Article - The Australian - January 2nd - 2006
Courting in the cloisters with the aid of Fraser and Border - THE SUMMER I FELL IN LOVE
Edition: 1 - All-round Country
Section: Features, pg. 013
I SAW her by the most expensive perfume counter. We had been shopping for a present for Nanna. That meant I had been chasing my daughter in and around the perfume counters of one of those nice, quiet department stores that drift off every mall in every large city
in Australia. The ones where everybody smiles and everybody wears black and white.
My seven-year-old daughter loved running through the wide spaces of the department store, especially the perfume counters, because, as she loved to sing, "That's where all the funny mirrors are.''
She would run this way and that, poking her tongue out and blowing her cheeks and scrunching her face up when the smiling store staff would proffer a perfume-drenched card or tester spray to her.
"Not here for the smelly stuff, here for the funny mirrors,'' she would say.
I was about to try to shush her for the 10th time when I saw her.
Yes, it was her. She turned her wrist over in a slow, practised way and sprayed some perfume on her hand.
My daughter made a face. She looked at my daughter for a moment and slowly raised her hand to her face. Her eyes never left my daughter.
She tilted her head and ... I stared and I knew somehow what would come next. Those green eyes would narrow.
The first time I saw her was nearly 23 years ago outside a student union office. She stood by a small card table that was covered with ordered lines of pamphlets. I was with a mate on our way to the students' club for a beer. I had often walked this way with various mates with the intention of having a beer. I had often passed the card table covered with multicoloured pamphlets. But usually there was a small, odd-looking man whom I knew slightly from an
elective humanities tutorial. Garth.
I found this slightly amusing because Garth was a name that seemed completely unsuited to him. He spat a bit when he spoke, which was quite often and with great excitement in a high, torn sort of voice. Frankly, he looked emaciated and half mad. Garth.
The table belonged to the International Socialists, and even though I came from a Labor Party family I never could bring myself to flip through the colours on the card table. Garth wouldn't help matters when I tried a blokey nod-of-the-head
greeting. "Not interested in the truth? Not surprising.''
"Wanker,'' my mates would reply.
Today there was no Garth. She stood in the afternoon light which was streaming through the walkway and with a fluorescent light shining above her. She looked like she had stepped from another planet.
I stopped and stared. It was her attitude as much as anything else. She stood to be counted, almost daring people to laugh, to mock. Funnily enough nobody did.
For some reason I thought of the woman on the banks of the river from Heart of Darkness. The way she stood staring after the boat that was carrying Kurtz away. Standing there with her arms outstretched.
F---, I thought, I haven't even had a beer yet and I'm thinking about stuff I've read in a humanities elective. This could be serious.
She was holding out a light blue pamphlet. In that light it matched her green eyes beautifully. I didn't know what to look at, her eyes or the pamphlet. I looked at both.
I stared into those green eyes and then looked at the face of Malcolm Fraser. I wasn't sure if I was in love but I knew that if looked back at the eyes and gave up on Malcolm Fraser, I might find out.
There are moments in your life when attitude and atmosphere and something in the universe all collide, and something in your brain tells you "this is it''; well, you must also remember that your brain can sometimes bullshit you.
I could have said something really witty and clever. Instead I came up with, "Where's Garth?''
She looked at me with her green eyes.
"Garth's running late. I'm filling in.''
"Need a hand?'' I asked.
My mate snorted "Get real'' and walked off to the students' club shaking his head.
"Are you interested?'' she asked.
I had only the pamphlets to go on and I hadn't really read them. I knew Malcolm Fraser was involved somewhere. "I've always had time for Malcolm Fraser.''
"Malcolm Fraser?'' Her green eyes narrowed. "Yes.'' I stared and had no idea what to say. She nodded and we stood together handing bits of paper that lionised senator George Georges and demonised poor old Malcolm and Maggie and Ronnie and just about everyone else. I shuffled through the pieces of paper; a purple pamphlet had a photo of Salvador Allende on it.
"I admire him so much, he was a brave man.''
"Yeah,'' I said. Even I knew who Allende was, and he was a brave man. She looked at me and weighed me up; I looked at her and was completely swallowed.
"Who do you admire?'' she asked.
Sadly I heard a voice and knew it was my own.
"Who do you admire?'' she asked again.
"Allan Border,'' I said, staring into her eyes.
She looked at me and then smiled. But not at me. Garth had turned up. He came over to the card table, bent down and kissed her.
"Come on, Gwen,'' he said.
What was worse was that she kissed him. And her name was Gwen. "Do you mind manning the stall, brother? We're a bit late for a Green meeting. New party,'' Garth rasped.
I didn't do anything much as I watched Garth and Gwen walk away, although I could have sworn that, as I sat there in my brother's rugby jersey at the card table surrounded by political paraphernalia and propaganda, Malcolm Fraser gazed up at me in the half light
with certain understanding.
"You, mate,'' I said as I held him in my hand. "You seem to understand a broken heart.''
I packed up the card table, popped the pamphlets in a bag and left them by the door of the students' club.
I never saw Gwen again until that afternoon in the department store.
Around her neck and wrists, she wore jewellery that would be the sum of mortgages to lots of people. She was dressed in a white suit, her hair lashed back in a bun.
I called to my daughter, who ran over and held my hand. "I don't like the smelly stuff,'' she said.
"I know,'' I said.
Gwen, in white and jewels, wrinkled her nose, shook her head, turned away from the counter and walked out of the store.
I laughed. "Allan Border,'' I said, and laughed even louder.
Edition: 1 - All-round Country
Section: Features, pg. 013
I SAW her by the most expensive perfume counter. We had been shopping for a present for Nanna. That meant I had been chasing my daughter in and around the perfume counters of one of those nice, quiet department stores that drift off every mall in every large city
in Australia. The ones where everybody smiles and everybody wears black and white.
My seven-year-old daughter loved running through the wide spaces of the department store, especially the perfume counters, because, as she loved to sing, "That's where all the funny mirrors are.''
She would run this way and that, poking her tongue out and blowing her cheeks and scrunching her face up when the smiling store staff would proffer a perfume-drenched card or tester spray to her.
"Not here for the smelly stuff, here for the funny mirrors,'' she would say.
I was about to try to shush her for the 10th time when I saw her.
Yes, it was her. She turned her wrist over in a slow, practised way and sprayed some perfume on her hand.
My daughter made a face. She looked at my daughter for a moment and slowly raised her hand to her face. Her eyes never left my daughter.
She tilted her head and ... I stared and I knew somehow what would come next. Those green eyes would narrow.
The first time I saw her was nearly 23 years ago outside a student union office. She stood by a small card table that was covered with ordered lines of pamphlets. I was with a mate on our way to the students' club for a beer. I had often walked this way with various mates with the intention of having a beer. I had often passed the card table covered with multicoloured pamphlets. But usually there was a small, odd-looking man whom I knew slightly from an
elective humanities tutorial. Garth.
I found this slightly amusing because Garth was a name that seemed completely unsuited to him. He spat a bit when he spoke, which was quite often and with great excitement in a high, torn sort of voice. Frankly, he looked emaciated and half mad. Garth.
The table belonged to the International Socialists, and even though I came from a Labor Party family I never could bring myself to flip through the colours on the card table. Garth wouldn't help matters when I tried a blokey nod-of-the-head
greeting. "Not interested in the truth? Not surprising.''
"Wanker,'' my mates would reply.
Today there was no Garth. She stood in the afternoon light which was streaming through the walkway and with a fluorescent light shining above her. She looked like she had stepped from another planet.
I stopped and stared. It was her attitude as much as anything else. She stood to be counted, almost daring people to laugh, to mock. Funnily enough nobody did.
For some reason I thought of the woman on the banks of the river from Heart of Darkness. The way she stood staring after the boat that was carrying Kurtz away. Standing there with her arms outstretched.
F---, I thought, I haven't even had a beer yet and I'm thinking about stuff I've read in a humanities elective. This could be serious.
She was holding out a light blue pamphlet. In that light it matched her green eyes beautifully. I didn't know what to look at, her eyes or the pamphlet. I looked at both.
I stared into those green eyes and then looked at the face of Malcolm Fraser. I wasn't sure if I was in love but I knew that if looked back at the eyes and gave up on Malcolm Fraser, I might find out.
There are moments in your life when attitude and atmosphere and something in the universe all collide, and something in your brain tells you "this is it''; well, you must also remember that your brain can sometimes bullshit you.
I could have said something really witty and clever. Instead I came up with, "Where's Garth?''
She looked at me with her green eyes.
"Garth's running late. I'm filling in.''
"Need a hand?'' I asked.
My mate snorted "Get real'' and walked off to the students' club shaking his head.
"Are you interested?'' she asked.
I had only the pamphlets to go on and I hadn't really read them. I knew Malcolm Fraser was involved somewhere. "I've always had time for Malcolm Fraser.''
"Malcolm Fraser?'' Her green eyes narrowed. "Yes.'' I stared and had no idea what to say. She nodded and we stood together handing bits of paper that lionised senator George Georges and demonised poor old Malcolm and Maggie and Ronnie and just about everyone else. I shuffled through the pieces of paper; a purple pamphlet had a photo of Salvador Allende on it.
"I admire him so much, he was a brave man.''
"Yeah,'' I said. Even I knew who Allende was, and he was a brave man. She looked at me and weighed me up; I looked at her and was completely swallowed.
"Who do you admire?'' she asked.
Sadly I heard a voice and knew it was my own.
"Who do you admire?'' she asked again.
"Allan Border,'' I said, staring into her eyes.
She looked at me and then smiled. But not at me. Garth had turned up. He came over to the card table, bent down and kissed her.
"Come on, Gwen,'' he said.
What was worse was that she kissed him. And her name was Gwen. "Do you mind manning the stall, brother? We're a bit late for a Green meeting. New party,'' Garth rasped.
I didn't do anything much as I watched Garth and Gwen walk away, although I could have sworn that, as I sat there in my brother's rugby jersey at the card table surrounded by political paraphernalia and propaganda, Malcolm Fraser gazed up at me in the half light
with certain understanding.
"You, mate,'' I said as I held him in my hand. "You seem to understand a broken heart.''
I packed up the card table, popped the pamphlets in a bag and left them by the door of the students' club.
I never saw Gwen again until that afternoon in the department store.
Around her neck and wrists, she wore jewellery that would be the sum of mortgages to lots of people. She was dressed in a white suit, her hair lashed back in a bun.
I called to my daughter, who ran over and held my hand. "I don't like the smelly stuff,'' she said.
"I know,'' I said.
Gwen, in white and jewels, wrinkled her nose, shook her head, turned away from the counter and walked out of the store.
I laughed. "Allan Border,'' I said, and laughed even louder.
posted by WilliamWatch at 8:10 PM
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