Narrator Magazine
Blue Mountains
Spring 2010
Smashwords Edition
narrator MAGAZINE is published by MoshPit Publishing
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Cover: This issue’s cover image is courtesy of local Dungatti artist Blake McHugh. Blake’s ‘Art Stops’ is a most confronting, yet honest, artwork. It featured recently in his exhibition at the Olde Block Factory Gallery (OBFG), Faulconbridge.
For more information about Blake, please contact Robyn Caughlan, curator at the OBFG on 0413 231 831 or via robyncaughlan6@gmail.com A3 posters on 220gsm paper of Blake’s image are available for $20 + P&P from the MoshShop at
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A few words from the publisher ...
Thank you for your interest in this new initiative!
We’ve had a fantastic response to three little advertisements which we ran in the Blue Mountains Gazette in late July/early August and are very pleased to bring you this great collection of poems, essays and short stories from your fellow residents.
As well as literary contributions, we also have a few contributions from local artists and agreement from Paris Portingale (known to most as the author of very many amusing letters to the Gazette) to be our ‘writer-in-residence’ for the first three issues.
We live in a great area—not just from an environmental point of view—but from a social point of view. Since moving here 19 years ago, I have been constantly delighted with how supportive Mountains residents are of each other and their efforts to lead better lives. This little magazine is one fine example of that.
Although the seed of an idea was only planted in July, it has sprouted and borne fruit much more quickly than I would have thought possible a year or so ago. And that’s thanks to the people who have seen the same opportunity that I did—an opportunity to help residents get samples of their work out there, without some corporate boffin ‘being the judge’.
But with all due respect to corporate boffins, the businesses which have advertised in this magazine have also made it possible—so if you have a need and one of these wonderful businesses can help, then please consider using them first!
This first collection is uncensored* and virtually unedited, save for a basic spelling, grammar and punctuation check. Our aim is to bring out your work and then sit back and let the people speak. So don’t forget to vote!
If you’ve ever had a piece of your writing published, or enjoyed the thrill of a picture you painted being hung in an exhibition, then you would also know the tummy-churning feeling of ‘putting your work out there’—it’s like standing naked in front of crowd.
So to all those contributors who have taken the brave step of ‘standing naked’ in front of their fellow residents—I thank you for your trust and goodwill.
Enough from me! Please, start turning the pages, and enjoy this collection in the spirit with which it was made.
Jenny Mosher
September 2010
Table of Contents
Poetry
The Liberation of Ted Farmer – Robyn Nance
Saturday Glory – Margaret Dighton
The Good Politician – Greg North
Hanging Rock, Blackheath – Dee Dee Graham
Fatality at Warrimoo – David Berger
Out of the Mist – Jean Bundesen
Stories
The Playground – Alexandra Martinez
Journal Extract: The Red Rattler – Nana J
Canine Wisdom – Janet Richardson
What Have You Lost, Old Man? – John Egan
Gathering at Unaminka – Kate Matthew
The Spirit and Ghosts of ‘Catho’ – Dee Dee Graham
Beyond the Oak Door – Arthur Gray
Everything Seems to be Broken – Elizabeth Dight
Jules and Aime – Paris Portingale
Essays
Prominence in the News: The Age of the Celebrity – Albany Dighton
The Main Event is the Country’s Future - Beverly Elizabeth Taylor
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Carving – Jordan Russo
‘What should we carve?’ thought a man in a long dark brown hessian cloak, as he looked upon the mass of jagged rock. A woman dressed the same way, smiled next to him and cocked her head. Her light hair blew in the gentle breeze in time and in the same direction as the light green grass blades. The man and woman both looked down at their belts of chisels, mallets and gourd water bottles. The bright azure sky hung over the green fields, stretching out for miles around them and the light green grass swayed in the wind, changing direction with every breath. The man walked out ahead and moved around the large rock feeling its rough pale grey surface. He reached into his belt and took out a mallet and large wide chisel. He hesitated, looking along the huge uneven rocky wall. Then he locked his eyes on a random spot and placed his chisel. Clouds overhead moved along their unhurried endless journeys and the sun began to gleam through the big trees behind the rock mass. All the while, the scraping, the ringing and the beating echoed throughout the day.
‘I’ll start here’ he called around the corner. He began chipping across the rock smoothing and shaping its ragged surface. The woman stuck her head around the corner. The man looked across the long tall grey wall of rock at the woman as she smiled at him, ‘I love you,’ she whispered. The man smiled and went back to his work. ‘You big muscular boofhead,’ she said, and disappeared back around the corner as the man snapped his attention from the rock to where she had just been. The man scowled and then broke into a silent chuckle. ‘I will start on the opposite side to you and then we shall carve our way to meet up,’ she called from around the corner. He worked tirelessly all day. Between each placement of the chisel he could hear the strong soothing chipping of the woman - and feel her passion.
His feet rustled the grass as he adjusted his footing throughout the work. At the end of the day as twilight seeped in, he and the woman would leave for home. In the mornings on one occasion he and the woman went together to the market to buy new chisel sizes. On many occasions they would shop for food together and help take care of their sick family members. The busy city streets were filled with people, the tapping of their steps sounding on the cobble stones, carts grating their wooden wheels across bridges over human made waterways and sellers yelling out over the murmur of people wearing all sorts of garb. Some people sat on fences staring into space. Others played lively tunes on their flutes while sitting on the streets for hours. The smell of tobacco smoke mixed with hot spices, filled his nose.
Whenever the man left the city and stepped once again onto the spacious plains, the powerfully fresh air charged into him and then freedom set in with that. Months circled by as the man chipped into the rock wall and then smoothed out its undulations. He moved from the now smooth wall to the top and began chiselling that. He opened a bag of small granite stones onto the surface and ran a big rectangular sander across the top smoothing it out. Sometimes he leant over the edge on his stomach and smiled at the woman. ‘Get to work you boofhead’ she would say, whenever she saw him. Heat rippled the air and the man pulled his sleeves up. The man had to keep drinking from his water and decided they had best finish for the day. The next day he got exactly what he wished for, cooler weather, so cool it rained for a few days. It became uncomfortably cold. Then warmer weather finally fixed that, but funny enough the woman seemed to prefer the heat when he preferred the cold.
The man switched to a finer pointed chisel to inscribe fine details. The stone was smoothed out entirely. It was a stone that now looked like a man and woman. With their arms around each other, their faces looked triumphant with bright smiles. They wore simple robes. The carving’s muscular arms showed even the veins and scratches that could only be so meticulously crafted by passion and skill. It was the man and woman’s interpretation of the good side of humanity, the good in individuals using their minds as much as their hearts. The man was aware that some people believed what they thought were undeniable facts. So their experience was to them, the way of the world - a lack of intellectual faith. The man turned around and saw their home city engulfed in an angry orange blaze.
Bright Spark – Zoya Kraus
‘This poem is something I wrote for my son after he/we lost his little sister Lila. I wrote it in support for him but, a creative outlet for myself through grief, and as a way of reaching out to other people in grief. It feels pure and innocent and real to us. I’d LOVE to share it.’
Hello White Cockatoo
I’ve been waiting for you.
My night was long, lonely and dark
Now here you are, Bright Spark.
I feel warm, joyful and light
When I see flashes of your yellow and white.
You have come to me every single day
Since the moment my sister passed away.
I KNOW you are her, she is you
That’s why I love you White Cockatoo.
One day her heart stopped beating
Her time with life was brief and fleeting.
I feel scared and sad, that’s the truth
But then show up and give me proof
A fallen feather, a mighty screech
A smile creeps in, you’re both in reach.
My sister is free and with you now
Look after her, look after me somehow.
Now that I can see her in you
I KNOW she lives on, White Cockatoo.
The Liberation of Ted Farmer – Robyn Nance
Charlie was sitting on the Royal’s
verandah
With his old mates, Pete and Bill
When they saw Ted Farmer’s trusty ute
Come chugging over the hill.
‘Well stone the flamin’ crows,’ said
Charlie
‘That’s an unfamiliar sight
His missus must have let him out,
and I bet not without a fight.’
Ted’s wife was notoriously bossy
And ruled Ted with an iron hand
To see him in town in the middle of the day
Meant he’d finally made a stand.
Just as the weekly bus pulled in
The ute came to a shuddering stop
Out of the bus stepped a beautiful girl
You could almost hear the jaws drop.
They watched as Ted stepped forward
And whispered in the stranger’s ear
He escorted her over to the ute
Dropping her bags into the rear.
He pointed out the three watchers –
Charlie, Bill and Pete
And the girl waved gaily and blew a kiss
As she climbed into the ute’s front seat.
Lifting their glasses of amber
The three wondered who she could be
They all came up with suggestions
But no answer could they see.
As the ute drove away they returned
To the world’s problems and the drought
They forgot all about
Ted and his guest
And the fact he’d driven north, not south.
Five days went past and the three old mates
Were having their daily ‘good oil’
When they saw the town’s only police car
Pull into the front of the Royal.
The passenger door opened and a woman appeared
And they recognised Ted Farmer’s wife
She seemed a shadow of her former self
As her face registered worry and strife.
Dan Roberts, the cop approached the three
And asked if they’d seen Ted Farmer
‘Not for a coupla days,’ they said
Then mentioned the beautiful charmer.
‘Just as I feared,’ Ted’s wife cried out
‘It’s that bloody internet –
He said he was looking for a new house dog
But picked a different kind of pet!’
As the months went by there was no word
Of Ted – he’d simply disappeared
The three old mates called it ‘the great escape’
Drank their beers and quietly cheered.
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Prominence in the News: The Age of Celebrity – Albany Dighton
‘Andy Warhol predicted that the time was nigh when everyone would be famous for 15
minutes’ - Roger Kimball 2007
Murray Masterton (1998) conducted surveys with journalists to ascertain what the essential elements are to make a story newsworthy. Results from the surveys revealed that the three main elements to making a story newsworthy are interest, timeliness and clarity, followed by (in order): consequence (the level of impact on the audience, eg. how interest rate increases will affect home owners), proximity (nearness), conflict, human interest, novelty/unusualness and prominence (best described as any news concerning well-known or powerful people such as politicians, business leaders and celebrities).
When examining today’s news mediums, it is now ostensibly clear that prominence would rank higher in the newsworthy stakes. Twelve years post-Masterton surveys, we have undoubtedly entered not only a new millennium but the Age of the Celebrity. It is the age whereby a chef can become as famous as the movie stars of Hollywood, and the public are educated on every event within their lives. It is an age where news serves far more than a conversation piece by serving as a form of entertainment. Sally White argues that the public ‘watch television bulletins or read daily papers to fill in time and peek into other people’s lives, much as they would read a novel or watch a soap opera’ (White 1996, p.6).
A thorough examination of the influx of celebrity news across all mediums will argue the case for modern day society’s insatiability for celebrity ‘goss’. There will be discussion on the positive, negative, didactic and psychological aspects of celebrity news which will offer insight into how prominence news became so prominent in the news.
Firstly however, it’s important to discuss the journalistic involvement on the above said topic. Are journalists and the editorial department to blame for the onset of such prominence? They are certainly aware that ‘they are dealing in dreams and fears’ so they can certainly capitalise on this notion (White 1996, p.7). What are the reasons that celebrity news acquired so much currency in the media? What about ethics? Has the adage ‘names make news’ been taken too literally and what are the consequences of the influx of celebrity news? (White 1996, p.14).
It is important to note the outcome of John Hemmingham’s (1998: 335) series of surveys during the 1990s where he asked journalists why they entered their profession, because it is one of the contributing factors as to why prominence stories are so prevalent in the news. John discovered that 27% said they became journalists because they were good at writing, 20% because it is an exciting career and you get to meet interesting people, 16% said they had an interest in news and current affairs (!), and 4% wanted to expose wrong doing and corruption (Study Guide CMM29 2009, p.1).
The survey reveals that almost half of the respondents were simply good writers and it was a glamorous job. Twenty percent became journalists because they get to meet interesting people (undoubtedly referring to famous people), therefore 20% of journalists are guaranteed to advocate investigation of a celebrity story over a story concerning something of more significance. Cause for concern?
John Hurst argues that the Australian Journalists’ Association’s Code of Ethics stipulates the way ‘news should be reported’, but says little about what ‘kinds of news they should or should not report’ (Hurst 1991, p.23). He also argues that important and significant news is often overlooked by ‘interesting’ or ‘entertaining’ news (Hurst 1991, p.24).
An example is the Prince Charles story that Sally White refers to whereby Prince Charles broke his arm and achieved a 22 centimetre coverage in Melbourne’s The Sun News-Pictorial (White 1996, p.15). Journalists and the news-deciding teams are guilty of not asking themselves what is significant about the event. Sally White argues ‘they become seduced by the name’ (White 1996, p.15). There would have been thousands of broken arms throughout the world yet a royal broken arm has significantly more credence than anything else.
There are many other examples like the Prince Charles story. The most trivial of events can become news and thus news mediums tend to concentrate favourably on prominence stories to the exclusion of others. White argues that this imbalance in fairness of reporting ‘perpetuates existing power structures and denies a voice to minorities, the poor and the weak’ (White 1996, p.14-5).
Yes, celebrities provide more ‘grist to the news mill than the person in the street’ and yes, the majority of the public have an abounding interest in celebrity news but it doesn’t necessarily mean the public should be inundated with it (White 1996, p.15).
In 2007, researchers at the Pew Research Centre in America asked the public what news stories they considered had the most coverage. 40% said celebrity news and Hollywood gossip had the most coverage, 12% said the Iraq war and 5% said politics. Australia is renowned for following American trends and there is a significant similarity between our news coverage of celebrities compared to the war in Afghanistan and some of our own political issues. A simple click onto www.ninemsn.com.au (any time of day) will reiterate the influx of celebrity news in conjunction with polls on whether Brad and Angelina should adopt another child, blogs on what you think of Jennifer Aniston’s hairstyle and a comments board for every celebrity story.
Marcy Franklin, author of the paper America’s obsession with celebrities and celebrity news: when is it too much? reveals psychologist researchers in America have argued in defence of celebrity news, ‘Celebrity worshippers who do so for entertainment-social reason are extraverted, seek information and support, and are able to display emotions’ (Franklin).
Psychologists in America have confirmed that the public obsession with celebrity news stems from high school days where everyone follows each other’s romantic ‘going-ons’ and other issues (Franklin). Adults are deprived of that social interaction once they enter the workforce so discussing who is dating who in the movie star realm offers some compensation.
Franklin questioned Bonnie Fuller, the chief editorial director for America Media Inc., ‘the tabloid conglomerate that publishes the Star, the National Enquirer, and the Globe’, about why the public are so infatuated with gossip news (Franklin). Bonnie’s answer is ‘celebrities give us a whole world of people in common – people to gossip about at work over the water cooler or at a dinner party’ (Franklin).
So whilst this statement makes one ascertain that celebrity news is a social tool for bringing people together, Franklin argues ‘however, it should be noted that Fuller’s career depends on the validity of celebrity news’ (Franklin).
There are several problems posed by news mediums curtailing to the polls and providing for market demands such as celebrity news. As John Hurst argues, decisions about what news stories should be provided could be based on (a) misinterpretation of market survey data (b) whilst the audience may be more interested in celebrity news, it doesn’t mean they will be ‘satisfied if ownership of the media is concentrated in a few hands and the dwindling media outlets present an increasingly narrowing range of news and views’ and (c) advertisers will take advantage of the media outlets whose audiences ‘have the purchasing power to buy their products’ (Hurst 1991, p.25).
It is interesting to note that many of those advertised products are represented by celebrities and even owned by celebrities as part of their branding campaign. An example is Kylie Minogue: singing sensation plus director of her own lingerie and perfume lines. Her products are sold in Myer and David Jones who are major advertisers in the online and print news mediums. There is a higher tendency to run a story on these celebrities if their product is also paying large sums to be advertised.
Many will argue that celebrity news is needed for the news industries to survive otherwise ratings and circulation will flounder (Franklin). The most fundamental function of a news organisation is to make a profit and as John Hurst argues ‘for unless it can do that or can depend on some other means of support (such as private or government subsidy) it will be unable to perform other important functions’ (Hurst 1991, p.25).
However, there should be greater weight given to important issues. Journalists and editorial teams have a responsibility to inform the public of important news yet the trend in celebrity news is steadily increasing. There is fear that if prominence news stories acquire too much prominence in the news than we are ‘more likely to think about celebrities rather than the issues that are pertinent to our democracy’ (Franklin).
Franklin continues her argument by citing the words of famed journalist Edward R. Murrow who in 1958 told the Radio-Television News Directors Association Convention, ‘For surely we shall pay for using the most powerful instrument of communications [television] to insulate the citizenry from the hard and demanding realities which must be faced if we are to survive. I mean the word survive literally’ (Franklin). To surmise, ‘journalists cannot insulate citizens with celebrity gossip, for it will be detrimental to society’ (Franklin).
Some media outlets are aware of this trend and are fighting back with huge success. Frankie Magazine editor Jo Walker is proud to admit their rising success in magazine circulation is due to ‘divesting of celeb goss’ and replacing with ‘scone recipes, articles on indie artists, DIY tips’ (Wells 2010). Walker quotes in The Age, ‘I think last year, with the GFC, people started looking for things that were a bit more genuine and real. That’s something we’ve also tapped into, this whole new craft movement with a lot of emphasis on handmade and DIY, which people are loving right now’ (Wells 2010).
This is evidence that audiences are still just as amused, if not more, by reading down-to-earth subjects. The fact that Frankie Magazine covers exhibit unknown, fresh faces is also evidence that profit can be made without a famous name attached to it.
Other issues that arise with an increase of celebrity news include invasion of privacy and Celebrity Worship Syndrome, a term coined by psychiatrists to diagnose individuals who have an unhealthy interest in the lives of the rich and famous (Gray).
Invasion of privacy is one of the ethical issues still standing in today’s society whilst a high demand of celebrity stories and photo galleries exists. The greatest case to spark the ethical debate is the case of Princess Diana and her tragic end in the Paris tunnel. Sally White argues that whilst many famous personalities ‘actively court publicity’, questions will arise about the ‘degree to which all parts of a person’s life and the lives of their families or intimates should become public property’ (White 1996, p.15).
When there’s demand there’s a market so it’s no surprise that the paparazzi will go to extremes such as the tailgating of Princess Diana to get a close-up of their in-demand target. Grahame Griffin argues in agreeance to the question of invasion of privacy, ‘This event [Princess Diana tragedy] highlights once again the ethical question that continually dogs more professional and sensitive press photographers – the question of invasion of privacy’ (Griffin 1998, p.301).
Whilst there is a demand for these photo’s for tabloid magazines there should certainly be a protocol set in place to protect famous personalities from a tragedy synonymous to Princess Diana, irregardless of whether the celebrity courts the publicity themselves.
Celebrity Worship Syndrome is another contributing factor to the influx of celebrity news. According to researchers at Southern Illinois University School of Medicine, about a third of us have it in some form or other. Researchers believe a reason for this syndrome is that celebrities offer a diversion or escape from reading about depressing or negative news (Lagorio 2006).
Researchers also believe that many positives, didactic positives, can come out of the syndrome. For example, if celebrities are attached to an organisation promoting a health issue (eg. Asthma awareness), there will more publicity and an increased awareness that wouldn’t achieve the same results if the celebrity name wasn’t attached (Lagorio 2006). This awareness increases consumer education. Society will understand more about an important topic and thus lives can be saved in the cases of awareness for health issues. It’s no wonder that organisations actively seek a ‘face’ or ambassador for their campaign.
Another positive aspect is that celebrity news can convey important political issues that normally achieve less coverage. For example, the actor George Clooney is a political activist for the United Nations and raised considerable awareness about the Mugabe regime in Zimbabwe. Many people who are categorised as Generation Y would have been hard pressed to have known who Robert Mugabe is, let alone what was occurring in Zimbabwe. But they all know who George Clooney is and it is this prominence in the news which can really be of benefit.
Matthew A. Baum, Assistant Professor of Political Science at University of California argues that those who are oriented moreso with the soft news or celebrity media can be ‘exposed to information about high-profile political issues, most prominently foreign policy crises, as an incidental by-product of seeking entertainment’ (Baum 2002, p.91). In other words, these ‘politically inattentive individuals’ are learning whilst they think they are zoning in to yet another, entertaining, George Clooney story (Baum 2002, p.91).
We are inundated with stories concerning celebrities and their various charities or positions within organisations such as the UN, and whilst the celebrities themselves agree that they have a high profile in the media, they are simply using their star power to focus people’s attention to important matters, a positive that comes out of over-exposure and exactly the point that Professor Matthew Baum makes above concerning soft news readers being exposed to political information inadvertently.
George Clooney, one of the most recent recipients of the Messenger of Peace title by the United Nations told ABC News, ‘I think what they’re looking to gain from [awarding me] is cameras following me to places that they’re trying to get attention to and that’s fine. That’s a good use of celebrity if you ask me’ (Willoughby 2008).
Angelina Jolie, also famous for her contributions to the UN as Goodwill Ambassador, told ABC News a similar reason for celebrity involvement in political activism, ‘[Activism] gives celebrity some reason. Celebrity is very weird … So when you’re doing something good and can bring attention to that or discuss that, then it feels like you have some sense in your life’ (Willoughby 2008).
Gillian M. Sorensen, the Assistant Secretary-General for External Relations voiced the advantage of celebrity involvement in the UN at a New York meeting organised for celebrity advocates of UN causes, ‘We think this is a very special gathering – we know that [celebrities] reach audiences and younger people that our own speakers sometimes do not, so we welcome this occasion and look forward to a very lively and interesting exchange’ (www.un.org).
What can we expect to happen in the future with prominence in the news? If Frankie Magazine editor Jo Walker is anything to go by, prominence will back down to where it used to belong in the newsworthiness stakes. The fact that the existence of research surveys and news stories scorning the celebrity news influx serves as a reminder that prominence in the news really does concern a lot of people, both the public and academics alike. There is more to life than reading about Paris Hilton’s pet Chihuahua’s new wardrobe.
Erica Bartle argues in her media blog Girl with a Satchel, ‘Paris Hilton is a product that evolved with the boom. She symbolised all the excesses of the boom: slim, blonde, ostensibly a bimbo, obsessed with the here and now and living for the moment. Paris’ star may fade during the recession because she symbolises all the frivolity and emptiness of rampant consumerism. She’s the wrong product for the time’ (Bartle 2009).
Thankfully the GFC, as abysmal as it has been for many individuals, is ironing out excesses of superfluous information. Lets hope Frankie Magazine can send an example to the other news mediums that down-to-earth and significant news is back in fashion.
In conclusion, the most important point that can be made is that a balance needs to be sought with the amount of prominence news versus significant and important news. It will always remain a fact that names do make news but the issue with names making too much news is that people are influenced to believe that prominence stories are the most important issues. John Hurst argues ‘If particular kinds of issues or events are given generous air time or newspaper space, they may be easily considered by the audience as particularly important’ (Hurst 1991, p.24).
It’s not to say celebrities aren’t necessarily important or significant. Entertainment and the Arts are an extremely important and functional structure of society. Journalists and editorial teams simply need to prioritise news stories to serve the public interests better. There are many issues of corruption, politics, health, finance, to name but a few, which are overlooked in the name of celebrity news.
What we’ve discovered is that whilst many citizens are in favour of prominence in the news, there are many negatives entailed such as the lack of importance given to news that matters, invasion of privacy issues and the almost unheard of Celebrity Worship Syndrome which apparently one in three people suffers from.
With every negative there is a positive and prominence certainly provides positive outcomes such as utilising star power to promote a good cause and inadvertently educate soft news readers on political issues. Prominence can be utilised to provide impact, both good and bad. Sally White argues how some stories may appear to be a prominence story but are really an impact story.
An example White gives is when Kerry Packer suffered a heart attack while playing a polo match. According to statistics from the National Heart Foundation, ‘One Australian dies every 10 minutes from cardiovascular disease’ (White 1996, p.15-6). Kerry Packer’s collapse made front page news the next day under bold headings such as The Age’s ‘Kerry Packer critical after heart attack’ and The Australian Financial Reviews ‘Packer heart attack: TV in turmoil’ (White 1996, p.15-16).
Whilst some will argue ‘why is the story about Kerry when many people die from heart attacks?’, it’s actually a credible way of alerting readers to the affects of a deadly disease. If Kerry dies and television is in turmoil, it’s all because of a heart attack – something that affects one in ten Australians.
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The Playground – Alejandra Martinez
It had been one year since she had seen her son. She could still feel his soft skin. His arms slightly hairier than they had been in the last few years. He had grown tall over the summer. Long, lanky.
His thick dark hair, slightly over his eyes. Never brushing it as he rushed to get to school in the morning. He had started high school this year. He felt older, proud.
That morning he had packed his own lunch. A ham sandwich. He was running late, she offered to drive him. He declined. He ran for the bus, a piece of toast in his hand. He forgot his maths text book. It was left on the kitchen table together with his half finished Milo.
She waved goodbye as she did every morning from the door. He no longer wanted to be kissed goodbye. He was ‘too old for that’. ‘Have a good day’ she said to him.
She cleared the breakfast dishes, and then went to have a shower. She had a bit of shopping to do before work. Tonight’s dinner? His favourite was meatballs with spaghetti. She would surprise him with this. He had been doing so well at school. She was proud of him. Her daughter would complain. Why didn’t she cook her favourite?
She rushed her daughter and kissed her goodbye. She watched her as she walked to the bus stop. They were growing up fast.
The call had come about an hour later.
She rang her husband. It was difficult to talk. She was in shock. One of the staff came to pick her up and drove her to the hospital. In the car, she couldn’t speak. Her heart beat fast; she felt a cold sweat all over her body. Mrs. Davies, the School Counsellor, kept telling her, the ambulance got there very quickly.
She couldn’t even cry. Her face felt frozen, paralysed. Her mind fuzzy.
They got there before her husband. He had to drive through city traffic.
He was strong for her. He spoke to the doctors. He asked questions. She still couldn’t speak.
He asked to see him. They held him and cried and cried. She couldn’t let him go. Her husband had to pull her away. She cried. She couldn’t stop.
Her chest was still tight. Grief had invaded her, inside and out. She could feel nothing else.
Her husband was angry. He drove fast. He shouted. He ate quickly and he watched television whenever he was home. He didn’t talk about it. After a few months she wanted to talk to him about it but he still could not.
She went to a grief counsellor. She was afraid but the pain inside was so big it was eating every part of her.
He didn’t want to meet the boy’s parents. What for? There was no point to it.
The Counsellor said it could help. She had agreed. It had taken her a long time to say yes she would meet them. But only the mother.
The boy’s parents had wanted to meet just after it happened. She couldn’t.
The boy’s parents sent flowers and a card.
Three months later she refused again. She barely left the house.
Today she was meeting her. They had arranged a park nearby. The park had a pond with ducks. She liked it there.
She didn’t tell her husband or her daughter.
She got there early, she wanted to prepare herself. It was a warm day. The pond was full with ducks. A brood of ducklings followed their mother in a line.
Se watched the ducks feed. A woman wearing a navy blue dress was walking towards her. It must be her; she had told her she would wear a blue dress.
‘Are you Renee?’ the woman asked as she faced her.
She looked like she was in her mid forties. Her hair was discolored and the grey was showing.
‘Yes, I am.’
The woman sat down next to her.
‘I’m Amy. Thank you so much for meeting me.’
They looked at each other. She the victim’s mother. The other, the attacker’s.
Amy looked at her.
‘Everyday I hate myself for what my son has done.’ She spoke softly.
‘I don’t just blame myself, I despise myself.’ Her eyes were moist. They were a very clear blue.
‘Don’t’, she found herself saying.
For a minute, the mothers of boys killed in wars and the mothers of sons who had killed flooded her mind.
She didn’t feel pity for this woman, or anger. She didn’t feel anything.
‘I didn’t know he had a knife. He had bought it with his own money. He carried it in his schoolbag. I never looked in his bag. I didn’t want to snoop, or invade his privacy. I thought he might have notes in there from a girl he liked. Or empty chip packets. I was always at him not to eat junk food. He was getting fat. He didn’t like sports much.’
The woman spoke quickly. Her words tripping over each other.
‘I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know your son or anything about him. It’s too late. I don’t know why he killed my son and I don’t want to know.’
The woman began to cry. The words ‘killed my son’ piercing through her.
‘Then why did you agree to meet me?’ she managed to get out through her sobs.
‘I don’t know. I thought it might help.’
‘This has destroyed my life and my family’s. I have two younger children who have suffered deeply because of this. I’m not saying this to take away from your pain. I don’t know why my son did what he did. He was a normal boy. He had friends. They were arguing about a ball.’
‘Please don’t tell me. I have read all the reports. I know you have a need to tell me, but I don’t want to hear it. Every morning when I wake up it’s the first thing I think about. He’s not here.’
‘I’m so sorry’.
‘I take valium everyday to dull the pain. I don’t want to get up, but I have to for my daughter.’
‘Sometimes I drive past the school and I stop and look at it. You think your children will be safe in the playground. I see him there, standing with his bag over his shoulder, smiling and I just want to die. Some days it doesn’t feel real.’
She looked at the ducks as she spoke.
‘I don’t feel angry at your son or at you. I just feel pain and loss. I feel the loss of childhood, of innocence. You know it’s strange, but I don’t just feel my loss but a greater loss, a collective loss. I want to cry for every mother that has lost a child. It’s almost like I’m carrying the pain of all those mothers.’
Amy reached over to take her hand. She quickly took it away. She didn’t want this woman’s sympathy. The woman was crying.
Lives that will never be lived. They haunted her.
Both women sat there looking at the ducks.
She looked at the distraught mother. She knew that this woman was wounded too.
The playground would never be a place of dreams again.
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Fresh Milk – John Egan
When I was about 10 years old, I was taken by my parents on holidays to Tuggerah, a seaside town on the Central Coast. I remember that the name of the cottage that my Father rented was ‘Tomani’.
The first morning after arriving, and before breakfast, I was told to take the billy can and go across the ploughed paddock at the rear of the cottage, for milk from the local dairy. I was told to ask if the milk is fresh.
Experience told me to follow instructions to the letter, so dutifully I asked ‘Is the milk fresh?’
The farmer looked up from what he was doing and said, ‘Can’t you see, it’s coming from the bloody cow?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I can. But the cow may not have been milked for months!’
Saturday Glory – Margaret Dighton
I’m here right now, the wind blowing strong.
Way up high, and coming down to greet me on a whim.
It’s fresh, it’s crisp and enticing.
The light sound of a clarinet comes to greet me and fades,
A light aircraft passes on with a jet up high in harmony.
I stare around my garden, very sparse in a square formation.
The place I bought is just that, the place I bought.
My roobis tea keeps me company as the morning moves into noon.
Neighbours stirring, traffic and noises collaborating.
The wind still stirs my soul, it’s something ancient
And strong in amongst these modern dreams.
The wind it stirs louder, the trees they sound like the ocean waves,
Then it dies down to silence, the sun rays are light on my face
And the sound of the clarinet comes floating back,
While the wind takes a short break.
I feel I am right here, right now.
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God’s Shout – David Berger
Ian, Mark and I met God at the front of the pub on Saturday afternoon. We went inside and sat on four stools at the corner of the bar. I was going to order our first round of beers,
‘What’ll You have?’ I asked God.
‘Make it the same as yours,’ He said, ‘I like to try different brands.’
No one else knew He was God, only us. He just looked like an old bloke wearing a red checked shirt and a pair of dark blue overalls. Each of us had a hundred questions to ask Him, but we sat patiently until the beer arrived. I paid for it, then we all watched as God sipped His first mouthful of Aussie beer. He gave out a great sigh of pleasure and put His glass down on the bar. We grinned at each other. Mark smiled at God and asked, ‘Is it better than American beer?’
‘Oh, I’m afraid the Americans don’t ask Me to have a beer with them,’ He said mournfully, ‘so I can’t say I’ve really tasted it ...’
We were keen to get onto the really deep theological questions.
‘So, what do You do at Christmas?’ Ian asked.
‘Oh, I love listening to the carols, especially the outdoor Carols by Candlelight that you Aussies are able to have... As a matter of fact last year I was just sitting in my little singularity listening to the carols from Rooty Hill, and I was thoroughly enjoying them, until Gabriel came in and told Me there was a storm front rapidly approaching Rooty Hill from the south and it was due to wash out the show. ‘Can’t we do anything?’ I asked him, ‘No,’ he said, ‘it was that butterfly flapping its wings again in Brazil, last Friday.’ I got a bit annoyed about this, so I said to Gabriel, ‘Run it all backwards quickly and get the butterfly to flap its wings on Saturday. He started to protest, but I had to shoosh him because ‘We Three Kings of Orient Are’ was just beginning.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ I said.
We finished our beers and Mark ordered another round. God had the same brand as Mark this time.
‘Tell us a joke, God,’ Ian said, ‘Got any good political or sexy jokes?’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ He said, ‘but do you know, I could never understand your ‘Knock, Knock, who’s there?’ jokes... All right, umm, let Me see... what is green in the morning, yellow in the afternoon and blue at night?’
We all shook our heads and said, ‘Don’t know.’
He laughed loudly, then said with a great merry hoot, ‘Seventeen!’
He roared with laughter while we looked at each other like idiots. But a pretty girl sitting further along the bar had heard God’s joke and giggled so much that she had to squeeze her legs together.
‘How come she gets Your joke and we don’t?’ I asked.
‘Eh? ... Oh ... She’s an angel,’ He said, ‘Today’s her day off.’
We stared at her; she smiled a ‘hello’ and returned to her chardonnay. We hadn’t seen her before. She looked ... ordinary ... blue jeans and a yellow shirt, brownish hair, no make-up ... maybe early thirties, give or take a millennium.
‘Okay, God, let’s cut to the chase,’ I said, ‘Which religion is true?’
He winked at me and then looked at Mark and Ian, then me again. He had a huge smile on His face and said, ‘The one practised by the animals ...’
‘Animals?’
‘Yes, you know, dogs, cats, birds, and all that.’
‘Do you mean,’ Mark asked, ‘that despite all the wars, persecutions and arguments none of our religions are true … not even a bit?’
God chuckled loudly and merrily. The angel let out an uncontrollable shriek of amusement. They both sat there swaying on their bar-stools. God couldn’t stop laughing and had to hold His sides. He almost fell of His chair. The angel had to leap up and run to the Ladies’ Loo.
‘Ho,’ He said, amid big gasps of air. ‘That’s a great joke – didn’t see that one coming!’
We mere mortals could only look at each other stupidly. Better change the subject. It was Ian’s shout and he bought four more beers.
‘When will this world end?’ God looked at Ian, cocked His head over to one side and raised an eyebrow, ‘End?’ He asked, seeming not to understand.
‘Yeah, END,’ Ian repeated. ‘End, finish, kaput.’
‘Yeah ,’ I added, ‘ You know, Armageddon, Oblivion, no more Earth.’
‘You mean, ‘end’?... END?????’ God said, ‘Now you’ve got to be kidding... watching the Earth and the antics you lot get up to is My second favourite past-time! It’s not going to end soon ... if at all.’
‘Is there really life after death,’ I asked, ‘and if so what happens?’
‘Do you think that death is part of life, or life is part of death?’ He asked. Then He sipped His beer and said ‘Just remember that life is a continuity, it always is. It had a beginning which had no beginning and an end which has no ending. It just is, and you’re all in the loop. But, to put it in a nutshell, read the poems of Emily Dickinson if you really want to understand it all.’
We looked at each other. It seemed that most of our preconceived ideas were going out the window. Here we were with the greatest opportunity anyone could have asked for and we were left floundering.
Then Mark said, ‘Ah... You said before that watching us was your second favourite past-time?’
The angel was just coming back from the Ladies’.
‘What’s Your favourite activity then?’ Mark continued.
God drew in a breath and surreptitiously glanced over toward the angel. She glared at Him. God actually seemed to squirm. He smiled at the angel, then turned to us, ‘My favourite activity is, ah, how can I put this... I like Big Bangs, Worm-Holes between universes... and designing flowers... ahem.’ He glanced at the angel. She coughed loudly.
It was God’s shout, His turn to buy the beer. We put our empty glasses on the bar and looked at Him expectantly. He patted his pockets, ‘My round?’ He asked with an upward inflection, raising His eyebrows in a painful, apologetic way that suggested He was broke.
‘Yes,’ we said in unison and watched him.
‘I couldn’t bless myself with a dollar ... I didn’t come prepared ...’
He smiled at us regretfully, and He knew we were disappointed. However, He took on a serious expression and called the bar-maid over and asked for four glasses of water, which were free. Ian scowled. Mark stuck out his lower lip. I just shook my head and thought to myself, ‘This is Australia, mate. You can’t welch on a shout.’
God looked at us for a moment and grinned, then lightly touched each glass of water and it instantly turned into beer.
‘Wow! Where’d Y’learn that trick?’ Mark asked with his face lighting up into a smile.
‘My young bloke... My son... he picked it up in, um... San Francisco? Or was it New York? Anyway, somewhere in America. I love those Yanks, they’re always doing the ‘Lord’s Work’ for Me. I know they try their best, but look how they stuffed up Greenland!’
‘Greenland?’ we all said at the same time.
‘Oh, sorry about that. No, that hasn’t happened yet, has it?’ He turned to the angel for confirmation and she shook her head with what seemed to be a look of exasperation on her face. Like a mother would do with an errant son.
‘That water to beer trick ... You sure it didn’t come from Cana or Galilee, or somewhere over there?’ I asked.
‘No, that was wine,’ He said.
Of course!
We kept drinking and the horse races were droning away continuously on the pub TV screens. We were all feeling merry and the angel was getting tipsy. I thought she was starting to look very attractive and considered chatting her up, then the devil walked in through the open door.
‘Hi Dad!’ he called.
God turned to him and smiled. ‘Hi Nick! You should try some of this Aussie beer, it’s a bit like that stuff pharaoh gave you a few years back.’
Nick pulled up a stool and bought himself a beer with real money. He was dressed very neatly in casual clothes. He had black hair and a black goatee beard. We stared at him, then at each other.
‘Is this the son who taught You the water into beer trick?’ I asked.
‘No, that was the other one, he should be here shortly ...’
Two sons?
‘Well,’ I fumbled, ‘how does that fit in with the trinity bit? We’ve tried for centuries to work out how the trinity operates, but if You’ve got two sons ...?’
‘Heh, heh, heh ... yes, I know,’ God said, ‘I’ve had a few chuckles over that one. But, do you know what? It never was trinity it was always trilogy. You lot got it all terribly wrong. It should be TRILOGY.’
I could imagine a few theologians pulling their hair out over that one. Suddenly it all seemed much simpler ... we should have listened to the Jews.
‘Well, what trilogy?’ Ian asked. ‘Hi Dad!’ someone called as he approached from the door, ensuring that Ian was not going to get a quick answer. The other son had arrived and pulled up a bar-stool. Jeans, sandals, white tee-shirt, long hair and a wispy beard. The angel walked over and sat beside him with two new glasses of chardonnay. He took a sip,
‘Hmm ... nice ... Rosemount 2004?’ he asked the angel. She smiled and nodded. He turned to Nick,
‘How’ve you been, Nick?’
‘Not bad, Jess, except for that damned Faust. Look, he’s the only customer I’ve got. You couldn’t take him off my hands, could you?’
Jess laughed, ‘That original price he paid, with inflation, would be higher than a Sydney mortgage by now, but I’ll think about it.’
‘What were you saying, Ian?’ God asked respectfully.
‘Oh it doesn’t matter!’ Ian said, letting his shoulders slump. This was all getting too much for us. Mark started to whistle softly and tunelessly. I looked at the four visitors and wondered if it would be appropriate to take a photo of them with my mobile phone.
‘It wouldn’t turn out,’ the angel said. Wow! She had read my mind! ‘Nor would your earlier ideas...’ she added with a smile. It wasn’t with condescension, it was more like sympathy.
‘Hey Jess,’ God said, ‘what time’s the bus coming?’
‘About five minutes, I think. Depends on the traffic.’
‘What traffic? What bus? What ... what trilogy?’ I asked, feeling the frustration rising in my body.
God looked at me in a really beautiful, kindly way, ‘We’ve got to get home soon and the bus is picking us up. It has to come down from Andromeda and the traffic has more to do with the magnetic lines of this solar system. It should be here in a few minutes. What was the other thing? Oh yes, the trilogy ... or more officially, ‘The Doctrine of the Whole Trilogy’... it’s based on the equilateral triangle, as deciphered by Pythagoras and rendered comprehensibly perspicuous to humanity by the recondite work of Hermes Trismegistus, these three arcana were the lacunae before the Big Bang, written by black fire on white fire bringing the letters of the alphabet into existence so that the universe could be created, through the tomes of existence, silence and lucidity, each rendered from the perspective of a sixty degree angle, the cosine of which, when multiplied by the geodetic constant, gives the prime integer for analysing string theory’s measurement of the Theory Of Everything, or TOE ...’
‘Bus is here!’ the angel said, picking up her purse. She gave us a wave goodbye, and kissed me on the cheek. Jess and Nick walked with her out through the door. God finished His beer and signalled to the barmaid for three glasses of water. He turned them into beer and said,
‘I’ve really enjoyed myself this afternoon, gents, thanks for the experience. Do you think we could do it again some time? No, probably not ... I’m very busy. Oh well ... if you get the chance to drop in and see me, I’ll try to organise something.’
‘Do you think we’ll meet again?’ Ian asked, in such a sad but longing way.
‘Yeah,’ God said, ‘don’t see why not!’
He got up and walked to the door, then He paused and came back to us. He bent over towards us in a conspiratorial manner, we leaned our heads in close to Him,
‘Number eight in the next race at Flemington,’ He whispered, winked, then went out with a loud ‘Mazel Tov!’
We sat there without a word for two or three minutes. Mark picked up the racing ‘form guide’ and looked for the next race at Flemington.
‘The next race is in ten minutes, and number eight is called ... Tipsy Angel!’
We were stunned. Then we jumped up as one and made a rush to the TAB betting window .
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Yes Mum, Why? – John Egan
The room was bright and cheery. I sat with a man I knew very well, a man senior to me. I asked him if he would mind telling me what it was like growing up when he was a boy; was there anything that he could recall in relationship to his Mother that he will remember for the rest of his life?
I saw before me a gentleman, sitting quietly, looking straight ahead, his hands clasped together and resting on a walking stick. He did not move, except to turn his head towards me and say:
When I was twelve years old, I remember, we had a cat. Being the only boy in the family it was my job to feed the cat whom I recall liked sardines. Mum bought them often. There came a day when I decided to sample the sardines. I liked what I tasted so the cat got one, and I got two, until there were no more left. Some time later, I was asked, had I fed the cat? I answered, ‘Yes, Mum, why?’
‘Because,’ Mum said, ‘the cat is very noisy and will not let me out of sight. There is only one thing left to do.’
When I went to take the cat’s bowl of sardines from Mum, Mum gave me a clip over the ears, with the comment ‘I can smell your fishy breath!’
I listened attentively to all that was said. I smiled the smile of understanding, which was acknowledged. I left the room happy in the thought that my father was being well cared for.
Journal Extract – The Red Rattler – Nana J
It was the Easter weekend. We were supposed to say ‘until death does part us’. He dumped me instead. He said that he couldn’t bear to watch me dying, so the bastard left me crying. In hindsight I see that Easter as a watershed, my personal independence day. Cancer became my strength, eventually.
And now, looking through the window of the old ‘red rattler’ (the Hawkesbury train) I tried to enjoy the sight of the cows and horses casually grazing in stupendously green paddocks. I tried to enjoy the sight of hills, something I’d sorely missed while living on the Hay Plain which I had so recently left. The Hay Plain is mostly flat, dull and brown. Our house by the Sturt Highway was on the only hill I knew of on the Plain. We were surrounded by Paterson’s curse which my ex hated, as any horticulturalist hates noxious weeds. I didn’t mind it, I could look out through the windows of our house on the hill past the orange orchard, and see a veritable ocean of purple. Now that I was back with the hills, the valleys, the trees and streams, I missed that piece of semi-desert. Even the promise of the Blue Mountains that I loved so much and could see in the distance couldn’t ease my mind.
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