But there's still Bellingen, yes, Bellingen, where I sat with a cold Cooper's and a crossword puzzle and waited for Albuquerque to come back, flitting scenes of our childhood playing out over the black and white grid in different areas, depending on what three across had to say for instance, or seventeen down. Fleeting faces, football, the spring scent of girls in white cotton blouses. A history teacher's mustache, the walk between classes, hall after hall, and who you'd see in passing, and who you'd wish to get to know. After lunch, ice cold cola just before double mathematics in an air conditioned classroom, the soaked white shirt deliciously cooling and drying during the travail of trigonometry. The farewell of friends, the impending new term and the new arrivals. Louis was largely a constant throughout, one of the very few.
When he returned from his outing we ordered lunch. There was a complimentary water cooler for customers away from our corner, near the supply of cutlery and where you picked up the food when it was ready, a vibrating numbered buzzer they gave you when you ordered being the sign that it was time to eat. Louis drank six consecutive glasses. It was thirsty work, he said, but didn't wish to elaborate as to what work he meant exactly.
For thirteen dollars Louis had the Federal Salad, Federal being the name of the hotel. For a few dollars more you had the option of adding Moroccan spiced chicken to the concoction, which Louis took. The salad consisted of roasted sweet potato, spanish onion, pine nuts, tomato, boccocini cheese, ginger poached pears with mixed leaves and finished with a balsamic glaze, or so it said on the menu. Louis said he was pleased as Punch, and persisted to call me Judy till we finished eating.
I opted for the seventeen dollar chicken schnitzel, which was twice the size I would have expected, and so succulent it was as if the hen itself had offered up its neck to the block after a meaningful life of dreamful grazing on only the best available grass and grain. As if it were the poultry version of those Japanese cows you hear about who drink beer all day and get frequent massages.
On the drive back we stopped briefly at Armidale where Louis thoroughly checked a telephone directory, then at the town of Tamworth for refreshments, firstly at the Imperial Hotel, but only briefly, its dank empty darkness sending us quickly out on to the street again, further up the road to the Tamworth Hotel, opposite the train station, where we sipped a cold one in some cool natural light and pondered our next move. Enquiring about a room in a nearby place, the manager informed us that it would be unlikely to find a room anywhere for the next few days because of the currently undergoing international carnival of gymnastics, which she was certain we would have already heard about. We hadn't. So we kept driving, once Louis was done testing the capabilities of a telephone operator, throwing a variety of names at her while the sun was beginning to set and the train station was looking more and more two dimensional, as if it were part of a film set or some such thing.
- I've noticed that too, said Louis, and not just the train station but other places also. As if the land here is only willing to have these settlements on a temporary basis. As if, at any moment, the whole shebang could be wiped away in one swift move.
Posts
