Being Here
B
ARRY
J
ONSBERG
's young adult novels,
The Whole
Business with Kiffo and the Pitbull
and
It's Not All
About YOU, Calma!
were shortlisted for the
CBCA
Book of the Year, Older Readers.
It's Not All About YOU,
Calma!
also won the Adelaide Festival Award for Children's Literature,
Dreamrider
was shortlisted in the
NSW
Premier's Awards for the Ethel Turner prize, and
Cassie
(Girlfriend Fiction) was shortlisted for both the Children's Peace Literature Award and the Territory Read Award.
Barry lives in Darwin with his wife, children and two dogs. His books have been published in the
US
, the UK, France, Poland, Germany, Turkey and China.
You can find out more about Barry and his books at
www.barryjonsberg.com
PRAISE FOR
THE WHOLE BUSINESS WITH
KIFFO AND THE PITBULL
âThis is the best teen fiction I have read in years.'
â
The Age
IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT YOU, CALMA!
âEntertaining and thoroughly rewardingâ¦
Highly recommended.'
â
Australian Bookseller & Publisher
DREAMRIDER
âBarry Jonsberg just keeps getting better and better.'
â
Sydney Morning Herald
IRONBARK
âIronbark has sharp, clever and entertaining dialogue,
with impressive main characters and a good build up
to an excellent climax.'
â
Good Reading
CASSIE
âI LOVED it. And the humour was great!!'
â Alex, 16
BARRY JONSBERG
First published in 2011
Copyright © Barry Jonsberg 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The
Australian Copyright Act
1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (
CA L
) under the Act.
Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street | Crows Nest
N S W
2065 | Australia
Phone
(61 2) 8425 0100 |
Fax
(61 2) 9906 2218
Email
[email protected] |
Web
www.allenandunwin.com
A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia
www.trove.nla.gov.au
I S B N
978 1 74237 385 0
Notes for teachers available from
www.allenandunwin.com
Design by Bruno Herfst | Set in 11.5
PT
Caslon Classico
Printed in Australia by McPherson's Printing Group
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Doreen and Anita Jonsberg
The author and publisher would like to thank
Faber & Faber Ltd for permission to reproduce extracts
from the poem âThe Old Fools' published in
Collected Poems
by Philip Larkin.
CONTENTS
At death you break up: the bits that were you
Start speeding away from each other for ever
With no one to see
I face a window.
Beyond, there is grass and a sky dusted with clouds. It is a picture I almost remember. I see my face suspended in the pane, a ghost in the landscape. Sometimes, when nurses weave across the grass, pushing wheelchairs, they trace lines across my face. One nurse skims my upper lip.
Nurses don't wear white anymore. I'm told it is too cold. They are wrapped in blue, the colour of pinched veins.
It is difficult to keep my eyes open.
Some days are better than others.
Darkness congeals, thickens slowly into night.
I know who I am.
I know where I am.
It is not always like this.
No one visits. I have no family. At least when memories have fled entirely I will be spared the pain of not recognising a daughter, a son. That must be the worst.
On my good days, I know what the future holds.
Sometimes I gaze at my friend across the table and cannot pin her down, though I have known her for years. My mind chases a name, but it slips away, squirms and twists, a greased thing that cannot be held. What will happen when everything is like that? When the mind chases ghosts through half-remembered doors into half-remembered rooms and I turn and turn and realise the place I live is deserted? Of the living. And the dead.
When no one, truly, is at home?
They say you can achieve anything, provided you have the will to chase your dreams, face your fears and never give up.
They lie.
Lucy. My friend. Her name is Lucy.
âHi! How you doin' Mrs Cartwright?'
It's one of my good days, but I don't know who she is. I am in the residents' lounge and she stands before me, moving her weight from one leg to the other as though the floor is scorching her feet. She is impossibly young. Dressed in jeans that defy gravity, exposing flesh to the point where imagination borders on redundant. A short red top with laces instead of straps. There is a blue streak in her hair, above her right ear. Something metallic glints in her left eyebrow. Just looking at her makes me feel twenty years older. This is something I can ill afford.
âStill breathing,' is the best reply I can muster. She smiles, exposing a curious contraption that hugs her teeth. It contains a good percentage of the primary colours. Is there a sound orthodontic reason for that?
âExcellent,' she says.
I wonder, briefly, how one can excel at breathing. Do I know this child? I suppose it doesn't matter.
âYou remember me, right?' she asks, as if reading my mind. She frowns slightly and her eyebrow winks with light.
âNo. Should I?'
âI came to see you last week. My name's Carly.'
She waits for a light bulb to appear over my head. It doesn't.
âA week is a long time in geriatrics,' I point out. âSome days I can't remember who
I
am.'
âOh, sure,' she says. âWell. Right. Yeah.' I wonder if she is attempting a world record for consecutive monosyllables, but then she disillusions me. âIt's just that last week you said I could interview you. For my Social Education project. Remember? I'm a Year 11 student at the Senior College and I have to write a report on local history. Research stuff.'
âI'm local history?'
âSure. Well, I don't mean you're a fossil or anything.' I catch another glimpse of multi-coloured braces. âBut you're like â¦' She screws up her forehead.
âOld?' I suggest.
âYeah. Really old. And I reckon you'll have lots of memories of how things were in the past. My teacher, she thought it was a great idea. Said it would be a welcome change from all that internet browsing. See, you're a primary resource, Mrs Cartwright.'
