The Simple Gift (15 page)

Celebrating

I hugged Old Bill

like I've never hugged

a man before

sure that he'd saved my life.

I hugged him in Main Street

with the office workers walking by,

and the shopkeepers staring,

and the two old ladies at the bus stop

watching the big grey-haired man

wrap his arms around the teenager

and I thanked him once

and thanked him a hundred times.

I shouldered my bag

and we walked up the hill

to the better part of town

with the neat gardens

and orderly trees

and brightly coloured fences

to Wellington Road

with the freshly mown grass

and the swallows

celebrating a birth

in the nest

above the veranda.

Swallows

Old Bill and I

sat on the veranda

watching the swallows

swoop and play

with a gentle breeze blowing

through the fir trees

along the back fence.

Old Bill told me

he planted those trees

their first year here

and he built the shed himself

and this veranda used to have

a gas BBQ for summer evenings,

sipping wine and cooking steak,

and they had a dog,

Jerry,

a little cockerspaniel

who loved sausages,

who'd leap in the air

when Old Bill threw him a snag.

Old Bill told me they'd

lived here for fifteen years

and he closed the door

and locked it on March 2nd, 1994.

He told me he came back

occasionally,

‘To sit on the veranda

and cry, like an old drunk'.

I held the key in my hands.

I knew better than to ask him inside.

I knew he hadn't been inside

since that March day,

and I wasn't going to force the issue,

not for my sake.

I pocketed the key,

said thanks, again,

and we both walked back to town.

I wasn't going inside

without Caitlin with me.

I could wait.

Tremor

My hands still shake

from the drink

or lack of it

so when I can

I walk with them

deep in my pockets

so people won't see

my tremors.

Billy and I sit on the veranda

and I tell him

about the BBQ

and Jerry

and his acrobatic tricks.

I keep my hands

in my pockets.

Billy holds the key,

returns it to his pocket,

says thanks, again,

and offers his strong young hand.

We shake,

and my hand in his

stops trembling

for a moment.

Locks and keys

It's been too long

since I've seen Caitlin

and I say sorry

as soon as I walk

into McDonald's

and she smiles

even though she's mopping!

I order a lemonade

and sit upstairs.

I've got so much to tell her

and I don't know how.

A house seems so …

so …

so adult,

even though

it's only for a short time

until the welfare

are off my track

and I can decide

what I really want to do

here in Bendarat.

Caitlin and the key

Billy told me last night

to meet him here

on the corner of Wellington and Jamison

after school.

I feel very silly

here on the corner

in my school uniform

with an umbrella

as the rain tumbles down.

And of course Billy walks towards me,

wet and grinning like a madman.

We kiss, and he takes my hand

and leads me down Wellington Road,

a long way from his train carriage.

I ask question after question

but I can tell

it's a surprise

and he doesn't want to tell me,

he wants to show me.

So I hold my impatience

and he leads me

into the driveway

of a beautiful white timber house

with an old shed

and a huge backyard

of trees – wattles and firs –

and one of those homemade bird feeders

on a pole near the fence,

and there's a king parrot

sitting, eating some seed.

Billy and I stand on the veranda.

He hands me a key

and we stand, his hand on mine,

the key between us,

and he tells me

about the cops and welfare

and Old Bill's story

and Old Bill's plan

and how they both

sat on the veranda yesterday

talking

rather than taking the key

this key I hold

and turning it in the lock.

And Billy looks at me,

he wants me to do it with him,

because of this house

and its past

and what it means to Old Bill.

And it's all too much.

I start to cry

because I think of Old Bill

and what I thought

when I first saw him

swearing and waiting for breakfast

from Billy

and I think of both of them

at dinner at my house

with their hair neat

and the three of us

sitting on the floor to eat.

I feel the tears

and I turn towards the door,

I insert the key

and turn it slowly

and push the door.

I reach behind for Billy's hand

and we walk inside.

Old Bill

Tonight, in my carriage,

I remember telling Billy ages ago

to travel,

to jump some freights

and see the country.

I thought it crazy,

a young bloke living like a bum

here in Bendarat,

in an old train carriage.

But Billy stayed

and we worked at the cannery

and he kept waking me

with breakfast

and often

we'd spend nights

sitting in the dark, talking,

and those nights

were the nights I stopped drinking.

I had something better to do.

And tonight

I think of Billy

and Caitlin

in the house together

and I'm still not drinking.

I'm thinking of an old hobo,

months ago,

offering advice to a young kid

when he should have been listening

to his own words

ringing

hollow in his head.