mangrove creek

mangrove creek

The day is dark. Rains been falling for five or six. Straight. No let up. Ground's been choking up frogs looking to come in to the dry. Home ain't much. Boards and iron. Covering of something keeping the wind out. Small wood stove in back. Chimney's been drawin' well since I rammed clay in the wattle frame. Chinaman showed me that. He's been living down here a long time. Name's Chan. Little fella. Grows his own. Spuds and green. Little smokin' stuff. Says it keeps out the yearning. Frogs ain't worth eating. More like little hoppidy friends. Chan reckons on them making for a stew but he don't eat meat. I says they ain't meat, they'd be more like little boiled taters. We don't try 'em though. Everything's got to live beside one another in harmonious relationships.

It's hard to be positive on days that run one into the other with the continuous dark kinda eating away at the sunny edges of your usual disposition. Chan and me got to thinking we should take matters into our own hands and swim out. Being stuck over on our side of the creek and all. Chan can swim. He dives most days for eels. Catches them and smokes 'em. River chicken he says. Not meat, fish. He knows about things. Sometimes when he's talking I drift off. He says it's just me swimming out to the stars. Says them's my natural home. Can't say I know what he's on about. I don't like swimming.

I never did reckon on the water. Don't like it. Face washin's okay by me, but can't say as I take it much past. Don't smell. Chan says I'm one of those natural men. Says I'm related to the trees and sky. Says the day I was born the comet Xenchichie came close to the earth and showered me in crystal silver. says it keeps me clean, kills all the bacteria. Says I'm the chosen one. Chan's been here for more than two thousand years. He says, he's been waiting on me. And that's what he does now. He's like my shadow, fillin' in the holes of my comings and goings.

Me coming upon this place was, according to Chan, no accident. It was an accident by my reckoning. Most things is accidents, small ruptures in the fabric of circumstance that has you fallin' from one hole to another. Like walking across a muddy paddock. Me and Chan, we've done that kind of walking together where he's a jumping from one spot to the other and cryin' out for me to follow in his footsteps, yelling all the while about how the dark bats of hell could be released if we don't follow the path of least resistance. Chan ain't right in the head. But any man in my position would be a churlish and ungrateful neighbour if he didn't at least try to accomodate him. Chan would carry me on his back if I'd let him. For a two thousand year old he's a tough little bugger.

Chan said the water was okay to be swimmin' across. Not going too swift. I reckoned on it bein' some fifteen feet above it's normal and there was not a small amount of tree stuff floating down in there. Not so much floating either. It was pushing by, branches stickin' up like deer antlers, dozens of them. I reckoned on it bein' a fair tangle below as well. Chan wasn't havin' any of it. You sick, he said, you die if you don't get help. I reckoned on us both bein' speared and drownin' to death beneath a swirlin' mass of giant claws. Chan said that would happen when all the suns went cold and black spiders spun webs across the universe and pulled everything together to keep it from dying alone.

Technically Chan was right about the about me bein' sick. I guessed I was feelin' more poorly than ever I'd been before. I was bleeding from most every where it seemed to me. Reckon I'd ate one dead possum too many. They'd been poisonin' them with 245T or some such. Droppin' bait on 'em to stop they's destruction of just about everything. Now I ain't really a possum eatin' man but them dyin' around me seemed to be a waste. That ain't entirely true. My dog ate them first. Before I was aware. Was eating baits too I guess. There's been tons of 'em dropped. Been killin' birds, fish, most of anything that ate 'em. Possums too. Collateral damage. Read that one. Seems that's okay, gets the target, takes out the surrounding innocent. Seems to me like it's being judged guilty by association of place. Makes my dog guilty. Found him bled out. Died alone. He'd spent most of his days with me. By my side. Sleepin' on my feet in summer, up beside me in winter.

Days have been black since. Reckon on me wanting to go the same way as the dog. Life ain't worth the worry if your best friend has died alone. I'm to get where he's going. Told Chan. He wasn't havin' too much of it. Said the dog was a living part of me and I had no right to let him go on account of me being not strong enough to carry the load. Chan must of dragged us across that creek. Don't rightly know how.

Folks found me wandering up on  Black Tar Road. Said I was bent double like I was carrying a heavy weight. Said I was talking to a fella called Chan, tellin' him I was covered in heavens crystals so I'd be alright. Said I had nothing on except a tarpaulin wrapped around me, blue on one side, silver on the other.

Back living at Mangrove Creek. Dog walked right in on me one day. Sat down at my feet. Chan says the universe is all pulling in to one. Stars still look bright to me, so I reckon he's talking about us fallin' into the same hole time and again. Winter's comin'. Dog will be sleeping up beside me. Chan's smokin' one of his eels. Seems to me if things are replacing in a natural way we should be able to keep our heads above water for some time.

Bath Day

Yeah it's that time. Frank and I go down to the local park and wait till the sprinklers come on. Frank stands around laughing. I reckon one of us has smell better than Frank does. I've got a theory about these sprinklers. If you bite them close down by the ankles they jump outa the ground just that bit more. Frank says my theory doesn't wash, but hey, look at me I'm wet. Frank could do with getting wet himself. Frank was thinking about writing a story about rain and tears and life in general. Frank being a water carrier by star sign means he has some natural affinity and knowing about all things rainy and teary, but Frank's laughing so much at me ankle biting the sprinkler he ain't going to write a thing. Mind you he's laughing so much he's crying. Frank mate you're about as soft as they come.

Background to Frank and me.

Call me a dog, call me whatever you think is appropriate to your sense of sensibilities. Call me by my name. Frank calls me by my name all the time, "For God's sake dog get your face out of that trash."
Not much of a name, but I know it when I hear it. It sounds to me like, "How would you like that steak sir, medium or rare?"
Frank doesn't have imagination when it comes to names. He's more of a call it as he sees it at the moment, kinda guy. I love Frank. I'd defend him against all, keep him warm through the coldest night, let him pull twigs from under my armpits without biting his hand off. Frank is my guy, my clan leader, my boss.
Frank had a boss. He had a wife. Frank had kids. Frank slept on the couch at home. He slept behind his desk at work. Frank was bored. His disposition wasn't sunny. It used to be. Frank could smile, he played with the kids. We both did. Can't say as I like 'em but Frank did so I liked them too. Licked 'em mostly. Mrs Frank didn't like me licking. It wouldn't be stretching the lead too much to say that Mrs Frank didn't like too much about me. Frank's boss didn't take to me either. Didn't take to me taking to him on the strength of his open dislike of me as well. I'd come out from below where Frank was sleeping above and have a go at the bastard. Frank's boss and Mrs Frank had their dislike of me in common.
Doesn't take much to drive a wedge between folks is what I've observed. Frank didn't take much. He just walked out when he found Mrs Frank parlaying at home with the boss man. Slammed the door in my face as I ran after him. I had to race around the back, push through the cat flap, pee on the flowers, and run after him. Excitement makes me pee on the flowers. They weren't Franks kinda thing. More hers. I gave them a dosing that had me nearly loosing Frank as he was jumping on a bus.
I guess him jumping off it as it was still moving, and falling over me running beside, kind of cemented our relationship. "Bugger me dog", he cried, "I dammed near killed myself."
Frank's overly dramatic assessment of the situation was understandable. He was venturing forth into the unknown world, leaving everything he thought meant something to him behind. Including me.
"You've all I've got left mate," he said.
I hoped he had a bank card. Dogs don't live too long on remorse.

Frank Story one

Frank Story one

Now don't get me wrong. When I write something down it's more than just peeing in the sand. These things can be listened too like a good bark before bed, but it's a long time since I had a bed to call my own. You're going to have to read. Yeah call me old fashioned. Readin's a dying art. But Frank and me, that's how we communicate. I read his thoughts, he writes 'em down. Yeah call us back end up and sniffing at the wind but that's how we do it.

Frank Armstrong is my buddy, but life on the road has been tough on us both. These days we get by, by scrounging mostly. I do better than Frank. I have a natural bent, and short legs. I'm not saying that Frank isn't short too, but pulling garbage outa the bins and settling down to a fest of leftovers ruins Frank's culinary aspirations for a time. Franks better at beggin' for pennies by writing up his stories and posting them up where ever we are sitting. Folks kinda read them while they wait on their buses to come. Sometimes they ignore them, but most times they help to pass away the few moments God gives them to be brushing up on their reading skills. Why else, says Frank, would God be making buses late.

Now you're going to have to wait a bit on me and Frank because ..... well Frank is coming down off a bit of a sugar rush on account of him over indulging in a packet of gummy bears. Frank has a taste for those things that goes beyond the normal. We've gotta say that Frank has a gummy bear addiction that ain't getting the kinda help it requires. Frank ain't looking so well at the present, but he's gotta few words we can stick up right now so's the folks waiting to get home on the 3.00pm to West Rose Park  have a bit of ease to their waiting boredom.

MY MOTHER'S WHITENESS

FIRST PAGE

The first time I realised something was really wrong was when my schoolteacher bought me home with a bad sprained ankle. He helped me up our rickety front steps all kindness and solicitation. In my case being barely able to walk I was happy to have somebody to lean on. Kind of embarrassed by the tears pushing behind my eyeballs, then squeezing out, I flinched when he patted my shoulder. It seemed like an unwelcome addition to the shame I was already feeling. Shame being something you add naturally to your table, like eating implements, doesn’t mean to say you know what to do with them the first time they’re laid in front of you. The ankle was swelling like it’d been stung by a whole nest of bees. Felt my cheeks turning red too. Some instinct kicking in that you return to later on and point to as a signifier of what was to come.

SECOND PAGE

That the front door was open only seemed kind of odd. That my mother was laying on the floor just inside the little entrance hall she laughingly referred to, as her front passage was reassuring. That she was naked was not. Now there was nothing wrong in mom lying on the floor, she did it all the time. She’d lie down with our dog too, her head on his stomach, both of them still, like they was having a sleep or talking quietly. Often it was that they were talking, according to mom. She’d be whispering something low and soothing, just like she did to me when I was sick, or feeling low, or missing my daddy. The dog would be kind of groaning as if he was letting out more air than he had in. He’d take in a small breath and then ease it out long and shuddering, like he was doing it for maximum effect. Perhaps he really was talking back to mom, taking part in a mutually understandable conversation. Moments between them like that, I wanted to get sick, I wasn’t jealous, just wistful, just feeling the loss I guess.

THIRD PAGE

Me and the teacher just kind of stood there looking down at mom. I could feel his hand on my shoulder all of a sudden getting heavier, like he was leaning on me, instead of the other way round. The dog was with her, both of them lying still like they was carved from stone. Moments like that you seem to elevate from your prickling skin, hovering above yourself, and looking down on a world getting smaller and smaller. Later on of course they said I fainted. I knew better then, I know it to this day. I know I joined hands with my daddy, just then, just for that moment. He was there to tell me something, that was all, he just told me to ‘be careful, take it slow’. That may have been more of that instinct kicking in, or it may have been the heavy hand I’d felt leaning on me, but them words of caution sure served me well with what was to come.

FOURTH PAGE

I’d seen my mother naked. I’d seen her plenty of times before. But she was always standing upright. She’d be towelling herself dry from a hosing down she’d have given us both on the back lawn, or we’d be stirring up some lemonade in the kitchen, stark naked as jaybirds, on the hot summer days she just loved. Mom loved to be brown; she reckoned a tan was a blessing from god. She said I was blessed more than her. Sometimes when kids called me cry baby, tar baby, I felt put upon, anything but blessed. Don’t you worry, she’d say, those same kids are going to be knocking down this door wanting to take you out in a few years time, and then you can have your pick and choose of who you want, or don’t want. She said it was like being a bag of lollies where everyone wants the black one. Your daddy was the colour of liquorice, she’d say, and you never once heard him complain. I thought about growing up and getting bigger and stronger and punching people. ‘Going out’ didn’t factor into it. What was really wrong about seeing my mother naked on the floor was that this was winter. And she was white. Her summer tan had all but disappeared. Now I don’t know what my teacher saw before I started elevating and all that, but I distinctly remember his mouth falling more open than that door was. I like to imagine him standing there kind of sucking at air and hoping something intelligible would come out of his mouth. Of course nothing did. Not for a while anyways.

FIFTH PAGE

I’d sprained my ankle running scared from some kids out on the muddy pitch at school. I’d taken a good slide making a fast turn in the wrong direction, and was all caught up in all the forward momentum of it when one of my attackers decided to stomp on my outstretched foot. Kids do that to one another. There’s no real and abiding malice in it, it’s just the strong of the moment picking on the weakest as they show it. Kids do that, they seize on the moment. I was showing a whole lot of pissy momma’s boy behaviour back then, daddy having just died, and our dog taking it harder than any of us it seemed. The right teacher took me home. He was as brown as deep chocolate and I knew momma would love him; I was pushing out tears way before we got to my gate. He knew I’d be needing sympathy with my pain and all. Kids can see things; they know how it feels to be hurt. By then I’d known mom was hurting real bad too. Her lying down together with the dog had become a sad mat I had to step over every morning on the way to school.

SIXTH PAGE

What seemed like yesterday had dragged right on into winter. I knew I was seizing an opportunity. Embarrassed as I felt, right at that moment, of my mother’s startling whiteness, I also knew, just like daddy told me, I had to be careful and slow, I had to be both victim and perpetrator, decisive but vulnerable. I reckon fainting at that moment gave my mother and the teacher the few moments they needed to get rightly acquainted. Momma said he reached down and stroked the dog’s ears, like it was the first and most important thing to do. His voice was as deep as daddy’s ever was as he introduced himself. The sound of the dog’s tail hitting the floor made them both laugh like momma wasn’t naked at all.