BACK FROM BELLINGEN

Bellingen, a small town a short drive from the airport at Coffs Harbour. Louis said he had someone to see, the mother of a friend of a friend. I didn't ask for details, simply woke up in the morning to an empty room, followed by beer sipping with the Saturday papers until he came back. He bought the plane tickets and said it was up to me to keep him well fed enough to keep on keeping on. Not exactly too hefty a challenge to the paltry finances either, for he essentially eats one major meal a day, lunch, bookended by mere morsels for breakfast and dinner. Lunch, though, he certainly likes. I waited in the back part of the bar near the incoming soft breeze from the deck, playing with crosswords and world affairs. The beer was beginning to evaporate. When he came in he could have passed for a lion eyeing the gazelle of my wallet. The menu was lustily looked over while I ordered more drinks.

- We're going to drive back, he informed me.

He needed to make stops in Armidale and Tamworth. Another rental car was arranged already. Something we could leave in Sydney.

- But after that I have to go on alone, he said. Now let's eat.

A driving dialogue:

- What am I doing? I am trying to write.

- What?

- A book on a train. I mean, a train keeps coming up.

- About trains? Like a hobbyist?

- No. More to do with a crash. Years back.

- How many?

- Twelve now.

- And how long have you been trying to write about it for?

- Around ten.

- It must be very long.

- No, not really. A lot gets discarded.

- So why keep going on with it if it doesn't come?

- Not sure anymore. It's become a sort of obsession I suppose you could say. Often it comes to mind automatically, like the thought in the morning to put the kettle on.

- Yes, you're obsessive. About a train of all things. Sigmund I'm sure would welcome you in to his study with open arms.

- Do you reckon he had affairs with any of his housekeeping staff?

- I certainly hope so. It must take a lot out of you listening to people's problems all day. It could certainly be a drain. You'd need a release every now and then, and that's where, I suppose, the household help would come in handy. Add a little jazz salt to the mix and you're ready again for the challenges of the psyche next morning.

- When HD might come a knocking.

- And whatever other initials have made a booking.

- Maybe for him they were all initials, at least in the appointments book.

- Easier that way to avoid making attachments. They were mere mice to the master.

- I, on the other hand, seem more like a docile cow on the way to the slaughterhouse. Still nonchalantly chewing my ball of grass all the way up to the dreaded bolt. Oh hell, Sigmund would have made mincemeat of me too.

- Then save your pennies and just shake it all up a little. Perhaps partake of a prose entirely unfamiliar.

- What, like a detective story?

- Perhaps, perhaps. Though maybe not just yet. Let's see what happens. For now, what about something to do with, oh I don't know, food?

- Food?

- Yes, food. Food and hospitality. Review things. For the sake of it. Review the hotel where we stayed and then compare it with that place where we first had a drink together.

- The Piano Bar?

- Exactly. Compare them. Write down what you told me. How it's freezing in there during winter when it should be anything but. How there's no last call. How the salmon was poorly cooked and the chat potatoes hardly, and you were all of a sudden $25 poorer with nothing to show for it except the desire for a drink to help erase the taste. And so on. Actually, why not do the same for the whole town? You've already said more than once how you can see the potential of the place, how it undersells itself and relies almost entirely on the natural wonders to keep drawing in the crowds. Well, write about that. It's definitely different. See what happens. Meanwhile let the train move on. It'll pass by again if it's meant to. But for now, disembark and fold away your ticket.