Or Hate Me – Lady Sovereign

5 Remember The Name – Fort Minor

6 Say Goodbye Hollywood – Eminem (namely Verse 3)

7 Lucky – Britney Spears