Their
shoulders brushed together as they strolled across the courtyard lawn of 'old'
Nanjing Hotel. An enormous, archaic floodlight threw a dim, yellow glow over a
fountain in the centre of the garden. Of course, there was no water.
"It's
buggered - compromised." Smouch spoke in a neutral, matter-of-fact tone.
He looked tired. Did he appreciate the implications?
"Are you sure? I could have been wrong."
"Oh, Christ, Terry... just look at this place. You were right. They were
watching. Have you noticed that we're the only 'guests'?"
Instinctively, Terry's gaze rested on shadows.
"And,
I bet you that there's only one ve-ery friendly bloke at the bar and two,
exactly two, beauties serving the beer."
No laugh.
"Well, am I on?"
"No way. You've done this before."
"Wimp. You can have the man."
Terry
stopped and stared at the grass near his feet. It was short. He'd never seen a
lawn mower in China and there was no tell-tale shit on the lawn. How do they do
that? Scissors? "Where d'you think he is?"
Smouch
scoffed, "Stuffed if I know. I know where he was but buggered if I
can think of a way to get to him now. He'll have to find us."
Smouch had
spoken to a friend on the phone when he was in Hong Kong. They hadn't seen each
other for fifteen years, or was it longer? His friend sounded older but she
said that he sounded mellow. "It's strange, you were always so wild as a
kid. Now you're ... I don't know, softer. Gentle."
"Are
you saying that I'm boring?"
"No.
It's good. Sounds like you're at peace with yourself."
He wasn't.
He knew what she could hear. He had been humbled. Not by anybody, nor by any
incident. By everything. The world. All of those years. By mortality. He wasn't
going to lead humanity out of darkness. No one was. He, they, everyone -
condemned to stay here amongst the filth, the loneliness, the lies and
cheating, the greed and the hate. Especially the hate. He hated more than he
ever did as a young man. At night, in Sydney, he would walk the Cross hoping
that some young idiot would pick a fight. They wouldn't. That isn't the way
nature works. Smouch was solid. He looked mean. No, they would pick on a small
guy or a woman. Probably a woman. Damn, he'd kick them and keep kicking until
he'd kicked away forty years of pent up screaming.
She had
never believed him. What was love anyway? She was right not to believe. He had
sex with other women, or used to. Now, he couldn't see the point. Meaningless.
Physical. Work. His vision blurred.
"Want
another beer?"
"No."
Where did this voice come from? So deep, so mature, adult, controlled. A man.
"I've had enough. This place is giving me the shits."
"You
ok?"
"No."
Terry
looked around. They'd moved outside and were sitting on a low brick wall in
front of the hotel. The street was poorly lit. People, so many people. Don't
they sleep? Bicycles clanked past. Occasionally, a person would look at them.
"How
long do we have to hang around?"
Smouch
stared straight ahead. He was somewhere else.
"Smouch?"
"Until...",
until when? Until wealth can sleep at night? Until he drove his car into a
pole?
"Sorry?"
"Until
the day after tomorrow. If he hasn't made contact by then, it's time to cover
our arse. I'm goin' to bed. See ya."
Terry
stayed on the wall. Smouch was a good bloke and the most experienced guy in the
section, but man, he was moody. Sometimes it seemed that he just couldn't be
bothered. Terry tasted the memory of good coffee and his thoughts drifted back
to Carlton and Fitzroy, Wendy, happiness. He smiled. It's all still there.
Won't be long.
Max Herriman
